Master of Fire

by Angela Knight

  Agonizing seconds ticked by. What do . . . you need me to do?

  Can you put up a shield?

  I . . . Maybe. I’m weak. Lost too much blood. He felt her force herself back to consciousness, letting the full pain of her injuries hit her again. He heard her cry out, a faint, hoarse scream.

  And then he felt her magic rise, powered by the very last of her strength.

  Logan shoved the chapel doors open and stormed through. “Hey, assholes!”

  The two Dire Wolves looked up at him in surprise as they crouched over Giada’s sprawled body. Neither noticed the glitter of a magical shield waver into existence over her bloody form.

  “Don’t forget your toys!” Logan hefted the two bomb vests he’d wired together and hurled them overhand right at the Dire Wolves. Even as the bombs flew through the air, he dove for shelter between the pews.

  The black wolf bellowed something. Logan didn’t have time to recognize the word before the C4 detonated in a thunderous explosion that shook the floor. A pew slammed hard into Logan’s head, and he saw sparks almost as bright as the flame that rolled across the room. Flaming chunks of wood and ceiling tile—and wet bits he didn’t want to think about—rained down around him. He curled into a tight ball, sheltering his bleeding head with both arms.

  An endless moment later, the fall of debris stopped. His arm stung, and he looked up to see that his uniform shirt was on fire. He slapped the flame out and scrambled to his feet.

  “Giada?”

  There was a crater in the middle of the room, surrounded by tumbled, blasted pews, some of them burning merrily. Something small lay in the exact center of the blasted space.

  “Shit! Giada!” He raced toward it. The air was so thick with dust and smoke, it was hard to see a damn thing. He was too busy listening for Giada’s psychic spark to care.

  He found her in the middle of a circle of seared and blackened flooring. The floor outside the circle was soaked with blood. Chunks of meat, bone, and seared body parts littered the floor all around.

  A circle of undamaged carpet lay beneath her body; it had been protected by the magical shield she’d cast.

  Dropping to his knees beside her, Logan hesitated, afraid to touch her. Bruises, claw marks, and bites marred her pale skin, and her face was so swollen he barely recognized her. He ached to jerk her into his arms, but he didn’t dare.

  “Oh, baby,” he whispered. “I wish I could bring those bastards back from the dead so I could kill them all over again.”

  She needed help. Badly. And not mortal medical aid, either; he doubted a hospital could save her.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t call the Mageverse for help. The Truebond told him she was out like a light, which was probably a good thing.

  Luckily, he had an alternative, now that the jamming spell had been destroyed with the bombs.

  Fumbling with one of the phone clips on his belt, Logan pulled out the magical cell Guinevere had given him. He knew he’d better act fast; he could hear voices in the distance. The deputies were beginning their search for bodies.

  “Mom?”

  An instant later, his mother answered. “Logan?”

  He sagged in relief.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Logan’s eyes opened as the sun slipped below the horizon. For a moment, he blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented by the mists of nightmares—blood, fire, explosions. And Giada, in pain. Dying beneath the claws and fangs of werewolves.

  His head jolted off the pillow . . .

  . . . to feel the delicate touch of Giada’s mind a moment before she rolled over and draped herself across his chest. “Shhhhhh. It’s okay.” She looked blessedly healthy again, her beautiful face clean of blood and bruises, the body they’d broken healthy again.

  Joy surged through him, so intense he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her fiercely. “Oh, God, girl, you scared me stupid.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t do much for me either.” Folding her long, lovely hands on his breastbone, Giada propped her chin on them and gave him a dazzling smile.

  Logan stroked a strand of silky blond hair back from her face with his fingers. “What were you up to while I was in the Daysleep?”

  She grimaced. “Mostly healing. It was all the other witches who were working their brooms off. A team gated in as Gwen gated us out, and it still took half the night and all day to clean up the mess.”

  “I’m not surprised. There were probably three hundred witnesses to influence, most of ’em cops.”

