Master of Smoke

by Angela Knight

  Tension rode like a nauseating weight in Gerald Drake’s belly as he stood at attention in Warlock’s inner sanctum.

  What kind of lunatic has an inner sanctum?

  He stifled the thought as soon as it flitted through his brain. The last thing he needed was for Warlock to detect any hint of disloyalty in his mind. The sorcerer was already furious with him as it was.

  Gerald had reported Miranda’s slaying of Worthington right away, knowing Warlock would want to know of it. He’d expected to be summoned immediately for discipline—which would be highly unpleasant, judging from past experience.

  Instead, Warlock had seemed oddly distracted during the call, as if he was far more concerned with something else. He hadn’t even been able to make time for Gerald’s full report until just now, hours after the initial incident.

  Odd. Warlock had been obsessed with Miranda’s every move for years. Now she’d killed the man the sorcerer has designated to breed her, and he scarcely seemed to care.

  Not that his distraction would save Gerald. He’d always known the little bitch would be the death of him. Warlock would lose his temper over something she’d done, and Gerald would end up a dead werewolf. He’d never expected to survive her rebellious teenage years, much less into her twenties. Luckily, she loved her mother, though Merlin alone knew why. Joelle was good for very little else, but she made an excellent hostage.

  At first, the task of raising the werewolf witch had seemed simple enough. Marry Joelle, control her little brat, and reap the considerable rewards Warlock rained down on him in the form of magical advantages for his construction business. Gerald had grown rich thanks to the sorcerer’s spells, as government contracts fell into his hands like ripe peaches, while competitors suffered disasters natural and otherwise.

  Now his corporation was the largest in three states, with multimillion-dollar contracts to build everything from schools to bridges.

  But the price—Merlin’s balls, the price was high.

  Warlock had left him waiting in his throne room for the better part of an hour now, uneasily considering the glowing magical runes carved into the stone walls. A circle of inlaid silver lay set in the floor at the center of the space, surrounding a low dais and Warlock’s massive ebony throne. Stone statues of Merlin’s original Direkind Chosen stood in niches around the room, and the scent of exotic spices filled the air, making Gerald’s nose itch.

  He stifled a sneeze as his sensitive ears picked up the click of claws on stone. He straightened to his full height as Warlock padded in. To Gerald’s uneasy surprise, four strangers followed him, all in Dire Wolf form. They were huge even by Direkind standards, tall and massively built—one with thick black fur, two in shades of brown, a fourth who was as blond as a movie starlet.

  Must be the Bastards. At least some of them; weren’t there supposed to be twelve? Where were the others?

  Not that it mattered. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

  Warlock flung himself down on his throne, his white fur seeming to glow against the dark wood. Black lips peeled off white fangs as his eyes glowed amber with a sullen, feral rage. “Now, Gerald. Tell me again how you failed to control my daughter.”

  Terror tied his belly into a sick knot. Miranda, you’re going to pay for this.

  The silence steamed with rage for the first half of the trip home. Miranda knew it wouldn’t last, and it didn’t.

  “You’ve destroyed us.” Joelle’s grip made the steering wheel creak in protest.

  “What the hell do you want from me, Mom?” Miranda exploded, a knot of frustrated rage coiled in her belly. “Am I supposed to just submit to being raped with a smile? Fuck that! I’m not a doormat like—”

  “Me?” Her mother’s voice had gone deep again, growling with fury and an incipient transformation. “Did it ever occur to you to wonder why, Miranda? Why I put up with everything Gerald does—the cheating, the violence, the casual contempt? Do you honestly think this is the life I wanted?”

  Miranda threw up her hands. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—book me another flight on Guilt Air. I’m not responsible for your choices, Mom.”

  “What choices? When did I have a choice?”

  “Half an hour ago! Tristan and La Belle Coeur would have taken both of us to the Mageverse if we’d said the word. But no—you had to fucking attack them!”

