Master of Seduction (Merlin's Legacy 1) Read online

  Master of Seduction (Merlin’s Legacy 1)

  Angela Knight

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2017 Angela Knight

  BIN: 08090-02612

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  315 N. Centre St.

  Martinsburg, WV 25404

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Margaret Riley

  Cover Artist: Angela Knight

  Adult Sexual Content

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  Table of Contents

  Master of Seduction (Merlin’s Legacy 1)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Angela Knight

  Master of Seduction (Merlin’s Legacy 1)

  Angela Knight

  All her life, Sheriff’s Deputy Rachel Kent has dreamed of becoming one of the immortal Magekind witches who protect humanity from itself. But first she must prove herself to the handsome vampire whose job it is to decide whether she’ll become a danger to those she’s supposed to save.

  Nathaniel Allard is a Court Seducer who has been sent to trigger Rachel’s witchy transformation by making love to her three times. The problem is, gaining such incredible powers may drive Rachel insane and force Nathaniel to kill her. Otherwise she may kill him -- and anyone else who gets in her way.

  Nate vows he’ll only agree to complete Rachel’s transformation if she proves she can be trusted with the powers she’ll gain. But as he tests her -- and makes love to her with every test she passes -- mutual lust becomes something more. Will love be enough to save Rachel’s sanity?

  Chapter One

  Deputy Rachel Kent ran flat out, though her ribs ached with every stride, every breath. The bullet had left a bruise on her chest the size of a silver dollar.

  Still better than being dead.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon, but it wasn’t entirely dark yet as she pounded down the two-lane rural road. Shadows gathered in the thick woods on either side of the blacktop, and the sky overhead purpled as the last of the sunlight bled away.

  Sweat slicked Rachel’s skin, gluing the T-shirt to her heaving ribs and rolling down her legs as her feet hit the pavement. Normally she liked to do her running at dawn this time of year, before the July sun made South Carolina’s humidity even more miserable. That wasn’t an option tonight. She needed to exhaust herself. Otherwise she’d lie awake for hours, looking for a way she could have avoided killing Don Gordon.

  So far, Rachel hadn’t thought of one. Not if she hadn’t wanted to watch him murder his wife and daughters. Yet every time she closed her eyes, she heard Emily’s heartbroken scream, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!”

  Daddy tried to blow your brains out, sweetheart.

  The moment flashed through her head yet again: Don turning his gun on his wife as Eileen huddled against the wall, trying to shield their kids. Rachel had been too far from him or his victims to reach either, so she’d stepped between them. It was the first time she’d fired her Glock in the line of duty. The two guns boomed almost simultaneously.

  The impact of Don’s bullet hitting her Kevlar vest felt like a baseball bat to the sternum. She’d fallen to one knee, fighting to breathe.

  When she looked up, Don lay on his back a few feet away, staring up at the ceiling as the life drained from his eyes. The neat hole in the center of his chest barely had time to bleed before his heart stopped.

  Daddy, daddy, daddy!

  It wasn’t killing Don that bothered her. He was an abusive asshat she’d taken to jail three times in six months. Two of those times, his wife had ended up in the ER. His death had greatly improved his family’s collective life expectancy.

  No, what bothered Rachel was giving four-year-old Emily a memory that would haunt her for life.

  Cut it out. You’re wallowing.

  Unfortunately, trying to repress her growing obsession only strengthened it. Rachel knew she had to get her mind on something else. Even the ache of her chest made a useful distraction. Which was why she was pushing so hard when bruised ribs made a three-mile run borderline stupid.

  Rachel took a left into the apartment complex that had been home for the past three years. Four long buildings stood on either side of the street, sheathed in cream vinyl siding and surrounded by neat green hedges.

  Breathing hard, she slowed to a walk as she turned into her unit’s parking lot. And stopped to mutter a curse. Two boxy trucks stood in front of the building, each topped by a satellite dish.

  News vans. Great. Just great.

  I am not in the mood for this. And not exactly camera ready either, given the sweat that glued her shorts and T-shirt to her skin. Bending over, Rachel braced her hands against her knees and fought to get her breathing under control. Her ponytail flopped against her cheek, damp from the run.

  She’d be tempted to walk away, but she knew both crews would still be staking out her building when she returned. Besides, Gee would disown her. Kents don’t run from anything, kid.

  When she thought she could speak without gasping, Rachel straightened and rolled her shoulders back. Ignoring her aching ribs, she headed for the red awning that shaded the building’s door.

  The news crews stood in a little cluster, chatting in the bored way of people on a stakeout. Catching sight of her, the videographers pivoted to aim their cameras in her direction as the reporters went on point like bird dogs.

  Until they got a good look. Judging by their disappointed expressions, she wasn’t who they were expecting. Probably didn’t recognize her from her Sheriff’s Office photo. Yeah, let’s see you look spit-and-polish after a run in this heat.

