Clary ran a hand over Merlin’s forehead. Her touch was warm and firm as it smoothed his brow. “A penny for your thoughts. You disappeared somewhere inside your head for a moment.”
“I wouldn’t waste the money,” he said, turning his face into her palm as she stroked his cheek. “They weren’t good thoughts.”
Clary smiled, but it was tinged with determination as if she flatly refused to be anything but delighted. In many ways she was an innocent who deserved all his protection. In others, she was every bit a fighter as the rest of Arthur’s court. The contrast fascinated him.
“If they’re bad thoughts,” she said softly, “I’d like to hear them so I can chase them away.”
He cupped her face with his hands. “If I asked you to return to Medievaland, would you go?”
“No,” she said simply. “I came to fight. I have magic, too, you know.”
“I know. I taught you.”
“And you’re a good teacher.”
“I can take everything but watching you get hurt.”
“Right back at you. But you’re not leaving, so I’m not, either.”
And they kissed, mouths teasing in tentative nips. He bit the tender flesh inside her lips, bidding her to open to him. Once their tongues tangled, he lost himself in the taste of her. It was the sweetest, most sensual reprieve from the darkness eating at his heart. Clary was the antidote to everything he was.
In one swift move, she pulled off her tunic, dropping it at their feet. He traced the edge of her bra with his tongue, exploring the rough lace and smooth skin beneath it. Tension built between them, rising until they could take no more.
It was impossible to say who moved first, but suddenly they were fumbling with their clothes, trying to undress without ending their embraces. He lifted her in his arms, her bare legs wrapping around his hips. The skin-to-skin contact, hot and frantic, almost broke his control. He carried her to the bed, but she stayed where she was, clinging to him, her lips locked with his.
Her bra was gone. Merlin’s tongue found her nipple and began a teasing assault. A shiver rocked through her and she tilted her head back, inviting him to take more of her. He did, laving her in long, teasing strokes and rolling the tips of her breasts until they were flushed and erect. She writhed beneath him as he suckled one breast and then the other, blowing on her wet nipples until she shuddered with need.
Finally, she released her grip, sliding down his body with her own. The promise of her lithe, soft flesh ripped a moan from his throat. Her fingers were clumsy with haste as she unbuttoned his jeans and when she sank to her knees, his pulse pounded like war drums. She touched him, first with her palms, stroking his fullness until it throbbed with need. He buried his hands in the wild mop of her hair, the silk of it between his fingers a sensual delight.
His breath hitched as she stroked him and took a long, slow lick. If he knew her preferences, she knew his. In the spirit of wickedness, she nibbled at all the points that would unravel his self-control. He shifted uneasily as her teeth grazed him.
“Please,” he moaned.
“Please stop?” she teased, giving another lick. “Or please keep on with what I’m doing?”
“More.”
She gave him more, until he hovered on the edge of explosion.
“Enough.” He pulled her up, all but tossing her to the silken covers of the bed. “Now I please you.”
The thundering of his pulse countered the ragged syncopation of their breath as they tried to kiss and move and bite all at once. He kneaded her breasts, drawing a sigh from her lips as she arched into him like a cat begging for attention. He drew a nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth graze the point as he sucked it to a stiff peak. She writhed beneath him as he attended to the other, bucking against him in her quest for relief. He slid his fingers between her thighs, testing her readiness. She was hot and slick with need.
And yet, he went slowly, drawing it out with kisses that began at the clean angle of her jaw and worked slowly between her breasts. The scent of their desire made his head swim with lust. He wasn’t just loving her, but claiming her for that moment in time, and he did it thoroughly. He devoured the sweet and salt of her skin, the softness of her thighs and the delicate architecture of her bones. He found the hidden points of pleasure and brought her gasping with surprise. He wasn’t a wizard for nothing.
When he finally entered her, they were both ready for the intimacy, making it a slow communion of body and soul. They had made love before, but this time he gave more of himself to it, pleasuring her but also sharing everything that pleased him. Clary took the lesson to heart. Soon it was impossible to hold back, and his body took over. Clary gave a lusty, hiccuping cry and dissolved with pleasure, digging her nails deep into Merlin’s flesh as he drove hard to the finish and filled her with heat and warmth.
She spasmed her release around him, squeezing tight in wave after wave. Then his mind broke apart, and there was nothing but delicious female flesh and the need to possess it. He dissolved in the ecstasy of her and cried out, a sobbing, triumphant shout.
He relaxed into the mattress, letting the silken softness cradle him as he held Clary in his arms. She buried her face against his chest, her breath like a featherlight kiss. She seemed so small, the fire in her quiescent with satisfaction. He ran a hand down her back, tracing the slope of waist and hip. She was perfection.
Merlin’s thoughts rested there, refusing to acknowledge the darkness gathering around them. He’d created this moment for them both, one taste of bliss before the storm began. He refused to look ahead into the gale. It would do no good to break their hearts now, when they needed all the courage they could get.
She propped herself on one elbow, her gaze soft with their lovemaking. “Thank you. I never suspected you had such a romantic side.”
