Enchanted Guardian. Sharon Ashwood
business would Nimueh have walking into a place like this? She should have been somewhere safe.
Scanning the street, and then a playground, Dulac looked around for his quarry one more time without success. Wind nudged litter down the gutters, the skittering noise loud in the darkness.
Dulac heard a cry and scuffle coming from a building site surrounded by a chain-link fence. Holding the knife in his teeth, he quickly scaled it and dropped lightly to the ground. It was darker here, walls of the neighboring buildings blocking most of the ambient light. He rose from a crouch, knife in hand and with every sense alert. Someone was panting hard.
The noise was coming from behind a half-built wall. Dulac approached silently, pausing every few feet to check for movement. He had hunted all manner of creatures in his time—demons, trolls and even a dragon—but modern weapons were just as deadly. He’d never had a bullet wound and had no desire for the experience.
When he slid around the corner of the wall, he immediately saw Nimueh huddled on the ground. Above her stood the male fae, his hood thrown back to reveal long white hair. The pale color was a stark contrast to his dark skin and bright green eyes. Dulac stiffened when he saw the fae had one hand on Nimueh’s hair as if holding her in place. What chilled him most was the anticipation in the male’s expression, as if he was going to enjoy killing her the way another would enjoy a gourmet meal.
“Hello, mortal,” said the fae. “Have you come for the show?”
Fury rose like an incoming tide. Even in the dark, Dulac could see Nimueh’s features had gone sharp with fear. Somewhere along the line, she’d shed her high heels and her bare feet looked achingly vulnerable.
“Let her go,” Dulac demanded.
“No,” Nimueh cried, her voice cracking as she met his eyes. “Leave me. This is not your concern.”
That just made him angrier. “You’ve always been my concern.” He took a step forward.
“Don’t!” she shot back, her eyes widening until he saw white all around the iris. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t understand any of this.”
“Who is this man?” the fae asked in a bored tone.
Dulac took another step, calculating his odds.
Instead of answering, she attempted to writhe out of her captor’s grip. Dulac closed the distance, but he wasn’t fast enough. In the time it took to get halfway there, the fae’s long fingers closed around Nimueh’s throat.
Her attacker turned his head, the movement so graceful it was alien. The fae were elegant, long-boned and so slender they looked almost delicate. That was an illusion. They were tough as cockroaches.
“Use your magic!” Dulac demanded. She should have reduced her attacker to a grease spot.
She shook her head, struggling against her attacker’s grip.
“She can’t use her power,” the fae said, sounding almost apologetic. “I bear the faery queen’s amulet.”
Dulac caught sight of a star-shaped medallion at the fae’s throat. The last time he’d seen it, Morgan LaFaye herself had worn it, the ruby gem brilliant against her creamy white throat. LaFaye never bothered with mere trinkets, so no doubt the gem had magical properties.
“Leave us, boy,” said the fae. “I am on the queen’s work.”
He gathered up a fistful of Nimueh’s dyed black hair and used it to give her a cruel shake. She gave a moan of pain. The sound was too much. Dulac sprang forward, every instinct honed to protect.
“Don’t be a fool!” Nimueh cried, her voice half-strangled.
The fae raised a hand, releasing a thread of magic. Light twisted through the air, gone in a blink, but it hit Dulac squarely in the chest. A white-hot sunburst of pain dropped him to one knee. Every nerve blazed with electricity, numb and raging by turns. Dulac tried to stand, but nothing would obey. Still, he got his feet under him, forcing his muscles to push through agony.
The creature’s lips drew back. It was impossible to say what the expression meant—it wasn’t laughter or fear or even contempt at Dulac’s struggle. Nevertheless, he let go of Nimueh. She shot forward, diving under her attacker’s arm.
“Go!” Dulac ordered. “Get out of here.”
But the fae was too quick, grabbing Nimueh’s ankle to trip her. As she stumbled, the fae grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her in a brutal grip. She lurched to her knees with a shriek of pain. The fae dug his other hand in her hair once more, wrenching her head back to expose her throat. “Make another move, and I will punish her. She’s already escaped me once, and I’m tired of hunting. I won’t let her go again.”
Dulac pulled himself to his hands and knees, every limb trembling with the shock of magic. He had a sudden memory of deep green silk bedding, Nimueh’s long white hair spread across it, across his chest. He wanted that moment back so badly it hurt worse than anything the fae could conjure.
“What shall I do with you, mortal?” asked the fae.
In another being, the words might have been sarcasm, but the fae made it a problem of logic. Dulac studied him as he dragged one knee forward, setting off a fresh burst of pain along his limbs. If he could just get to his feet—the fae seemed to favor his right side, as if his hip had been hurt. That meant vulnerability. He could use it.
But the fae spotted his motion and flicked another spell his way. Dulac doubled over, too blinded by the hot fire in his core to even cry out—but his fingers clenched around the handle of the knife hidden beneath his coat.
Dulac lifted his head, ignoring the sweat drenching his body. Despite the sensation of claws tearing his flesh, he staggered to his feet. “You will leave her in peace.”
The fae’s expression hardened. “Don’t presume to order me, human. I am something new in your world.”
Dulac’s vision swam, but he stood firm. “Where I’m from, the fae are old news.” The words nearly choked him when an unbidden rush of memory constricted his chest. The first fae he’d met had been Nimueh. She had made everything new. “The Lady of the Lake is mine.”
“You, a mere human, know the lady’s true name?” A blink of those cat-green eyes—as close to surprise as the creature could likely get. “So who are you?”
Dulac ignored the question, watching the enemy’s every breath. It would be like their kind to toy with a mortal only to crush them when they tired of the game. Still, neither fae looked away from Dulac, as if he was the one factor that could tip the balance of fate.
“You must be one of Arthur’s knights,” the fae said slowly as he worked it out. “Are you the one called Lancelot? I heard the king has his champion wolf again.”
Dulac frowned at the description. “And I heard your kind is skulking in the shadows. It seems our informants are correct.”
“Not quite,” returned the fae. “I do not skulk. Tramar Lightborn simply takes what he wants.”
Dulac had heard the name before. Before Merlin’s spell, Tramar had been a lord among the fae, famed for his wisdom and depth of learning. Was it possible this was the same man?
Tramar ran his fingers down Nimueh’s face. It was a purely clinical touch, accompanied by a whispered spell. Nimueh trembled with what looked like genuine terror. A high, thin, keening sound escaped her lips along with a wisp of pale blue smoke. She began to shudder, the muscles in her neck corded with pain, the noise she made escalating to an agonized scream.
The sound tore through Dulac, but Tramar was deaf to it. His eyelids flickered, an ecstatic expression suffusing his features. When his gaze returned to Dulac’s, there was mockery in them that had been lacking just moments ago. Real,