“There will be no barriers between us, ever.”
He said that as if he meant it and was determined to have her again. The desire staining his cheeks confirmed that. She should be worrying about pregnancy and HIV. Instead, her body was fixated on the fact that a guy who was McDreamy crossed with Mr. Universe wanted her. “Let me up, you creep!”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Listen well. I did not drug you, Olivia. You were ill.”
“With what?”
For a long moment, he paused. “’Tis difficult to explain…”
“Some side-effect of the drug you gave me?”
“God’s blood, wench, I gave you nothing! I vow it. Tell me the last thing you recall.”
Quickly, a flood of memories seared her. “I remember being…um, in bed with you. Then there was just pain and weakness. It was like a nightmare. I came out of it and we were…um, here again.”
“As you came out of the nightmare, what did you feel?”
Feel? “This weird…connection to you. It doesn’t make sense—”
“It makes perfect sense. Do you recall speaking words to me before we first made love?”
“Yes, but I just blurted them. I don’t know what they meant or why. You answered me. Then we, um…But you didn’t…”
“Aye, we made love, and nay, I did not climax. ’Tis not a drug that compelled your surrender to me, but that connection brought on by those words, methinks.”
She remembered it now. Even through the dizziness and the heady pleasure of his touch, that link to him inside her urged her to accept him, give all to him. Even when the pain had been at its worst, her entire being had cried out for him.
Great, so she wanted him. The male angles of his gorgeous face and shoulders that eclipsed the room made that a “duh” observation. What woman wouldn’t want him? It was the reverse that scared her. She could not endure more one-sided devotion. Eating Mom’s crap had given her plenty of that lousy taste. Okay, so he’d wanted her enough to sleep with her. Anything deeper? She wasn’t holding her breath.
“Is that connection why you sought me out and brought me here?”
“I know not why we shared the dream of us naked and impassioned, of you holding Morganna’s book.”
That’s right, they had. Did that mean they somehow formed a bond before they’d met?
“That dream led me to believe you were my enemy, so I lured you here. I see now you are meant to help me end my immortal curse, but not in the way I first imagined.”
Beneath him, Olivia stiffened. “You’re still insisting that you’re immortal?”
“I am not insisting. I am.”
Olivia finally managed to push Marrok off her and threw on his bathrobe. “You don’t need to make this stuff up to get laid—”
“Nor would I! Morganna used the book in our dream to curse me when Arthur was king.”
Olivia looked for some logical explanation and drew a total blank. Marrok was beyond sexy, and his touch had been amazing. But clearly, he belonged in an institution. Boy, she knew how to pick ’em…
“I am immortal. I have tried to die over the centuries. Believe me.”
“That’s crazy.”
Marrok opened his mouth, then stopped. When Bram had first taken him to meet Olivia, the wizard had said she had absolutely no idea that magic existed or that she had a drop of power in her veins.
“Do you know aught of magic?”
She frowned. “Hocus-pocus stuff, like David Copperfield?”
“Nay. Like…Merlin. Or Harry Potter. Not illusionists, people born with magic.”
“They’re fictional.”
“Merlin was very real. Odd chap, too.”
“Are you trying to convince me that you’re both immortal and magical?”
“Nay, merely immortal. I was cursed by someone magical.”
“That Morganna woman you accused me of being? Morgan le Fay?”
“Aye.”
Dare he say more? She was newly recovered from an illness he understood not. To tell her they were mated and that she was a descendant of one of the most evil witches to litter history’s pages would either engender more disbelief or send her into shock. She would have many questions, for which he had few answers and less proof. Caution also tickled his brain. What did he know of Olivia’s true nature? What if, under her innocence, a true le Fay waited, coiled and ready to strike?
“Morgan le Fay wasn’t real either.”
“Unfortunately, she was.”
“It’s folklore. Come on…”
Marrok said nothing. What could he say that would not make her think him mad? Better to keep quiet until she was better rested—and more open-minded.
“Crap! What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Holy…” Olivia gasped, bounding off the bed.
He grabbed her arm. “Where do you think to go?”
“My shop. I’ve been out for a whole day. No one is manning it, and I need the money—”
Marrok pushed her until she sat down again. “You have been unwell, and the hour is now well before sunrise. Later, we will find someone to keep shop until you are recovered.”
“I’m fine. Just let me go home so I can run my business. Now that you know I’m not Morganna and I know nothing about the book—”
“Nay. I alone can prevent you from falling ill again.”
“I thought you knew nothing about it,” she challenged.
“I know how to prevent it.”
“What, you have a special tonic?”
“Nay. We must join our bodies. Frequently.”
Olivia burst out laughing. “Give me a break. You don’t have to go through the immortal-knight-we-have-a-connection routine to have sex. You’re a gorgeous guy. Coffee and a chat would have gotten you a lot further. I don’t know why you’d go to this much effort for me…”
Frustration flashed across his face. “I have fabricated naught. I want you. You need me, and I can protect you.”
“From what?” She looked suspicious.
“If I mistook you for Morganna, others may. Ruthless killers who will hunt you if they believe you are the sorceress.”
“I think the chance that anyone else will mistake me for an Arthurian witch is pretty slim.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a phone so I can call Bram? I’m going home.”
“I apologize for abducting you, but you must stay here.”
“For…? You know what, I don’t even want to know. Good luck with all your curse breaking and whatever. I’m going home, and you’re not stopping me. I need to open A Touch of Magic in a few hours—” She winced. “Um, I meant what I said earlier about your talent. And I need the money. You’re going to consign your carvings with me, right?”
