Love Bites (3 page)

And they don’t have to worry about losing control.

Though Soren might have to worry about the political implications. True, Cachamwri, the elemental the Dragonkind worshipped as a god, had let it be known he would no longer tolerate his people treating the Magekind as enemies. Unfortunately, that still didn’t mean Soren could take the Magekind’s side against another dragon, not without proof the creature actually was the serial killer who’d been eating women. Soren would probably do it anyway, but the political repercussions could be highly unpleasant for him. There were still a great many dragons who hated humans, just on general principles. Morgana didn’t want to put her lover in that position unless she had absolutely no choice.

Fortunately her other option was a Knight of the Round Table; Morgana could definitely call on Kel. Arthur had made the big shape-shifter one of his elite knights after Kel helped save the Magekind from a demonic magic user. And he was literally the Round Table’s biggest big gun. Morgana had an ugly feeling she was going to need him.

Unfortunately, she soon learned she wasn’t going to get him, at least not right away.

“Nineva and I are butt-deep in a firefight, Morgana,” Kel informed her via their enchanted iPhones when she reached him minutes later. Somewhere nearby, someone fired what sounded like an AK-47 in a thunderous rolling volley. “Bloody terrorists. Look, can you keep the dragon occupied for a half-hour or so?” Something went
WHOMP
, followed by the sound of debris raining down on the ground. Kel swore. “Nineva, grab that kid before someone shoots her! Morg, if Nineva and I can get these children evacuated, I should be able to come roast the monster for you. Just keep him busy until I get there.”

Morgana’s heart sank as Kel cut the link, presumably so he could concentrate on rescuing the school full of hostages he and his wife were trying to save.

Normally, she’d stack her team up against any other three Knights of the Round Table, including Lancelot, Galahad, and Arthur himself. But skilled as they were, leading Percival, Marrok, and Cador against a dragon could well get them all killed. Vampires could take a hell of a lot of damage, but not the kind of injuries inflicted by a fire-breathing lizard the size of Air Force One.

She’d be damned if she’d put them in that position. Especially not Percival.

“Morgana, Marrok, where the fuck are you?”
Percival demanded through the mission link.

“Coming. Where are you?”

“Alley behind the club. When we caught up with him, we found the bastard had put some kind of spell on two girls. He gated off with them.”
His tone turned grim.
“But before he left, he threatened to eat them.”

*   *   *

T
he alley between Club Penitent and the deli next door smelled of rotting garbage and cat urine. Something scuttled in the shadows, claws skittering audibly over the sound of late-night traffic rumbling past. The brick walls wore looping lines of spray paint, the efforts of neighborhood taggers marking gang territory.

Percival watched in frustrated worry as Morgana stood in the center of the spell circle she’d cast in an effort to track the dragon. Normally she would have been able to sense the monster’s destination, but because she hadn’t been present when he’d cast his dimensional gate, she had to do things the hard way.

Frowning, the knight studied her in the illumination of the alley’s security light. She’d conjured full armor for them all—chain mail and enchanted plate, camouflaged by a spell to make it all look like jeans and T-shirts to mortal passersby. Normally using that much magic wouldn’t faze Morgana, but she looked too pale, and there was a faint line between her winging dark brows that he knew meant she was in pain. Probably a lingering effect from the dragon’s spell blast.

Percival didn’t like the looks of any of it. His gut told him to abort the mission, but he couldn’t, not with the pair of female hostages.

In all the centuries he’d known the witch, she’d never let personal shit bother her—not even during her son’s rebellion. Something was sure as hell bothering her now, though. Something beyond the lizard’s attack.

“I’ve got it,” Morgana said finally. “It doesn’t seem he’s taken the women back to the Dragonlands, though they’re definitely somewhere in the Mageverse. Probably out in the middle of nowhere, if I had to guess.”

“Good. Let’s gate, then.” Percival drew his sword as Cador and Marrok moved in, preparing to step through the dimensional gate as soon as she got it open.

The witch lifted both hands in a gesture he’d seen a thousand times before. Magic streamed from her delicate fingers to splash in midair, forming a wavering oval window on the moonlit forests beyond. Judging by the constellations overhead,the gate opened on Mageverse Earth.

