Master of Fire (17 page)

His mouth worked silently before he managed, “This ain’t possible.”

“Obviously it is, or it wouldn’t be happening.” Magic poured from her hands, ripping him off his stand and dragging him into the air. A second ball of force clamped around his throat. He choked, kicking. Giada watched his face darken with snarling satisfaction.

“Don’t kill him, child,” Smoke called from below. “At least, not yet.”

She let up the pressure on his windpipe and added just enough support to keep from breaking his neck. Judging from the way his face was going dark, he probably had his doubts. “Now, let’s try this again. Who. Hired. You?”

His mouth worked, but no sound emerged. She let up on the pressure another fraction, and he squeaked, “I don’t know!”

“Now you’re just being insulting. Guy like you? You know. Or you’ve certainly got a damned good idea. Otherwise . . .” She tightened her grip on his throat. “Not feeling the need to keep you alive.”

His eyes wheeled like those of a panicked horse, face purpling as he gagged out, “She’s got money. Never . . . never tried to haggle. Gave me what I wanted.”

Giada loosened her hold another fraction. “She? And how much money?”

“Three million.”

“You were underpaid. What did she want for her three million?”

“MacRoy dead. With a lot of collateral damage. Wants to send a message to somebody.”

“Who?”

“I can’t . . .”

She cranked down on the force again.
“Who?”

“His father! MacRoy’s father!”

“You know, I’m still not hearing her name.” Something crunched. He choked. “I really want her name.”

This would not
do at all.

The spy studied the situation, and did not particularly care for the view.

Giada Shepherd hovered on a cloud of magic that foamed around her like a fountain of glowing force. Coils of the same energy wrapped the assassin’s neck and torso in strangling bands.

Who’d have thought the little twit was capable of that kind of magic?

To make matters worse, at the base of the tree crouched an enormous feline . . .
thing
. It was black, but far too massively built to be a panther. She thought it looked more like a tiger, what with the pewter fur striping its brawny black haunches and massive forelegs. Its head was longer and more elegant than a tiger’s, with long ears rising to tufted points. It radiated such power, the witch looked like a firefly by comparison.

Fear iced the spy’s spine. She could not afford to leave Anderson in the witch’s hands—it would not take the little blond bitch long to wring out every detail the bomber knew. Which might be nothing . . . but then again, perhaps he knew entirely too much. God only knew what information he’d unearthed.

So. The cat first. The cat was most dangerous. Luckily, the spy had approached from downwind, so the big beast had not scented her—yet.

As if sensing that thought, the creature’s head swung in her direction. Instantly, the spy exploded toward it in a furious rush of muscle and power. If she didn’t strike fast and hard and
now
, there would be no second chance.

The cat roared, rising onto its powerful haunches to meet her with extended claws. Magic poured from its open jaws, boiling like an electrical storm. The blast slammed into the spy’s face with such force, it would have killed anyone not of her kind.

Before the cat could register that its blast had done nothing, she locked both hands in its ruff. Clawed paws ripped her forearms, but she ignored the pain, whipped into a spin, and heaved. The beast yowled as all eight hundred pounds of it sailed through the air to slam into a tree trunk halfway across the clearing. The furry body bounced, landing in a dazed heap. Crackling like a volley of rifle fire, the tree toppled, landing right on top of the huge cat.

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.

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.

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.

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.