Master of Fire (7 page)

Giada had been handling the testing process for a week now, but she already worked with speed and competence. Logan watched her weigh the first sample—a few pebble-sized crystals the narcs suspected of being methamphetamine. Then again, the crystals could just as easily be rock salt. The tests would clear up that issue.

Giada wrote the crystals’ weight on a fresh bag, then cut a few fragments off one with a scalpel. Teeth gently nibbling her lower lip, she tapped the residue off the blade into one of the wells of a white ceramic tray. She picked up a bottle of Marquis solution, a mix of sulfuric acid and formaldehyde, drew an eyedropper of the liquid, and started to squeeze it into the well.

The dropper’s rubber bulb promptly broke. Acid squirted up from the bulb, splashing right into Giada’s face. “Arhhhh!” She recoiled, hands flying up to her burning skin.

Thirty-six seconds!
Logan realized in horror. They had only thirty-six seconds to wash the acid off, or it would start eating its way into her face.

“Come on!” Grabbing her by the shoulders, he hustled her across the lab to the shower station. Slapping a hand against the eye-wash tap, he caught the back of her head and pushed her face into the six jets of water that blasted across the station’s sink. The spray splattered around them, soaking his uniform pants. He ignored the sensation, interested only in saving Giada from a scarring chemical burn.

She started to straighten, sputtering, but he gently pushed her head back down. “Not yet! Make sure we’ve got it all off.”

Finally Logan decided it was safe to let her rise, wet and gasping. “You okay, babe?” Worried, he grabbed a paper towel and helped her mop her dripping face. “Did it get your eyes?”

“No, no, just splashed along my temple. Darn, that burns!” Giada shook her head hard, sending droplets flying. “Should have checked that dropper first. Ow!”

“Let me see.” He turned her around and tilted her chin up.

“Guess the rubber of that bulb must have gotten so old, it just broke.” She blinked up at him, water streaming down her cheeks.

“Probably. Sorry.” There was a burn across her left temple, but luckily the acid had missed her eye. “Doesn’t look too bad, but we’d better put something on it anyway.”

Logan steered her into the supply closet where the first aid kit was kept. He tugged on a pair of rubber gloves and thumbed the top off a tube of Neosporin. She angled her head to the side for him, letting him spread the gel across the burn.

“Looks like you’ll be fine.” Logan eyed the string of pin-prick holes the acid had burned in the collar of her blouse. “That shirt’s never going to be the same, though.”

“What?” She glanced down and froze. “Oh.” A tide of charming pink rolled over her cheeks.

Following her gaze, Logan caught his breath.

The thin cream fabric of her blouse was soaked through, plainly revealing the lace of her bra cupping her full, pale breasts. Her nipples were a delicate pink, tips drawn tight as budded roses. Logan swallowed hard, his mouth going dry.

Giada looked up at him, her eyes very wide, gray as storm clouds, water beading on the tips of her long lashes. Her lips parted, as pink and temptingly lush as her nipples.

Abruptly he was aware of her scent—a trace of jasmine and something clean and herbal. Her breath gusted against his mouth, smelling faintly of mint. Desire hit him, and he hardened in a sweet rush.

Logan took her mouth before he even knew what he was going to do. Her soft lips yielded under his, opening eagerly for the thrust of his tongue. She moaned, a tiny, arousing sound that made his cock jerk.

God, she was sweet. Mint and Giada, a combination that made his head swim in furious need.

 

 

His mouth moved
over hers, sure and hot and possessive. She shuddered in helpless arousal as he hardened against her belly, the thickness of his erection shocking and exhilarating. He felt so damn big, so muscled and strong.

Just like last night’s vampire dream. The dream that might have been a vision . . .

Giada jerked away from him with a convulsive jolt, feeling as if somebody had Tasered her. For a moment they stared at each other. His eyes were dark, hungry. Predatory as those of his dream self.

Was she destined to give him the forbidden Gift? Despite his parents’ orders and his own stated desire to remain mortal?

She whirled and fled the closet, dashing across the lab for the door.

“Giada!”

She ignored him, racing around the corner toward the ladies’ room. Staggering inside, she fell against the door, breathing hard in a combination of fear and frustrated desire.

What she saw in the long vanity mirror over the double sinks confirmed her worst suspicions. She looked like the star of a wet T-shirt contest.

“Damn!” Spotting a hand dryer, Giada twisted its nozzle around and stepped in close in an effort to dry her blouse.

Bad. This was bad. First erotic dreams, then he’d barely touched her and she’d gone up in flames. Was she that darned desperate?

Giada had never had this much trouble controlling herself with a man before. It seemed Arthur hadn’t been kidding about the attraction between Latents and Magekind. Yet when she’d been a Latent, she hadn’t felt this kind of insane lust for Renaldo, the vampire who’d Gifted her. They’d made love the required three times and gone their separate ways. She’d never given him another thought.

So why was Logan developing into an obsession?

Another glance at the mirror confirmed she was presentable again, though she needed to run a brush through her hair.

But what the heck was she supposed to do about that kiss?

 

 

What the hell
had just happened?

One minute Giada had been going up in flames in the sweetest kisses he’d ever had. The next, she’d been running for the door. Had he completely misread the situation?

Logan replayed the kiss in his mind—not exactly a hardship. She’d gazed up at him, looking every bit as dazed as he felt, smoky desire in those gray eyes. Her lips had parted, and then he’d kissed her.

