They found a rhythm together, and it was like nothing Muriel had ever experienced. Every thrust sent pleasure cascading through the bond, feeding back, building on itself. She could feel what he felt—the slick heat of her around him, the pleasure building at the base of his spine. And she knew he could feel her—the overwhelming fullness, the friction, the way every nerve ending sang.
“Muriel—” His hand slid between them, finding where they were joined.
“Yes.” She was flying apart, magic crackling between them, the bond pulling tighter. “Brandon, I can't?—”
“Let go.” He kissed her, deep and consuming. “I've got you.”
The orgasm hit like a tidal wave, pleasure exploding through them both as he emptied into her. For a heartbeat, Muriel couldn't tell where she ended and Brandon began—their magic, their souls, their very beings woven together so completely there was no him and no her, just them.
They collapsed together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Brandon rolled them to the side, keeping her close, his hand stroking lazy patterns down her spine.
She felt his contentment. His love. His absolute certainty that she was everything he'd ever wanted and nothing he’d ever expected to have.
They lay there in comfortable silence, heartbeats gradually slowing. Outside, morning birdsong filtered through the window.
For the first time ever, Muriel felt completely, utterly at peace.
22
HELLO, MY NAME IS …
BRANDON
Brandon lay on his back,one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around Muriel as she traced lazy patterns on his chest. Her hair was a curtain of moonlight across his shoulder, still damp from their earlier exertions. Her satisfaction was a warm glow beneath his ribs.
This was what he'd been terrified of losing.
“Your eyes are different again,” Muriel said softly.
He turned his head to look at her. “What?”
“Your eyes. They're not quite blue anymore. There's green in them—like aquamarine. It's beautiful.”
“Ah.” Brandon brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah. That happens.”
“When you use natural magic?”
“When I channel it heavily, yes. And when the matebond is particularly active.” Smug satisfaction purred deep in his chest. “Which it definitely was.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, studying him with those incredible eyes. “I've been meaning to ask you about that. During the rescue, when we pooled our power—yours felt like mine. Elemental. I thought mage magic was more structured. Precise. You know, based on spell work and doing things a certain way.
“For most mages, that’s true,” he said carefully. “We, like witches, are born with a predilection for magic, but it must be honed through years of study and practice, repetition and discipline.”
“You saidmostmages. Not all?”
“No.” He sat up, and she shifted with him. He loved that she wanted to maintain that closeness. “A rare few are gifted with natural magic as well. It’s what you have, what the Druids practiced. Wild and instinctive, it’s drawn directly from the fabric of the world itself.”
“That’s what you have?”
“Yes.” Brandon took a breath. “All the males of my bloodline do.”
Muriel tilted her head, waiting.
This was it. The secret his family had guarded for generations.
“Myrddin Emrys—commonly known as Merlin—was my direct ancestor. I'm the last known descendant of his bloodline.”
The silence stretched. Muriel's eyes went wide, her mouth opening slightly.