  “Because it really would have triggered a war, you little twit! Don’t you understand, Warlock is not going to let you go.” Her mother’s eyes flashed red in the blue glow of the Volvo’s dashboard lights. “You’re the key to the dynasty he’s determined to create, and he’d declare war on the Magekind to get you back. Merlin created us to fight them—odds are, we’d kill them all!”

  A chill stole across her skin, but Miranda shook it off. “Oh, come on! Ninety percent of the Direkind don’t even believe he exists. They’re not going to go to war with Arthur just because some loony tune werewolf wizard says the word.”

  “Warlock’s not crazy. And you have no idea what he’s capable of, so don’t underestimate him. He’s got charisma, and our legends have turned him into a hero. The Direkind wouldn’t realize what he’s really like until it was too late. By then who knows how many people would have died on both sides? Is it worth all that just to keep you from a little—”

  “Rape?” Miranda gritted her teeth. “I’m not going to just lie down for whatever they’ve got in mind. I don’t care what kind of rationales you throw in my face or what kind of guilt trips you put me on. You don’t have the right to ask that of me.”

  Joelle thumped the steering wheel with a frustrated palm. “Miranda, it doesn’t have to be rape. You’re in your Burning Moon—if you don’t fight, it won’t be that bad.”

  “Yeah, Worthington said the same thing—which is when I stuck the knife in his brain. Listen to me, Mother: I am not going to submit. If I can find a way to escape, I’m going to take it. Now, you can go with me, or you can stay and keep being a victim. It’s your call.”

  “Don’t you understand—I’ve already tried that! Warlock found me, and it cost me ...” Tears glittered in her eyes. “God, what it cost me.”

  Miranda frowned at her. “When did you try to escape?”

  “When I was pregnant the first time.” As Miranda gaped in surprise, Joelle pulled the Volvo over onto the shoulder and parked there. Opening the door, the older woman got out and stood looking toward the moon as it rode over the trees like a white ship sailing through the clouds. Finally she started into the woods, her steps slow and weary.

  Miranda followed her. “You never mentioned you’d been pregnant before. What happened?”

  “It wasn’t rape that first time.” Joelle pushed a tree limb out of the way and continued into the thick brush. “I thought I was in love with him.” She laughed in a bitter bark. “He really had me fooled.”

  Gaping, Miranda stared at her mother’s back. “You were in love with Warlock?”

  “I was young, and he was handsome and powerful and immortal.” Joelle stopped, turning her face up. A shaft of moonlight lit her skin and painted silver reflections in her eyes. “I was so flattered that he wanted me. Of all the women of the Chosen, he picked me as the mother of his child. He said I had the perfect bloodline.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “I made him angry. I don’t remember what I did now—it could have been anything. It’s easy to make Warlock angry. Anyway, he beat me. Very, very carefully, mostly in the face, since I was seven months pregnant at the time, and he didn’t want to hurt the baby. So I ran away.”

  Miranda swallowed. “He found you.”

  “Oh, yes. He has extensive resources even aside from magic. It took him less than forty-eight hours to track me down. That time when he beat me, he wasn’t so careful. I lost Mary Catherine.”

  Miranda winced. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “The next time he took me, it was rape.” She pushed her hair out of her face, and Miranda saw a tear paint a
glittering trail down her face. “After that, he told my parents he’d found a husband for me. Of course, they made no protest. They were as frightened of him as I was.”

  “You never tried to escape again?”

  “And watch you die as Mary Catherine had?” She shook her head. “Miranda, you can’t fight men like Warlock and Gerald. They’re ruthless, and they know what your vulnerabilities are. The only hope you have is submission, because that’s the only way nobody dies.”

  “But, Mom—why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Joelle gave her another weary glance. “Because I knew it wouldn’t do any good. And I was—” She blew out a breath. “I was ashamed Warlock had played me for a fool. He never loved me any more than Gerald does. Besides, telling you this story changes nothing. Does it?”

  Miranda bit her lip, but she couldn’t lie. “No. In the end ... no.”

