Master of Fire

by Angela Knight

  Giada looked at him over a slice of pepperoni. “What, the werewolves?”

  “No. The Truebonded couples. Like Grace and Lance, Caroline and Galahad. And my folks. They were so . . . coordinated.”

  “Well, yeah.” She nodded, took a sip from a can of Coke Zero. “It was pretty impressive. Perfect teamwork. Like the way Gwen lured George in so Arthur could take him out. All without saying a word.”

  “That’s the Truebond.”

  “I know.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking we should do it. Truebond.”

  She froze, a piece of pizza halfway to her mouth, her storm gray eyes going wide. “Us? But we’re not even married.”

  “You don’t have to be married to Truebond.”

  “But you might as well be! Truebonds can’t be severed, Logan. When you link two souls, divorce is not an option.”

  Was the idea so distasteful to her? “It’s better than dying. The Direkind were created by Merlin himself. We need every advantage we can get.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Pain? “So you’re suggesting a marriage of convenience?”

  “I’ve watched my parents use their Truebond all my life. It makes them far more formidable than they would have been separately.” He tried out a smile. “And I can say that from personal experience as a former teenage boy.”

  “But if one of them dies, the shock would kill the other.”

  “They’ve been Truebonded for fifteen hundred years, and nobody’s managed to kill them yet. And believe me, plenty of people have tried.”

  “Got me there.” She smiled very slightly, though there was no humor in her eyes. “But I’ve got to ask—why me? There are a heck of a lot of single Majae who’d jump at the chance to Truebond with you.”

  But they’re not you. He wanted to say those words, but they seemed naked, as if they said more than he was ready to admit. So instead he said, “I know those Majae. I think you and I together could be more effective than I’d be with any of them. We’re a better fit.”

  Her gaze cooled so sharply, he thought, Oh, hell.

  When she spoke, it was with no inflection at all. “Well, that’s logical.”

  And logic, he realized suddenly, was not the right way to talk someone into a union of souls. “Just think about it.” He took a deep breath. “Think about this.”

  Logan leaned over, tilted her chin up, and kissed her, slowly, carefully. Her lips were cool and still under his at first—so still he felt a chill. He didn’t push, just brushed his lips over hers, gently, a request instead of a demand.

  At last her lips softened from their cool line, parting under his. Her stiff body relaxed, and her tongue brushed his mouth. He opened for her gratefully, letting her taste him.

  Tasting her, so sweet and hot, he shivered in the sudden rise of need.

  There may have been cool logic in the reasons he’d given her to Truebond with him, but there was nothing but heat in his kiss. Her body—her illogical, hungry body—leaped in reaction.

  Logan deepened the kiss, big hands slipping around her shoulders to pull her closer. Despite all the reasons she shouldn’t, she sank against him, enjoying the hard muscled strength, the way his fingers stroked so tenderly over her arms. Desire slid through her like molten chocolate, slow and sweet and warm.

  She moaned into his mouth, the sound a helpless admission of just how much she wanted him.

  And I can have him. The thought flashed through her mind. If we Truebond, he’s mine. United that way, he’ll learn to love me.

  But what if he doesn’t? Logan pulled the T-shirt off over her head, his eyes darkening at the sight of her bare breasts. It would be a little slice of hell to be in love with Logan MacRoy, while knowing beyond doubt he didn’t love her in return.

  But what if she refused to Truebond with him and he died in the fight with the Dire Wolves?

  No, that would be hell. Spending the rest of a very long life wondering if she could have used the Truebond to save him.

  While being without him. Forever.

  But what if she couldn’t make him fall in love with her? What if he came to resent her?

  But if he died because she didn’t do this . . .

  As her mind skittered in indecision like a panicked squirrel, she grew irritated with herself. Logically he was right—they needed every advantage they could get. If there was a cost later, she’d pay it.

  She closed her hand over his, stopping the stroke of his fingers over her nipples. “I’ll do it. I’ll Truebond with you.”

