Deep Magic (32 page)

A low, menacing growl sounded in the back of its throat. The beast did not recognize him.

“Gwen …” he choked out. “It’s me. Marcus.”

The wolf stiffened. Marcus locked eyes with the beast and kept his breathing even. A difficult task, when his heart was pounding so madly in his chest, he was sure the wolf could hear.

Did she know who he was? Or had the wolf taken over completely? No. He would not believe that.

He lifted one hand, very slowly. “Gwen. It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. Let me up. Please.”

The wolf blinked once, then cocked its head as if considering his words. Its ears rose.

It backed away, until it stood at his feet. Pulse still pounding, Marcus rose first onto his elbows, then to a sitting position, careful to keep his movements unthreatening. The wolf went down on its haunches, watching him with wary eyes.

The creature’s silver fur shone in the subtle moonlight. The animal was so beautiful. Gwen, he reminded himself. This was Gwen. The part of her that was bound to Deep Magic.

He loved her. All of her. Even this. Even if, as she feared, her magic could destroy him.

He gladly accepted that risk.

He waited, thinking she would shift back to her human form. After a time, when she did not, he stood up. The wolf did the same.

He studied the animal. Gwen. What did she want from him? Was this a test, to see if he would run in the face of the magic he’d once despised so completely? If it was a test, he had no intention of failing. His feelings about Deep Magic had become much more complicated since he’d come to love her.

No, he would not fail.

Slowly, he approached the wolf. Laid a hand on its head.

“Where is Exchalybur?”

Gwen paused on the trail and looked back at Marcus, towering above her on the back of a very nervous horse. The animal clearly did not like the wolf; it was a testament to Marcus’s skill as a horseman that he was able to follow her at all.

But follow he did, and closely, too.

Gwen’s clothes were stuffed in a pack tied to his saddle hook. Her pendant was around his neck. The Lady’s sword was strapped to his back, the hilt protruding above his left shoulder. She was struck by the dark beauty of him, even viewed through wolf’s eyes. She felt his unwavering gaze even when her back was turned.

She’d thought he would leave her when she deliberately did not shift back into human form. He hadn’t. He’d found the sword and her clothing and calmly told her to continue her journey. Confused, she obeyed. She understood that he’d been looking for her, but wasn’t completely sure how he’d managed to break through her spells. He should not have been able to.

Her mind flickered, and for a moment she forgot what she’d been thinking of. The wolf’s instinct came to the fore, concerned only with the scents and sensations of the path ahead. Time passed; how much, she couldn’t be sure—the wolf did not concern itself with such things.

When her human mind finally surfaced, it was with an undercurrent of panic. On the trip from Avalon to Isca, she’d traveled three days as a wolf, but had no problem retaining her human mind or regaining her woman’s form. Now it seemed the wolf had been made stronger, by her increasing willingness to call and use Deep Magic.

They’d traveled past dawn and well into the next day. Soon a second night would fall—it would be pure folly to stay in wolf form for another full day of travel. Avalon could not be much farther. Losing her wolf form meant temporarily losing her magic. She would need a full day to recover before she could use the sword to raise a veil of Deep Magic around Avalon.

She halted in a sheltered clearing. Marcus reined in his mount and waited, watching her with silent eyes. When she didn’t resume the journey, he stopped and dismounted, tethering the horse a fair distance away, out of sight of Gwen. She listened to him speak to the animal, his voice low and gentle. Finally, he left the horse and rejoined her.

He crouched before her and offered her his hand. She approached shyly, licking it, then retreating. She knew what she had to do next. She also knew that Marcus would not let her hide it. She told herself that he’d already seen her shift, not once, but twice. The thought did little to reassure her. The first time she’d been wounded and half-mad. The second time she hadn’t known he was watching.

This time, she knew what she was doing. She knew he would be watching. She knew, too, how it would affect him.

Heat flowed through her body. She felt so vulnerable, so uncertain. So … aroused.

She let the Words seep into her mind. She felt the change begin, deep inside her. Marcus’s attention did not waver; the light in his dark eyes flared. Gwen wanted to look away; she could not.

