Lionheart (Moonshadow Book 3)

  From New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Thea Harrison comes the final story in her spellbinding Moonshadow trilogy…

  King Oberon reigned over his Dark Court in Lyonesse for centuries until an assassination attempt laid him low. Now he lies unconscious in his snow-bound palace while his Power battles the enchantment that threatens to end his life.

  A skilled trauma surgeon and magic user, Dr. Kathryn Shaw reigns at the top of her profession in New York. Then comes a challenge she can’t resist—she is asked to cure the incurable. Just getting close enough to try healing Oberon is a dangerous proposition. When she does reach him, he awakens too soon.

  Roused from darkness by Kathryn’s presence, Oberon confronts the beautiful stranger who claims she wants to save his life. But the enchantment has frozen his emotions. How can he learn to trust her when he can’t feel anything?

  Oberon’s desire is icy, devoid of all tenderness. Not only must Kathryn match wits with him, she must also fight her reaction to his touch, because there is so much more at stake than her own endangered heart.

  For the Dark Court faces its most deadly peril yet. Its ancient enemy Isabeau, Queen of the Light Court, is obsessed with its annihilation, and Oberon must be brought to remember his loyalty and affection for his people.

  Because if he won’t fight for them, Lyonesse itself may very well be destroyed…

  Lionheart

  Thea Harrison

  Lionheart

  Copyright © 2018 by Teddy Harrison LLC

  ISBN 13: 978-1-947046-09-2

  EPUB Edition

  Cover design by Frauke Spanuth

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Praise for Moonshadow

  “Moonshadow is exactly what I expect of a Thea Harrison story, a stay-up-all-night read. Marvelous characters, lots of action and romance, and just the right touch of humor. This one goes on my keeper shelf. I loved this book.”

  ~ Patricia Briggs—#1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson series

  “Moonshadow hits all the right checkmarks on my must-have paranormal romance list: an Alpha hero, a heroine who kicks butt, worldbuilding that just keeps getting better, and a steamy plot that pulls me in from the first page!”

  ~ Carrie Ann Ryan—NYT Bestselling Author of Wolf Betrayed

  “I loved this book. Moonshadow is Thea Harrison at her finest. I haven’t been this excited since Dragon Bound!”

  ~ Kristen Callihan—USA Today bestselling author

  “A brilliant new chapter in an enthralling saga! Moonshadow kicks off a new trilogy in Thea Harrison’s fantastic Elder Races series. With a compelling heroine entering this world, this is a perfect place for readers to step into the ongoing story. The hero is intense, the heroine clever, and the sexual tension sizzling. Can’t wait to find out what happens next!”

  ~ Jeffe Kennedy, Award Winning Author of The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms

  “I’m already addicted to Thea Harrison’s new world of Arthurian alpha warriors—especially after an American kick-ass heroine with serious magic powers teaches them a lesson about 21st century women!”

  ~ Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author of When Beauty Tamed the Beast

  “Scorching chemistry, perfect pacing & memorable characters sent me on a roller coaster ride of emotions! I want to live in the Moonshadow world.”

  ~ Katie Reus, New York Times bestselling author of Breaking Her Rules

  “Moonshadow is a beautiful book and exactly what I needed—hot romance, wild sex and a happy ending. Please don’t miss anything written by Thea Harrison. She is a wonder.”

  ~ Ann Aguirre, New York Times bestselling author

  “Thrilling and deliciously sexy, Moonshadow is a smart, action-packed introduction to a new adventure in Harrison’s complex and compelling Elder Races world. Intrigue goes hand-in-hand with an addictive romance that will please new and established readers alike. I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

  ~ Elizabeth Hunter, bestselling author of the Elemental Mysteries series

  “A breathless, rollercoaster ride of a tale, complete with a fierce, capable heroine and a powerful hero worthy of her in every way. The bonds of love, trust, and friendship are stretched and sometimes snapped in a war of attrition that crosses time and worlds. Thea Harrison blows the doors off with some rollicking good storytelling in Moonshadow.”

  ~ Grace Draven – USA Today bestselling author of Radiance

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for Moonshadow

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Look for these titles from Thea Harrison

  Chapter One

  London, 1811

  The attack happened at one of those bloody masques King Oberon and his Dark Court had once been so fond of hosting.

  Those of the Elder Races—along with a select few humans chosen for their Power and political influence—traveled from around the world to attend Oberon’s masques, and all England knew that whatever the weather, snow always fell in the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens on the winter solstice.

  The guests were treated to a lavish array of exotic foods and mulled wine, magic, and mystery, all served by attendants dressed in spotless, intricately embroidered white uniforms. Intrigues always occurred along with intimate conversations amid the entertainment. Illicit affairs were pursued in the shadows. Treaties were born and sometimes broken, and there was always the opportunity to forge new alliances.