  There was a flash of relief in his eyes. Relief that became a frown as he gazed into her face. Apparently he didn’t like what he saw there. “Are you sure? If we do this, we can’t go back.”

  She didn’t let her gaze drop. “I’m sure.”

  “Do you know what to do?”

  Giada shrugged. “I just gave you the Gift, so we’re halfway there as it is. I just need to deepen the bond.”

  “Then if you’re sure . . .”

  “Are you sure?” She had to ask.

  He smiled, but there was tension in the line of his mouth. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  Yeah, right. Giada took a deep breath and reached out to lay a hand on the side of his face. Closing her eyes, she reached for her magic. Here in the Mageverse, it responded in a hot gush of energy, eager to be shaped to her will. She let it flow through her, out to her hand, to her fingertips and palm, to pour into his flesh, his mind. She felt him stiffen against her, catching his breath at the bright burn. She opened her eyes.

  There are sparks fl ashing in her gaze. God, she is so beautiful.

  Giada jolted, realizing the alien thought was his. In her surprise, she almost lost the connection, but she grabbed for it again, adding more magic to the thin thread like a woman spinning yarn. Strengthening it, binding them tighter . . .

  Hunger.

  Giada caught her breath as the need rose in her, sudden and sharp. The need to feel her slick nether lips sliding the length of his cock in gorgeous waves of pleasure. The need for her blood flooding his mouth, flavored with hot copper and burning with magic.

  It was Logan’s need. Logan’s hunger. So sharp and hot it touched off her own desire to feel him driving deep, to feel the sharp bite of his fangs and the spreading pleasure of his mouth drawing hard.

  Hunger fed hunger, each enhancing the other, building in a furious feedback to maddening heights.

  Hands clawed at buttons and zippers, fabric tore in impatient fingers. Until they were both naked. This time there was no sweet, leisurely foreplay, no sensual teasing. They didn’t need it. They just needed that hot and total connection.

  She swung astride him, wrapping her legs around his hips. His arms cradled her close as their mouths sealed in a ferocious kiss as necessary as oxygen. His fingers found her breasts, pinched a hard nipple into stinging pleasure as he bore her backward into the sectional’s cushions. Positioning himself at the opening of her slick lower lips, Logan entered in one driving, breathless thrust.

  They both cried out, the sounds of their voices blending, his deep rumble underlying her higher cry. Overwhelmed by mutual need, they ground against each other, his lean hips rocking against her softer belly, her heels digging fiercely into his ass, arms wrapped tight against each other as they strove hard for the orgasm they could feel building.

  They kissed as they fucked, tongues slipping in and out in time to hard, jarring thrusts that drove the pleasure higher, higher, higher. Until Giada had to rip away to breathe, throwing her head back, knowing he’d take the gesture as the offering it was.

  He covered her banging pulse with his lips, still thrusting in short little digs, so damned close they could both taste it, in a mutually crazed sliding into madness.

  His fangs bit deep, and she gasped at the sharp sting. Cried out as he began to drink, the taste of her own blood on her tongue like liquid magic, a searing echo of what he experienced with each hot swal
low.

  And still he pumped that meaty cock into her cunt, fierce long thrusts, greedy for that dizzy soar and swoop into orgasm. She dug her nails into his back, feeling the hot sting on her own shoulders even as he felt his/her cock in his/her sex, the magic rendering irrelevant the question of what anatomy belonged to whom. It was all hers, all his, blood and dick and pussy and fangs, a crazy melding, building to . . .

  Explosion.

  Explosion.

  The climax was like nothing they’d ever felt, a rocket ride into heat and light, blinding, overwhelming. She screamed for them both, his mouth busy on her throat as her voice spiraled into a high and breathless shriek.

  Until they tumbled down again, still linked cock and cunt, fangs and throat, mind and mind, hearts pounding in a single hard beat.

  Together.

  EIGHTEEN

  Giada lay with Logan’s broad, warm body curled around her, listening to the strong, slowing beat of his heart. Both brawny arms looped around her, cuddling her close. And it felt . . .

