Grace opened the front door half-hoping to find Lance waiting for
her. She wasn't sure if she'd rather take him to bed or plow
her fist into his face. In her current mood, she suspected either
would do.

Instead she stepped inside to see a dark, hulking shape waiting in
her living room. Every muscle instantly knotted. She flicked on
the light.

The shape resolved itself in a massive chunk of granite with a sword
thrust through it.

Grace straightened from her instinctive crouch and dropped her hand
from her holster. "Okay, what the hell is this?" Despite
her irritation, some part of her sang in anticipation. Count on
Lancelot to give her exactly what she desperately needed.

She swung the door closed behind her and stalked toward the stone
with its embedded weapon. She wasn't at all surprised to see an
inscription cut into the granite: Maybe you'd rather be a
Champion.

Grace studied the sword, adrenaline surging through her blood. The
simple cross guard hilt was plain, unadorned, without the gems and
runes she'd seen on Excalibur's. It looked exactly like the
blunted practice weapons Lance had used to teach her swordplay.

Her lips peeled back from her teeth. Without hesitation, she
scrambled up on top of the stone until she could get a good grip on
the sword. "Want to play, Lance?" she muttered, heaving
upward. "Okay, let's play."

The blade pulled free of the rock with a slow, sliding sensation, as
if it had been buried in peanut butter. The instant the point
cleared the granite, light exploded in Grace's eyes, brilliant
and cold. Blinded, she was dimly aware of a spinning sensation she
recognized as a dimensional doorway. Must be a spell generator in
the rock, she thought.

When the purple flashes faded from her dazzled vision, she found
herself standing in a huge space that reminded her of a medieval
castle great hall, complete with arched walls and a curving
staircase running up one side.

"Jesus," she muttered, turning in a slow circle with the
sword still gripped in one hand, "I've been transported into
an Errol
Flynn movie."

A loud, warning creak made her spin warily just as a wooden door
swung slowly open.

Lance sauntered in carrying a sword just like the one she held –
and just as she'd thought, it was a practice sword.

But he'd never dressed like this when she was sixteen.

He wore only a leather loincloth, soft, knee-high boots, and thick
straps buckled around his wrists, biceps and thighs. His skin
gleamed as if oiled. It was the kind of getup that would have
looked utterly ridiculous on another man, but adorning Lancelot's
sculpted body, it looked like an invitation to break a few
commandments.

Grace grinned. "Well, well. If it isn't Leathergod Ken."

He smirked back. "I suppose that would make you Bondage
Barbie."

As she swallowed a bark of laughter, she looked down and realized he
was right. She, too, wore nothing but a few strategically placed
pieces of hide set off by thigh-high boots. "What is this,
Lance?" Grace demanded. "You guys didn't wear this
crap."

"No." He strolled toward her, a wicked glint in his eyes as
he admired her barely clad body. "But then, if any of my
opponents
had looked like you, I might have been willing to."

"Uh huh." She felt a feral smile spread across her face.
God,after the day she'd had, she needed this. "What have you
got
in mind – as if I need to ask?"

"A duel." He lifted the sword, his sherry eyes lighting with
laughter. "Winner fucks the loser."

The fury that bubbled under the tight lid of her control turned her
smile into a savage grin. "That's what I thought."

Leaping forward, she swung her own sword at his head with every
ounce of her strength.

"Jesu, Grace!" He retreated, lithe as a tiger, his blade
shooting up to block hers in an automatic parry that sent a
satisfying jolt up her shoulders. In his eyes was a hint of
offended astonishment, like a big predator suddenly attacked by
something small and delicious that should know better.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to fight." Grace went
after him again, hacking at his head, watching those powerful arms
lift his weapon to beat hers effortlessly away. She licked her
lips, admiring the sheen of torchlight on his oiled skin. "So
let's fight."

"Actually," he gritted, blocking another attack with a
ringing parry, "the operative word in my challenge was
`fuck.'"

Well, they might get around to that, too. Eventually. But all she
wanted right now was to burn off some of the rage roiling in her
belly, wipe out her galling helplessness with a good brawl. And
Lance could give it to her without getting hurt. She didn't have
to hold back. With a happy growl, she banged her blade into his,
enjoying the hard impact of steel on steel as he parried with no
particular effort.

Apparently realizing she needed to work off her anger before he
attempted the seduction he had in mind, Lance circled her, testing
her guard with flicks of his sword. Still, it was obvious what his
primary objective was, just from the hunger in those sherry eyes as
he watched her breasts bounce in the cups of her top. A smile of
sensual anticipation curled his lips. She knew she was no real
contest for him. He could end it in a dozen ways, either through
sheer vampire muscle or his overwhelming experience in gutter fights
spanning the sixteen centuries. And when he did....

Grace felt her nipples harden and rasp against the rough hide of her
bra.