  But mostly the annual festival was Oberon’s way of saying fuck you to his greatest enemy, Isabeau and her Light Court. The richness of the revelry, the contrived excess—it all said, we dance in spite of you. We thrive.

  Until at one masque, Oberon stood watching a swirl of costumed dancers. As he cast a silent spell, large flakes of clear ice drifted down from a cloudless midnight sky as if the frozen stars themselves fell to earth.

  The flakes reflected pagan color from nearby bonfires until the air glittered with brilliant gold and piercing light. All dancers came to a halt, and everyone stared upward in awe while fey music raced through the clearing at a hectic pace.

  Laughter broke out along with applause, even among the most Powerful and jaded of the guests. Oberon smiled to see one pretty Vampyre reaching up with a slender white hand to catch a flake. She stared, eyes wide with wonder as the glittering ice melted in her fingers.

  A sharp sting pierced Oberon’s neck along with a sense of alien magic. It broke his concentration, and the weather
spell fractured.

  His reactions were swift and catlike, but even as he slapped one gloved hand over the spot and focused fiercely on it, the brief pain faded. He spun around, his gaze racing over the crowd.

  It had been an attack. He had no doubt.

  His gaze fell on one individual, a tall, handsome man in elegant evening attire, wearing a plain black domino. The man held a hollow reed between the fingers of one gloved hand.

  His direct hazel gaze met Oberon’s. “I have killed you on the orders of the Light Fae Queen, and I must say I am sorry for it.”

  Oberon’s lips drew back in a snarl. A roar burst from his throat as he lunged forward to slaughter the transgressor. Even as he sprang forward, an intense wave of dizziness struck him down.

  Sharp voices soared overhead like the raw screech of hunting hawks. He recognized Nikolas and Gawain even as he turned his focus inward again, searching for that deadly thread of alien magic.

  There it was, the enemy that had invaded his body. The magic wriggled deeper, seeking to enter his bloodstream. Where it touched, coldness spread.

  Panicked hands gripped his arms, and another, more feral voice intruded upon his awareness: Robin. “Sire, what happened?”

  “Assassins,” he managed to hiss.

  He did not need to say more. His knights roared through the milling crowd, cutting short the festivities with drawn swords. Trusting them to do their jobs, he closed his eyes and concentrated everything on stopping the malicious spell from completing its work.

  Time passed while he tried spell after spell to counteract the attack. The masque ended early, and everyone went home. Over the next few weeks his knights roamed the streets of London, hunting the Light Queen’s Hound, Morgan le Fae, for that was who the assassin had been. They never located the sorcerer. He had simply vanished, apparently into thin air.

  Oberon retreated to the country, then eventually back to Lyonesse, where he continued to search for ways to eradicate the magic that attacked him from within. Some spells seemed to work, at least temporarily, and for a while the progress of the magic halted.

  He gained a measure of respite

  Weeks, months. Even years.

  But each time, after a period of stasis, the bastard evil that invaded his body reawakened and burrowed deeper, always aiming for his heart.

  It caused undeniable damage. He could feel himself changing. The closer the magic came to his heart, the colder he grew. Colder in his thinking, in his emotions. He grew crueler, more calculating.

  Once he had taken lovers who had longed for his touch and chased him for another taste of the ecstasy he had given them. As he changed, he took conquests, and although the pleasure he brought them was extreme, they did not beg for his return when he left.

  After a few more years, he and his court stopped hosting the annual masque, and the Elder Races found a new popular venue in the Wyr demesne located in New York.

  Oberon could see his changes reflected in the growing reserve in the eyes of those he had once considered his intimates. His family. They began to withdraw, and he didn’t care. His fight for survival was easier that way. He was growing to distrust them anyway.

  The magic burrowed deeper until it pressed against his heart. Finally he acknowledged he had to try a last, desperate gamble to save his own life.

  He gathered the senior members of his court together—Nikolas, Gawain, Annwyn, and the others. The puck Robin came too, to bear witness.

  “The sorcerer’s spell has almost won,” Oberon said to them. “I’m losing control over my own magic. I must try to put myself into a deep sleep, for if I can stop my own heart from beating, his cursed spell might not gain victory. In the meantime, you must leave the palace while you can. I… no longer trust myself.”

  His cousin Annwyn clasped him in a tight hug, and he allowed it out of respect for the memory of how he had once loved her.

  “We will never stop fighting,” she told him, her green eyes fierce. “Not for you, and not for Lyonesse. Rest well, Oberon, and know that you will awaken again.”

  She would make a splendid queen for the Daoine Sidhe should he die. He almost killed her right then and there, but that act would have been anathema to the man he had once been, and he would not let the damned sorcerer’s spell dictate the actions of the man he had become.

  Stepping back from her embrace, he watched as they left.

  The puck had lingered behind the others, his thin frame lost in shadow. When they were gone, he crept out.

