Master of Fire

by Angela Knight

  Giada shouted something that sounded like “Smoke!” The spy looked up. The witch hovered fifteen feet in the air, staring in shock toward the downed cat.

  With a snarl, the spy rammed her shoulder into the tree the assassin was perched in. The trunk snapped in two like a matchstick. As it fell, it hit the Maja dead-on, cutting her startled scream short. She plummeted.

  Terrence yelled as he, too, dropped like a rock.

  Magic rained down around the spy in silent silver sparks as the Maja hit the ground in a crumpled jumble of arms and legs. The spy ignored the pyrotechnics and grabbed Terrence by his Kevlar vest the instant before he slammed to earth.

  The bomber took one look at his rescuer and shrieked like a child.

  “Shut up!” The spy slapped a clawed hand over his mouth. It covered his entire face. One eye rolled white and wild up at her, and he went still. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of urine. “Pah! Coward.”

  Tucking her hireling under one arm, the spy padded over to examine the fallen witch. Blood smeared Giada’s still face, and her eyes were closed.

  It would be so easy to kill her.

  One quick slash of the claws, and the witch would no longer be a problem. The spy licked her fangs, considering.

  Father wouldn’t like it. If the Magekind examined the body—and they would—they would quickly determine what had killed her, though they still wouldn’t know who.

  An investigator would be sent to determine the identity of the killer. Father would not appreciate having to shield her from such an investigation.

  Perhaps she could make it appear a simple human murder instead. Yes, that could work.

  She looked down at the bomber still tucked under her forearm. “Where’s your gun?”

  Terrence didn’t answer. Probably speechless with terror. Disgusted, the spy looked around until she spotted the rifle lying on the leaves. She started toward it . . .

  And froze. Leaves rustled and crackled in the distance, the sound of cops running clumsily through the woods. A familiar male voice called, “Giada! Giada, where are you?”

  Logan.

  The spy peeled her fangs back from her teeth. Shoot them both? Tempting thought.

  “This way!” he shouted. More bodies came crashing through the woods. Oh, hell, it sounded like he’d brought half the cops in the county. It would take them time to find this spot, but if she shot the girl, the shotgun blast would bring them running. All those guns and Tasers—it was entirely too likely they’d take her down. And with Logan still alive, that wasn’t a risk she could afford to take. Killing him had to take priority.

  She had to get out of here now, or this entire situation would explode in her face.

  Cursing under her breath, the spy wheeled and fled, carrying the unresisting form of the bomber under one arm like a bag of soggy, urine-scented potatoes.

  TEN

  Smoke took a gasping breath as his eyes flew open. Pain seared through him, so sharp and strong he had to fight a whimper. All he could see was a blur of green.

  He blinked, managed to focus his eyes, realized after a moment that his vision was obstructed by leaves.

  Gods and devils, that—thing had dropped a tree on him. And judging by the pain, at least one of its broken branches had been driven through his haunches like a spear.

  Taken like a week-old cub. Disgusting.

  While the thing—it had looked like a cross between a wolf and a grizzly bear—had shrugged off his magical blast as if he’d been tossing marshmallows. Had it been a Dire Wolf? He’d never seen one of the creatures, but the beast had certainly fit the description he’d heard.

  Smoke lifted his head. Pain wheeled through his body in countless red-hot points of agony, a constellation of suffering. He could feel blood flowing from dozens of wounds, matting his black fur. Had he been the mortal animal he appeared, he’d be dead. As it was, he didn’t exactly feel healthy.

  With a low growl, he sent out a magical probe. The creature that had attacked him was more than a mile away, moving fast in the opposite direction.

  Well, that’s something, anyway.

  The same scan told him that Logan and a mob of cops were headed in his direction. As if things weren’t bad enough, Giada lay in a broken heap, her life force dim and fading. She’d be dead in minutes if he didn’t move fast.

