Master of Desire (Merlin's Legacy #6) - Angela Knight Page 0,14
snorted. “They can investigate all they want, but it won’t do them any good. There’s no loose magic in this universe for them to detect.”
“You know that, and I know that, but if somebody kidnaps one of my witches, I’m still going to have to get medieval.” Arthur turned back to Branwyn. “Adam could shoot the video, and you could follow us around while we work whatever crisis we’ve got going on. There’s always something. You could do a documentary about our teams, get happy talk from the people we help, and deflate the rumor bubble. Maybe focus on Bill Justice and his wife, since they’re our werewolves. That would take down the temp on the monster thing too.”
Branwyn wasn’t charmed. “Yeah, right. Why me?”
Arthur blinked. “Because you’re one of us?”
Adam and Conal simultaneously winced. Sure enough, she eyed him coldly. “So you think I’ve got a conflict of interest, and you want to use it to manipulate me.”
Arthur’s black brows snapped down. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Uh huh. Look, the military only did embeds during Iran and Afghanistan to control wartime messaging. DCN isn’t a propaganda arm of the US government, and we’re not going to be yours either.”
“So I’m supposed to protect you while you refuse to help me?”
“Oh, we’ll help.” Conal’s hands coiled into frustrated fists as he gave his sister a glower. “I spent five years sleeping with a sociopath to keep you alive.” It was only after he heard the words come out of his mouth that he realized what he’d said. Well, too late now. “You can damn well do a little PR to avoid getting chained to a chair while something guts you.”
Dead silence fell as every eye in the room swung toward him. Even Helena lifted her brows. Branwyn stared. “Aren’t you the one who spent twenty years lecturing me about journalistic ethics?”
“Enact family drama on your own time,” Arthur interrupted. “I’m not telling you to lie.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
Black eyes narrowed dangerously. “We need to show all magic users aren’t killing machines. Otherwise mortals’ll start targeting anyone who can pull a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve dealt with these idiots for fifteen centuries, and I’m telling you, that’s next. My Magekind can gate away when things get hot, but the Direkind and Changelings can’t.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Think about it. What would your audience do if they found out you are Sidhe?”
Conal stared. “The fuck do you mean by that?”
“That wasn’t a threat, even if it sounded like one,” Gwen said, glaring at her husband.
Arthur sighed. “Of course it wasn’t a threat. I just don’t want bigots to start burning Fairies at the stake. I won’t tell Branwyn what to cover or how to cover it.” Turning to Conal, he glowered, resting a hand on Excalibur’s hilt. “But if you don’t turn down that sword right fucking now, I’m going to show you mine -- up close and personal.”
Conal started and turned his head. Darkbane rained violet sparks along his shoulders. “Ahh. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he fought down his defensive anger. Once the sword’s fireworks had dimmed and Arthur dropped his hand from his own, Conal returned his attention to his sister. “‘Wyn, I just want you and Aislyn safe. Surrounding you with Magekind is the best way to do the job.”
“And I just want to tell the public the truth. Or at least, as much of it as we know.” Branwyn huffed out a weary breath. “But you do realize this will make DCN a big fat target for the conspiracy theorists? Half the people in this country are not going to believe anything we broadcast anyway, so it’s not going to solve the problem.”
“No,” Arthur said, “but it’s a start.”
Chapter Three
At last the twins and their Familiars gated off to the Mageverse with Arthur, Gwen and Adam. Which left Conal to take up the slack for the next week or so. Hopefully, nothing too catastrophic would come up while he tried to do his sisters’ jobs as well as his own: run DCN, the Foundation, and Donovan International. The fun never ends.
Helena retreated to the guest room he’d given her to shower and change into clothes Liam had fetched from the palace. Conal followed suit in his own room -- he hadn’t craved a shower so desperately in years. He stood under the spray a long time, letting the hot water pelt him as he fought memories. Watching the werewolf bite into