  “And that’s not even counting the ones with camera phones,” she said wryly. “Anyway, as far as the mortals are concerned, nothing blew up. Morgana and her team repaired the damage to the funeral home and got rid of the bodies, then made everybody believe they never heard any kind of blast. They even re-created the damned vests you took off Andy and Heather.”

  Logan frowned. “What about the kids?”

  “According to your mother, that was the tough part,” Giada admitted. “Andy and Heather were heading for one hell of a case of post-traumatic stress—and that’s without the memory of all those damned werewolves. Morgana had to do a lot of touchy psychic editing to make them remember the kidnappers as regular humans.”

  He cupped her arms, enjoying the warmth of her silky skin against his. He was starting to get hungry. “So if nothing blew up and the kidnappers were human, where did they go?”

  Giada sighed. “Yeah, that was the rub. The gang supposedly slipped away while the funeral home was being evacuated.”

  “Hell.” Logan glowered. “That means Lori and Tara don’t get closure. And the sheriff takes the heat for losing the bad guys.”

  She shrugged. “It was that or give them pieces of dead werewolf. Which would have opened a can of worms the size of anacondas.”

  “What about Smoke? Is he okay? He was guarding those kids. I know he didn’t let the bastards just waltz off with them.”

  “That’s the biggest issue.” Worry rolled through Giada, so intense across the Truebond that Logan stiffened in dread. “He vanished. The last the kids saw him, he was fighting a white Dire Wolf who sounded a lot like Mrs. Devon’s description of Warlock. As they drove away, he’d been imprisoned in some kind of energy globe. Guinevere did a scan for his magic, but she found nothing.”

  He stared at her in pain. “They’re afraid he’s dead.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Logan, but they don’t think he made it. If he had, he would have returned to Avalon by now.”

  Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck that. We’re going to go look.”

  They searched for three days, combing the area around the Jones home as well as every Mageverse haunt of Smoke’s Logan could think of. They even checked out the animal shelter, in case the cat had been rendered powerless and picked up by Animal Control.

  Like the Majae, they found nothing. It was as if he’d vanished off the face of the earth, magic and all.

  “He’s not dead,” Logan told Giada as they returned to her house after yet another frustrating night. “He disappears like this all the time. He probably got hurt and holed up somewhere to heal. He’ll turn up when he gets good and damned ready.”

  But she could feel the worry in the depths of his mind, vibrating a low, pained note through the Truebond.

  As Giada watched, he dropped onto the couch and slumped, letting his dark head fall against the back. Despite his optimistic words, a mood of gloom hung around him.

  Giada suspected at least part of his depression was born of handing his badge in.

  This time Sheriff Jones had accepted Logan’s resignation. Since he’d risked his life to save Heather and Andy, no one thought Logan had been involved in the bombings in any way whatsoever.

  “I think you need cheering up,” Giada announced, reaching for the hem of her top. “And I know just how to do it.”

  He lifted his head and started to open his mouth, probably to tell her he wasn’t really up for making love.

  Then she
peeled the loose cotton shirt off over her head, leaving her breasts cupped in delicate pink lace.

  Logan’s eyes heated. “You know, I think I’m feeling a little better already.”

  “Good.” She reached for the zipper of her jeans and pulled it down as she gave her hips a slow, deliberate roll. Turning her back on him, she stripped them down her legs, making sure to bend deep to give him a good look at her ass. The hot purr that rolled through the Truebond told her just how much he enjoyed the view.

  The panties went next. She kicked the scrap of pink silk across the room with a flick of one foot, then, still bending, reached back to unfasten her bra.

  When Giada turned around, very thoroughly naked, she found Logan had gotten rid of his own knit shirt, displaying his broad, muscular chest for her enjoyment.

  His socks soared across the room as she approached him in a hip-swaying stalk. He grinned as she bent and reached for his zipper, her eyes locked with his dark and hungry gaze. Yet beneath the hunger, she could still feel his pain.