  But just as she was hoping she could sneak past, the female reporter brightened and stepped into Rachel’s path. She looked like an ex-Miss South Carolina -- blonde, toothy, and the proud owner of two miles of leg. “Deputy Kent? Debbie Rice, WTAY News. People are saying you’re a hero since Amy Gordon’s video went viral. What can you tell us about that night?” With a toothpaste-ad smile, she tilted her mic toward Rachel.

  Why in the hell did Amy have to live-stream the whole thing on Facebook? But Rachel knew why. The kid had thought whipping out her phone would keep Don from beating her mother -- again.

  Nope.

  “I did what the taxpayers pay me to do. Excuse me, I need a shower.” She pushed past, amused as Rice recoiled fr
om her sweaty, smelly self with a murmur of disgust.

  Debbie’s big African-American rival wasn’t so easily put off. He shouldered in and stuck his mic in her face. “Darren Mayfield, WACN. Eileen Gordon said you deliberately stepped between them and her husband’s gun. Weren’t you afraid he’d kill you?”

  “I was wearing Kevlar. They weren’t.”

  “Which wouldn’t have saved you if he’d shot you in the head.”

  “No.” She dodged around him and edged a few steps closer to the door.

  Debbie flashed those teeth and hip-checked Mayfield out of the way. “Would you be willing to grant an interview?”

  “You’ll need to take that up with the department’s Public Information Officer.” She fished in her shorts pocket for her keys.

  “It was obviously a justified shooting. Does it bother you they put you on leave anyway?”

  “Nope. It’s departmental policy.” The brass didn’t really question her actions, but they did think any cop involved in even a justified shooting needed a few sessions with a shrink before going back to work. Given her nightmares, it was probably a good idea. Not that she’d share that little tidbit with this flock of vultures.

  “Deputy…”

  Having sidled to the door while they were distracted, she quickly unlocked it, stepped in, and closed it in their collective faces. Leaning against the door, she breathed out in sheer relief.

  Someone knocked. “Deputy! Deputy Kent, do you…”

  Ignoring them, Rachel headed up the two flights of stairs to unlock her apartment door, slip inside…

  And damn near jumped out of her skin.

  “There you are! I was getting ready to send out a search party.” Grinning, the woman sprang up from the rust sectional couch. Tall and model-slim, she wore skinny taupe trousers with a pair of black stilettos. A sleeveless black blouse bared lean arms and an inch of flat belly. Honey blond curls tumbled around her shoulders, artfully streaked with paler gold, and her blue-gray eyes gleamed clever in a heart-shaped face.

  She sure as hell didn’t look like anybody’s great-great-great-great grandmother.

  “Hello, Gee.” Despite her exhaustion, Rachel’s smile was genuine. Like the rest of the Kent clan, she adored her witchy ancestor.

  Ignoring her drying sweat, Oriana Kent swooped in for a hug that smelled of exotic flowers and the ozone tang of lightning. “You really made me proud, kiddo. That jerk would have killed his whole family if not for you.”

  “Thanks.” Spotting something dark looming from the corner of one eye, Rachel turned.

  The man leaned a muscular shoulder against the gas fireplace’s tiny mantle, one dark brow lifted in sardonic amusement. He towered over them both, broad shouldered in a black knit shirt that bared powerful biceps and corded forearms. Black jeans, faded in all the right places, drew the eye to muscular legs. His sable hair was barely long enough to curl, and a goatee framed his erotic mouth, lending a little scruff to the striking contours of his angular face. Somewhere a GQ cover is missing its model, Rachel thought.

  Then she saw his eyes, and her amusement vanished like a popped soap bubble. Those blue irises were dark and cold as a polar sea, assessing and predatory.

  Which is when it hit her he wasn’t Gee’s boy toy. Oh God, he’s a Magus.

  An agent of the Magekind.

  A vampire.

  When Rachel’s eyes widened in awe, a half smile crooked one corner of his goatee in cynical amusement. “Don’t you think you’d better introduce us, Oriana?”

  Gee shot him a Mind your manners glare Rachel recognized from childhood. “Rachel, this is Nathan Allard. He’s a Magekind Court Seducer.” Despite her obvious irritation with him, a radiant smile spread over her face. “The Majae’s Counsel has approved your Gifting!”

  Rachel’s jaw dropped as her eyes darted back to the big man. “Oh. Wow.” Eloquent, Kent. Way to sound like an idiot. She tried to come up with something more intelligent, but the best she could do was a hoarse, “Thank you. Excuse me, I’m a little… stunned.” Mechanically, she held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Allard.”

  Nathan’s hand enveloped hers with long, strong fingers and a warm palm, rough with calluses. “Call me Nathan.” His remarkable eyes took on a glint of humor, turning the Arctic to sunlit blue. “Court Seducers aren’t big on formality.”