Bone and muscle twisted; fur melted into skin. Light shimmered, reclaiming her soul, stretching and molding her wolf’s body into that of a woman. When it was over, she lay naked and panting, slick with sweat. She opened her eyes to find Marcus crouching before her. Wordlessly, he reached out and cupped her cheek. Dipping his head, he caught her lips with his.

She ran her hands over his body as he kissed her. Her fingers brushed his sex. He was aroused, enormously so, as she had known he would be.

“Why does my shifting affect ye like this?”

He gave her a wry, embarrassed smile. “I don’t know. But it has, ever since the first time. Just thinking about it makes me hard.”

His desire fanned hers. She stroked him through his
braccas.
“Then take me, Marcus.”

“Here?”

“Aye.” She started unlacing his
braccas.

He needed no further encouragement. He shrugged the sword and its belt from his shoulder and laid it aside. His shirt, pants, and boots soon followed. She drew him down on top of her, stroking his back, his shoulders, his face. She’d thought she would never lie with him again—now she had one more chance.

She lay back on the soft moss, cradling his face between her hands and kissing him. She loved him so—her heart nearly burst with it. He shifted to lie beside her, his arousal hot and insistent against her thigh. She rolled to face him, hooking one leg over his hip. He pulled it higher over his hip bone, his other hand cupping her bottom. She encircled his neck with her arms; he joined their bodies with a powerful thrust that touched the very center of her soul.

“Gods, Gwen.”

Their coupling was slow and fierce. Marcus’s thrusts took her with deep, deliberate possession. He anchored her gaze with his, and would not let her look away.

“You are mine.”

The vow was low and vibrant in his throat, as it had been during that first violent joining, when he’d tamed the wolf. He thrust into her, at the same time pulling her toward him, leaving her no space or opportunity for retreat.

“There will be no other man. Not Trevor, not anyone. Not ever. You’ll give your body only to me.”

She shut her eyes. “Marcus, ye know I cannot promise …”

“You
will
promise.” His hips stilled, leaving him buried deep inside her. She could feel him pulsing, hotly. Slipping a hand between their bodies, he pressed the tight bud just above their joining.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids. She flexed her hips, wanting more, wanting him to
move,
but he tightened his grip on her hip, stopping her. Then he jerked his hand away.

“Nay, Marcus! Do not—”

“Promise me, Gwen. You will not take Trevor—or any man—into your body.” He flicked his thumb again, drawing a gasp from her lips. “Say it, Gwen.”

“I’ll not marry Trevor,” she whispered. How could she? She would feel like a whore, lying with one man while dreaming of another.

He touched her again, too lightly. And still did not move.

She writhed, trying to make him relent. “Marcus …”

“Again, Gwen. Tell me again. No one else. No one but me.”

“Aye. I promise. No one but you.”

He started moving again—long, sweet strokes of mindless pleasure. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent, his arousal, his passion. A coil wound tight in her belly.

“Gwen. You feel so good. So right.”

He stiffened inside her, causing her inner muscles to tighten. Her climax rushed at her. Marcus growled and thrust deep, and the pleasure sliced like a white-hot knife. She gave herself to it. To him. This was magic, deeper than anything she’d ever imagined. More than anything she deserved.

He was right. There could be no other. Not when he possessed her heart, her mind, and her soul.

Too soon, the mindless bliss receded, leaving her trembling. She clung to his neck, drinking air in gulps while his hand stroked rhythmically up and down her spine.

“Mine,” he said.

She let out a long, shuddering breath. “Aye, Marcus. Yours.”

“Ye should not have come after me,” she told him later, after she had dressed and regained her wits. “I might have killed ye.”

“No. You would not have. Don’t you realize that by now? The wolf will never hurt me.”

She did not agree. He shrugged into his shirt, then picked up the sword and offered it to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t have the strength to carry it.” She’d spent far too much time as a wolf in the last few days.

He gave her a long look, then buckled the sword belt over his own shoulder.

“When I heard ye pursuing me, I thought ye were Strabo, coming after me. He spoke to me in my dream … I was afraid he could sense that I had left Isca.”

“Even if he has, he won’t be able to come after you before tomorrow at the earliest.”