  The zipper hissed as Giada went after his belt, making the buckle ring as she unfastened it. Looking through the open fly, she found the head of his cock peeking over the waistband of his boxers, a drop of arousal beading its heart-shaped curve.

  When Giada went to her knees, he growled, a soft, hungry vampire rumble. Oooh, yeah, she thought in the Truebond. Your mood is defi nitely lifting.

  It’s not the only thing. He caught his breath as she leaned down and licked the bead away with a flick of her pointed pink tongue. His cock reared against the soft cotton of his underwear with an eager jerk. She tugged the fabric lower, catching it under his balls, so she could trace a long nail down the length of his shaft. It was delightfully hard, with a single fat vein snaking along its blood-darkened length. Giada gently traced her nails back up that vein, and grinned as he shuddered.

  She hooked her hands in the waistband of his jeans and began to pull. He’d gotten rid of his shoes during her impromptu striptease, so she was able to peel them off and toss them aside without any pause in the delightful action.

  Rising to her feet, Giada looked down at Logan as he sprawled in the dim light of the living room lamp. The light cast intriguing shadows over the muscled ridges and hollows of his big body. An intriguing ruff of soft hair rolled down his chest to fluff around his tight testicles, inviting her fingers.

  Giada went to her knees and leaned forward to take his big shaft in hand. Through the Truebond, she felt pleasure jolt up his spine at her touch, and she grinned.

  Then she lowered her head and gave him a long, slow lick from the base of his shaft to the head of his cock. He sucked in a breath and arched his back hard as he gasped, “That’s . . . God!”

  She purred at him and gave the head a slow swirling lick, as though his cock were a particularly delicious ice cream cone. The feral hunger that rolled through the bond in reply made her own arousal spike. Enjoying it thoroughly, she started licking—little flicks, long strokes, fluttering kisses.

  From the corner of one eye, she watched his fingers dig into the arm of the couch in a ferocious bid for control. She hummed in satisfaction and swooped her mouth down over his cock.

  The suckle she gave him made Logan’s back arch like a drawn bow. “That’s . . . enough!” he managed. “I want to . . .”

  She dragged her mouth up until his cock escaped from her with a loud, deliberate pop. “Nope.” Swirling her tongue thoughtfully over the head, she added after a moment, “I’m not finished.”

  “Yeah, well, unless you want me to finish . . .”

  She lifted her head and raised a taunting brow. “I suggest you try to develop a little self-control.”

  But before she could pounce on his dick again, Logan reared up and grabbed her around the waist. Before she knew what hit her, he picked her up off the floor and draped her belly-down across the thickly padded arm of the chair.

  “Hey!” Giada protested, trying to rear up again.

  He planted one hand between her shoulder blades, holding her down as he picked up his belt.

  This time her “Hey!” had considerably more emphasis, though he still didn’t let her up. “I am not into spanking!”

  Logan’s chuckle sounded more than a little wicked. “Actually, I’ve got another kink in mind. Remember that first dream we shared?”

  Intrigued, Giada subsided to stare over her shoulder at him. “The one where you . . . ?”

  “Tied you up and screwed your brains out?” He wrapped the belt around her wrists and buckled it. “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “Didn’t that turn into a nightmare?” she said as he crawled onto the couch behind her.

  “Yeah, well, I thought we’d give it a rewrite.” He pushed her over farther and parted her cheeks so he could get at her sex. He rumbled approval when he found out how wet she was.

  Hanging head-down over the couch arm, Giada moaned in delight as his tongue scooped between her nether lips, licking and swirling delicious little patterns. “Oooh,” she whimpered. “That’s . . . incredible. And more than a little evil.”

  “Just wait.” He laughed wickedly. “I’ve barely gotten started.”

  Hands tied behind her back, she could only quiver in response.