Then a sound rang through the gate: a woman’s scream, high-pitched with utter terror. They all tensed.

Morgana’s gaze met Percival’s as her delicate jaw set, her brows lowering in an expression he knew too well. It meant he wasn’t going to like whatever high-handed stunt she was about to pull. She shrugged. “Sorry.” She stepped through her gate.

Before they could follow, it collapsed behind her. Percival stopped in mid-step, gaping at the fading point of her gate as it disappeared.

“Did that little bitch just leave us?” Cador demanded in astonishment.

“Couldn’t have.” Morrak sounded bewildered. “She wouldn’t do that.”

Except that was exactly what she’d done. “‘
Sorry
’? You’re going to be ‘sorry’ when I get done with you, witch.” Cursing steadily, Percival pulled the iPhone off his belt.

No cell phone company had service to the Mageverse, of course, but the phones had been enchanted to send messages to headquarters. They were definitely needed; a lot of agents were always on duty on the two earths, working cases involving everything from wars to natural disasters.

To make matters worse, the Magekind were desperately shorthanded. Over the past decade, Avalon had fought a series of battles with aliens, demons, and werewolves, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of agents. Even the dozen Knights of the Round Table were down a man; there were currently only eleven of them.

Fortunately Galahad and his wife were on call tonight, rather than some less experienced team, though Percival did wish Kel had been available. He felt grimly relieved when the pair stepped through Caroline’s conjured gate.

They were a handsome couple. Galahad had that distinctive broad-shouldered swordsman’s build, with long sable hair and blue eyes. His wife had the lush, sexy body of the cheerleader she’d once been, with dark hair that complemented her big brown eyes and girl-next-door looks.

All of which was in stark contrast to the enchanted plate armor she and Galahad wore. Caroline looked tense, while her husband wore a dark frown, his hand lingering on the hilt of his sword.

While Caro went to work on the same tracking spell Morgana had just performed—Percival was definitely going to kick Morgana’s arse—the knights could only cool their heels.

“You went out on a mission with Morgana
today
?” Leaning against the club’s alley door, Galahad gave them a dubious shake of the head.

Percival eyed the other knight. A hundred years ago, Galahad and Morgana had spent a decade as lovers. Apparently, he knew something Percival didn’t. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s February third.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Mordred’s birthday?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marrok said. “She always gets depressed on the anniversary.”

Percival frowned. “That was today?”

“Why the hell would that matter? It’s been fifteen centuries,” Cador said.

“Jesus, Cador, he was her son,” Galahad growled.

“He was a murdering son of a bitch.”

“She was still his mother.”

“I never noticed she got all that worked up about it.”

“That’s because you’re a self-absorbed prick, and you never liked her anyway.”

Cador glared at Galahad. “Aren’t you married, not to mention Truebonded?”

“Drop it,” Percival growled.

Cador, for once, decided to obey.

Percival watched as Caroline chanted the words of her spell, trying to ignore the sick tension gathering in the pit of his stomach. A fight could go bad in the space of seconds—in the space of a single heartbeat. It had been minutes since Morgana had gated out. Was she even still alive? Were the hostages?
Morgana,
he thought,
I’m going to kick your arse so hard . . .

He only hoped to have the chance to do it.

*   *   *

A
t long last, the gate swelled into existence, a hole in the air that danced like heat streaming up from a summer sidewalk, revealing moonlit forests beyond. As usual, Marrok was the first one to step through; he was so damn big, he gave most attackers pause. The rest of them followed, swords lifted, wary and ready.

They almost stepped on the victims.

Percival cursed as the knights twisted and jumped aside, avoiding the still, bloodied forms that lay in a tangle of arms and legs and torn fabric.

“They’re already dead,” Marrok growled in that deep, barely human rumble that meant he was halfway to losing it. “The son of a bitch butchered them.”

“No.” Caroline dropped to her knees beside the pitiful bodies, magic pouring from her hands to sweep across the still forms. “They’re not dead, not yet. Keep Lizard Boy off me long enough, I may be able to heal them.”

“Oh, that bastard is going to be far too busy to even glance in your . . .” A thunderous crash cut Galahad off. Something roared so loudly the ground shook under their feet.

