Master of Fire

by Angela Knight

  SIX

  Logan insisted on giving Giada a ride to the hotel to pick up her things. She asked him to wait in the lobby while she took a shower and packed. He told her to take her time and went off to acquire a baggage cart.

  Giada trotted up to her room as fast as her skinned knees would allow. “Smoke!” She pulled the door closed behind her. “Wake up, we’ve got a problem.”

  The cat opened one crystalline blue eye. “Oh, gods and devils, what now?”

  Quickly, she brought him up to speed while she threw her things into suitcases. “I’ll be checking out, so you’ll have to gate to the Mageverse for the day.”

  The cat sat up, his tail curled over his toes, an expression of narrow-eyed thought on his furry face. “Actually, I can see how this would work very well. Hmmm.”

  “Whatever. Gate off now, before Logan comes up here and wonders why I’ve got a magic cat in my bed.”

  Smoke stretched his jaws in a silent feline laugh. “Oh, that does sound suggestive.” Conjuring a gate, he disappeared.

  Giada turned on the shower and waited for it to reach a comfortable temperature, staring blindly at the rushing water. An image flashed through her mind: Logan charging toward her, fear and determination mingled on his handsome face. His body slamming into hers, taking her down . . .

  The trail of blood snaking down his muscled forearm . . .

  He’d damn near taken a bullet for her. And she’d damn near died.

  She stepped under the shower stream, gasping at the sting of water on cuts. This is the second brush with death I’ve had in the last week.

  She hadn’t let herself think about how close the bomb had come to killing them both, warding off the thought by telling herself she’d handled it. Saved them.

  But she hadn’t handled it today. She hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Leaning her forehead against the cool tile, Giada stared down at one scraped foot as it bled sluggishly into the swirling water. I screwed up. I can’t let them take me off guard like that again. I won’t get lucky twice.

  And to think, the worst problems she’d had four months ago had been trying to find a job, an apartment, and a boy-friend, in no particular order.

  Then came Christmas, and a witch named Pam.

  Pam, who’d said she was the birth mother of Giada’s father. Pam, who’d cast a spell that forced Giada’s scientist’s mind to believe in magic.

  The Magekind, her grandmother explained, was recruiting. Would she like to become an immortal witch and help save the world from humanity’s destructive impulses? Since the world obviously needed saving, and the immortality thing had sounded pretty good, Giada had said yes.

  Turned out immortality only meant you didn’t age. Somebody could still kill you.

  You’d just leave a good-looking corpse.

  I can’t afford to screw up again, Giada thought, and started shampooing her hair. So I won’t.

  Logan’s house was not what Giada had expected. Somehow she’d assumed he’d live in the mortal bachelor version of her own Avalon brick ranch: cramped and furnished in mismatched Goodwill castoffs.

  Instead the home was a roomy split-level that appeared to date from the seventies, surrounded by blooming azalea bushes, a massive oak presiding over the newly mown front yard. A birdhouse hung from one branch, weathered dark gray, looking as if it had once been a Cub Scout project.

  Inside, the split-level had the comfortable look of a family home, with a few exotic touches. There were tapestries she recognized as Guinevere’s work, depicting unicorns and dragons, ladies and knights picked out in thin, bright yarn. Handwoven rugs provided rich contrast with the pale, mellow wood of the flooring. There seemed to be at least one bookshelf in every room, all of them crammed with well-thumbed volumes—not just the chemistry and forensics texts she’d have expected, but a collection of paperbacks ranging from science fiction to cozy mysteries.

  “You’ve got a beautiful home,” Giada said as she followed him up the wide carpeted stairs.

  “Thank you.” Logan wasn’t even breathing hard as he juggled three of her suitcases. He’d refused to let her carry anything heavier than her makeup case. “I grew up here, actually. Bought it from my mother a few years ago when she . . . retired.” He glanced around the hallway, his gaze lingering fondly on a tapestry of an armored knight. “I always loved this house.”