  Good. Really, really good.

  He drifted off to sleep, his active, questing mind falling into misty drowsiness as the sun approached the horizon. Giada knew when it rose because he went out like a birthday candle blown by an eager child.

  This Truebond was . . . amazing. Really, there was no other word for it. To be united with a man like Logan, no longer completely alone as every human being ultimately is within his own skull. Able to hear his every thought, feel his sensations, share his dreams and his hopes.

  As he could feel hers.

  What would he think of her when he woke up at sunset, and they began to explore this new connection?

  It wouldn’t take him long to realize she was hopelessly in love with him. She wouldn’t be able to hide it, as she’d hidden her feelings in the erotic storm they’d just enjoyed. He was a smart man; he’d know.

  And then what?

  Giada frowned into the darkness, imagining what he’d think when he perceived the depth of her crazy love—when he didn’t feel the same way. As she was sure he didn’t.

  Oh, he desired her—that much was plain from the erotic hunger she could sense through the Truebond. But love? Love the way she felt it for him?

  No way.

  She had good reason to love him, after all. He was Logan MacRoy, son of King Arthur, chemist, cop, and vampire. A man who disarmed bombs because somebody had to do it.

  And she was . . . well, Giada Shepherd. She had a doctorate in organic chemistry, and yes, she was a Maja so she could do some really cool magic. And true, mirrors didn’t exactly break when she walked by. But let’s face it—Logan was far above her on the Hotness Scale.

  Giada winced. Boy, it sounded juvenile when she put it like that. But juvenile or not, there was an element of truth to it.

  She didn’t want him to know how much she loved him. Not yet. Not until he’d learned to love her.

  At least a little.

  Smoke purred like an outboard motor as Heather Jones absently stroked his fur, her nose in a Stephanie Meyer novel. Groaning and hooting by turns, her brother sat on the floor, furiously manipulating his Xbox 360’s controllers with agile thumbs. On the den’s enormous flat screen, his elf alter ego attacked an army of orcs with a flaming sword, whooping battle cries as he fought.

  Despite his lazy pose on Heather’s stomach, Smoke was just as busy as the boy. Earlier, he’d walked a warding spell around the Jones family’s sprawling Dutch Colonial Revival, three stories of creamy yellow siding, dark brown shutters, and brown gambrel roof. The spell probably couldn’t keep the Dire Wolves out—they seemed to ignore all magic but their own—but it would warn Smoke if they tried to mount an attack.

  Since the children’s parents had gone to Mark Davis’s receiving of friends, it was up to him to keep the kids safe. And he was determined to do just that.

  Luckily, Heather was a sucker for big blue eyes and soft fur. All he’d had to do was show up outside the house this morning and meow. She’d seen him, decided from his lack of a collar and tags that he was homeless, and begged her mother to let her adopt him. Mrs. Jones was now running a “cat found” ad in the paper—which, of course, would get no response.

  Smoke planned to be gone before she decided to take him to the vet and have him fixed. That just wouldn’t do at all.

  Shuttering his eyes, he concentrated on looking lazy. It wasn’t difficult; everything about the house was comfortable, with pale green walls accented in cream, lots of colorful throw pillows and rag rugs, and a jungle’s worth of houseplants. The den furniture was wicker, with thick, bright green cushions.

  Just as he was fighting off dropping into a doze, Andy’s elf zigged when he should have zagged, got sliced by an orcan axe, and gave such a realistic death shriek that Smoke jerked in alarm. “Dammit!” Andy yelled.

  “Language,” Heather said, without looking up from her book.

  “Bite me!” her brother growled back.

  She snorted. “Not in a million years.”

  Smoke was just settling down again when a sensation of menace slid over him, raising every hair on his back into a bristle of alarm.

  Power. Evil. Magic so powerful and malevolent, he hadn’t felt the like since the Dark Ones murdered his Sidhe tribe to feed their vile appetites.

  Godling, a voice growled in his mind, deep and chilling, I come for you.

  What in the name of all the gods and demons was that? Ice slid over his heart as he bolted to his feet.