“Fuck,” Percival spat as fear stabbed his heart. “Morgana!” Whirling toward the sound, he saw a trail of fallen trees and crushed undergrowth that led toward a thick stand of oaks. It looked as if something huge had forced its way through.

“Well, I don’t think we’re going to need a bloodhound to track the bastard,” Cador drawled.

Rather than walking along the trail the dragon had broken—that could too easily be a trap—the knights moved through the woods parallel to it in a crouching rush, swords drawn, dodging stumps, broken tree trunks, and crushed vegetation. Only to freeze in appalled awe at what they saw there.

Two dragons fought in a writhing tangle of whipping tails and snaking necks, ripping at one another with claws and teeth. Percival recognized the smaller of the two, with its sleek, elegant head and black scales shimmering with iridescent blues and greens.

“Morgana, you idiot,” he snarled. “It’s one thing to shift to dragon form to fuck Soren. But that doesn’t mean you can
duel
one of them!”

T
hat’s the biggest bloody dragon I’ve ever seen,” Marrok whispered, appalled.

He was right. The beast Morgana fought was at least twice her size, a good sixty feet of scarlet-scaled killer. The dragon was massively built, with a head longer than Percival was tall, more teeth than he’d ever seen in one place, and claws the length of Excalibur.

Morgana reared over her huge opponent and breathed out a gust of fire that splashed off the creature’s hemispherical shield. Before she could withdraw, the dragon lunged, clamping its jaws around her throat. Blood flew, and Morgana cried out, a high draconic squeal of pain. Her body lashed as she fought to writhe free from the dragon’s vicious grip. Struggling to draw in a breath, she wheezed, jolting Percival out of his appalled fascination with the sight of battling giants. “Bastard’s choking her!”

“Come on!” he roared to his fellow knights as he ran toward the entangled dragons, his mind working desperately as he tried to figure out a way to attack the monster that would have more effect than a mosquito bite. Those damned scales were harder to cut than enchanted plate armor—he knew that much from fighting alongside the Dragonkind against the demonic alien invaders called the Dark Ones a few years back. Hacking at the dragon would only piss it off.

Something wet glistened, catching his eye. Blood ran from a raking wound where the killer’s muscled neck met its back. Morgana had gotten in at least one good bite. The trick was reaching it.
“There!”
he snapped through the mission ring link at his fellow knights.
“That wound on the neck. See it?”

“Percival, no!”
With a wheezing, gagging cry, Morgana whipped her head, clawing at her captor’s crocodilian muzzle with one foreleg. The dragon clamped down harder on her throat.
“Get out of here! Get Kel!”

“Little damned late for that, Morgana.”
Gathering himself as he ran, he flung himself upward in a leap for the bloody wound. He sailed through the air in a fifteen-foot bound, sword raised overhead in both hands as he roared a battle cry. The scaled flexing wall that was the dragon’s shoulder shot toward his face. At the apex of his leap, he slammed his sword forward with all his vampire strength. The blade thunked deep into the bloody wound, and his body jerked to a sickening, swinging halt as he dangled from its hilt.

The killer squealed in rage and pain, so deafening and high-pitched, it sliced into his ears like a blade.

Catching a glimpse of Marrok flying past overhead, Percival heard the big knight bellow as he landed on the dragon’s back. Just as he was about to swing upward and try for the beast’s shoulder, Marrok’s huge palm appeared in front of his face. He let go of the sword with one hand and grabbed it, allowing his friend to pull him upward as he clung to the blade with the other hand. His booted feet found a purchase on a ridge of thick muscle.

A clawed forepaw shot toward his face too fast to dodge. He instantly realized it would knock him off his perch, and Marrok would be pulled off with him. They’d lose the blade he’d managed to bury in the dragon’s wound. He let go of both the sword and his friend’s hand.

Brilliant white light exploded in his head as the dragon hit him like an eighteen-wheeler slamming into a deer with the shrieking crunch of enchanted armor.

“Percival!” Marrok bellowed.

