Enchanted Warrior
An ancient evil rises. An ancient warrior awakens.In an age clouded by legend, Gawain was one of King Arthur’s greatest knights. When he awakens centuries after the fall of Camelot, he faces his most daunting quest yet – the search for his missing companions.Gawain’s hope is that Tamsin Greene, the alluring historian at Medievaland Theme Park, can help him. Then he senses the magic within her… Gawain will now have to trust a witch – and his own heart – to rouse the knights of the Round Table and save humanity from a faery onslaught.
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Gawain had kissed his share of maids, and more, but this was different.
Maybe it was because his nerves were raw after nearly losing her, or he was far too lonely, but he was utterly without defence.
The press of her soft lips was warm, filled with the lingering essence of woman and magic. And the spice did not end with her tasteâit was in who she was. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip, inviting him to explore. Gawain didnât need prompting. As her lips parted, he made a conquest of her sweet, silky mouth. Tamsin moaned slightly, the note of hunger urging him on.
Once permission had been granted, he pushed forward, savoring everything she gave. The first spark of passion had been physical, the effect of her beauty and the closeness of their bodies for so many hours. But beyond that was her courage, and the sheer will that had made her survive.
SHARON ASHWOOD is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English Literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.
To Jane, Sol, Lee and Shereen, who hold the prize for reading my typos week after month after year.
You are steadfast and invaluable.
Contents
Once upon a timeâso much begins that way. What we forget is that once upon a time can be an ending, too. This was a little of both.
Long ago there were many races that walked the world: humans, dragons, changelings, fae and countless others. It was the era of King Arthur and his knights of Camelot, a shining time that rode out of dreams and into the pages of well-thumbed books.
Back then the men of the Round Table were the pinnacle of knighthood, both in chivalrous acts and the might of their swords. They numbered one hundred and fifty of the hardest, the most brutal and the most fearless of men. Their purpose was to defend the realms of mortal kind against those with supernatural power.
At the height of Camelotâs glory, there came a war against the demons, led by Arthur and his sorcerer, Merlin. All the peoplesâmortals, fae and even the witchesâbanded against the hellspawn under Camelotâs flag.
After a mighty battle, the demons fled the earth, but the magic Merlin used was too costly. The witches and fae were badly injured and they fled the mortal realms, swearing vengeance on Arthur and the humans he had promised to protectâeven if it took hundreds of years to regain enough strength to fight.
With great sorrow, Arthur turned to his faithful knights, asking who among them would risk everything to protect the mortal world. Every one knelt and swore his loyalty. So Merlin cast a spell, turning the knights to stone statues upon their empty tombs. They would awaken, fierce and in their prime, when evil rose once more.
After that, Camelot vanished like a mist in an unforgiving wind. But in an ending there is always the seed of a new day.
That time is upon us.
Once upon a time is now.
Tamsin Greene blew out her breath to ease the tension squeezing her ribs. Her sigh made a cloud of mist that floated upward to the shadowy stone ceiling of the Church of the Holy Well. The ancient English structure had been relocated to the Medievaland Theme Park decades ago, but it seemed to hold part of the past inside it, as if time itself had seeped into the stone. Or maybe that was just the frigid temperature. November in the Pacific Northwest wasnât a snowy deep freeze, but the damp air held a savage bite. At first sheâd been annoyed at having to wear a costume to her workplace, but now she was glad of the floor-length gown of green wool. She should have sewn herself a cloak, too.
She told herself her shivers were just the result of the cold. What kind of threat could there be at Medievaland Theme Park, anyway? Even in winter, it was a place for family fun, with costumed performers, games, feasts and make-believe. The worst that could happen was a stomachache from too many jalapeño Dragon Fries. The only thing remotely seriousâor truly medievalâabout the park was the church where she stood now, and normally the old stones echoed with the holiday mood.
But today was different. Tamsin rubbed her arms as the feeling of being stalked crept behind her on stealthy paws. Although a glance confirmed she was alone in the church, fresh wariness settled in her belly. Tamsin turned slowly, senses probing.
Nine times out of ten, being a witch meant nothing more than having a knack with cold remedies and some very odd family dinners, but once in a while her sixth sense was useful. She scanned the space, feeling first the layers of history that shimmered in the air, then the small living things that ran and squeaked in the walls. There was ancient magic sleeping there, but it was too old and dormant for her to understand its purpose. And beyond that...
