He drew his silver-coated blade the moment his feet touched the cobblestones. Nary a lantern lit the crumbling brick buildings that lined the fog-shrouded street, but enough moonlight shone from the heavens to outline the shaggy mane of the lion that crouched across from him. The beat of enormous wings ruffled his hair and he cast a glance at the coachman, who appeared to be losing his battle with the giant bird that harried him from above with beak and talons.

The lion shifted to man, a jagged scar from temple to jaw ruining his even features. “Give us the relic and you won’t be harmed.”

Gareth smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Within a blink, the man shifted back to lion and pounced. Gareth stepped into the charge and crouched, his sword held two-handed above him, slicing the underbelly of the beast as it flew over his head. He heard a growl of surprise and then a thud as the lion slammed into the side of the coach. Gareth spun to his feet, head low, sword at the ready.

But the lion appeared to be stunned, lying unmoving on the cobbles. Then the carriage rocked, and more growls could be heard from within. The horses reared and strained at their traces and Gareth feared they would bolt.

“My lady,” he shouted as he leapt forward. Concern for her safety caught him unawares. Fire raked his shoulder as the bird attacked from overhead with its talons. Gareth didn’t even look up. Just thrust his sword as high above his head as he could. A satisfactory caw of pain followed his strike; a few black feathers rained down.

“My sword is edged with silver,” warned Gareth. “And you fight with a knight of the Round Table. This will be your only chance to cry mercy.”

The sound of a laughing caw from overhead made his heart twist with sadness. He had done so much killing over the centuries. He tired of it. But it seemed that neither beast nor man would ever change.

The bird dove. Gareth could hear the arrow-sharp swiftness of its flight as it cut the air. He had no time for finesse, for he feared for his lady. The snarls from within the coach had died. So as he spun aside from the bird’s attack, he savagely struck with his sword, slicing off the beast’s wing. It flew in one direction as the body rolled off into another.

It had taken but seconds.

Gareth sprinted for the carriage as the coachman toppled from his perch, the frightened horses finally reaching their breaking point. He managed to catch the brass handrail as the team lunged forward. His legs scrabbled beneath him and his muscles strained until he found purchase with his feet and swung himself into the driver’s box. He cursed as he hauled on the reins, then lowered his voice to a reassuring tone as the horses slowed, sweating and shivering from their flight.

Gareth tied the reins securely to the bar and swung back down to the street. “My lady?”

The door had broken from its top hinges and swung drunkenly open before him. He could see nothing inside the pitch-black interior.

“He ruined my dress,” snapped that sultry voice.

Gareth smiled with relief and held out his hand. The moonstone winked from the relic on her wrist as she grasped his fingers and ducked out the door. He froze for a moment, surprised by the shock that went through him from her touch. His body must still be stimulated from battle, as he’d never quite experienced any feeling like that before.

She twisted from his hold and he covered his disappointment with words. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, the rest of her carefully sculpted coiffure falling apart, allowing her black hair to tumble down her shoulders like a river of night. “It’s his blood, not mine.” She wiped ineffectually at several dark spots.

“Whose?”

“That shape-shifter from the ball. A tiger, I think, but it happened all too fast to tell for sure.”

Gareth went down to one knee. “Forgive me, my lady, for failing to protect you.”

“Very gallant of you, I’m sure, but I hardly needed your protection. I thought one of my own kind would be more of a challenge, but he fought like an overgrown hyena. And I’ve had plenty of experience with those.”

She confused him. This was the part where she begged him to rise and fell into his arms. When it became apparent that she had no intention of doing so, Gareth stood. How did he seduce a woman tougher than the blade of his sword?

The lady tore off the voluminous sleeve of her gown, grimacing at the tattered cloth before tossing it to the ground. “He was heavy though. It took most of my strength to shove him out the door, and that’s saying a bloody lot.”

“What exactly are you, my lady?”

“I’m not your lady.” She tore off the other sleeve of her gown. He caught it before it hit the ground and used it to wipe off his bloody sword.

“Although I suppose it’s just a habit of yours to address a woman that way.” She eyed him with disbelief. “Lady Chatterly said you were a knight from the Middle Ages. Are you really that old?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t keep the weariness from that word. “Although my body appears not to age. I often wonder what will happen if the spell is ever broken. Will the years catch up to me and turn me to dust? Will the lady of my destiny bring about my salvation or my doom?”

“If you don’t know, why do you keep looking for her?”

Gareth fisted his hands. How could he explain his loneliness to a woman who relied solely on herself? “I long for a mortal life.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t figure why. You’re hurt, you know.”

Gareth glanced at his shoulder. “A flesh wound. And I heal quickly. Another facet of the curse.”

“Don’t tell me. A big black hawk? And perhaps a lion, too?”

He raised a brow. “You know them?”

“No. But I had a feeling they wouldn’t give up without a chase. I suppose I should thank you.”

Gareth shoved his sword back into his scabbard. So much for tumbling into his arms. “You’re welcome,” he replied, sensing it would be the best he would get. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question—oh, never mind. You really don’t expect me to stand about talking when they might have friends following us?”

He shrugged. Hard as ice, and mysterious as well. The lady had probably spoken the truth earlier. He couldn’t imagine her falling hard enough in love with anyone to break a spell. “As you wish. Do you ride?” Gareth walked over to the horses and began to release a gelding from its traces.