  Joelle smiled sadly. “I didn’t think so. Come, I need to get you home. Gerald is probably impatient for his dinner.”

  THIRTEEN

  Blade rang on blade in the furious music of combat as the vampires and witches fought.

  Not very well.

  They swung their weapons clumsily, the vampires with more power than skill, the witches hesitantly. Here and there someone fought a bit better as natural athleticism overcame a lack of experience. But they weren’t an impressive bunch.

  Tristan and Belle stood on the sidelines of the combat grounds, watching the new recruits practice, neither particularly impressed. “I swear to Merlin, they get worse every year,” the knight grumbled.

  “Everyone has to learn, Tristan,” Belle told him. “You probably did, too. You’ve just forgotten because it’s been fifteen centuries. Give them a few more weeks, and Reece and Erin will have them whipped into shape.”

  The tall Champion of the United States and his Maja wife passed among the ranks of their pupils, stopping here to correct a grip, there to demonstrate the proper technique of a parry. Belle saw Reece pause beside Davon Fredericks and take the surgeon by the wrist, correcting the way he held his sword.

  “Poor Davon,” Belle murmured. “He’s used to being the best at everything he does. This must be hard for him.”

  Tristan curled his lip. “After his ... association with you, he should be used to having things hard.”

  She shot him a poisonous smile. “Why, Tris—that almost sounded like a compliment.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Better luck next time.” Before he could fire off the retort he was no doubt brewing, she nodded across the field. “There’s Logan.”

  Not surprisingly, the ex-cop seemed to be instructing his opponent rather than fighting him. When Arthur Pendragon is your father, you know how to use a sword before they take the training wheels off your bike. Logan could probably have taught the class almost as well as Reece, though the other vampire was a good two centuries older.

  Tristan waved to attract his attention, but with everything going on, Logan didn’t appear to notice. “Hey, kid!”

  “Even a vampire couldn’t hear you in all this.” Belle stuck two fingers in her mouth and blew a piercing note that made everyone look toward them in surprise. She gestured Logan over. “And Tris—if you say one word about me and blow jobs, I swear I’m turning you into a frog.”

  He gave her a smirk. “Sensitive, darling?”

  She returned the smirk with interest. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Watching Logan jog toward them, Belle thought again how incredibly glad she was that Arthur’s son had fallen for Giada Shepherd.

  When he was just twelve years old, Logan had had a violent crush on Belle. He’d even said he wanted her to give him the Gift when he grew up. She’d rather have been waterboarded than tell him how that prospect horrified her. It was one thing to seduce young studs she didn’t know, but she’d changed Logan’s diapers. He might have grown into a handsome, brilliant man, but she had no desire whatsoever to sleep with him.

  Unlike, say, Tristan.

  Shut up, she told that treacherously honest inner voice.

  “What’s up?” Logan asked after he and Tristan exchanged backslapping greetings.

  “I think I’ve found Smoke,” Belle told him. “Or at least, I’ve found the general area he’s in. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he’s still alive.”

  Logan’s dark eyes, so like his father’s, lit with joy. “Thank God! Where is he?”

  Belle described the burst of magic she’d sensed. “I think he’s still somewhere in Greendale County.” Which was where he’d disappeared the week before. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to sense him since that burst. It’s as if something’s blocking me.”

  Logan nodded. “Yeah, Mom and Giada said the same thing. Even Morgana had no luck.”

  Belle frowned. That didn’t sound good; Morgana was one of the Magekind’s most powerful witches. But still ... “I thought if you had some object of his, I could use it to create a tracking spell.”

  Logan frowned as he considered the question. “Well, there’s the little pewter cat he gave me when I was a kid. It’s got a communication spell on it so I could call him, but when I tried it last week, it didn’t work. If you think you can use it, it’s yours.”

  “Worth a try, especially if it already has a spell of his on it. If he pops up again, maybe I could establish a connection with it.” Belle frowned. “Sounds like I’ll need to build a pretty powerful spell, though.”

