Free Master of Shadows by Angela Knight Page A

so intensely aware of the sensual intimacy of the act.
    Maybe it was the way Tristan looked at her as he drank, as if he wished he were taking it from her throat as they lay naked in each other’s arms.
    Well, he was a guy, after all. Tristan might be an immortal Knight of the Round Table, but he was still most definitely male.
    She sank down on the sectional couch and sipped her beer. She could have used something with a little more kick, but getting buzzed with Tristan giving her that erotic stare struck her as a very bad idea.
    As he proved when he sat down next to her on the sectional. She thought about pointing out just how many other seats were available on the two L-shaped couches, but decided not to bother. He wouldn’t move—and she really didn’t want him to.
    “So, Miranda.” Tristan took another slow, sensual sip, closing his eyes as if savoring the taste. The faint smile on his face sent another little erotic buzz zapping through her body. “How are we going to find her? Justice said she’d disappeared.”
    Belle frowned, distracted from the heat swirling around them. “Do you think Warlock got her?”
    He shrugged in a lift of those deliciously broad shoulders. “It’s possible. Justice said her parents were murdered and her house burned. Could be Warlock’s work. But then again, she could have gotten away and gone into hiding. We need to talk to Justice and see what we can find out.”
    “Tomorrow night,” Belle said. “It’s getting a little late. The sun’s almost up.” Tristan would enter the Daysleep as it rose, whether he liked it or not.
    “Yeah.” He took another slow sip as if he had all the time in the world.
    “Shouldn’t you be heading home?”
    “Trying to get rid of me?”
    “Considering you’ll be passing out in about twenty minutes, you need to find your own bed.”
    “Guess I do.” Deliberately, he drained the glass of its last drop and rose.
    Relieved, Belle escorted him to the door. “I’ll talk to Justice in the afternoon, see what I can find out about Miranda. Maybe I’ll be able to cast a tracking spell.”
    Tristan met her gaze, his own suddenly all business. “Don’t go after her until I can join you. You don’t want to run into Warlock by yourself.”
    “Not really, no.” When he just stared at her, she sighed. “I’ll wait for you, Tristan.”
    “See that you do.” With that, he strode off into the predawn gleam.
     
    Tristan’s house was a sprawling one-story building in the Arts and Crafts style, all beige stone and dark wood. Square wooden columns with stone bases supported the roof of a wide porch that wrapped around the front of the house.
    The decor was just as aggressively masculine. The furniture was downright massive, tending toward big leather and wood pieces set off by wrought iron light fixtures and dark hardwood floors. Gwen had designed the house for him back in the nineteenth century after she’d convinced him that his Tudor-era monstrosity was on the verge of falling down around his ears.
    Thing is, the house was just too damned big for one occupant, and it had a tendency to echo, especially on the rare occasions he was both home and occupying his bed alone.
    Now, as he waited in his king-sized bed for the sun to rise, Tristan stared at the slowly brightening stained-glass window above his bed, remembering the vivid taste of Belle. It was just blood , he told himself. I drink it all the time .
    Majae blood always had a kick, a delicious fizz of magic and vitality unlike anything he’d ever tasted in his mortal days. Every Maja’s blood was just slightly different, in subtle, delightful ways.
    But Belle’s was more intense. More erotic.
    More .
    It seemed to burst on his tongue, distilled feminine sensuality, sizzling magic, and that lush something that was pure Belle.
    He knew he must have tasted her before. Probably several times, considering that Majae often bottled their blood as gifts, donated it to the Lord’s Club, or