“If you will rest here another few days, aye.”
She braced a hand on her hip. “That’s coercion.”
“Do not attempt to play on my sense of guilt. In this, I do not possess one.”
With her, he would take no chances. He wanted naught more than to keep her safe…and lay her back and love her again, while reveling in the fact they could satisfy each other. That she might possibly free him from his immortal ball and chain.
Marrok stopped—moving, breathing. Did being finally able to spill his seed mean he’d thwarted Morganna’s terrible curse?
He jumped from the bed, flipped on the bedside light, rushed to the simple maple chest of drawers he’d carved decades ago, and rifled through drawers.
“What are you doing?”
As he felt his way through the socks, his fingers closed around something pointed and leather-bound. He pulled the object from its confines, gripped the handle, and tore the protective casing off with a cry of triumph.
Olivia blinked, hoping her eyes deceived her. But no, she saw a long, wickedly-sharp blade that gleamed in the artificial light, gripped tight in Marrok’s fist. It was huge, imposing—like the man who wielded it.
He turned toward the bed and prowled back in her direction, looking like the Chippendale’s version of a horror-film slasher.
She scrambled back to the opposite side of the mattress. “Are you doing this because I want to go? If I had known that would make you homicidal, I would have kept my mouth shut.”
Now that he’d had his fun, would he kill her? She almost didn’t believe it. Their connection had given her a sense of safety. And she had flashes of hazy memories as he cared for her gently while she’d been ill, but…
“Bloody hell, I mean you no harm, woman.” He held up the knife. “This is for me.”
Before she could say a word, Marrok hacked into his forearm. Blood splattered and gushed in a sickening torrent around jagged skin. Her knees nearly buckled. “Stop! Oh my God—”
He dropped the knife. Blood poured from the wound, down his arm, pooling in the crook of his elbow, drizzling on the hardwood floor in a metallic-scented rush. Olivia tried not to panic as she rushed to the bathroom and grabbed towels. She couldn’t waste a moment in getting the bleeding stopped. Then they had to get to a hospital. Marrok needed stitches. They had to call Bram for a ride.
Thoughts turning, she rushed back into the bedroom and stopped dead. Marrok stood, examining his injured arm. The awful gash was gone. Completely. As if it had never been.
Is this for real?
Marrok grabbed a towel from her numb hands and wiped the lingering blood away. “Thank you.”
Olivia swayed on her feet, still staring at his arm. What the hell had just happened? Not only did it look healed, but unblemished. No trauma, no scar. Nada.
“What…You…” She raised frantic, confused eyes to Marrok’s face. “It’s gone.”
Furious disappointment slashed across his face. “Morganna still prevails. As always, I heal in moments.”
Olivia blinked, taking in his smooth skin and bitter expression. She saw no smoke, no mirrors. But something was going on here that wasn’t…normal.
Something magical?
As bizarre as it seemed, what other explanation was there? She tried to fit other scenarios, but none worked. Holy unbelievable hell! Now would be a good time to learn how not to hyperventilate.
“Are you really…immortal?”
Marrok set the knife and bloody towel on the dresser with a sigh. “I was born in the sixth century. Even with the longer life spans people enjoy today, I am unusual.”
And then some. Did that mean he had told her the truth about everything? What else could it mean? Okay…so it appeared that he hadn’t drugged and tricked her into sex. They were connected. She couldn’t deny it when everything inside her wanted to reach out to him. And she had dreamed of the man before she’d even met him. Something here was…abnormal. Magical.
Wow!
Olivia sank to the bed. “How…oh, Morganna, you said. Why did she curse you?”
“Because…” He dropped his head, and his shoulders followed. “I was an arse. I served under King Arthur as his most decorated warrior. We fended off the Anglo-Saxons at the Battle of Mons Badonicus, killing nearly a thousand invaders. We felt invincible.”
A thousand? That turned her stomach. But if Marrok was telling the truth—and she didn’t see another alternative—knights of the Dark Ages had lived vastly different lives from today’s men. Killing one’s enemy hadn’t been sport, but survival.
“Well-known warriors in those days had the equivalent of groupies, like rock stars today.”
“You had them?”
“My fair share…and the share that should have belonged to half of Arthur’s army.”
Somehow that didn’t shock her.
“I was young and randy. Women were disposable, to be used for pleasure, then sent on their way. All that changed after Mons Badonicus.”
“Because you met Morganna?”
“I had known her for some while. Several weeks before the battle, I made the mistake of taking Morganna to my bed. I whispered sweet words and told her pretty lies. Afterward, I left and never looked back.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“Indeed. She told Arthur I had raped her, beaten her, left her to die. I doubt he believed her, but she brought ‘witnesses’ and made it sound most damning. Arthur knew his half sister to be capable of all manner of retribution if he did not assuage her. So he cast me out of the kingdom, took everything I’d fought for my entire life. Morganna found me weeks later, dirty and wandering, and bade me to come back to her. She vowed she would return me to Arthur’s good graces and my old life.”
“You refused?”
“I laughed. She was the source of my misfortune. It took me decades to see that my callous treatment played a role in my downfall. When she appeared, the last thing I wanted was to ever go near her again. When I told her as much, she cursed me with that damned book. In that instant, I became immortal and incapable of obtaining sexual satisfaction. Until tonight.”