Master of Smoke

by Angela Knight

  Battling images of Eva being attacked by the werewolf, David held her as she slept. She felt so delicate, so fragile. The idea of some psychotic monster ripping into her made him feel as if he’d been gutted himself.

  Somehow, some way, he was going to find that prick and kill him.

  Another thought pierced his rage, sharp as Eva’s claws. So sharp he felt his rage drain into cold depression.

  I am in deep, deep trouble, and sinking deeper.

  In only a few short hours, Eva had become the center of his fractured universe. The pain he felt at what she’d suffered made that all too clear.

  It was more than sex, more than his delight in her admittedly beautiful body. Hell, he even found her lovely in her werewolf form. Her Fluffy self.

  He snorted amusement at the name. It was a prime example of her skewed sense of humor, especially considering he could sense how deeply uncomfortable she was with being a werewolf.

  If Eva feared it, she made a joke about it.

  Oh, he was definitely in deep, deep trouble. Here he was, one fragment of some other man, waiting for the rest of his mind to return. Would he even exist once they came back?

  Would he still love Eva?

  David winced. And there it was: the trouble. What kind of idiot let himself become obsessed with a woman in a situation like this? All he was doing was setting himself up for more pain.

  If he had any wit at all, he’d keep away from her. Or at least, he’d stay just close enough to protect her from whatever hell Warlock rained down on them.

  He definitely shouldn’t make love to her at every opportunity, ensuring that his obsession with her only deepened.

  Because the deeper he got, the more likely it was to blow up in his face. True, the sheer lush pleasure of loving her might be worth whatever pain he suffered at the end.

  But what if Eva ended up hurt?

  No, that wasn’t acceptable.

  Unfortunately, he strongly suspected he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off her. His arms unconsciously tightened around her, and she sighed in her sleep. Her breath puffed against his mouth, and he looked down at her. God, he wanted to kiss her.

  Idiot.

  David ended up watching the sun rise through the bedroom window, red light spilling across the sky like blood. An omen that was just a little too damned apt.

  Joelle Drake’s delicate hand closed hard around the orange half, squeezing a stream of juice from it with easy Dire Wolf strength. The air smelled of the eggs, bacon, and pancakes she’d just prepared, but she wasn’t hungry. Still, it felt good to be busy, especially since she was making Miranda’s favorite breakfast. The smell of it would hopefully lure the girl off the couch, where she’d been sulking her way through a Bones marathon. Probably looking for grisly inspiration while she plotted matricide.

  Sticking her head around the door frame, Joelle checked on her daughter. She still lay sprawled under an Afghan, looking like a glum ghost. Even the sight of a shirtless David Boreanaz failed to cheer her up.

  Joelle’s lips tightened, and she retreated back into the kitchen to slice another orange in half with a single angry pass of her knife. She’d barely slept the night before, haunted by guilt and worry. She knew her daughter viewed her call to Gerald as the worst kind of betrayal.

  And maybe she was right. Unfortunately, Miranda didn’t realize what Gerald was capable of. Joelle knew from hard, bloody experience. It wasn’t just what he did to Joelle; those injuries would heal.

  It was what he might do to Miranda that had driven Joelle to pick up the phone.

  Grabbing another orange half, Joelle gave it a vicious squeeze, watching it bleed juice into the pitcher. She wished she could get Miranda to accept there was no escape for either of them. Even if Joelle had run away with the girl—and she’d considered it more than once over the years—there was no evading Warlock for very long.

  They’d have to work to support themselves, which meant there was no practical way they could remain together at all times.

  True, as long as Joelle remained with her daughter, the sorcerer would be unable to track them because her resistance to magic would shield the girl. Unfortunately, Randy was a magic user, so she wasn’t immune to spells. The minute the two separated, Warlock would have her. And he’d be pissed, so he’d go after Miranda like a wolf on a lamb. Joelle shuddered, imagining what he’d do to her then.

  Miranda thought she’d seen abuse in Gerald’s slaps and scratches. She had no bloody idea what a werewolf was really capable of. And Warlock—mad, vicious, powerful Warlock—was inclined to do much worse.