Merlin wasn’t sure he’d call that lost corner of his heart romantic, but it was intensely private. At least, it had been until now, when he’d shared it with her. He stroked Clary’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I wanted to show you a side of me no one else ever sees. I want you to know how much you matter.”
He said nothing more, because there was nothing more to say. Tears stood in her eyes, though a faint smile hovered on her lips.
Remember me this way, he thought. When he kissed her again, there was pain in his heart, for they would not get through this war without baring all their truths. He wasn’t ready to face what she would see in him.
* * *
The Queen of Faery felt regal once more. She was bathed, her hair dressed by expert maids, her midnight blue riding habit was trimmed with sapphires and her mount was a black mare of the finest bloodlines. Best of all, she was freed of that blasted tower—literally blasted free—and able to roam where she willed. And best of all, she had flunkies to do her bidding. She had let it be known that her royal will was to expunge Merlin and his puppet prince, King Arthur of Camelot, from existence once and for all. Merlin first, then Arthur and then all the rest.
Her spirit would feel infinitely lighter with their corpses lined up for her inspection. She would walk from one to the other, admiring each in turn and knowing she had established the ultimate power over each one. Hers to hold, and hers to destroy. It would be like Christmas or an especially satisfying day of shopping. They would never threaten her happiness again.
It would not be without risk. Arthur possessed the sword Excalibur. She feared that enchanted weapon, for it was the one blade that could cut through her enchantments and end her life. For years, that had stalled her plans out of pure cowardice, but no more. If she’d learned nothing else from captivity, it was that being careful had gained her nothing. No more caution.
The endgame was well in motion now. She rode through the Forest Sauvage at the head of an army, the tall, silent trees standing sentry on either side of the road. They’d had archers poised to kill any of Arthur’s spies, whether on foot or in flight, but she’d called them off now. It didn’t matter what Arthur knew, because nothing could help him anymore. She spoke little, too agitated for ordinary conversation. Besides, the only words that mattered had been the order to march on Camelot, for that was where Arthur was sure to flee. By the time the sun set, his crown, his sword and his life would be hers.
And better yet, she’d have Merlin and his witchling. Why he had taken on a student after so many centuries, she’d never know. She supposed it didn’t matter, because what could a beginner do in the face of the Queen of Faery’s superior power? Morgan mentally pictured them roasting on a spit. After today, neither would have the chance to interfere again.
Tenebrius appeared at her left stirrup. The demon had joined them some miles back, but went on foot. It was doubtful any sane horse would carry such a creature. Morgan looked down, enjoying the sensation of rising above him.
“Do you have a plan for battle?” he asked.
“Of course.” She flicked a fallen leaf from the skirts of her new riding habit. “I have discussed it at length with my generals.”
There, that put him in his place. This was need to know, and he wasn’t in the inner circle. Why would a demon expect more?
He bowed with a humility that had to be fake. “How would you like me to contribute my magic, my queen?”
She recalled the disastrous outcome of the computer attack. Filthy demon magic that had crippled her own. Resentment colored her tone. “Keep your spells to yourself until I give the order.”
He laughed. The sound brought heat to her cheeks. “What is so amusing?”
“Nothing. Your advice is wise. It is difficult for any but the most accomplished practitioners to use demon power if they are not born to it. Some never do.”
She raised her chin. “Few wish to. It is unclean. Besides, I am not using it, you are. We will each stick to our own spells.”
He snorted, his yellow eyes narrowing to slits. “Have you seen Gorm, by the way?”
Alarm skated through her, though she did her best to hide it. “He is not my employee or my pet. I do not concern myself with his whereabouts unless he is summoned.”
She spurred her mare forward, leaving the demon behind. In a dozen yards the forest road ended and a view of Camelot’s castle opened up. Morgan reined in to stop and stare. The pale towers seem to float above rolling green hills, a prize that until this moment had been untouchable. “No more.” The words were barely a breath, but they carried all her intention like a spell.
The moment was spoiled as Tenebrius came up to her once more. Morgan inwardly cursed at the demon for breaking into her daydream, but said nothing.
He fixed her with his strange yellow gaze. “You know that even I, who am stronger than any other of my kind, can only remain outside the Abyss for a limited period of time.”
“You are confessing this weakness for what purpose?” she asked tartly.
“Now that you are free, what of my freedom? That was our bargain. We both get out of jail.”
“I will attend to that when Camelot is mine.” She was asking more than their original bargain, but what was he going to do?
He stood motionless, as if holding in a string of curses. “Would you like me to watch the skies as I did when your prison fell?”
She nodded. “Be on guard for a dragon of Merlin’s acquaintance.”
“A dragon. That’s all?” His sarcasm was plain. “And what will you be doing while I tackle that detail?”
“There is but one thing left to do before the fall of Merlin Ambrosius and Arthur Pendragon begins.” She turned to her sea of exquisite, heartless fae. A greedy glee assailed her at the sight. They were hers. Hers. She commanded them, and they would smash Camelot’s court to pulp and hand her the glittering crown.
“I need a volunteer,” she said to her shining host. “Who here would like to fetch my secret weapon against the king?”