  He breathed out magic, and the tree dissolved in a shower of sparks—just as that wolf/bear thing should have done. Freed of impaling branches, Smoke sought the form he hadn’t held since . . . Actually, he couldn’t remember.

  He’d been Sidhe, of course—less than an hour ago, in fact. But it had been a long, long time since he’d held this form. Power rolled over him in a storm of energy and raw will, healing his injuries, banishing pain and blood as his body shifted, shrank, expanded.

  Feeling one hell of a lot better, he rolled to two feet. But as he straightened, he became aware of something else. It was one thing to be Sidhe. It was something else again to be a demigod.

  He had forgotten the raw power of his true form, the way the magic crackled and foamed in his blood. Forgotten its hypnotic song.

  Why had he walked away from this?

  You know why. And you don’t want to go there again. Pain, blood, the pleas he hadn’t had the power to answer.

  The failure.

  Well, he wouldn’t fail this time. He could do this. He strode over to the fallen girl, who lay with one leg pinned under yet another tree. Crushed.

  Gods and devils, she was bleeding out.

  Smoke reached down, hooked a hand under the tree trunk, and lifted, heaving it easily out of the way. It hit the leafy ground with a crash. Dropping to one knee, he sent power feathering over the girl, trying to sense her injuries.

  Bad. Even worse than he’d thought. Her heartbeat stuttered . . .

  And stopped.

  Smoke’s own heart lunged into his throat as he spread a big hand over Giada’s still chest. His skin glowed against hers, casting a cool blue light that brightened to blinding as his magic went to work.

  It took a moment even with his power, but her heart finally began to beat again. But the sound was not the strong, steady thump it should be. He had to work fast if Giada was to survive.

  Smoke gathered in yet more power from the Mageverse, sent it flooding into her, seeking out the fractured bones, the punctured liver, the pooling blood. One by one, his magic found her injuries and coaxed them whole again. Her fluttering heartbeat steadied, strengthened. She sucked in a rough breath and coughed, a helpless hacking sound.

  He frowned, suddenly sensing something he’d never realized before. Giada had real power—far more than she had ever evinced.

  Something was blocking her access to it.

  Some secret disbelief, some cool fear was keeping her from reaching her full potential. He thought it might be her scientist’s mind, which had never been fully convinced she could break the laws of physics. Even the spell Giada’s grandmother had cast to make her believe in magic had not eliminated those doubts. But you needed belief to use that kind of power, so she’d been left half-crippled.

  Smoke knew he could break that mental barrier, give her full access to the magic that was her birthright. But should he do it?

  “Giada? Giada, dammit, answer me!” Logan was far too close now, crashing through the woods as if Smoke had never taught him better, followed by a small army of cops.

  Feh. There was no more time to dither. A flick of power, and it was done.

  Giada’s eyes flew open, her expression startled. He didn’t have time to explain. It was more important to clean up her bloodied, dirty clothing and dissolve the last fallen tree into mulch.

  “Smoke?” she rasped.

  “Later, child.” Shifting to his favorite feline form, he slipped off into the underbrush even as the police flooded the clearing.

  Nobody even looked twice at the house cat ghosting away from the scene.

  To his vast relief, Logan found Giada
lying on her back in the leaves, staring up at the trees overhead. Her expression was dazed; she must have been hurt more than she’d thought.

  “Hey.” He sank down beside her. “You okay?”

  “Umm.” She blinked at him slowly. “Yeah.”

  Logan did not care for the way she said that. He wasn’t entirely sure she even knew who he was.

  “Jesus Christ!” It was the sheriff, leading the pack of searchers at Logan’s heels, his expression irate and worried. “Is she all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She tried to sit up, groaned, and promptly lay back down again.

  “You stay here,” Logan told her, then looked up at Jones. “Where are the paramedics?”

  “On their way with a stretcher.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Obviously intent on proving it, she reeled to her feet.