  Joelle had tried to explain all that, but Miranda insisted she could find a way to shield herself from Warlock’s magic. Joelle knew better. No spell was that good.

  Judging the pitcher full enough, she put it on the table with the rest of the food and walked to the doorway again. “Miranda, breakfast is ready.”

  Randy didn’t even glance away from the TV. “I told you I’m not hungry.”

  “And I told you you’re going to eat. Get in here.”

  With a sigh, Miranda rose and trudged into the kitchen. She’d always been an obedient child, and the habit had fortunately persisted into adulthood.

  Joelle watched her drop into a chair and mechanically fill her plate. She sat down and followed suit.

  The silence that followed was a sullen thing, but Joelle knew how to break it. “The Chosen ladies are holding a Grieving for Joan Devon. Her husband and daughter were killed a few days ago, and she lost her son at Christmas.” She sighed and forked up a bite of pancake, chewed, swallowed. “That poor woman. So much tragedy.”

  Miranda snorted. “Her son was a serial killer who was killed by the sister of one of his victims, who just happened to be a Maja. As for Joan’s husband and daughter, those two murdered a dozen innocent Latents in a quest for revenge against the Magekind. They would have assassinated Arthur’s son if Logan and his lover hadn’t killed them first. So I’m really not interested in expressing sympathy, when they fucking deserved to die.”

  “Language!” Joelle snapped. The girl had a point, but still.

  Miranda dropped her fork on her plate with a clatter and stared at her with defiant eyes. “Mom, they strapped suicide vests on two human children. Those kids would have died if Logan hadn’t disabled the bombs. That is not exactly the kind of behavior Merlin expects of us.”

  “Regardless of what they did, Joan did nothing—”

  “But she knew what was going on.” Her jaw flexing, Miranda picked up her butter knife and started sawing through her pancakes. “That makes her an accessory.”

  Do you consider me an accessory, too? Joelle didn’t dare ask the question. “But she’s one of us, Miranda. She’s a lady of the Chosen, and ladies of the Chosen stick together.” We have to, because we’re the only defense we have against our men. But that wasn’t something she could say to Miranda. Her daughter was rebellious enough as it was. “So we are going to visit her and express our sympathies, just like all the other women. And you, my girl, are not going to be rude enough to say one word about who deserved what.”

  Miranda sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

  Joelle took another bite of her pancakes. They tasted like ashes.

  TEN

  The next morning, Eva and David shared a long, hot shower. Much to Fluffy’s delight, it ended with Eva’s back pressed against the tile wall as David held her in his arms, pounding them both into a delicious orgasm.

  As Eva blew her hair dry, Fluffy hummed “Do That to Me One More Time.” Oh, God, she’d degenerated from George Michael to Captain and Tennille. Daddy sung that song to Mom when he wanted to embarrass her.

  That was just wrong.

  From the corner of one eye, Eva watched David shave with surprising skill. Where had a Sidhe warrior learned to use a disposable razor?

  As she watched him, she realized he wore a troubled frown. Huh. After the way we just made love, you’d think he’d be in a better
mood.

  And when he looked at her, was that ... guilt?

  Eva frowned, wondering what the hell was going on in his head. Before she could ask, he said, “I want you to change.”

  She lifted a brow at him in the mirror. “Well, I wasn’t planning to go out buck naked. Might scandalize the neighbors.”

  David shook his head, sending black silken hair sliding around his broad shoulders. “I mean change into your werewolf form.”

  She stared at him before throwing a nervous glance at the mirror. “Now? Inside?”

  He nodded and leaned back against the wall, folding his muscular arms. “Now.”

  “Well, okay. But I really don’t see the point.” She started for the bathroom door. “I’ll be too tall to ...”

  He caught her by the arm and drew her back. “No, Eva. I mean in here. In front of the mirror.”

  Dammit, she’d been afraid of that. “I can’t.”

  David frowned and tipped his head to one side, studying here. “Why?”