  The guest room he led her to was just as pleasant as the rest of the house. A dark blue comforter draped a sturdy pine queen-sized bed piled with pillows. The matching mirrored dresser and chest of drawers shared space with an empty computer desk and a brown leather swivel chair. The carpet was also blue, though a shade paler than the spread, its pile thick and inviting.

  Giada’s gaze fell on a set of trophies lined up on the dresser. Basketball, baseball, football, one or two awards in swimming and track. She walked over to study them in dawning realization. “This was your room when you were a kid.”

  “Yep.” He put her suitcases down on the bed.

  “You were a jock, weren’t you?” Which made sense. Latents tended to be stronger and more athletic than most people.

  “ ’Fraid so.” He glanced at the trophies, and she saw a flush spread across his angular cheekbones. “I keep meaning to stick those in the attic. Kind of ridiculous for a grown man to hang on to all that . . . stuff.”

  “Hey, I still have all my science fair awards.” Giada shook her head, laughing softly. “I was such a little nerd. Guess I still am.”

  “Hardly.” His smile was so warm and approving, her heart gave a happy little bump. “Why don’t you unpack? I’ll start dinner. How do you feel about lasagna?”

  “My mouth just started watering. You cook?”

  “Oh, yeah. My mom considered it a survival skill.”

  Giada snorted and walked over to unzip one of her suitcases. “Mine always said that’s why God made Domino’s.” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “No wonder I was a little butterball.”

  He chuckled, brushing her shoulder with warm fingers. They left a definite tingle on her skin. “Come down as soon as you’re ready.”

  She couldn’t resist the impulse to ogle his ass as he walked out.

  While Giada unpacked, Logan detoured into his own room and grabbed a pewter statue off the dresser, then quickly retreated downstairs with it.

  In the kitchen, safely out of his guest’s earshot, he put the statue on the counter and eyed it. The muscular figure of the cat crouched, its eyes two shimmering moonstones.

  He hadn’t tried this in years. He hoped it still worked.

  Clearing his throat, Logan said, “Smoke?”

  Moonstone eyes flared with pure blue light. “Hmmm? Logan, boy, is that you? You haven’t called me with that thing since you were eighteen.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a problem. And I think I need magical help.”

  A cat-sized gate appeared in midair, and Smoke landed on the marble countertop with a soft thump. “What’s the problem, boy?”

  Quickly—he wasn’t sure how much time he’d have before Giada came downstairs—Logan filled his friend in on the day’s events while he started work on dinner.

  Smoke’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “Your friend was almost shot?”

  Logan nodded grimly over the cutting board as he sliced up a bell pepper. “Would have taken a bullet right in the back of the head if I hadn’t knocked her clear. As it was, she ended up with a bad case of road rash, but I didn’t have time to be gentle.”

  “And you want me to protect her?”

  “That’s the idea. If you could stay close . . .”

  “Boy, they’re not going to let you bring a cat into the police department.”

  “Sheriff’s office. The police are city. We’re county.”

  One ear flicked in lazy dismissal. “Whatever.”

  “Anyway, if you could just hang around outside the building. Keep watch. If that bitch shows up again, track her. Please. I need to know why the hell she’s af
ter Giada.” Hearing the stairs creak under padding bare feet, he added hastily, “But don’t talk around Giada, okay? I don’t want to have to explain the whole magic cat thing.”

  Smoke shot him a look of narrow-eyed disgust. “Have I ever talked in front of one of your mortal friends, boy?”

  “Good point. Sorry.”

  Giada slipped into the kitchen before either could say anything else. She wore jeans and a loose cotton shirt, a black leather belt cinching her waist, making it look even tinier than usual. Logan had never seen her in anything but business wear, and he blinked at the way the worn and faded denim hugged those elegant curves. Damn, he thought, Giada can make anything look sexy.

  Then his gaze locked on the scrape across her high cheekbone. His heart gave a hot squeeze in his chest. She came too damn close to getting killed today. Way too damn close. And I’ve got to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

  Giada paused in the doorway, eyeing Smoke. “You’ve got a cat.”