  “Hey, watch the claws,” Heather said, frowning over her book at him. Smoke realized he’d unconsciously dug into her jeans-clad thigh. He jumped down, landing with a thump on the beige carpeted floor as his heartbeat broke into a thundering gallop of pure panic.

  That thing will kill these children. Smoke would be a target, too, of course, but whatever-it-was would definitely go after the children.

  Creatures like this always did.

  Bodies lay strewn across the village—women, children, old men, hacked, burned, half-eaten among the piles of ash and stone that had once been huts. He’d stumbled across the smoking, stinking mud, staring in horror at what was left of his tribe. Too late, he realized the Dark Ones who’d ambushed him in the forest had been a diversion. The real target had been those he loved.

  His people. The descendants who’d trusted him.

  Self-hate rolled over him like a wave of lava, searing him with the burning weight of his guilt. They’d given him their love, sung songs in his worship, chosen their most beautiful maids to lie with him in hopes of a demigod’s sons.

  And he had failed them when they’d needed him most.

  They’d died in agony, victims of creatures who’d devoured their suffering with greedy enjoyment.

  Smoke shook himself hard in an effort to banish the psychic scar of his darkest memory. His fur floated in the air with the violence of the movement, but it didn’t help.

  Once again something else was coming to kill innocents under his protection. These two pretty children would end up lying in their own blood, eyes empty and staring while he suffered the memory of their deaths all the rest of his immortal, pointless life.

  No. Gods and devils, not this time. This time he would not fail. He would die if that’s what it took, but these children would live.

  Smoke drove his mind into the core of the Mageverse where his purest power lay coiled and waiting. Power he’d walled away all those centuries ago.

  Now he tore that wall down with a single fierce thrust of will. The magic came shrieking back, a cyclone whirl of energy that shredded his cat guise like rice paper in a gale.

  It burned. The pain blazed mercilessly along every neuron and cell, until his brain seemed to ignite like a bonfire in his skull.

  Andy and Heather screamed, high, startled shrieks that barely rose over the thunderclap sonic boom of his transformation. In that moment, he went from seven-pound house cat to his true guise—a tall, broadly built Sidhe warrior, clad in enchanted
plate armor, a battle-axe in one hand. The only sign of the cat he’d been was the V-shaped silver stripes running through his long black hair.

  For half a beat, the children just blinked at him. “What . . . Where did you . . . ?” Heather stammered, rolling off the couch and backing away.

  Smart child.

  “You have pointed ears!” Andy blurted.

  “There’s no time for that.” He cast a spell, quick and ruthless, ensuring he’d get neither argument nor questions from his charges until they were safely elsewhere. “Come.”

  Drawing again on his power, he prepared to cast a gate to Avalon. Once there, they’d . . .

  It was like punching his fist into a wall of solid steel. The energy of his gate slammed into a force barrier that bounced it back on him. He barely managed to dissolve the spell in time to keep from being incinerated by his own creation.

  You go nowhere, godling. The voice hissed in his mind like a nest of snakes, its writhing mental touch making him recoil.

  Smoke snarled a curse in a language that hadn’t been spoken in millennia. Grabbing Heather’s upper arm in one hand, he gave Andy a light push down the hall. “We’ve got to get out of here. Quickly. Get to the garage.”

  Firmly under his spell, neither child questioned him as he hustled them along. The skin between his shoulder blades tightened and itched in warning dread with every step they took.

  The sense of menace became a sickening presence. Claws scraped on the wooden floor.

  Smoke jerked around.

  The creature that had gated in behind them was nearly nine feet tall, with fur as thick and white as a polar bear’s. His eyes glowed orange, and his muzzle was wolfish, a match for the erect ears and bushy tail. A fluffy mane flared around his head to run down his chest all the way to his sex. Gold glinted against pale fur: a medallion engraved with intricate runes that matched the wide rings on each clawed finger.

  Magic boiled around the creature like a hurricane front, a seething, glowing cloud, flavored with malevolence.