He had a wild, whirling view of starry sky and moonlit forest. A volley of fireworks exploded in his skull as he hit the ground with bone-crushing force. His armor rattled and clanked as he rolled, spending the force of the fall as he’d been trained. He tried to flip to his feet, but he was going too fast, and his body kept helplessly tumbling. A tree flew at his face . . .

CRUNCH.
He tasted blood.

Everything went dark.

*   *   *

P
ercival!” Morgana roared as the knight slammed face-first into an oak and collapsed in a senseless heap of bloody armor.

Sick, frantic rage exploded through her, but the dragon still gripped her throat, choking her. She lashed her head back and forth, fighting the creature’s hold in a desperate effort to reach her knight, but the monster refused to release her.

Magic sang in the darkness, a hypnotic song of temptation and destruction. Magic she knew—
knew
—would be enough to free her, and let her destroy her enemy.

But at what cost?
I could end up a greater threat than the fucking dragon.
Yet Percival was down, and she had to do something.
He’s not dead,
she told herself fiercely. She’d know if he was dead. A quick scan with her magical senses told her he was injured, but nothing he couldn’t heal by shifting to wolf form.

Unfortunately, at the moment he was badly concussed and unconscious, so he had no way to shift. She could heal him with a spell—if she could only get free from the damned dragon long enough.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do to save Percival, even if it meant courting madness. Even if it meant becoming something the rest of the Magekind would have to destroy.

Lips drawing off a mouthful of razor-sharp draconic teeth, she reached for the power. Magic surged through her, bringing strength with it. Strength enough to let her tear out of the dragon’s grip and coil around its huge body in a stranglehold. It fought her grip, hissing and roaring, but she only called more magic and bore down.

Euphoria hit her with a wild sense of freedom. There was nothing she couldn’t do with the kind of power she could pull from the Mageverse. If she chose, she could tear the dragon apart like a chicken in the jaws of a fox.

But at what cost?
whispered the dying ghosts of her judgment and self-control. The rest of her didn’t give a shit, too hungry for magic, for the death of the enemy who’d hurt Percival.

Which was when she felt the knight wake up in the mission link.

Oh,
she thought, letting her eyes close in an instant’s prayer of gratitude,
thank the goddess.

But that lizard is still going to pay.

Big.

*   *   *

D
azed, Percival opened his eyes and blinked at the stars overhead. His head pounded with a deep, vicious throbbing beat, and his stomach twisted, threatening to heave its contents.

Where the hell am I? Something hit me . . .

“
Percival! Percival, get the fuck up!”
Cador’s voice bellowed through the mission link.

Pain rolled over him, burning waves of it that tore a scream from his lips before he could bite it back.

“
PERCIVAL!”
Morgana and Cador in a shouted chorus flavored with a note of—was that
fear
?
“Shift!”

“I’m up, I’m up!”
But when he made a drunken attempt to roll to his feet, pain shot through him with such searing brutality, Percival realized he’d broken both legs.
Among other things
, he thought, looking down through his bent and battered visor. Blood pumped through long rips in his cuirass and one armored thigh that looked as if he’d lost a fight to the death with a can
opener.

“Percival, damn you, shift!”
Now Morgana’s voice had gone cool and controlled—too much so—in that tone she reserved for utter fucking disasters.

Got to help,
he realized
. I’ve got to help, got to get back up there on that dragon.
Though God knew it was the last thing he wanted to do just now.

He reached for his magic and sent it whirling around his broken body. The world exploded into gold sparks before coalescing into the alien colors, textures, and smells his senses delivered when he was in wolf form.

But the pain, thank Merlin, was gone. As always, shifting to his wolf form had healed his injuries. Which had been so extensive, a mortal would probably have died. He’d certainly suffered a nasty concussion and God knew how many broken bones and internal injuries.
That scaly bastard can hit.

Now he had to get back to the fight. Had to help Morgana before she got herself killed. Which, given the current situation, was all too likely.

“Percival, you need to do something about this thing you’ve got going with her.”
Tonight’s little adventure had demonstrated Cador had a point about his obsession with Morgana, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. But once the dragon was dead and she was safe . . . Well, Morgana was going to discover the rules had changed. Percival was, by God, going to change them.

Glancing around, he spotted a writhing knot of tails and wings and snaking necks amid meaty thunks and ear-shattering roars. Percival shot off toward the battling creatures on four swift paws.