  “Actually, I think the cat’s got me.” Logan returned to stirring the ground beef he was browning. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Head hurts a little bit, and I’ll be really sore tomorrow, but at least I’m still breathing.” Her smile was sudden and breathtaking. “And I’ve got you to thank for that. I had no idea the shooter was even there. If you hadn’t pushed me down, I’d be dead.”

  To Logan’s annoyance, he felt his face grow warm. To distract her from that ridiculous blush, he affected a John Wayne drawl. “Awww, little lady, ’tweren’t nothing.”

  She stepped over to him, rose on her bare toes, and kissed him gently on one hot cheek. “Thank you.” Her lips felt deliciously soft.

  And incredibly sweet.

  Following a very tasty supper—Logan was indeed a good cook—Giada cleared the table over his protests. After the day she’d had, loading the dishwasher finished off the last of her energy reserves. She dragged her battered body up the stairs and fell into bed. In minutes, she was deeply asleep.

  As Smoke wandered outside to lurk under the bushes and watch for assassins, Logan retreated to his own room. He was too much a gentleman to glance in at his sleeping guest.

  If he had, he might have noticed the point of bright green light burning beneath the cotton fabric of her T-shirt. The necklace Morgana had given her blazed against her bare skin, magic pulsing in its heart.

  Logan loomed over her in the darkness, moonlight silvering his muscled shoulders. Giada’s heart pounded as she looked down the length of her body into his hungry eyes. Eyes that glowed vampire red as he bent his head. His tongue fl icked out, stroked the aching point of her nipple. Each lick made her head swim with sweet, searing pleasure. Warm fi ngers shaped her breast, squeezed, stroked, drew teasing circles on her flesh. She writhed, gasping.

  Gods, he felt so good. So perfect.

  She ached between her legs, a creamy pulse of need. She’d never felt like this, never needed a man with such ferocious, driving hunger.

  She had to have him. Had to. She thought she would go insane without the long, slick heat of him driving just where she needed it.

  “Logan . . .” Giada moaned . . .

  And woke.

  For a long, disoriented moment, she could only stare blankly at the ceiling. “Logan?”

  But he was gone. There was no hard, heavy body pressing against hers, no hot mouth tormenting her breasts, no teasing hands. There was nothing but a wet, empty ache.

  Another dream. Even more intense than the others.

  So intense, in fact, that she suddenly realized one hand was thrust down beneath the waistband of her panties. The flesh between her legs was swollen tight, so wet it felt as though she’d been covered with melted butter.

  Just another damned dream. Frustration clawed at Giada with stinging stiletto claws. God, she wanted Logan so bad.

  Her legs scissored restlessly on the sweaty sheets. Her breasts ached, nipples drawn into desperate peaks.

  He’s right across the hall, the voice of temptation breathed in a sighing devil’s whisper. All I have to do is walk ten feet.

  But she couldn’t. Making love with him would be utterly irresponsible, a betrayal of the trust Arthur and Guinevere had bestowed on her. Logan did not want to become a vampire.

  But just once wouldn’t hurt, her aching body wheedled. It takes at least three times to bring on the Gift. Maybe more. I could make love to him once . . .

  But if he made love to another Maja twice more, it would change him. I have no right to make such a choice for him.

  Giada gritted her teeth and jerked her hand out of her panties to fist the sheets. I am not going to do this. I’m not.

  Sleep. What she needed was to go back to sleep.

  But every breath she took rasped hard nipples against the fabric of her T-shirt. The shirt was old, butter-soft from washing, but it might as well have been burlap from the way it raked her sensitive skin.

  Logan’s eyes shone at her through the darkness, glowing red with vampire magic. He smiled at her, his fangs white, sharp.

  Only to vanish into the shadows like seductive mist.

  She wanted to scream.

  Three times she’d dreamed of him with this overwhelming erotic intensity. Or were they glimpses of the future? If so, did that mean she was destined to Change him?

  And if it was destiny, what was the point of fighting it?

  But I swore I wouldn’t. She ground her teeth so hard, her skull filled with a sound like sandpaper rasping over cement. I promised Guinevere and Arthur. Besides, he’s my friend. He saved my life today. I can’t repay him by betraying his trust. It’s bad enough I have to lie to him.

