Enchanted Guardian. Sharon Ashwood

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      She’d known herself too well to risk tasting such ambrosia, but she’d seen others fall prey to soul-thrall, living only to hunt. Once, they’d been honorable, valued friends. Now they were little more than beasts.

      Lancelot looked as if he might be ill. “I know all that.” He finally let her go.

      “Then you know why you must forget me.”

      “But you’re different.” The words were firm, but somewhere in their depths she heard a plea for reassurance.

      “Don’t be naive.” Nim turned and walked away.

      This time he let her.

      * * *

      Barely able to breathe, Dulac watched the swing of her hips as she walked away. The sight of that very female motion, combined with the lingering taste of her lips, had him aching against his jeans. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperate to clear his thoughts from the fog of lust scattering his every last wit.

      Dulac had sought her for so long. He’d searched before the demon wars and then after, when he’d discovered her castle had vanished from the Forest Sauvage. That had been a sure sign she’d left for the Hollow Hills, but he hadn’t stopped even then.

      Many of Camelot’s knights had been wary of Merlin’s sleeping spell, but Dulac had jumped at the opportunity to travel into the future. Nimueh was immortal. He was not. If Merlin’s magic worked, the knights would rise healthy and in their fighting prime when the fae returned to the mortal realms. Then, after crossing centuries, he could take up his quest anew.

      Of course there were risks—what if the spell had failed or Nimueh never came back? Still, the stone sleep was his best chance. Dulac had sacrificed all to come forward in time—his name, his lands, and his wealth. In the end, the gamble had been a success because now he’d found her.

      Except Nimueh had just walked away. Walked. Away. Not a tear. Not a word of regret after he’d spent centuries as a piece of stone for her sake. Heat crept up his body, anger mixing with incredulity. His skin prickled as if he might burst into flame.

      He watched her turn right and disappear into the night. She didn’t go back to the celebration inside, which was as clear a message as any that she didn’t want him following her for another round in the dance of emotional push and pull. Maybe she was as dead inside as she claimed.

      But Dulac wasn’t a boy or a new-fledged knight any longer, and he knew his lady. “I don’t believe you,” he said into the hot and sticky night.

      This wasn’t over. When it came to bed play, Nimueh was made of fire. Dulac had felt that same spark in her now, faint but no less real. His body remembered hers, every move of their familiar dance unlocking their treasured past in his heart and flesh as much as memory. Surely it worked the same way for her—it had to.

      So why hide it from him? Had he so utterly destroyed her trust?

      Of course he had.

      A door inside him slammed shut, sealing off the pain beneath his anger. It had a poor seal, that door, and regret leaked around every edge of it. Dulac stalked back to the sidewalk in front of the hall, wishing he was still at the bar. He needed something to dull the roiling storm inside him—but he’d learned long ago there was no cure for the addiction named Nimueh.

      Wedding guests lingered on the steps of the hall, vainly seeking fresh air. Just as Dulac put one foot on the stairs, the hooded fae hurried down and disappeared in the same direction Nimueh had just gone. Dulac narrowed his eyes, aware he’d allowed himself to be distracted from his original mission. Then again, now he knew it was Nimueh the hooded figure followed. Both his missions were the same. He waited a few seconds, then glided after them.

      As if the fae sensed the knight’s interest, he turned to look over his shoulder. Dulac ducked into the shadows, swift enough to evade detection. But the fae had tricks of his own. By the time Dulac emerged from hiding, the fae had vanished.

      Cursing, Dulac searched the street but both Nimueh and her tail were lost to sight. Nevertheless, Dulac pushed forward, going on instinct alone. Within a block, the condition of the neighborhood declined. Streetlights highlighted the faces of the buildings, picking out broken windows and peeling paint—and then the lights, too, were smashed. Fierce protectiveness rose in Dulac. What 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?”

Chapter 4

      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.

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