Shifting back to human form in midstride, he found his bloody armor was still bent and mangled around him; when a vampire transformed, whatever he was wearing changed with him. His transformation had done nothing for the damaged plate, of course. Ignoring the pain of torn metal digging into the healed flesh beneath, he scanned the dragon’s neck for a place to land.

The monster had evidently given up on choking Morgana, who now coiled around her foe like a boa constrictor, pinning his forelegs with her own as she held on grimly, keeping him from throwing his attackers off or batting them with his massive tail.

Marrok had gone berserk, as he tended to do when one of the team was hurt. Morgana had evidently turned his sword into a battle-ax, and he was putting it to frenzied use, hacking at the dragon’s wounded neck as he balanced on its heaving back.

The other two knights chopped away brutally as they all fought to behead the creature. Galahad was armed with an ax, but Cador had two long swords, having apparently appropriated the one Percival had left jammed in the wound. He swung the blades in bloody alternating arcs.

“Cador!” Aiming for a spot beside his teammate, Percival leaped. This time he made it, grabbing one of the dragon’s jutting spines and hauling himself up beside the other knight.

Cador paused long enough to throw him his sword and growl through his mission ring,
“This dragon-slaying thing is not for pussies.”

Percival grunted, took aim with his sword, and swung at the dragon’s neck as if he were trying to cut down a sequoia.

As his blade bit into the deepening wound, the dragon convulsed, heaving free of Morgana’s coiled grip as the beast reared, clawing for the sky with a roar of pain and fury.

Goddammit, not again,
Percival thought, as he tumbled off the creature’s back.

At least he landed better this time, going into a neat, controlled roll that ended with him on his feet. Not for nothing did the knights spend as much time practicing throws and tumbles as they did swordplay.

Before he could congratulate himself, a massive downdraft flattened him as the dragon took to the sky, wings beating furiously. Galahad leaped clear barely in time, followed by Cador, who grabbed Marrok and dragged him, howling in rage, to safety.

Cursing viciously, Marrok swung his battle-ax at the dragon’s retreating belly, though it was well out of range now. The big knight hurled his weapon. The ax sailed skyward, higher and higher and . . .

Hit the top of its arc and plummeted. Right for Marrok, still raging directly beneath.

Percival tackled the big knight in a deafening clash of armor hitting armor. The impact barely carried them clear before the battle-ax hit the ground, its blade biting deep into the churned, torn earth.

Something rammed the side of Percival’s head. He saw stars
again
, but he held on, both arms wrapped around Marrok’s powerful thighs as the big knight fought him, so lost to bloodlust he saw Percival only as an enemy. “Marrok, Marrok, it’s me! It’s Percival. You’re all right. It’s all right!”

Marrok’s only reply was a frenzied howl of fury.

Cursing, Cador piled on to help, Galahad joining them a moment later as all three tried to pin Marrok and calm him down. Still the huge knight raged and bucked, his massive fists and feet slamming into them whenever they lost their grip.

A gauntleted feminine hand shot into the milling knot of armored flesh and locked around Marrok’s visor. Magic flared in a spill of golden light. “Enough! Quit it with the ‘Hulk Smash!’” Caroline snapped.

Marrok froze. “Wha’?” He sounded groggy, voice slurred. “Wha’ happened?”

“Thank Christ,” Cador grunted. “Dammit, Marrok, I’ve had horses give me gentler kicks in the head.”

Disentangling himself from his friend, Percival climbed wearily to his feet and gave Marrok a hand up. “Thanks, Caro.”

Her face looked pale as she eyed the big knight. “He’s a scary sucker when he gets going, isn’t he? His rage when I touched his mind . . .”

“Yeah. Marrok has . . . issues.” Percival steadied Cador, who staggered, giving his head a shake. The knight evidently hadn’t been kidding about that kick to the head, but a quick shift would probably heal any damage. Percival looked around at Caro. “How are the dragon’s victims?”

But the Maja was locked in Galahad’s arms, in the midst of a fierce hug and a blazing kiss. By the time she came up for air, she looked a little dazed. “Ummmm. What was the question?”