Page 28 of Knight of the Sword

Sometime later, Lucifer pulled on his pants and looked down at an unconscious Morgan. “What’s her name again?”

“Morgan.”

Lucifer raised a brow. “No relation to Morgana le Fey, is she?”

Balor laughed. “Hardly. Don’t you think we’d recognize an Immortal?”

“Hard to say. Morgana saved her brother’s life on more than one occasion by creating the illusion of being invisible.”

“Arthur lived because he carried Excalibur,” Balor snapped.

“Ah, yes. The Sword of Fire. It’s why you’re here, I assume?” He poured himself a whiskey and offered one to Balor. Flopping down in another lambskin chair, he flung a leg over the armrest. “So what information did this little whore bring you?”

Balor related the conversation he’d heard on the tape. “They’re about ready to start hunting,” he said. “I’ll have Landon follow them using the GPS, but with Pendragon loose, we’ll need Sigurd’s help as well.”

“Yeah, I thawed his cave out when I got your message,” Lucifer said. “He wasn’t exactly happy. Hell’s a little too warm for him after being in the Arctic.”

“Tanio probably wasn’t too pleased either,” Balor replied.

Lucifer shrugged. “I stopped answering to him long ago when the Christians were so kind as to give me my own name.”

“Still, he is a deity.” Balor forced himself to keep the rancor out of his voice. He’d damn Brighid to hell for exiling him, except she wouldn’t go there. “No sense in deliberately alienating one of the old gods.”

He grinned. “I can hold my own. The more people who believe I am evil, the more power I absorb.”

Balor laughed too. “You are evil. You got kicked out of Avalon right after I did.”

Lucifer sobered. “We owe that bitch, Brighid. I get dibs on raping her for eternity.”

“And you’re welcome to her,” Balor replied, “right after we seize total control of the world and throw it into complete chaos.”

“And people think hell is bad,” Lucifer said and grinned again, this time with the demon-fire burning in his eyes. “Just wait until they see what we can really do.”

Chapter Eight

Sophie felt Alan Caldwell’s eyes on her as she finished giving Princess’s pups their initial shots. Mr. Smith had told her that the article Caldwell had done for Guns and Swords had gone over well and the editors wanted another story on Smith’s weapons, which was the reason Alan was at the mansion. Supposedly.

She’d never considered herself to be a detective—heck, she didn’t even watch CSI:whatever—but something about Alan seemed off. She cast a sideways glance through her lashes. Physically, he was a good-looking man with a pro-football player build, but she wasn’t attracted to him. Michael was muscular too, but with the leaner build of a baseball or tennis player. Alan’s eyes were blue and cold; his smile didn’t reach them. Michael’s eyes were dark and sexy…all sorts of emotions played through them.

Sophie grimaced and stood. Why in the world was she comparing Alan to Michael? She had tried to stopping thinking about Michael at all after that unsettling dream a couple of nights ago, but it kept niggling at her mind. Even last night, as she tossed and turned, she could feel his hands and mouth on her, kneading, stroking, exploring. She had practically come from only the thought. It was like she had some sort of spell on her and, to make matters worse, Michael was due here any minute to discuss their itinerary. How in the world was she going to handle traveling with the man?

“You’ve got a terrible frown on your face,” Alan said as crossed the study to stand beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She gave herself a shake. “Nothing. I was just thinking about some arrangements that need to be made.” She nodded at Mr. Smith. “The pups are doing well.” Then, since Caldwell was still standing there expectantly, she asked, “How is your article going?”

“Well.” He gestured to the wall where the swords hung. “I’ve decided I’d include a little history lesson on each type of sword that Mr. Smith owns and the time period in which it was used.”

“That sounds interesting,” she replied off-handedly as she heard Benton answer the door and then the sound of Michael’s baritone, low, but soft and tickly on her ears. The kind of voice a man might use in the bedroom…

Dear God! She had to stop thinking about him like that!

“Too bad Excalibur isn’t up on the wall,” Alan said.

That drew her attention back to him and, it seemed, Michael’s too, as he entered the room. She could practically see his ears perk up.

“Most people think Excalibur is a myth,” she said carefully as Michael approached them.

“Do they?” Alan’s icy-blue eyes stared into hers. “What do you think?”