  The muscles of her thighs jerked in spasms, and her belly clenched with craving. Cut it out, Giada. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she dug her nails into the mattress like a cat dangling from a tree branch.

  Over a pack of rabid dogs.

  I’m not going to do this. I’m not. Not. Notnotnotnot . . .

  Eyes clenched shut, she didn’t see the necklace give another demanding pulse.

  When Giada opened her eyes again, she was standing in the hallway outside his door. She didn’t even recall getting out of bed. Horrified, she turned to dash back into her own room.

  “Giada?” Logan blinked at her from around the edge of the door. “Is something wrong?”

  She was in his arms before she knew what she was doing.

  Giada plowed into Logan so hard, she knocked him back on his heels. His gasp of astonishment was muffled by her mouth covering his with kisses that were more like famished bites.

  Automatically, he enfolded her frantic body in his arms. She felt deliciously warm and soft and firm in all the right places, and his libido registered its enthusiastic approval with an instant hard-on.

  She was moaning something between kisses, throaty little groans. Lost in a delightful sensory storm, it took him a moment to decipher the soft stream of whimpers: “This is wrong. I’ve got to stop. You’ll hate me. But oh, God, you feel sooooo good . . .”

  It took willpower he hadn’t even known he had, but he managed to grab her upper arms and peel her off, gaining a couple of inches of space between them. Her eyes looked vague, dazed—and troubled. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but what’s going on? I thought you said you didn’t want to sleep with me.”

  “I didn’t, I shouldn’t—but I need you.” Gray eyes glittered up at him from her flushed face, and her lips were parted, ripe and tempting, strawberry rose. “I’ve been dreaming about you. Dreaming for days.” Her nails dug into his back. “Please. I’ve never felt like this. I can’t stand it. Please . . . Don’t hate me!”

  An alarm peeled somewhere in the back of his mind—was it a coincidence that he’d dreamed about her, too? But the sound was muffled by the thunderous rush of blood in his ears. He had to taste that mouth again.

  Her lips opened under his, moist and eager. Tongues met, swirling together in a slick and maddening dance. Her hips rocked ag
ainst his erection with a delicious pleading that made him feel as if the top of his head was about to blow off. Dressed only in a pair of cotton boxers, Logan felt the contact with a molten intensity that burned through his veins in shuddering waves.

  No woman had ever turned him on this much, this fast. Not even Clea, the Maja Morgana had sent to seduce him. Clea, whom he’d had the sense to refuse.

  That thought sent another slicing through the hot erotic haze. Was Giada a Maja? This wasn’t the first time he’d wondered, but the idea had never seemed so likely. There was something abnormal about the savage mutual heat blazing between them now. Something that smacked of magic.

  And I really should care.

  Whatever it was that burned between them was more than magic. It wasn’t just Giada’s luscious little body that drew him. It was her intelligence, her strength, even her former fat-little-kid vulnerability. She got to him the way no woman ever had, with a strength that had nothing to do with how long they’d known each other.

  It was as if she fit the empty parts of him like a key sliding into a lock, making him just as desperate to have her as she obviously was to have him. If he gave her a chance to come to her senses, this opportunity to forge something deeper might never come again.

  So he kissed her back with all the skill and hunger in his soul, slipping one hand up to cup her breast, the other down to the damp fabric between her thighs. She made a sobbing moan of surrender—and closed her hand around his cock.

  Growling in need, Logan lifted her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom to lay her down on the tumbled sheets. Straightening, he looked down at her, his heart beating hard, his cock jutting with the strength of his need.

  Giada’s eyes were luminous silver in the moonlight flooding through the bedroom window. Her skin seemed to glow, pale and perfect. His mouth went dry as he bent to grab the hem of her top and pull it over her head, leaving her breasts beautiful and bare.

  Round, sweet handfuls, they were tipped by blushing rose nipples. An emerald lay between the soft mounds on a delicate gold chain, adding an exotic flourish to her nudity. Her waist dipped to a swell of hips framed in tiny lace panties. Her legs looked impossibly long, lean with strong runner’s muscles.