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Alarm shot through him. He knew enough about spells to understand Tamsin’s had turned on her.

Sometimes witches could lose their way when traveling like this.

Sometimes they could be lured away or ambushed.

Fighting a crawling sense of panic, he grasped her hands tight, letting her feel his strength. “I am your anchor. Come back to me.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she sat like a figure made of wax, her lips parted and her eyes closed. The only sign of life was the straining tendons in her wrists as she clutched at him. Gawain swallowed hard as an old, bad, angry fear clawed him from the inside.

He caught his breath, forcing his mind clear.

It had been too long since he’d used magic of any kind, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

He loosed one hand to reach up and touch Tamsin’s cheek.

Her skin was cool, and that meant she was losing ground to the spell.

He cursed, a fierce rush of protectiveness pushing all other emotions aside.

His gaze roved over her still, pale face, lingering on every delicate curve.

“Listen to me, Tamsin Greene,” he said, his voice loud in the hushed candlelight. “You have a fierce will. It’s up to you to fight your way back.”

There was no sign she heard. Not one. He cursed silently—she was growing colder by the second.

He rose from the spindly chair, still holding one of her hands.

He was afraid of breaking the connection between them, unsure what would happen if he did.

Slowly, he moved around the small table and knelt beside her, hoping the closer contact would help.

“Come back to the sound of my voice, Tamsin. I’m not going to let you go.

As long as you can hear me, you’re not lost.”

He was drawing on scraps of knowledge he’d tried to forget—stories of lost souls who had to be coaxed back to their bodies like wandering lambs, lured with the promise of safety, warmth and light. Only the strongest made it back. As for the rest...

“This is not so simple as a dragon or a troll. I can’t ride to your rescue with sword and spear. This is your fight, but I will stay with you. I am at your side, Tamsin Greene, and I will not leave.”

But then he stopped talking because it was doing no good. She was still growing colder. Gawain needed to do more. His buried power stirred like some serpent waking at the bottom of his soul, but neglect and denial had blunted its fangs. He could expect no help there.

Operating on instinct, he gathered Tamsin in his arms and carried her to the bed on the other side of the tiny apartment.

Her golden hair spilled over his arm in a cascade of silk, the brush of it firing his every nerve.

She was very, very female, soft and slender, and rounded in all the right places.

The scent of her called to his blood, a wild, primitive summons so ancient it had no words.

Desire rose, clouding his head like strong drink.

Keeping his focus was going to be the very devil.

He paused beside the wide bed, taking in the nest of pillows and brightly colored throws.

This was her private haven. Feeling like an intruder, Gawain set Tamsin down, arranging her limbs so that she looked comfortable.

She lay still, pale and cold, a sleeping nymph in her bower.

Unable to stop himself and needing to keep physical contact, he smoothed the hair from her face, deeply aware of the soft perfection of her skin.

Simply putting Tamsin to bed would not be enough.

Through the thin fabric of her blouse, he could detect shivers rippling through her, a sign that the unnatural cold went deep inside.

He needed to warm her, and quickly. Gawain piled the covers around her, but it had no effect.

Finally, he peeled off his jacket and shirt and climbed into the bed beside her.

Desire pounded through him with the urgency of a war drum, but this was not the time for conquest. This was the time to protect.

He drew her close, cradling her head on his shoulder and heating her with his own warmth, willing his warrior’s strength into her soul.

It grew roasting hot beneath the blankets—too much for Gawain’s comfort—but Tamsin’s teeth stopped chattering only when the temperature reached tropical heights.

She curled on her side, head tucked beneath his chin.

She was a perfect fit against him, their position forming a long line of body-to-body contact ideal for counteracting the spell.

Temptation goaded Gawain, torturing body and mind, but he spent the time talking nonsense and hoping the sound of his voice would do some good.

The candles were guttering before he detected the slightest change.

The heavy feel of the spell dissipated from the air, letting the sounds of traffic and voices drift up from the street below.

Tamsin’s breathing quickened, fingers fluttering across his chest. Gawain was wide-awake, too worried even to drowse, but her sudden movement still caught him by surprise.

Wild relief stormed through him and his hand went to her hair, stroking it before he knew what he was doing.

She raised her head slowly, blinking in surprise. Shock spread over her face as she realized he was half-naked beside her. Gawain bit back a chuckle.

Tamsin threw off the covers, rising to her hands and knees, then looked down at herself, clearly noting that she was still dressed. “You held me.” She looked up, her dark eyes somber. “That’s all you did.”

“I hope from now on you will think better of me,” Gawain replied quietly.

She cleared her throat, a small, nervous sound. “Thank you.”

“What happened to you?”

“Give me a minute,” she said, her expression so vulnerable it made his chest hurt.

