Page 59 of Knight of the Sword

“At a settlement behind the Miccosukee Indian Village. One of their tribal members found us.”

Sophie tried to sit up and fell back against the pillow. “I’m so weak.”

“Let me help,” Michael said and leaned forward, putting his arms around her and propping her against the headboard. “I’m not surprised. That was quite a bit of magic you used.”

“I don’t remem—oh!” It all came flooding back to her. “Those panthers! One of them was attacking you, only you—” Her voice trailed off and she rubbed her temples. “I think maybe I have a concussion.”

“The doctor here checked you out. He didn’t see any signs of concussion. And,” Michael motioned to the modest nightgown she wore, “the nurse changed your clothes.”

Sophie looked down as if seeing the gown for the first time and shook her head slightly. “But I thought you turned into a panther, too. That’s impossible. I must have hit my head.”

“No, you didn’t.” Michael took her hands and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. “What you saw was a very strong illusion of a black panther. Remember how Caldwell thought he saw a flaming Sword in my hand?”

Sophie nodded. “But you looked so real.”

Michael looked intently at her and then took a deep breath. “My magic is very old and very strong. I have the ability to create a form from the energy around me. It isn’t sustainable for very long, but while it lasts, the other person will believe the illusion to be solid.”

“Then you weren’t hurt?”

“I was, but I heal pretty quickly.” He unbuttoned his shirt to show her a faint pink scar across his right shoulder that looked weeks old, although it had been only hours ago. “See?”

“What about Pendragon? He wasn’t moving—”

“He’s fine. Or, at least as fine as he can be, since the clansmen decided it might be safer to keep him in his cage. I don’t think they exactly believe that he’s a rare form of a Gila monster.” Michael grinned. “I guess I’ll owe him another gallon of ice cream.”

“Did he find Sigurd? I only saw the panthers.”

Michael shook his head. “Sigurd must have flown over but not landed. His scent is probably what provoked the panthers.”

“The cypress grove grew totally silent just before I got to the clearing,” Sophie said. “I thought I heard a whirring noise, but I didn’t see anything.”

“Sigurd is playing with us,” Michael said, his face growing serious. “I called Smith. He’s going to send a helicopter to pick us up tomorrow and take us to the next destination. Maybe the dragon will lose our scent that way.”

“Good idea,” Sophie replied, “and what is our next destination?”

“New Orleans. There have been so many battles fought there in various wars that I’m thinking a member of the Priory would be drawn to it. Maybe we should have started there in the first place.”

“Even if we don’t find the Sword, I’d like to see what impact the oil spill has had on the bayou habitat,” Sophie said.

“Ever the veterinarian, aren’t you?” Michael teased. “Maybe I should have kept the panther form so you’d try to heal me?”

The image of the powerful panther flitted through her mind. How soft and silky would that beautiful black fur feel over the hard, lithe muscles of the animal? Or, more specifically, how would the smooth skin of Michael’s own muscular form feel? His chest was still bared where he had pulled back his shirt to show her the fading scar, exposing finely chiseled pecs and sculpted biceps. She reached out to place her hand lightly on the almost invisible scar.

“Maybe I’m the one that needs healing,” she said.

Michael stilled, his eyes growing darker. He didn’t move as she trailed her fingertips along the contours of his broad chest. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her courage, and then she slid his shirt off his other shoulder.

Michael raised a brow. “Where are you going with this?”

Sophie felt her face heat, but she managed to hold his gaze. “I want to find out what you are.” She placed her hands against his flat, brown nipples, feeling the sensation of the hard nubs in the center of her palms, comparing it to the smoothness of his skin. Spreading her fingers, she let her hands wander down, exploring the ridges of his tight belly, then resting her hand on the belt of his jeans.

His eyes began to smolder and a corner of his full, sensual mouth quirked up as he slipped his shirt off and then laid his hand over hers. “Allow me.”

Sophie shook her head. “I want to do this.” She felt her hand quiver as she looked down to unzip his pants. ‘I need to be in control of this so that I will never accuse you of coercing me…or spelling me.”

His hand stayed hers once more and he took her chin with his other, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. “You can gladly have your way with me, my sweet Sophie, but know—know—that I will never, ever spell you. In anything. Do you believe me?”

She searched his face. Unlike Robert, who wouldn’t look her in the eye when he was fabricating some half-truth, Michael looked back at her calmly, waiting for her answer. “I—I believe you.”