Page 8 of Enchanted Warrior

That piqued her curiosity, but safety came first—and that meant calming him down. “I’d feel better if you sat. You’re rather tall.”

His expression hardened another notch. “I can watch you better from here.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Without waiting for him to answer, she stalked to the kitchen nook and grabbed the bottle of red wine she’d opened the night before. It was almost full.

“What are you doing?” Gawain growled, turning to keep her in sight.

She set the wine and two glasses on her tiny table. “I’m offering you a drink because I’ll certainly need one if we’re going to continue this ridiculous conversation.”

It was too dark to see that piercing blue gaze, but she could feel it all the same. He was all predator, all male, and his will was iron. Tamsin braced herself, summoning her courage. She had to take control of the situation. “You seem to know your history. Maybe you understand the old rules of hospitality. If you accept my wine, then we have a pact. We treat each other with respect while you’re under my roof.”

He made a low sound of surprise. “You’re offering me guest rights?”

“I am.”

To her relief, he gave a slow nod and pulled out one of her wrought iron chairs. “I accept.”

Gawain sat down carefully, as if expecting the chair to collapse beneath his muscular frame. Then he braced his injured arm on the glass tabletop, the tension in his shoulders easing as he studied her. His expression was still guarded, but she caught a glimpse of smug satisfaction, like a cat that had finally got its way.

The very masculine look made Tamsin’s cheeks warm. She poured the wine, her fingers trembling slightly. “Why did you come to my home?”

“The church is being watched.”

Startled, Tamsin spilled a few drops of wine. She set the bottle down, her mind racing. “Watched?”

He nodded. “I followed you here so we could talk alone.”

“About the tombs? I don’t know any more than I did three hours ago.”

“You have the means to find out, historian.” His lips curved down. He had a sensual mouth, the kind that betrayed emotion as easily as the eyes. “Events force me to insist that you hurry.”

“Oh?”

He pointedly raised his injured arm. “I’m running out of time.”

Gooseflesh ran up her arms. “And out of time means what?”

“Today it meant a bullet.” He picked up a wineglass in his good hand. “Tomorrow something worse. Shall we drink to our health?”

Tamsin’s whole body tensed. “Someone shot you? Did you call the police?”

“My story would be a bit much for them.” He continued to hold the glass midair, pointedly waiting for her to drink first. Witches were adept with poisons.

Tamsin took a sip, but now her hand was unsteady. Crazy was one thing, but guns were another. His eyes held hers across the tiny table. There was so little space between them that she could feel the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not in trouble with your laws,” he said. “I’m simply working by rules that have no meaning here.”

She didn’t even try to make sense of that statement. “And the man who shot you?”

“Trust me, no jail could hold him. He’s part of the faery court.”

Tamsin sucked in a breath. “Are you telling me the truth?”

The flash of temper in Gawain’s gaze answered her question. “Of course.”

“Fae?” she asked quietly. “They died out long ago.”

“Like witches,” he countered. “Like it or not, the fae are as real as you, and they are here to wage war on this world.”

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