  Logan was merciless, licking and nibbling at her as if she were a particularly juicy peach, pressing his face close so he could get at every inch of her. Giada squirmed at the little jolts of pleasure that arrowed from his busy tongue. Threw back her head when he slid one arm around her left leg so he could cup her hanging breast. Rolling and squeezing her nipple with delicate ruthlessness, he went on driving her slowly insane.

  Her orgasm hit in a storm of heat and light, roaring through the Truebond with maddening intensity. With a growl, Logan released her, straightened, and grabbed his cock.

  Giada screamed in delight as he drove into her right to his balls. Growling, he started thrusting, driving hard, grinding deep. Each deep lunge added another crazed sensation to her ferocious climax. She writhed, yelling her delight without an ounce of self-consciousness.

  He came, bellowing right back at her, flooding the Truebond with the incredible erotic feedback of a shared orgasm. When the blaze finally winked out, he clung to her back, both of them sweating and half-stunned.

  When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “Marry me, Giada. I love you. I don’t want to live without you.”

  She could feel the utter truth of that statement in their bond, just as he could feel her own love for him. “Yes, Logan. God, yes!”

  With a soft, triumphant growl, he took her throat, drinking deep.

  Giada moaned in delight—both his, and her own.

  Together at last.

  Turn the page for a special preview of

  Angela Knight’s next novel

  MASTER OF SMOKE

  Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

  CHAPTER ONE

  A werewolf was killing a man. But not with claws.

  With magic.

  Beth Roman watched in horror from the concealment of the woods. Thick brush screened her hiding place even as branches scratched her arms. She ignored the sting, too wired to care. Next to her, Rhett Butler whined at her distress, while Scarlett licked her face. Beth gently pushed the Irish Setter’s muzzle away, her eyes locked on the scene as her pack pressed close around her, the four dogs whimpering softly.

  The armored man writhed almost five feet off the ground, suspended in a glowing globe of energy. An enormous werewolf watched him, a vicious grin on his fanged muzzle, eyes glowing feral and orange with greed.

  The creature looked even bigger than the monster that had attacked Beth, easily eight feet tall, as brawny as a polar bear. Like the bear, his fur was a snowy white, though flecked with dark splatters—the man’s blood.

  I’ve got to do something. Beth flexed her hands as cold anxiety drew her muscles into quivering knots. As soon as the werewolf got tired of torturing his victim with . . . whatever it was he was d
oing, he was going to start using fangs and claws. And the man would have no more chance than she’d had.

  She had to save the poor bastard. She couldn’t just sit here and watch the monster rip him apart.

  Beth’s stomach roiled in icy nausea at the thought of fighting another werewolf. Memories flashed through her mind, blood-soaked and echoing with screams. Claws ripping flesh, fangs sinking into her belly, the spreading cold of death as her life drained away . . . She swallowed hard, trying to keep from tossing the burger she’d had for dinner.

  Sucking in a hard breath, Beth started to call her magic. No, cried a shrill little mental voice. He’ll sense me change. He’ll come after me . . .

  But if she did nothing, the armored man would die. And she didn’t want to live with that kind of guilt. What if someone could have saved her, and done nothing because of cowardice?

  And that’s what it was. Cowardice.

  Beth breathed deep again, shoving aside her howling terror and stuffing the memory of pain and blood back into its scarred psychic box.

  But just as she reached for the magic, the armored man did . . . something. Magic began to surge and swirl, hotter, brighter inside the energy globe, streaming into the clawed fingers the werewolf had shoved into the shimmering blue field.

  What the hell is he . . .

  Before she could even finish the thought, the magic detonated like a bomb. The blast was eye-searing, yet utterly silent except for the psychic rumble it sent rolling through her brain.

  Gasping, Beth threw up a hand to shield her tearing eyes. The dogs howled in alarm.

  When she could see again, the werewolf lay on his back, smoke rising from his singed claws, from his muzzle, even from his closed eyes.

  And both the energy globe and the man were gone.

  Had he blown himself up?

  No, wait—there he was, running for the woods. Actually, more staggering than running, his face white and blank, stunned, as if he was moving on blind instinct.