And she had, by God, kissed him back. That was not the kind of thing a guy misread. Especially not when she’d melted against him like hot butter in the sun. She’d even gotten his shirt damp with her wet blouse; he could feel the thick knit lying cool against his skin.

Giada had given him plenty of subtle signals before that, too. He’d caught her gaze lingering on his body more than once, though she’d looked away as soon as he caught her at it.

So why had she run? There’d been outright panic in her eyes when she’d pulled away. What was worse, she’d fled as if she was afraid he’d chase her.

Had he actually frightened her?

That thought did the trick of wilting his lingering erection in a hurry. The son of Arthur Pendragon did not terrorize women. Or take advantage of them.

The sick memory of the nightmare rose in his mind, making his stomach twist in horror.
Vampires don’t have visions,
he reminded himself firmly.
It was only a nightmare.

Besides, he wasn’t a vampire. And even if he had been, he would never have hurt a woman. Real vampires, unlike fictional ones, were not at the mercy of their hunger for blood. Only blood-mad rogues attacked their lovers, and there was no reason to believe Logan was in any danger of going mad when he did receive the Gift. He wasn’t some inexperienced kid without the willpower to control his own body and his own appetites.

The dream had been a nightmare. That was all.

As for Giada—he had no idea why she’d taken off like a scalded cat. She wasn’t some inexperienced kid either.

Unless he’d misread the situation. Badly.

The lab door creaked as it swung open, and he heard Giada’s heels click as she walked into the room. Logan stepped out of the closet and met her gaze steadily. “Do I owe you an apology?”

Giada hesitated, two flags of bright red blazing up on her sculpted cheekbones. He relaxed slightly. A woman didn’t blush like that over an unwelcome advance.

Instead of answering, she avoided his gaze and walked over to the black marble counter where the abandoned meth test still stood. She swung open one of the glass-fronted cabinets and reached inside to take out another bottle of Marquis solution, then carefully squeezed out a droplet of acid into the sample well. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Logan took a careful step closer.

Her head jerked up and she gave him a warning glare. “You know what.”

“Kiss? Flirt?” He stopped and leaned a hip against the counter. “Have an affair?”

“An affair is not an option.” She bit the words out and picked up a Sharpie, then pulled the evidence bag over to write the results of the first test across the front.

“Why? You’re not in my chain of command, and you don’t work for me, so there’s no regulation against our getting involved. You’re just here watching another chemist work. Unless there’s somebody back home . . .”

Her gaze met his with an angry snap. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if there had been.”

“So why?”

“Because I don’t want to. It complicates things.” She used the scalpel to slice a fragment from the suspected meth crystal, then tapped it into a test tube. “I’m trying to learn my job, and I don’t need the distraction.”

“Fair enough.” Taking a deep breath, he fought down both the stab of disappointment and the desire to argue. “I’ll keep my distance.”

Giada looked up at him with a trace of suspicion. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t believe in trying to pressure a woman into doing something she doesn’t want to do. Especially not when it comes to this particular topic.”

Gray eyes narrowed, studied him. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Good. Because an affair wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Who are you trying to convince?
Logan wondered.
Me—or yourself?

Then he gritted his teeth.
Cut it out. If she doesn’t want to get involved, that’s the end of it.

As for that part of him that perversely found her resistance intriguing—he’d ignore that, too, just as he did his lingering frustration. As Arthur had taught him from the time he was twelve years old:
“The lady always calls the shots, boy. Otherwise it’s too damned easy for the one who’s bigger and stronger to bully her into something she doesn’t want to do. And that’s dishonorable.”

Honor was everything. It might be old-fashioned to believe that, maybe even a little sexist, but he didn’t really care.

A Pendragon was honorable above all.

Guinevere settled into
a seat at her favorite table out on the elegant stone patio of the Majae’s Club. Cherry blossoms scented the morning air, and a light breeze stirred the mounds of ferns that surrounded the wrought iron table. She sighed in contentment and sank back in her chair to look out across the city of Avalon. The trees were in full bloom, surrounding the magical mansions with great clouds of delicate pink and white blossoms.

Lifting her wineglass, Gwen sipped, savoring the light Zinfandel with its raspberry notes.
Delicious.
She picked up her fork and prepared to tuck into her Mediterranean chicken.

Morgana Le Fay, plate in hand, dropped into the chair across the table from her. “I see you and Arthur finally came to your senses about the boy.” She took a delicate bite of her club sandwich, her white teeth framed by violently red lips. The lipstick precisely matched the eye-popping scarlet of her tailored suit.

Gwen narrowed her eyes over her fork and drawled, “Have a seat, Morgana.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Morgana took another bite, a contemplative expression on her coolly beautiful face. The breeze stirred a black curl against the high, creamy angle of her cheek. “The girl isn’t who I’d have picked, but you obviously know Logan’s tastes better than I.”

Gwen set her jaw. “We did not send Giada to seduce Logan. Her job is strictly to protect him from whoever’s killing those Latents.”

Black brows drew low over brilliant blue eyes. Morgana straightened in her seat. “Whyever not? I told you, we need that boy. I have
foreseen
it.” Arthur’s half sister had always put great store in her visionary gifts.

Gwen leaned forward in her seat and used her best ferocious glare. “And I told
you
—Logan will decide when and if he becomes Magekind, not you. And not us. He will not be tricked, he will not be seduced. He will make the choice of his own free will.”

“And what if his dawdling costs Magekind lives, Guinevere?” Crimson lips peeled back from her teeth as she bit off every word like something bitter. “We have a responsibility to our people! And that includes making difficult decisions, like reminding a boy of his duty.”