  Logan rose to join her, looking her over in concern. She had no visible injuries, but she was swaying like a pine tree in a high wind. Reaching out, he steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

  “You don’t look fine.” Sheriff Jones frowned as the other cops gathered around them in an interested mob. “You need to get checked out. You could have been hurt in that blast more than you think. And what the hell were you doing, running off into the woods like that?”

  “Looking for the killer.” She swayed.

  Blue eyes narrowed. “Dammit, you’re a civilian. Hunting bad guys is our job.” The big man’s jaw worked in frustration, and he made a throwaway gesture with one hand. “Wasting my breath. You don’t even know what planet you’re on.” He glowered around in irritation. “Where the hell are the paramedics?”

  “Right here, Sheriff,” a man called, carrying a backboard into the clearing.

  Giada managed a glare, swaying. “I don’t need a doctor.” “I say you do,” Jones told her firmly. He glanced at Logan, hovering by her elbow. “And while you’re at it, check out the lieutenant,” he told the paramedic. “He doesn’t look so good either.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man put down the backboard as his partner dropped the medical kit beside them. “Have a seat, y’all.”

  Logan didn’t even consider offering an argument. He felt like crap—bloody, exhausted, and nursing a headache that felt as if a Dire Wolf was whaling away on his skull with a hammer.

  “Come on.” He pulled Giada gently to the ground. “Let the nice paramedics do their job.”

  Terrence John Anderson hung across the monster’s furry shoulder and worked hard not to heave. Vomiting down the creature’s back wouldn’t be the best career move he’d ever made.

  In fact, it would be right up there with taking this fucking job to begin with. The witch was right—he’d been underpaid. Three million was nowhere near enough to deal with this shit. Witches. Monsters. Men who wouldn’t fucking die.

  And he’d pissed himself. The scalding humiliation of that made him want to kill something. Again.

  Right when he was getting ready to heave last night’s moo goo gai pan into its fur, the monster came to a skidding halt in the leaves.

  A moment later, Terrence hit the ground with a teeth-rattling thud. Despite his rebelling stomach and throbbing ass, he didn’t waste time scrambling to his feet.

  The creature towered over him, seven feet of muscle, fur, claws, and really, really big teeth.

  Jesus Christ, he thought, staring up at it in disbelief, it’s a freaking werewolf.

  Its head was unmistakably lupine, with a long, fanged muzzle and pointed ears. Thick fur the color of cinnamon covered its head and shoulders in a fluffy mane that fell to surprisingly round, full breasts. The fur was shorter elsewhere, a fine red-brown pelt, though it thickened over the creature’s groin. Its—her—body had a lean elegance that reminded him of a leopard’s. And her claws were the length of Ka-Bar knives.

  A ball of ice formed in his stomach. She could rip him apart and eat him before he knew what hit him. He took a step away and said the first thing that came into his head. “I’ve got money.”

  “You should.” Her eyes gleamed down at him, bright as the LEDs on a bomb timer. “I paid you enough up front.”

  Okay, that was a good sign. Capable of rationality. Maybe he could—This thing had hired him? “You’re my contact?” She didn’t sound like the woman on the phone. He wouldn’t have mistaken that deep, growling voice for anything human.

  “Yes.” She leaned down until her muzzle was a foot from his face and peeled her lips off long, gleaming white teeth. “Which is why I strongly suggest you don’t give me up to any fucking witch.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words emerged as an embarrassing squeak.

  She snorted, stirring the hair on his head. “You were about to sing like you were auditioning for American Idol.”

  Terrence licked his lips and dared, “Nobody said anything about witches.”

  She tilted her massive head. “Would you have believed me, asshole?”

  There was no percentage in answering that one. “So what do you want me to do now?”

  The werewolf turned away and began to pace, moving with odd grace on legs more like a dog’s than a biped’s. “MacRoy is still alive, but you tossed a fine wasps’ nest among those cops today. That was good.”

  Maybe she would let him live. “Thank you.”