  Eva felt her cheeks going hot. Great. Blushing like a sixteen-year-old. “Because my reflection freaks me out, okay?”

  Angry more at herself than him, she stalked out of the bathroom and headed through her bedroom for the kitchen.

  He trailed her. “But why?”

  Opening a kitchen cabinet, she took out a frying pan and banged it down on the stove. “Because when I change and look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see me. I see a freaking werewolf, and werewolves scare the crap out of me. And yes, being scared of your own reflection is the stupidest phobia ever.”

  “But it can’t hurt you.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel like a fucking fool?” Eva stalked to the refrigerator, jerked the door open, and reached inside for the carton of eggs. Banging a cabinet door open, she got out a bowl. “I’ve tried to make myself look in the damned mirror. My heart starts pounding until it feels like I’m having a heart attack. I want to throw up. And since being scared pisses me off, the werewolf in the mirror starts snarling, and then I run out of the room. Last time I hit my head on the door frame and fell flat on my ass. I think I gave myself a concussion.”

  David caught her wrist before she could smash an egg on the rim of the bowl. Gently, he took the egg from her and put it back in the carton. “That’s actually a very good thing.”

  She stared at him, her sense of humor surfacing through her angry embarrassment. “What, giving myself a concussion?”

  “No, the fact that you react to your reflection the way you do to any other werewolf. We can use it to teach you not to freeze.”

  Her stomach laced into a sick knot. “David, it won’t work.”

  “I think it will.” He put the carton back in the refrigerator. “At the very least, we’ll overcome your fear of mirrors.”

  Oh, hell. This is not going to be any fun.

  Eva braced her clawed hands on the sink and forced herself to meet the eyes of the huge werewolf in the mirror. Her heart bounded like a terrified rabbit. She fought the need to run for the door. I’d just give myself another concussion.

  “Shhh.” David slid an arm across her furry back. “You’re panting. Breathe with me.” He inhaled deeply. “In.” When she didn’t obey, he gave her shoulder a squeeze to get her attention. “Eva, breathe in.”

  “This isn’t going to work.” Her hands tightened on the vanity edge as she fought to keep herself from bolting.

  “It will. If you keep going into combat like this, eventually one of those wolves will kill you. And since they will have to go through me to do it, I’ll die, too.”

  Dammit, he knew just which buttons to push. He was also right. I’ve got to do this. Got to. I will not be responsible for getting him killed.

  And I will not throw up.

  Eva was trembling, a fine vibration David could feel as he pressed against her side. Her muscles jerked under the arm he’d wrapped around her back. “Breathe with me, Eva.”

  She finally obeyed, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath, blowing it out, head down, not looking at herself. He didn’t push it, knowing she had to get her breathing under control before she could confront her reflection.

  “I wish I could spare you this,” he told her in a deliberately soft voice. “Your fear tears at me. But you can overcome it if you just hang on.”

  She turned her muzzle toward him. “What’s this ‘we,’ Kemo Sabe?”

  He smiled at her, encouraged that she was able to joke, though he had no idea what she meant. He rarely did. “You are not alone, Eva.”

  At that, she lifted her head and looked into the mirror. He could feel the effort it took in her shivering body. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  Eva licked her lips—and jerked, probably at the sight of her own fangs. She started talking, the words hurried, as if in a desperate attempt to distract herself from her fear. “One of my earliest memories is sitting in Dad’s lap listening to him read a comic book. Don’t remember what it was. Probably Spider-Man. My dad loves Spider-Man.”

  “Does he?” David caressed her back in long, soothing strokes. Her fur felt surprisingly soft under his hands, not coarse at all. Like a kitten’s coat, it tempted him to stroke and touch.

  “Yeah. Most kids learn to read with Dr. Seuss or something. With me, it was Batman and Spider-Man. I used to run around the house leaping off furniture, pretending I was Wonder Woman.”

  A high-pitched screech drew David’s attention downward. Her claws flexed on the edge of the sink, raking furrows in the porcelain. He covered her hand with his to still those restless fingers. “Wonder Woman?”