“How can ye know that?”

“I heard talk in the tavern while I was trying to cool my temper in a mug of
cervesia.
There’s a formal dinner at the fortress tonight in honor of the Governor. Strabo and all his high-ranking officers will be in attendance, along with every civilian of note in Isca.”

“A short reprieve, then. That is good. But what I don’t understand is, how did ye find me? Ye should not have been able to. I laid spells of confusion …”

“I don’t know myself how I did it. All I know is that when I returned to the farm, Breena met me at the gate. She said you’d taken the sword and left while Rhys and Trevor were sleeping. As soon as they realized you’d gone, they left as well. But then …” He frowned and gave a shrug. “It’s difficult to explain how I felt. Somehow I knew they’d gone in the wrong direction. That they wouldn’t find you. And I was right, because I found you, and they didn’t.”

“That sounds like magic, Marcus.”

Discomfort flashed across his face. “I thought of that, too. But it can’t be possible.”

“It might, because of Exchalybur. Ye forged the sword … perhaps ye retain a connection to it. Perhaps ye were drawn to me because I carry it.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps I was drawn to
you.
Perhaps the Deep Magic you sent through me and into the sword bound us together in ways we don’t yet understand.”

It was a troubling—and thrilling—thought. “Ye could well be right.”

He held out his hand to her. “Come, then. The sky is already lightening. If I can convince my mount to accept you as a rider, we can reach Avalon before nightfall.”

The boatman put Rhys and Trevor ashore in a clear dawn, not far from Avalon.

By midday they were hopelessly lost.

Thick mist obscured their vision. Not Cyric’s mist of Light. This was a darker fog. Unfathomable and impenetrable.

Deep Magic.

Rhys cast out his senses, searching for a path that would lead him home. Not the slightest nuance of the correct bearing entered his consciousness. The grim set of Trevor’s jaw told him the Caledonian was just as blind.

They forged on, the charcoal mist taunting them with every step. Each tree, each rock, each ditch and mound appeared and disappeared like a dream. Though they were moving, Rhys had the distinct feeling that he and Trevor were standing still. Treading water.

And then he felt it.

A shiver of magic, vibrating in his mind. A touch as familiar to him as his own breath.

“Rhys.”

“Gwen. Where are ye?”

“Near, brother. Come, I’ll guide you to me.”

He closed his eyes and let her power draw him.

Gwen had sat down only for a moment, while Marcus led his horse to the muddy stream bank for a much-needed drink. The poor beast was distraught from the trauma of carrying what it thought was a wolf. Gwen hadn’t meant to close her eyes, but leaning her head back against the trunk of an ash tree, she did just that. The sounds of the forest faded as sleep dropped over her like a shroud.

She woke some time later with a start. A familiar figure stood before her.

“Rhys,” she said in astonishment. “Ye found me. Where …” She looked about. “Where is Trevor?”

He frowned. “Why did ye run?”

“I thought … I thought ’twould be better if I faced Strabo alone.”

“Ye were not meant to stand alone, Gwen. And now that I am here, ye will not have to, ever again.”

She found herself blinking back tears.

“Come.” Rhys held out his hand.

After a brief hesitation, she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Go? Go where?”

Rhys turned and frowned at her. “Do not question me, Gwendolyn.”

He tugged her along a trail she had not noticed earlier. He did not stop, or even look back at her.

“Rhys. Stop. This isn’t right.”

He did not heed her, or release her wrist. She stumbled after him, her limbs saturated with the heaviness that always followed her shifting. She almost fell, but he did not pause. “Rhys, wait! Ye walk too fast—”

He turned. The expression in his eyes drew her up short.

“Ye are angry,” she said.

“Aye. Did ye imagine I would not be? Ye ran from me. From what ye know must be.”

“I had to run. I must follow my own conscience. And I cannot marry Trevor, Rhys. I won’t.”

“True,” he said. “Ye are meant for another.”

She stared at him. “Another? But who—” She broke off as Rhys’s gray eyes took on an unearthly glow.

“Rhys?” She tried again to yank her arm from his grasp. His fingers bit into her flesh. “Let go. Ye are hurting me.”