  “Probably.” Logan turned his gaze across the field to meet that of his lovely blond lover. The woman nodded and summoned a gate, then disappeared through it. “Giada’s gone to pick it up.”

  “Enjoying your Truebond?” Tristan asked, referring to the psychic link the couple had obviously formed.

  “Oh, yeah.” Logan’s handsome face lit with a grin. “Giada’s amazing. She’s so fucking brilliant ...”

  “And you love her for her mind.” Tristan’s smile was gently mocking.

  Logan laughed. “Among other things.”

  A moment later, another swirling dimensional gate opened, and Giada stepped through. The tall, stunningly beautiful witch extended a tiny cat statue between tapered fingers. “One pewter kitty, as ordered.”

  “Thanks, Giada,” Belle said, accepting the cat. Its moonstone eyes glinted in the field’s lighting, and she could feel power humming through it. She smiled, encouraged. “This should work nicely.”

  “I hope so.” Giada linked an arm with her fiancé. “We’ve both been so worried about Smoke. He’s a good friend.”

  “And he practically raised me,” Logan said. “I was going nuts thinking that bastard Warlock killed him.” A muscle flexed in her jaw. “We really need to end that fucker.”

  “If we can figure out a way to do it without triggering a war with the Direkind.” Tristan shrugged.

  “I’d better get to work on that spell,” Belle told them, opening a gate back to her home, where she kept the magical tools she’d need. “I want to have it ready if he surfaces again.”

  “Not without me,” Tristan growled, grabbing her wrist before she could step through it. “You’ll go off on your own and get yourself killed.”

  She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Tristan, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  He sneered. “Yeah. Sure.”

  But she let him follow her through the gate anyway.

  David hunkered down on the coffee table, his eyes shuttered as he attempted to contact the godling hidden somewhere inside himself.

  He had to escape this form before he ended up costing Eva her life. Unfortunately, so far all he had for his pains was a savage headache.

  “David?” Eva crouched in front of the coffee table, putting herself at his eye level. She looked impossibly huge, as if she’d transformed into a giant. But then, everything else looked wrong, too, blown completely out of scale. For a moment he had the horrifying sense he was about to disappear, that he’d shrink until he vanished. He gritted his s
mall jaws and fought rising panic.

  Eva’s lovely brown eyes pleaded with his. “David, talk to me, dammit. Please.”

  He ignored her, focused on his ferocious need to transform into something that could defend her. Even if it wasn’t human. Even if it was the tiger form he’d seen in his dream, that would be better than this utterly useless creature.

  Eva rose and began to pace the living room, frustration in her voice. “Look, I know you’re pissed, but dammit, what would you do if our positions were reversed? If I’d been turned into a toy poodle, you wouldn’t let me go out and get eaten either.”

  “That’s different,” he growled, unable to resist the topic.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m the male.” David knew the argument was irrational, but he really didn’t give a damn. “I’m supposed to be the protector. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

  He opened his eyes to find that Eva had stopped in her tracks to stare at him. “That is such total bullshit. I ...”

  Someone rapped knuckles against the front door. “Eva? Are you in there?”

  “Oh, hell, it’s Mom!” Before he had time to twitch an ear, she pounced, snatching him into her arms.

  “Let me go!” When he tried to struggle, she grabbed the scruff of his neck, holding him helplessly immobile while she wrapped one arm securely around him.

  “Forget it,” she hissed. “I’m damned if I’m going to let you race outside.”

  “Eva?” her mother asked again.

  She got the door open before he could decide whether to sink his fangs into her wrist. Stepping back to let her mother in, Eva forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too frantic, as she tried to maintain her grip on David. “Hi, Mom!”

  Charlotte Roman strolled in, a slim and youthful figure in a cream pantsuit and peach blouse. Atypically, she wore a frown as she glanced around the room. “Who were you talking to? I thought I heard a man’s voice.”

  “It was the TV, Mom.” Eva kicked the door closed and prayed David would keep his muzzle shut. All she needed was to be outted by a talking cat. “What brings you over? And where’s Dad?”