  She shot him a narrow-eyed stare that made him step back a pace. “I’d be happier if MacRoy was dead.”

  He gave her a sickly smile. “I’d be glad to try again. I like a happy customer.” That was closer to groveling than he liked to come.

  Another gusting snort. “I’ll bet.” The silence stretched as she paced. The werewolf moved with amazing silence, considering she had to weigh four hundred pounds. “I want something bigger next time. Something really dramatic. Civilians.” She gave her massive head a short and decisive nod. “Lots of dead civilians, something that will send a message nobody can ignore.” Pivoting, she lifted those knifelike claws in an unmistakable threat. “But this time MacRoy dies. Or you do.”

  Terrence stretched his mouth into a semblance of a wide smile. He was all too aware of his wet pants. “Got it.”

  Yeah, he got it. Him or MacRoy—and the werewolf would kill him in a way he really wouldn’t like. So it would damn well have to be MacRoy.

  It was late afternoon when Logan stepped out on the deck outside his house, his broad shoulders slumped, one big hand wrapped around a beer bottle as he leaned a hip on the railing.

  Giada pulled the French door open and stepped outside. She still felt vaguely as if she were floating, power fizzing just under the skin. Whatever Smoke had done to heal her had quite a kick.

  Even the call to the Mageverse had been effortless, daylight or no daylight. Guinevere hadn’t been happy to learn a Dire Wolf was involved. Still, it did explain how the killer had been able to block their magic. She’d said they’d contact the Direkind as soon as Arthur woke from the Daysleep. Their new allies should be able to help them track the killer down easily enough.

  Then she’d thanked Giada for saving Logan’s life. Her gratitude had stung, considering what had happened to Mark.

  Giada eyed the beer bottle in Logan’s hand as she crossed the deck to join him. “Should you be drinking that?” The ER doctor had said Logan had a mild concussion.

  “No.” He took a deliberate swallow.

  “Ah.” She badly wanted to heal him. Though the sun was still up, power buzzed through her like the snap and crackle of electricity. Her own power, not the emerald’s.

  Unfortunately, Logan would definitely notice any attempt to heal him, no matter how subtle she was about it.

  Maybe when he was asleep . . .

  Giada frowned. On second thought, that sounded a bit questionable.

  It seemed she’d been doing questionable things a lot lately. The results had not been good, especially for Mark Davis and his family.

  Guilt stabbed her, a knife-twist of pain right in her heart.

  As if reading her mind, Logan spoke. “Th
e sheriff’s telling Mark’s wife right now,” He took another deliberate swig of his beer. “Her whole fucking life is imploding. And then she’s got to tell her daughter Daddy ain’t coming home. Ever.”

  Giada winced. “I’m sorry.” The words were automatic—and utterly useless.

  “So’m I. He was my man, and I let him get killed.”

  “How could you have prevented it?” She crossed the deck, drawn as helplessly to his pain as iron fillings to a magnet. “You had no reason to believe somebody was targeting first responders.” Because I didn’t tell you you’re the target of an assassin. Another vicious stab of guilty pain accompanied the thought.

  “I was his superior officer.” A muscle worked in his tight jaw. “It’s my job to foresee possibilities and look out for my men.”

  Giada studied Logan’s stony profile, seeing his father clearly in the line of his nose, the sweeping angle of his brows, the jut of his chin. Which was probably why what he’d just said sounded as if it had come out of Arthur’s mouth. It probably had.

  “What, you were supposed to use your X-ray vision to detect that bomb, then fly Davis to safety?” Giada asked tartly. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s a badge on your chest, not a big red S.”

  He slanted her a look and snorted. “Your inner nerd is showing.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to snap, And your Arthur is showing. But that, of course, would open a can of worms the size of boa constrictors.

  She could only grind her teeth in frustration.

  The thing was, Giada had a point. Logan was only human—but he didn’t have to be.

  If he’d been a vampire . . .

  You would have been in the Daysleep, dumbass, because it was still daylight.