Enchanter Redeemed. Sharon Ashwood
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something powerful enough to prevent a demonic attack on the crowd of innocent humans. Was this what the hellspawn had wanted all along? A means to infect this world with their evil?
If so, they had forgotten about dragons. A blast from Rukon’s flame scoured the bats from the sky. Merlin felt the clean heat on his upturned face, fanned by the stroke of Rukon’s wings. The stink of charcoal tickled his nose, but not before he caught a distinctive whiff of spice and sulfur. Vivian.
Then every thought was driven from his head by the roar of the crowd. They were on their feet, stamping and howling appreciation as the unprecedented spectacle wound to a new close. As if on cue, Rukon looped upward, climbing toward the open portal with another flourish of flame. The dragon rose with seemingly weightless ease and was soon swallowed by the azure sky of the Crystal Mountains. But his long neck curved backward for a last glance at Merlin. It didn’t take magic to read the message written in Rukon’s topaz eyes: be careful. And then the portal sealed with the efficiency of an invisible zipper, and the dragon was gone.
Merlin gripped Clary’s arm, holding her at his side while they stepped forward to take their bow. He was carefully blind to the knights below, acting as if their wounds and bewildered fury were all part of the entertainment. They’d finished the show. No one was dead and the demon magic dispelled. The audience was none the wiser. The only thing left was to exit the stage—and then he could start asking hard questions.
After three standing ovations, the audience finally let them leave. By then, Merlin’s temper was at a new peak. He dragged Clary into the corridor that led to the locker room, striding at top speed.
“Slow down!” Digging in her heels, she tried to wrench free of his grip.
He stopped, but didn’t let go as he turned to face her. The harsh overhead lights bleached the color from her face, adding to the shadows beneath her eyes. He crushed a rising panic that told him she was in trouble. “Very well.”
She blew out a long breath, but otherwise seemed tongue-tied.
He let his voice drop to something near a growl. “Let’s take this slowly. Start talking.”
She was shuddering as if plunged into Arctic waters. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Velociraptors? Really?”
“I didn’t mean to! I—” She broke off, her face flushed with confusion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to say.
Merlin’s chest tightened with foreboding. “If you didn’t mean it, then why did it happen?”
Clary sucked in a breath as if he’d struck her. The sound was loud in the echoing corridor.
Her expression gut-punched him. “What did Tamsin say about your wound?”
“She thinks it’s okay.” She pulled up her sleeve to show her arm. “It doesn’t look like much now. She fixed it.”
And yet Clary had started casting random spells far beyond her level of skill. That didn’t say fixed to him. Her gaze turned to him, now empty of everything but fear and pleading. The look broke him.
Like a man in a dream, Merlin reached out, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. They came away wet with her frightened tears. For that, he would have cheerfully sent every demon back to the Abyss all over again. As the pounding of his heart slowed, anger caught up with him, along with a profound sense of awe. Something had given Clary immense, even stunning, power. Demons were the obvious answer, but how?
Clary was the least talented student he’d ever taught. Could a mere scratch have changed everything? He really didn’t know. Demon magic followed different rules—if you could apply rules to its chaotic nature—and not even Merlin the Wise understood every last nuance. A hard knot of worry gathered in his chest. He could not resist the urge to touch her, brushing back a wisp of hair that was falling in her eyes.
Somehow that innocent gesture turned into an embrace. He’d sworn to himself that wouldn’t happen again, but her lips were against his, soft and uncertain. The first kiss ended, her breath warm and a little too fast against his face. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this kind of intimacy—not just physical need, but with emotion attached. Everything around him—the concrete walls, the dull roar of the crowd—fell away, leaving only this woman and her haunted gaze. It was plain she was seeking reassurance, someone to catch her and put her on her feet again. If he was a better man, he’d be a little less literal about the catching part, but he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her waist.
Her fingers curled in the fabric of his costume. “What are you doing?”
This unguarded, vulnerable side of her destroyed his equilibrium. “Making certain you’re well.”
He pushed back the veil of her costume and tangled his fingers in her shaggy blond hair. She tilted her head, studying him from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anything by kissing me.” And yet she looked afraid that he might find something.
He released her, but didn’t back away. Her eyes were their usual color, like new leaves in the golden light of May. Her skin glowed the same delicate cream, her mouth still invited him—and yet something was different. It prickled against a sense that had no name.
She put one hand on his sleeve, the lines of her face going tight. “Tell me what I should do.”
He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how to put his uneasiness into words.
The moment ended when a door slammed behind him. Heavy footsteps marched their way. Clary took a short, sharp breath.
“Merlin!” came a booming voice that rang against the concrete walls.
Merlin turned to see Arthur Pendragon, still in full armor, closing the distance between them. The king’s russet hair was brushed back from a face dominated by pale blue and furious eyes. He came to a stop just feet away, chain mail rattling with the sudden halt. His fingers tapped once on the helmet clutched under his arm. “What happened? My knights were injured, two of them badly.”
Arthur’s gaze went from Merlin to Clary, demanding answers.
Silently, Merlin stepped between them, blocking the king’s view.
Merlin never protected me that way, Vivian commented inside Clary’s head, her tone haughty. I never needed it.
No doubt the comment was meant as an insult, but Clary didn’t care. One look at Arthur’s scowl said she needed all the protection she could get, and one of the few people who could face Arthur down was Merlin. The king and the enchanter had a long, if sometimes volatile, friendship.
“How are Beaumains and Palomedes?” Merlin asked.
“They will survive,” the king replied. “Fortunately, Tamsin was working at the church today and could come in minutes.”
“That’s good news,” said Merlin.
Clary literally gulped, wondering how bad the wounds might be. Her stomach felt like ice.
Don’t worry, said Vivian. Those wounds are clean. I don’t bother with poison when simple fangs and claws will do.
Why do it at all? Clary shrieked inside her head, but as she peered around Merlin’s straight back at the king, she understood. Arthur was furious. Of the hundred and fifty knights of the Round Table, only a handful had awakened in the modern era. They were his friends, the only familiar faces from his old life, and they were all he had to fight the armies of the fae. What better way to pit Arthur against Merlin than threatening his men?
“You put my knights in danger,” said the king in a low, rasping voice.
“That was not our intent.” Merlin shifted, blotting out her view of Arthur’s flushed face.
“Perhaps it was