Common sense told her she should throw down her sword and cry off
before he claimed his inevitable prize. Each time that big cock
pumped inside her brought her that much closer to the Gift.

But just as that shaft of sanity penetrated her reckless mood, she
saw Lance's gaze sharpen. Predator that he was, he had no
intention of letting her get away.

He began stalking her. It seemed his every move became a dance of
seduction, muscle rippling under gleaming, oiled skin. When she
inhaled, her lungs filled with the hot scent of leather and Magus.
And her Lineage body responded just as he intended, growing so wet
and ready she was tempted to drop the sword and surrender to
whatever he wanted to do to her.

Instead she lunged at him, refusing to yield, either to her hunger
or her common sense. Her sword slammed against his, skated down the
length of it until Grace was nose to nose with him. "You do know
what I'm going to do to you when I get tired of this?" He
flashed his fangs in a dark smile.

"The question is," she gritted, "what am I going to do to
you?"

He laughed and tossed her back with a thrust of his weapon that
forced her to scramble to keep her feet. As she steadied herself,
he came after her, that smile stretching white and hungry. She
danced away, knowing he allowed it.

"You know, this would be a good time to consider surrender,"
Lance drawled. He wasn't even breathing hard, the bastard. That
wolf-smile broadened. "Spin it out much longer, and I may have to
punish you."

Stung, Grace slammed a quick, hard one-two combination strike
against his blade, trying to knock it aside. She would have had
better luck beating down an I-beam. "You really need your
arrogant ass kicked."

Lance had the gall to laugh. She used the instant's distraction
to snake through his guard. Would have hit him, had not those
vampire reflexes carried him neatly out of the path of her blade.
He shot her that annoyed predator glower again. "I can think of
better uses for all that energy."

"I can't." She attacked again, mostly for the sensual
enjoyment of watching those powerful thighs bunch as he leaped back.

This is stupid, a small voice whispered as she charged recklessly
after him. She ignored it.


Damn, he didn't think he'd ever seen anything more delicious
than Grace wearing nothing but three bits of leather and thigh-high
boots. Her hair had worked free of that French braid, long blonde
wisps floating around her lovely face. A sheen of sweat gleamed on
her thighs and the full curves of breasts that quivered with every
attack and parry. God, there was something about a mock brawl with
a beautiful woman that got his blood pumping. For one thing, there
was the tantalizing prospect of what he'd do for his victory
celebration.

Lance hadn't expected to take this much time getting to that.
He'd intended no more than a couple of exchanges, just enough to
get
past her wary self-control, then a quick disarm and a segue into
seduction.

He had to admit, this was much more fun. He wanted to pin her down
and redirect all that hot passion toward doing something to him
besides taking his head off. Though judging from the way she kept
stealing glances at the massive erection behind his loincloth, she
was already headed in that direction as it was.

Then her recklessness provided him with the chance he was waiting
for. When he blocked one of her wild hacks at his head, she kept
trying to bull past his guard until she slammed chest to chest with
him. Her eyes glittered as she tried to force aside a sword backed
by a vampire's strength.

"Come on, Grace, you know better than that," he said, and
hooked a foot around one of her ankles. She tumbled. He pounced,
locking one hand around her sword wrist and pinning her on the
ground.

Snarling a curse that made his eyebrows rise, she twisted under him,
slim and lithe and wild as an infuriated cat. His cock hardened
even more as his fangs slid to full extension in his mouth. Still
holding her sword arm pinned, he used his free hand to hook one cup
of her leather top and tug it down. A sweet pink nipple popped free.

It was, he saw as his hunger spiraled, almost as hard and eager as
he was. He bent his head to feast.


Grace gasped at the sensation of Lance's wet mouth claiming her
breast. At the same time, his free hand roamed down her body to cup
her sex through her bikini bottom. One long, strong finger slid
under the leather, eased between her lips. Stroked deliciously.
She caught her breath and let her head fall back, arching her body
under his. He felt so damn big, so damn good. Rock hard and sweaty
and strong. And when he touched her, tasted her, the bitterness of
the night fell away.

Stop him before it's too late, the voice of sanity whispered.

But it had been too late since the moment she'd watched him
swagger in wearing only a loincloth and a fine layer of oil.

Besides, she'd only had him once. And she wanted him again.

She fisted her free hand in his dark hair as he devoured her
breasts. His middle finger was buried deep in her sex, while his
thumb strummed her clit. Pleasure curled and snaked through her
veins.

Something wild escaped the tight control she'd kept on it. She
slid a hand up and jabbed a thumb hard into a nerve bundle in his
chest. He jerked away with a gasp. Grace used his momentum to shove
him over on his back and straddle his thighs. Having spotted a
glint of silver in the top of his boot, she reached back to snatch
it free.

It was a dagger. And unlike their swords, it was stiletto sharp.
She grinned.