  “She’s kind of like a female Superman, except she’s got this cool golden lasso.” She closed her eyes a moment before forcing them open again. A muscle ticked in her jaw. “My mom made my Barbie a Wonder Woman costume, even though she said it was a really sexist outfit. She’s right—it’s a strapless bathing suit kind of thing. Who the hell would wear something like that in combat? I’d be afraid the top would slip and I’d flash my tits at the bad guys. Not a good career move.”

  He turned into her side until he could stroke her forearm with his free hand while he rubbed her back in slow circles. Her trembling had almost stopped. “Why did they give her such revealing clothing?”

  Eva snorted. “Because their target audience is fourteen-year-old boys.” She looked up at her reflection and flinched, but didn’t drop her eyes. “There’s this saying Spider-Man has: ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ That’s kind of the whole philosophy behind comic books. And I guess I grew up believing it.”

  “You should, since it’s true. The powerful have a duty to protect the vulnerable.”

  She gave him a smile rendered disconcerting by the length of her teeth. “Yeah, of course you’d think so. Other people, not so much. My ex-boyfriend, Joel—he’s a bigger geek than I am. But when I said that to him, he told me that works only in comics. He said reality is more complicated.”

  David snorted. “Yes, he’s the type who would think so.”

  “Which brings me to my point.” Eva looked her reflection in the eyes. “I’m powerful. I’ve got all these teeth. I’m big. I’m strong. I’ve got claws. Being like this ... I hate this. I can’t stand this ... fear.” Her lips drew back, and a snarl rumbled from her chest. She jerked at the sound. “God, I despise being a coward.”

  He kept his voice controlled and even. “I’m growing really tired of repeating myself, Eva. You are not a coward. ”

  She curled her lip, frustration hot in her eyes. “David, I’m afraid of my own reflection!”

  “But you’re not running from it. You stand here with me, facing yourself. Fighting your fear. That’s real courage.”

  “No, that is me not wanting to look like a seven-foot chicken in front of the man I—” She broke off.

  His breath caught, but she didn’t complete the sentence. “You make a mistake in thinking fear is a weakness,” he said finally. “Fear can be turned to
rage, to power, to something you can use. Look at yourself.”

  She snorted. “I’ve been looking. So far, not so good.”

  “You may be looking, but you don’t really see.”“ He pointed at her reflection. “Is that a victim, or is that a predator?”

  “It’s a predator on the outside,” Eva said dryly. “Inside, it’s a seven-foot chicken.”

  Deeply frustrated, David glowered. It was time to quit coddling her. “So you’re just going to let him win, then.”

  She blinked at his harsh tone. “Who, Warlock?”

  “No, that bastard that tried to eat you five years ago. You survived what he did ...”

  Eva snorted. “Because of magic. Otherwise I’d be dead.”

  “It doesn’t matter why you survived,” David said sharply. “It doesn’t matter that you were afraid when you faced those wolves yesterday. It doesn’t matter if you’re afraid when you face the next set of wolves. It only matters what you do. You can go on being a victim, or you can cram their laughter down their throats. You can show them you’re not a victim. You can show them your rage.”

  “But when I face them, I don’t feel rage.” She raked both hands through her mane in frustration. “I feel scared shitless.”

  “Of course you do. You’re not stupid. But you don’t have to let that fear be a weakness.” He grabbed her hand, dragged it up in front of her face, and spread her fingers to display the white curve of her talons. “Look at those claws. Do you have any idea how much damage you can do with them?”

  “Yeah, but the other werewolves have claws, too.”

  “And they may use them on you, but that doesn’t matter, because you’ll heal. Just as you healed when that bastard ate a chunk of your belly. So you don’t let the pain stop you. You hit them, and you go on hitting them until they go down. If you can’t kill them then, I will. Either way, they’ll die and you’ll live. That’s all that counts.”

  He released her hand and turned toward the door. “Change back and come on.”

  She padded after him into the bedroom. “What now?”