Master of Fire (21 page)

Yet another thing Giada had fucked up.

She’d been so intent on forcing the assassin to tell her who’d hired him, she hadn’t even noticed the approach of his furry accomplice. Not until the creature had slammed Smoke into a tree and batted Giada out of the air like a slow baseball pitch. If it hadn’t been for Smoke, she’d be as dead as Davis.

She was only dimly aware of the tears that started to roll down her cheeks.

 

 

Giada had no
idea how long she floated in a swirl of misery before an alarmed female voice jerked her back to awareness. “Giada?”

She started and swiped her hands guiltily over both wet cheeks as Guinevere hurried across the garden toward her. To Giada’s surprise, the garden was now twilight dark, the sun almost completely behind the horizon. How long had she sat in a stupor, anyway?

“What’s wrong, child?” The Maja’s eyes were too wide as she sat down on the bench and took Giada’s hands in a warm, strong grip. “I felt your pain from three blocks away. Something else has happened. Is it Logan?”

“No, he’s fine.”
One sex partner from becoming a vampire, but fi ne.
“I was just thinking about Mark Davis.”

Sadness flooded her lovely eyes. “Logan always spoke so fondly of him. And if I know my son, he’s taking it hard—and probably blaming himself.” She sighed.

“Is Arthur awake yet? I need to give you both the . . . details.”
Of how I so totally screwed up. Oh, God, I dread this.

Gwen frowned, her eyes searching Giada’s face before her gaze softened. “He should be up in a few minutes. Why don’t you come inside the house and have a cup of tea while he gets dressed?”

Giada doubted she could keep anything in her stomach, considering that it was currently a solid mass of knots. Still, it would give them both something to do with their hands. “Thank you, that sounds lovely.”

 

 

When Arthur strode
into the living room, Giada’s teacup rattled on the saucer she’d balanced on one knee. The big warrior frowned at her, narrow-eyed. “What the hell’s going on? Gwen said one of Logan’s teammates is dead.”

Giada realized his wife must have spoken to him through the Truebond psychic link they shared.

Gwen gestured him to a chair. “Have a seat and let the child talk, Arthur.”

Unable to sit any longer, Giada put her cup on the coffee table and rose to her feet even as Arthur dropped into one of the armchairs.

Putting both hands behind her back and bracing her feet apart in an approximation of a parade rest, Giada began to tell the whole painful story. She left nothing out, from her stupidity in accepting the necklace from Morgana to Mark’s murder to the battle she and Smoke had fought with the Dire Wolf.

She finished with the vision that had convinced her to make love to Logan for the second time, even though it meant violating the orders she’d been given.

When she finally stopped talking and dared look at Arthur, his sculpted cheekbones were scarlet with rage. Her heart sank as she braced herself.

“Let me get this straight.” He spoke in a terrifying whisper of rage that chilled Giada’s blood to ice. “Despite your orders to stay the hell away from my son, you made love to him anyway.
Twice
. You failed to detect the explosive device that killed one of his men, and which damn near killed both of you, too.
And
when you captured the killer,
you let him get away
.”

Giada lifted her chin and fought to keep her eyes from dropping from his hot black gaze. Her braced knees shook. “Yes, sir.”

“And to make matters worse, my son now believes we set him up with a Maja seductress, despite my personal vow
on my honor
not to interfere with his decision.”

Her head rocked back as his voice grew louder. “No, sir. I told him you ordered me to stay away from him. I took full responsibility for my actions.”

Black eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t that kind of you.”

“Arthur,” Guinevere snapped. “That’s enough.”

“It’s not even close to enough, Gwen,” Arthur snarled. “We trusted this girl with our son, and she botched it. We’re lucky he survived her . . . protection.”

“I’m aware of my mistakes, sir.” Giada’s voice shook, and she swallowed, fighting to steady it. “I deeply regret them, particularly Davis’s death. I realize there’s nothing I can do . . .”