  Oberon said slowly, “Guard this place and watch them.”

  Robin’s eyes gleamed. “As you wish, sire.”

  But the question was, could he still trust the puck? He was among the people Oberon had loved and trusted once. He could no longer feel those emotions, but he still had the memory of them.

  How could he trust his own instincts when he could no longer tell how the spell was affecting him?

  In the end, much as he hated it, there was nothing left for him to do but let go. Retreating deep into the palace, he cast the stasis spell that would plunge him into darkness.

  There, full of rage, he slept and dreamed of vengeance.

  Chapter Two

  New York, present day

  When the Lord of the Wyr issued a summons to those he kept on retainer, one responded with as much immediacy as one could manage. While Dr. Kathryn Shaw was no exception to that rule, she also refused to walk out of surgery to accommodate his demands.

  “Tell him I’m busy,” she said tersely to the nurse who had delivered the message to the operating room over the intercom.

  As she spoke, Kathryn eyed the mangled leg in front of her with a frown. The leg belonged to a twelve-year-old boy who had taken a bad fall while trespassing on a construction site. It was a tricky operation that needed a combination of both magic and physical surgery—which was the only kind of case that Kathryn took on anymore—but she had her favorite surgery team with her, everyone worked really well with each other, and the boy stood a good chance of a near total recovery if Kathryn got it right.

  So she would get it right.

  A few minutes later the dragon himself broke into her mind. Kathryn, I need you at Cuelebre Tower, Dragos said telepathically. Get here as fast as you can.

  She paused, frustrated, and when the nurse beside her gave her an inquiring glance, she held up a gloved finger and shook her head.

  Everyone else in the world had a telepathic range of ten or fifteen feet—everyone but Dragos. His telepathic range was over a hundred miles, and Kathryn had had cause to regret that more than once in her professional life.

  She snapped, And I said I was busy. Is anybody on fire? Are any of the sentinels near imminent death?

  No, Dragos growled.

  Well, I’m in the middle of surgery, and as I’ve told you before, I don’t care for telepathic interruptions when I’m operating.

  The Wyr Lord was frustrated too. She could hear it in his voice. Can’t you hand the surgery to someone else on your team?

  She could, but she wouldn’t. She told him, You wouldn’t want me to walk out if I were operating on you, would you?

  As she had, in fact, recently operated on him, that hypothetical was more than a little potent. While in a battle to rescue his kidnapped wife, Dragos had been shot several times and taken a few hits to the chest. One of the bullets had come close to penetrating the truly spectacular protective casing around his powerful heart.

  By his pause, she suspected he was thinking of that injury too. No, of course not.

  Then don’t expect me to do it to someone else, she said. If you don’t have a clear-cut medical emergency for me to respond to, then you pick up your damn phone and call or text—and if I say you have to wait, you have to wait. Is that clear?

  Well, get here directly after surgery.

  Of course. But right now I’ve got a twelve-year-old boy’s leg to save, so get out of my head—and stay out. She inhaled deeply to get rid of the stress, then turn
ed her total attention back to the boy on her table.

  Three hours and twenty-six minutes later, she finished and stepped back to let Angus close for her. Euphoria and relief flooded her tight body. Rotating her head to release the tension in her neck and shoulders, she stripped off her operating gown, gloves, and mask, and headed out.

  It had been a good afternoon’s work. Better than good. It had been great. She would have a better idea of the boy’s prognosis after his body had fully absorbed the spells, but when she felt this good about a surgery, she was rarely wrong about it later. She was pretty sure he would regain full mobility.

  But it was too soon to tell his anxious parents that. For now it was enough to simply tell them she was pleased that the surgery had gone very well. While she briefed them, she multitasked and drank a hot, bracing cup of coffee. After promising to check on his post-op recovery that evening, she was finally able to head up to the hospital roof.

  As she climbed the stairs, she texted Dragos. Out of surgery. On my way. Be there in 20.

  His response was almost immediate. How is the boy?

  That last caused her to shake her head and snort. Just when she got to thinking the Wyr Lord was a total self-absorbed ass, he switched things up on her. She answered him rapidly. Doing well.

  Excellent. Come to the meeting hall when you get here.

  Understood.

  Once she reached the rooftop, she shapeshifted into her Wyr form, a falcon, and launched into flight.

  She loved flying over New York. The cold, keen autumn wind blew away the last of the hospital scents while the huge, glittering city sprawled beneath her. New York City had been home to Kathryn for many years. She knew its moods and seasons, and she’d watched the skyline evolve. Flying over Central Park was especially glorious since all the trees were displaying their fall foliage in brilliant canopies of crimson, yellow, and orange.

  The eighty-story-tall Cuelebre Tower was an unmistakable landmark and as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Swooping down to the roof, she shapeshifted back into her human form and headed for the stairs.