“Ordinary horses don’t like shape-shifters. Especially my kind.”

“We will need speed, if we are indeed being pursued by others. Do not worry about the horse. There’s never been one born that I couldn’t handle.” Within minutes he had the gelding freed. Gareth swung up on its back and held out his hand to the lady. The horse nickered and shied away from the girl, but he quickly brought the beast under his control.

“I’m impressed,” she said as she caught his hand and leapt up behind him. She’d barely needed his assistance and he marveled at the strength inherent to shape-shifters. She curled her arms around his waist, but kept her body rigidly away from his back.

Gareth sighed. “Which way, my lady?”

“Oh, do stop calling me that. My name is Millicent. Millicent Pantere. And continue down this street to the old graveyard at Thieves Chapel.”

He smiled as he gently kicked the horse into a walk. He’d been right about her being a were-cat, if her last name was any indication. She couldn’t even answer a personal question outright but had to reveal herself in an obscure manner. He wondered if she was suspicious of men in general, or just him in particular.

When he felt sure the lady would hold her seat, he urged the horse into a gallop. The wind felt good in his hair, the silence of the night a warm cloak around his shoulders. For a brief moment he felt joy in the freedom of their flight. But he remembered another mantle of warmth, from a time so long ago it seemed like one of his dreams. Had he truly once felt the heat of sunshine on his shoulders? Had he galloped through a sun-dappled meadow with a laughing woman’s soft breasts pressed against his back?

He glanced down at his pale hands. Had they once been browned by the sun?

“Pull up,” said Millicent. As soon as they came to a halt, she slid to the ground. “This is the place.”

Gareth looked around at the tombstones wreathed in fog. “This is where you live?”

“Of course not.” She studied him for a long moment, those golden eyes disconcerting in their intensity. “Your sadness is a weight I can almost feel. Perhaps that’s part of what makes you so irresistible to women.”

Gareth’s brows rose in surprise. And pleasure. Perhaps the lady had decided to quit pretending to be unaffected by his charisma. But before he could form a reply, she hitched up her stained and ragged skirts and picked her way down an overgrown path. He removed the halter from the horse and let it free and then followed.

The path led to a crumbling church and Millicent’s steps seemed to lighten as if she neared the safety of home, but Gareth couldn’t imagine anyone living inside. The lack of a roof had allowed weeds and grass to flourish nearly waist high. Near the back of the chapel a portion of the roof still stood, and the lady stopped near a huge slab of stone.

“My eyesight is better in were-form. I shall have to shift to lead you below.”

A hint of worry strained her voice and Gareth couldn’t figure why. Then in a breath she shifted, her clothes transforming into a sleek, black coat of fur, the silver bracelet nothing more than a bump around her front paw. Her tail swished and she half crouched, staring at him with those same amber-gold eyes. He stepped forward as if in a trance, completely unmindful of the size of the cat, for Millicent appeared larger in were-form, her paws bigger now than his own hands.

Gareth slowly held out his fingers as he would have done with any animal, and she sniffed them, her whiskers a gentle tickle on his skin. She seemed to smile at his gesture, and if a panther could laugh, she surely would have. He admired the size of her fangs while he ran his fingers through the soft fur on the top of her head. She purred when he scratched behind her ears.

“You’re magnificent,” he murmured. That shadow of worry in her eyes disappeared to be replaced by arrogant pride.

She twitched her head from beneath his hand and turned, looking back at him from near a black hole at the corner of the slab of stone. Gareth stepped forward and peered inside. A black darker than any night. “We’re going down here to hide?”

She crouched over the edge of the pit and slapped him with her tail. When he stared blankly at her, she snorted and swept the soft end into his hand.

“You don’t mind?”

She rolled her eyes and Gareth shrugged and grasped the end of her tail. Millicent led him below with that guide, and he stumbled along behind her, through what felt like an ever-shrinking tunnel. When he felt as if the weight of the earth would surely crush them both, the passage widened, and shapes began to form to his sight. At first he thought he might be imagining it, but soon it brightened even more until he could see the faint outline of the craggy walls. Some type of glowing plant grew on them to relieve the complete darkness.

Gareth dropped Millicent’s tail. She glanced back at him and then appeared to shrug, as if to say it was his folly. And he did have the devil of a time following her after that. Her black coat melded into the darkness as if a part of it.

But she never allowed more than a few inches between the two of them, leading him around footfalls and sudden chasms. They walked long enough for Gareth to realize that she hadn’t taken him to hide. They appeared to have a destination beyond these tunnels and he felt a bit of excitement stir in his chest. In all his years of living, he’d never been to the Underground, although he’d heard of it, the stories seeming as mythical as others thought the relics to be.

Gareth tried to memorize the direction their path took, but Millicent took so many turns into branching tunnels that he finally gave up. It really didn’t matter if he got lost. He’d wind up back in the relic at dawn.

The outline of her were-form began to glow and he realized that an opening ahead caused that brightening. She stopped at the end of the tunnel and sat back on her haunches, looking over her shoulder at him. He stepped forward and stared.

Fairylights glowed above a cavern so vast he couldn’t see the other side. He’d heard tales of a group of wizards practicing black magic beneath the streets of London, but what spread out before him looked like an entire city. A river branched out into streams, separating the cavern floor into streets, the water looking like a large glistening spiderweb.