Master of Swords by Angela Knight Page B

she’s his lineage, this one wouldn’t even be good for that.” He looked skyward, attention caught by the slip of paper whirling toward them as if laser-guided. “Hell. I knew this was coming.”
    Sure enough, the slip disappeared right into the center of Bors’s chest. He grimaced. “Ah, shit. I was hoping for some pretty Maja.”
    Sure enough, a tattooed young male stepped out of the crowd with a noticeable swagger. “Sir Bors?”
    â€œThat’s me, kid,” Bors looked him over. “Come on. I don’t suppose you know how to fight?”
    â€œWell, yeah. Like, you bet your ass.”
    â€œUh huh.” The knight sounded resigned. “Let’s go.”
    Poor Bors, Kel said in their link. Not only does he not get free pussy, he has to ride herd on a cocky little schmuck. Like Arthur, the dragon loved using mortal slang.
    Gawain chuckled as the two men walked off. His attention returned to the pretty brunette. She paused a few feet away, apparently too focused on her task to realize she was being watched. He inhaled, trying to sample her scent without being too obvious about it. She smelled richly sexy to his vampire senses, but there was no male scent lingering on her skin. Probably unattached then.
    Just the way he liked them.
    As he’d known it would, the Desire woke, sending a wave of hunger through his blood. His fangs began to ache, and an urgent heat spun into his balls. He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t fed in a couple of days—he’d been busy helping Gwen and Arthur find the second grail last night, and he’d spent the night before that rescuing the girl. Between them, he and Kel had used a great deal of magic. His body needed a woman, needed her blood and the sweet, erotic burn of her climax pumping magic back into him. Now.
    Unfortunately, the one he had his eye on now would probably end up with whoever her assignment was.
    As if on cue, her dark eyes widened, startled, as the piece of paper suddenly flew from her hand. Before Gawain could react, it zipped toward him and disappeared right into the center of his chest.
    This one’s yours, Gawain, Morgana’s voice said clearly in his mind. Don’t get her killed, and try not to inflict more psychological damage than you can help.
    The girl blinked those doe eyes up at him.
    â€œUmm. Hello.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I’m Lark McGuin.” Her voice held a hint of a sexy drawl, rich and smoky and as southern as Kentucky bourbon. She offered her hand for a handshake, and he took it. Her long fingers felt fragile and warm in his. “I guess you’ll be my…mentor?”
    â€œApparently. I’m Gawain.” She looked startled—at least she’d heard of him. He reached up to tap the hilt of the dragon sword sheathed across his back. “This is my partner, Kel.”
    The dragon extended his long neck and cocked his head, studying Lark with jeweled eyes. “My pleasure.”
    â€œIt’s an honor.” To her credit, she spoke directly to Kel. New Maja tended to ignore him as if he were nothing but the sword he appeared to be. “Lord Tristan is my great-grandfather, and my grandfather loved telling stories about the Round Table.” Turning her attention to Gawain again, she cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “So what do we do now?”
    Gawain suspected his smile was more than a little suggestive. “What would you like to do?”
    Unease flickered in that chocolate gaze, and she shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”
    He frowned. Was there a hint of fear in her scent? No, he must be mistaken. Why would she fear him?

THREE
    Lark followed Gawain’s broad back through the crowd. He was almost as outrageously handsome as Tristan, though his face was a bit more rough-hewn and angular. Blond brows matched the neat Van Dyke beard framing his mouth and the thick blond hair that lay around