Page 45 of Enchanted Warrior

Gawain shifted, tucking her against his side. “According to Angmar, LaFaye began planning her campaign to invade the mortal realms ten years past. That would have been your father’s signal to act after centuries of waiting.”

“Why wait? Why not take the fight to the fae?”

“Mortals cannot cross into the realms of the fae. We had to wait for them to make the first move. It seems Hector was the lookout.”

Tamsin wiped her eyes, sadness heavy in her chest. “So he was an important, mighty player in Queen Gloriana’s schemes. I suppose it wouldn’t matter that he had a wife and children.”

“No, you are wrong. Everything he does is for you.” Gawain caught a stray tear on his finger. “LaFaye spares no one. Stopping her is Hector’s best chance to keep you safe.”

Tamsin finally met his gaze. “Why didn’t he say something to me?”

He folded her hands between his. “Don’t judge your father harshly. Not until you hear his side. On these missions, many choices are made in the moment. Sometimes ones we don’t expect.”

“Like what?”

“You could have redirected the portal to the library when you had the chance, but you didn’t. I thought about that all last night, after we spoke. Why did you abandon your own quest when it was within your grasp?”

“Maybe I should have.” Tamsin gave a soft, bitter laugh, pulling her hand away and rubbing the Shadowring tattoo on her wrist. It ached with the memory of wrestling that much magic—and of the memory of her conversation with Waller. “If you can believe the Chief Elder, I’ll be rewarded with a seat on the coven’s council if I bring back the books. If I fail they will do with me as they please. They only sent me here to teach me humility, after all.”

“You have no reason to be humble.” Gawain turned her to face him, his eyes solemn. “You took us to safety rather than securing your future.”

Back in Mordred’s dungeon, Tamsin hadn’t stopped to consider the question. Now that she did, she got angry. “To the abyss with the Elders. I don’t make bad decisions out of fear. I’m a healer first, and I don’t leave wounded behind to die.”

Gawain’s eyebrow cocked. “And what will that cost you, besides a seat of honor among your people?”

Tamsin looked away, unable to meet his eyes. The cost would be servitude in a thousand different ways. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. We will find the books yet.”

Gawain’s fingers tightened on her shoulders, but then he let her go with a curt nod. “Yes, we will. And because you made the choice you did and saved Angmar, we know so much more.”

That much was true. Gawain knew where his king was, and she knew where her father had gone. And the key to finding them was in the books, and that meant facing Mordred again.

Tamsin’s head bowed. She was so tired, and almost protested as Gawain lifted her chin, his touch as gentle as he was strong. He kissed her, the heat of his mouth sinking deep into her spirit. There were no revelations, no simple answers in his touch, but his kindness, the simple skin-to-skin warmth of contact, soothed her heart. Knots of tension loosened inside Tamsin, allowing her to finally take a deep breath.

And yet, she had to know what was passing between them. “I thought we were back to merely keeping our bargain.”

“Is that what you wish?” Gawain’s fingers slid beneath the hem of her sweater, stroking the small of her back. The rough strength of his fingers alerted every nerve and sent a prickle up her spine. Tamsin rose to her knees, leaning close until their bodies met in a single, full-body caress. Her nipples ached as her breasts pressed against him, a delicious pain that grew even as she squirmed to ease it. A hot, winding tension formed in her belly.

The blanket had slipped to the floor, pooling behind her. She leaned back, allowing the soft folds of cloth to accept her as the carpet below cushioned her back. Gawain was leaning over her, his lips never far from hers as they reclined. There was no more talk, no acknowledgment of what was happening. The moment between them was too fragile.

Tamsin closed her eyes, feeling the sting of spent tears. Working by feel alone, she touched Gawain’s face, pushing back the thick softness of his curling hair. His breath fanned her face as he bent close to lay kisses along her cheekbone, working his way to her temple. She dug her fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer. After all the emotional battering she’d taken, she wanted the forgetfulness of sensation.

His hands slid upward, pushing up her shirt. The air in the vacant apartment was bright but cool, chilling her skin. It made her want more of him touching her, and she slid her hands beneath his clothing and along the ridged muscles of his back. She loved the way they bunched and flexed as he moved, the power of his body waiting for action. As if reading her thoughts, Gawain rose up, peeling the shirt off in one easy movement.

Tamsin opened her eyes to study the play of lean muscles as he stretched and cast the garment aside. It was daylight, with nothing but the flimsy curtains to filter the light. No detail was left to her imagination. As he moved forward again, she caught his forearms, sliding her hands upward over his biceps as he came to her, finally letting her palms rest against the pads of his chest.

Tamsin could have remained there, lost in sensation, but he kept coming. Within a moment, his lips were on her bare stomach, each taste pulling desire deep from inside her core. She writhed, seeking closer contact, but he held himself back, balancing on his elbows and leaving air between them. He worked his way up the midline of her belly, pushing fabric out of the way as he went. His shoulders flexed with the effort of holding himself still, sometimes balancing on one hand, sometimes the other. It was an impressive show, driving the need inside her to a keen pitch. She felt damp and swollen, ready for him to banish every thought from her head.

She reached for his belt, preparing to take matters into her own hands. Gawain put his fingers over hers. “Not yet,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Tamsin wanted to scream, but then he straddled her, knees on either side of her hips. An elusive thrum of power danced just at the edge of her perception, like a moon hidden by clouds. It had to be Gawain’s—less pronounced because he was not a full-blood, repressed because he denied it, but strong enough to wake her own magic in response. Her instinct was to reach for it, wind her own power through his, but surely he would shy away. So she kept that part of her still, as cautious as if she were trying to tempt a wild beast to eat from her hand.

He helped her pull her top over her head, fanning her hair about her like a living carpet. Tamsin was so acutely aware of him, so keyed to the pitch of desire, that every movement was agony. Then he bent, taking her nipple between his full lips, the hot wetness of his mouth tantalizing through the lace of her bra. His teeth came into play, pinching her with just enough pain to make pleasure. Tamsin arched beneath him, pulses of sensation knifing through her.

“Lie back,” he murmured. “You’re going to forget everything but this.”

ChapterSeventeen

Much later, Gawain slipped back to Tamsin’s apartment, leaving her in a deep, exhausted slumber in the nest of blankets. He had slept, too, for a handful of hours, but those hours had been broken by nightmares of fire and screaming. Such dreams had plagued him for years. Right now the cause was obvious—there was no clear path forward when it came to Tamsin.

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