Sucking in a breath, Lance looked up to see her crouching across his
hips with his knife in her hand. "Oooh," she purred. "I wonder
what you were gonna use this for?"

He lifted a brow. "Surely you don't think I'll tell
you?"

"You don't have to." A wild-thing smile curled her lips.
"I know exactly what you had in mind. Something like...."
She
slid the knife's sharp blade between the leather cord of his
loincloth and his skin. "This." A flick of her wrist cut
the cord
as she flipped the cloth aside with her other hand, revealing his
cock, straining toward his navel.

Lance licked his lips. "Actually, it wasn't my clothes I
planned to cut off."

That wicked smile widened. "Oh. You mean...." She reached
down and cut the cord around her own waist at one hip.
"...this."
The triangle of leather drooped even as a second flick of the knife
cut the cord on the other side. She whipped the bottoms off. With
the same breathtaking ruthlessness, she sliced the cords holding up
her top. Her lovely breasts bounced free, pink-tipped and gleaming
with sweat. "And this."

He swallowed, taking in Grace's lush body dressed only in leather
boots. His shaft jerked against his belly, heavy and
hungry. "Yes," he managed, his voice strangled. "I
think I did have something like that in mind."

"Too bad." She reached for his cock and aimed it skyward as
she rose off his thighs. Pressing the rounded head to her nether
lips, she sank slowly down, impaling herself. "Because I seem to
have won, and we're going to do what I want."

God, she felt so hot and tight and wet. Long, luscious thigh
muscles bunched as she rose off him and bent forward. Lance was
still gasping at the sensation when he felt the cool edge of the
knife against his throat. He jerked in shock and stared up at her,
about to knock the blade away. But the look in her eyes was more
wickedly sensual than threatening, so he stayed his hand.

"You're at my mercy, Sir Lancelot," Grace purred.
"Are you going to be a good, obedient captive?"

He was strongly tempted to roll her over, tie her up with what was
left of her bikini, and show her who was whose captive. Instead he
arched his hips and slid slowly deeper. "Your wish is
my ...pleasure."

Her soft mouth fell open at the sensation as her eyelids drifted to
half-mast. "Good. Ohhh, good." A pink tongue flicked out to
wet tempting lips. She bent until her breasts hung lusciously over
his mouth and pressed the knife's cool mock threat to his throat.
"Then suck my nipples, captive."

With a groan of hunger, he lifted his head and obeyed the rough
command, swirling his tongue over and around each hard little peak
in turn as he simultaneously rolled his hips upward, driving his
shaft even deeper into her slick, clamping depths.

His head spun. She felt so damn good. He couldn't remember the
last time a woman had turned the tables on him so deliciously. Two
of a kind, he thought, drowning in heat as he stroked harder,
faster. They were two of a....



Lance bucked against her, his skilled mouth locked on the tip of one
quivering breast. The raw, unbelievable pleasure made her shiver.
Made her burn.

Until she had to have more.

Grace threw the knife aside with a flick of her wrist and leaned
back to grab both ankles. Circling her hips, she ground down hard on
his thick width. "God, Lancelot," she whimpered. "You
make me...."

"Yeah," he said roughly, deepening his rolling thrusts.
Strong male hands clamped over the tops of her thighs, holding her
captive for his cock. His voice dropped to a guttural purr,
rumbling an incomprehensible torrent of words in a language that
hadn't been spoken in centuries. She could feel her orgasm
building, hot and cold and blinding, a corkscrew of pleasure
twisting up her spine. Until she heard herself begging in a hoarse,
broken voice. "Lancelot, God, please...."

"Yessss." A big hand snapped up, wrapped around the base of her
skull, and jerked her down. Then his mouth pressed against her
throat with the quick, dark pleasure-pain of his fangs sinking into
her pulse.

She jolted in surprise, but she was caught in those powerful arms,
impaled on his shaft. Helpless.

He began to feed as he fucked, his mouth moving hot on the thin skin
of her throat as his body jolted hers. Burning, prickling waves of
pleasure spread from the contact points of his cock and fangs.
Grace keened at the furious storm of sensation.

Arching his spine, he forced his full length to the balls and held
it there, growling out his orgasm against her pulse. Her climax
exploded through her body in a shower of hot sparks to burst from
her mouth in a helpless scream. "Lancelot!"



Long minutes passed before Lance became aware of the press of cold
stone against his back and the heat of a limp, sated woman draped
over his chest. "Grace?"

She moaned but didn't stir.

He rolled carefully over with her, laid her down just long enough to
rise to his feet. "Floor's cold," she said grumpily.

"I know." He bent and picked her up again. She draped an
arm around his neck and curled in his arms as he walked through the
castle doorway and into his own opulent bedroom.

Putting her down on the furs piled in barbaric luxury on his massive
bed, he slid in next to her. When he gathered Grace against him, he
discovered she was already asleep.

It didn't take him long to follow.



END SCENE