“Actually, there is,” Arthur snapped coldly. “Consider yourself confined to your Avalon residence. Spend your time thinking about the importance of following orders, so that in the unlikely event we ever entrust you with another mission, you won’t fuck it up the way you did this one.” He curled his lip. “And stay the hell away from my son. Don’t visit him, don’t talk to him, don’t even look at him. And
especially
don’t screw him.” His eyes narrowed as he rose slowly to his feet. “And don’t even think of disobeying
that
order.”

She swallowed. Her head felt so light that for a humiliating moment, she wondered if she might faint. “Yes, sir. I won’t, sir.”

“Won’t
what
?”

“I won’t visit Logan, I won’t talk to him, I won’t even look at him. And I won’t . . . make love to him. Again.” Her voice shook.

Arthur lifted his lip, exposing his rage-lengthened fangs. “Get out of my sight.”

Giada turned and fled for the front door, opening it with a burst of magic. She slammed one shoulder into the doorframe on the way out. Barely feeling the pain, she broke into a run the moment the door closed behind her.

 

 

“Arthur,” Guinevere said
in a deliberate voice, “Have I ever told you just how big an asshole you can be?”

He looked around at her, incredulous. “You can’t be defending that little idiot to me.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “She loves our son, Arthur. And if he doesn’t love her back, I’ll be greatly surprised.”

He snorted. “Logan’s not that big a fool.”

They’d had a lot of fights over fifteen hundred years of marriage. The one that followed that statement ranked with the worst.

 

 

It was full
night as Logan sat in one of the lawn chairs on the deck, his third beer on his knee as he pretended to ignore Smoke. Which wasn’t easy, since the cat crouched under a redwood end table glaring daggers at him. Black as his friend was, all Logan could see were ice blue eyes glowing in the dark like a pair of laser sights.

Nobody did contempt better than Smoke. He might as well have had a neon sign flashing over his head that read, “You’re an asshole.”

Logan took another long swallow of his beer and ignored him some more. Which would have been considerably easier if he hadn’t suspected the cat was right.

He kept remembering the look on Giada’s face as she’d told Smoke she was leaving. So much desperate dignity layered over so much pain.

Sucker
, his harder self growled.
She lied to you. She deserved a chewing out
.

He only wished he could believe that. Unfortunately, there was a tight little knot in his chest that insisted otherwise, even after half a six-pack of Bud.

Water under the bridge, he told himself. The real question was what did he do now?

Which was something of a stupid question, because the answer was so obvious.

He had to become a vampire.

The Gift would give Logan all the power he needed to avenge Mark’s death. Especially considering that there was apparently a Dire Wolf involved in this mess. Presumably a rogue; Logan couldn’t believe sane Direkind would involve themselves in killing Latents. Like the Magekind, the werewolves had been created by Merlin himself to safeguard the human race.

But one of those Dire Wolves was evidently more interested in killing than keeping anybody safe. And Logan was damn well going to take the murderer down—along with the assassin she’d hired.

But first he had to complete his transformation.

Which meant he’d have to find a Maja to sleep with him the final time. He’d always figured he’d seek out La Belle Coeur, the Maja court seducer often dispatched to help male Latents reach Merlin’s Gift.

La Belle was not only exquisitely beautiful, she was said to be a thousand years old, with mind-blowing sexual skills. Logan had grown up listening to vampires rhapsodize about being transformed by La Belle Coeur’s delicious ministrations.

What’s more, La Belle was as kind and intelligent as she was beautiful. Logan had suffered from a rather painful crush on her as a teenager, a fact she’d been well aware of. Yet she’d always treated him with grave respect, even when he’d been an awkward fourteen-year-old. Now he could finally seek her out and experience the reality behind all his boyhood fantasies.

He frowned. Somehow he had the feeling that making love to La Belle would be a poor second to taking Giada to bed. Giada, with her long and lovely body, who’d responded to him with such innocent hunger. If she’d had more than a couple of lovers in her entire life, Logan would be greatly surprised. Yet he’d found the greatest pleasure he’d ever known in her inexperienced arms.