  Rachel blinked up at him, feeling a little dizzy, as if she’d stepped into the middle of a dream. God, I’m supposed to make love to him? “I… can see that.” She swallowed and tried for sophistication. “I’m open to informality.” That sounded a lot less lame in my head.

  Oriana eyed her, her expression darkening with maternal worry. “Are you all right? You look like hell.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of days, Gee.” She forced a smile. “Look, I need to get a shower. I probably smell like a goat.”

  The Maja lifted a graceful hand, a precursor to one of those sweeping gestures she used to cast spells. “I can fix that.”

  Rachel took an instinctive step back. “Thanks, but I need a minute. I’m a little off balance.”

  “But…”

  “Let Rachel take her shower.” The vampire gave her a long, perceptive stare. “You don’t feel as clean from magic.”

  “Thanks. Give me fifteen minutes.” Get your shit together, Kent.

  “Of course, dear. And after that, Nathan and I will take you to dinner in Avalon.”

  Rachel’s brows shot up. When she’d been a kid, she and her sister and cousins used to beg to visit the magical capital. Gee had always turned them down. “Sorry, kids, if I tried to lead a mortal tour group through town, Morgana Le Fay would turn us all into frogs.”

  This is real. Rachel’s gaze slid to the vampire. He’s going to Gift me. And he’ll have to sleep with me to do it. If it went well, she’d become an immortal witch with fantastic abilities.

  If it went badly…

  “Sounds great,” she rasped, and started down the short hallway into the bedroom.

  “Wear something loose enough to exercise in.” Nathan said, his voice a dark, seductive rumble. “I’m going to put you through your paces.”

  “Sure.” Rachel shut the door, wondering whether she should be more terrified or turned on.

  * * *

  Nathan Allard waited until the shower started running. “I told you we should give her another week to settle down. The first time you have to kill messes with your head.”

  “She can handle it,” Oriana said, all stubborn confidence.

  “We’ll see.” He prowled around the room, examining the furniture and knickknacks. You could learn a lot about someone from the things they surrounded themselves with, knowledge he found invaluable in establishing a rapport with his Latents. Otherwise being a Court Seducer could feel like whoring, regardless of the higher goals it served.

  Rachel’s apartment was small, no surprise given the salary of a sheriff’s deputy in Tayunita County, SC. It was also as neat as a monk’s cell, its walls painted eggshell white, with the kind of thin beige carpeting common to apartment complexes. Besides the sectional, the furniture consisted of a square coffee table and a long bookcase, both built of black laminate that suggested she’d bought them at Target.

  Nathan’s attention fell on the painting that hung over the sectional. A woman’s arm thrust from the surface of a lake at nightfall, a sword raining magical sparks over her graceful hand as she held it aloft. A few feet away, a bearded man in plate armor crouched in the water wearing an expression of awe.

  King Arthur receiving Excalibur from Nimue.

  Like most Arthurian legend, the story was complete bullshit. Rachel obviously knew that, yet she’d bought the painting anyway. Kid must have a romantic streak.

  He wandered over to the bookcase. Double rows of dog-eared paperbacks filled the shelves, wedged into place with trophies from martial arts tournaments and shooting contests. Evidently the girl had a competitive streak to go with the taste for romance -- and a h
ell of a lot of practical training. Oriana had been serious about making sure her descendants could handle themselves in a fight.

  “By the way,” the witch said tartly, “Would you please quit looking at her as if she’s someone you may have to execute?”

  “She is.” Though God knew he had no desire to do so. Rachel was lovely, with big honey brown eyes under arched chestnut brows, a long narrow nose, and a certain cool strength to her oval, high-cheekboned face. She’d pulled her dark, curling hair into a messy tail that swung like a restless cat’s when she moved. Even in a sweaty blue T-shirt and shorts, her long-legged body and full breasts made his dick sit up and take notice.

  “Merlin’s Gift is not going to drive Rachel insane,” the witch snapped. “She’s too disciplined and intelligent.”

  “That’s not your call. It’s mine. If I see any indication she isn’t suitable, I’m pulling the plug.”

  Oriana’s gray eyes went glacial with warning. “The Majae’s Council agreed with me that she’s an excellent candidate.”

  “Yeah, well, the Council doesn’t have to deal with the fallout if this goes sideways. Rachel’s going to damn well prove herself before I so much as kiss her.”

  “I don’t deny we’ve made mistakes, but she’s not one of them.”

  “It’s not a mistake when somebody dies. It’s a fuck up.” Christine had been a fuckup -- and not just the Council’s. The ultimate responsibility was his, because he hadn’t recognized the problem in time to keep his dick out of her.

  “Gifting Rachel is not a fuck up,” Oriana told him impatiently. “Look, Nate, I’m the last one who wants to lose that child.” She rose from the sectional, radiating enough magical menace to lift the hair on the back of his neck. “But if I find out that you refused to Gift her without good reason, you’re going to regret it.”

  He gave her glare for glare. “You do what you have to do. And so will I.”