The physical pull of her swamped Gawain’s reason. He’d lain next to her for hours, and so much contact had wound him to a painful pitch. Still, he read the awkward uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you want me to go?”

She shook her head. “I’m not ready to be alone yet.”

“Then I would like to kiss you,” he said, drowning in the heat still trapped between their bodies. He had held himself in iron restraint, but his discipline was spent.

Tamsin gave a startled jerk. “What?”

“I want to kiss you,” he repeated.

“Oh.” She hesitated so long he was certain she would push away. But then she gave a slow blink that changed the knot in his gut to a liquid heat lower down. “If you’re sure you want to.” The statement was half a tease, but there was a painful honesty in it, too.

“I am.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I can think of nothing more pleasant right now.”

She sank down onto one hip, her mouth curving into a bemused smile. “Really?”

Her expression was shy, but she tilted her mouth up to his, inviting him.

It was something Gawain had never expected after she’d thrown him out just last night, and he wasted no time.

He 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 defense.

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 taste—it was in who she was.

Her teeth nipped at his lower lip, inviting him to explore.

He didn’t 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.

Few came back from losing their way in a vision. He had to respect her strength.

Gawain rolled to his knees, pulling her up with him. His fingers tangled in her long, sun-bright hair. He loved the thick, shining wealth of it. Wanted it against every inch of his skin.

The movement had broken their kiss, but still their breath mingled. Tamsin was panting, eyes hazed and lips swollen. Gawain held her gently, not sure of her yet, not certain what pleased her. She was a puzzle he was determined to solve, but he would do it the right way.

“More?” he asked.

“More,” she whispered, a bare movement of air shaped by that lovely mouth. At the same time, her hands were stroking the muscles of his abdomen.

Gawain groaned. His body ached with need as he traced the edge of Tamsin’s collar with his fingertip.

The blouse was prim and tempting at once, and his fingers found their way to the top button that sat at the notch of her collarbone.

They were small buttons for his big fingers, but determination was a powerful thing.

The softness beneath was a more than adequate reward.

There was a delicate undergarment beneath and he bent, pressing his lips to the curve of lace cradling her breast. He slid his hands down, cupping her backside, ready to sink into her.

Ready to give in to an attraction that broke every one of his rules. Tamsin was a witch, and they were all but strangers. The aftermath of magic had them in its thrall.

A flicker of caution broke through the haze of arousal.

When he raised his eyes to Tamsin’s, he saw the same hesitation in her eyes.

They had come a long way toward mutual trust, but they were not there yet.

Gawain snapped his mouth shut before he unleashed a dragon of a curse.

To take her now would be the act of a wastrel.

He released her, sliding off the bed and grabbing his shirt. Tamsin watched his retreat with startled eyes that quickly darkened to hurt. “Did you suddenly remember I’m a witch?”

That caught him off balance. He wanted her to the point of painful frustration. “That is not my concern at the moment.”

“Then what is?” She sank down on the bed, her hands folded between her knees like a child.

Gawain went still, not sure how to frame what he needed to say. “You were in trouble. I held you. If I make love to you now, you will regret it after. Gratitude only goes so far.”

Tamsin’s cheeks colored. Her jaw set in a way that said he’d struck close to the quick. “Maybe you’re right.”

“It happens after a battle. Danger makes us crave intimacy.” He pulled the shirt over his head, ignoring the pang of disappointment hollowing his chest. “Did you see the tombs?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Gawain ducked his head so she wouldn’t see the frustration crushing him. His fist tightened, but there was nothing to punish. She had tried, and nearly lost her life doing it. “I thank you for the attempt.”

“Not so fast,” she replied. “I saw the books I was after and I think I saw your missing friend. They might be in the same place.”

Gawain looked up at her. There was a look of triumph that hadn’t been in her eyes a moment ago.

He thought he’d ended the dance between them, recalled himself to duty, but she’d just changed the rules.

Gawain found himself giving in to a slow smile.

Tamsin really was full of the unexpected. “You found Angmar?”

“Maybe.” She rose from the bed, moving slowly as if every joint ached. “But getting him back isn’t going to be easy. The place is guarded by a heavy-duty magic user with an affinity for frost.”

Gawain sobered in an instant. “Mordred. Cold is his trick. By the saints, he was the one who attacked you!”

A shadow of fear crossed her features. “He didn’t win, though.”

“Maybe.” He took her hand, cradling her delicate fingers in his. This time, the warm physical contact was for his benefit. He needed tangible proof that she was safe and well. He wasn’t leaving her unguarded, even if that meant sleeping outside her door.

He met her eyes, holding her deep brown gaze. “Mordred never counts a battle over until he is the victor. Victory to him always means death.”