And he wanted that pleasure again.

Why not?
The thought shot into his mind as if it had been waiting in ambush. She’d enjoyed their lovemaking every bit as much as he had.

True, he’d been graceless when he’d denied feeling anything for her. At the very least, he’d need to make a very sincere apology.

Maybe even bring her some roses.

All he had to do was start tying up the immediate details of his mortal life, and he’d be free to seek her out again.

Cheered, he finished off his beer and went inside to get some sleep.

As he passed, Smoke muttered, “Dumbass.”

The spy reported
to her father in his library. There, surrounded by Victorian elegance, facing her brother’s portrait, she began her report. Her stomach clenched with nerves as she faced her sire’s cold blue eyes. At any moment, she expected to feel his fist.

He had never had patience for anything he perceived as failure, and she knew he was going to be furious when he learned she’d been seen in Dire Wolf form. Especially since he’d warned her repeatedly to avoid detection.

When Arthur complained—and he would—the Southern Clans would send an enforcer with an order of execution to search for the unidentified killer. If he caught her, ugly questions would arise that could endanger her father, the Circle of Chosen—perhaps even Warlock himself.

Yet she’d had no choice. Permitting Giada to interrogate Terrence would have had the same result—only without any possibility of damage control.

There was, after all, always the chance she and her father could kill the Southern Clans’ enforcer before he discovered the truth.

She only hoped her father would agree with her judgment. Otherwise she might not walk out of this room alive. Completing her report, she braced herself for his reaction. And waited.

“You say this cat you fought had power.” Her father leaned forward over the solid oak surface of his massive desk. His eyes burned hot with excitement. “What did it look like? Describe it.”

The spy blinked. Pleased excitement was the one reaction she hadn’t anticipated. “Yes, sir. Its magic felt . . . ancient. Powerful. Far greater than the Maja’s. Greater than anything I’ve ever sensed.” Even greater than Warlock’s, though she didn’t dare say so.

Her father gestured, impatient. “Yes, yes, I understood you the first time. But what did the cat
look
like?”

She frowned, wondering why he was so interested. “Big. Larger than a tiger, I think, but with the same kind of build. Very muscular. Probably close to eight hundred pounds. He was black, with silver-gray stripes on his haunches and legs. When he reared onto his hind legs, he was taller than I am in Dire Wolf form.” Given that she was more than seven feet tall then, that was saying something. “His paws were huge, with long, knifelike claws. If I hadn’t taken him off guard by hitting him from upwind, I don’t think I would have survived.”

Her father grunted. “No, probably not.” She saw without surprise that he didn’t seem disturbed by the idea of her death. He straightened his shoulders. “I must tell Warlock about this. In the meantime, stay close to Logan. Notify me at once if the creature appears again.”

“What about the assassin?”

He gave her a wave of dismissal. “Tell him to hold off. I suspect Logan may be our best chance at obtaining this cat for Warlock. And if I’m correct, acquiring it could be the key to our success.” The spy stared at him, working to keep the shock off her face. For months now, he’d talked of killing Logan as a crucial part of his revenge on Arthur. Yet one mention of this cat, and he seemed willing to put his obsession aside.

What the hell was going on?

He glowered at her. “What are you waiting for? Go. Go now!”

“Yes, sir.” Knowing he’d tolerate no further delay, the spy whirled and strode out.

 

 

“Come in, Logan.”
Sheriff Jones gestured him to one of the seats before the massive cherry desk. “How are you feeling? And how’s Shepherd?”

“She’s fine. So am I.” Physically, anyway. He managed not to frown as he put the sealed envelope he held onto the desk’s shining surface, then dropped into one of the guest chairs.

“What the hell is this?” Jones glowered at the envelope as if it were a dead rat.

“My resignation.”

“Hell.” The sheriff slumped back into his red leather executive chair and rubbed both hands over his tired, angular face. “I had a feeling you were gonna do that. Get it off my desk—I’m not accepting it.”

Logan lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but you don’t have a choice.”