Authors: Angela Knight

Master of Smoke (12 page)

BOOK: Master of Smoke

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“I just don’t understand why you never mentioned this guy. Not even to your mother. I called her, and she didn’t know a damn thing about him either.” Was that a hint of hurt in his hazel eyes?

She winced. “Well, at first, I wasn’t sure it was going to work. But now I am. I was planning to introduce you today, but Joel came in and ...”

“Another thing—isn’t this guy awfully damned possessive for somebody you met online?” Bill leaned one brawny forearm on the shop counter, worry in his eyes. “And he’s a big guy. What if he turns out to be some kind of nutball? You could find yourself in real trouble.”

“He’s not like that.” She put a hand on her father’s shoulder and gave him her best earnest look. “Dad, trust me. It’s going to be fine.”

Bill glowered at her for another long moment before he sighed, his expression turning resigned. “You’re a grown woman, Eva, so I can’t tell you how to run your love life.” His gaze sharpened. “But if he gives you any trouble, let me know and I’ll kick his ass.”

And he would, too. Or he’d try, anyway. Smiling, Eva stood on her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. “I won’t have to. He’s a good guy, Dad.”

Bill grunted. “Tell him to put on a shirt, would you? He’s scaring the customers.”

Eva was just about to ease her father out the door when it banged open with a furious jangle. She and Bill took a step back as David barged through, the prop sword in one hand, his expression grim. “My enemy has sensed me. We must go.”

Dad gave him the kind of wary look reserved for people in tinfoil hats. Eva wanted to smack David upside his oblivious head. All her hard work, undone with one loony-tunes sentence. “Enemy? What the hell are you talking about?” Bill snapped.

“There is no time for explanations.” He clamped his left hand over her father’s shoulder, pivoted, and started pushing the smaller man out the door, still carrying the prop sword in his right. The bell jangled a discordant note as the door hit the back wall. “We must go
now
.”

“Dammit, I’m not going anywhere. This is
my shop
.” Bill tried to set his feet, but David switched his grip to his upper arm and hoisted, forcing him to walk on his toes or be carried. “Cut it out! That hurts. Are you nuts?”

“Where is his vehicle?” David demanded.

Eva stared at him, alarm streaking through her irritation. If the white werewolf really was on the way, David was right. They had to get the hell away from the area as fast as possible.

She pointed over Bill’s thick shoulder toward the line of cars parked nose to the curb. “That red Tahoe. Dad, it would probably be best if we left.”

“Screw that.” He glared at them both. “You and your pet nutjob can leave if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

In the living
room of a seedy little house on the outskirts of Chicago, two Dire Wolves circled, lips peeled back from teeth, growls rumbling. They were in full wolf form, big as ponies, one charcoal gray with white markings, the other red as a fox’s fur. As if obeying some inner signal, they exploded toward each other in a chorus of snarls and snaps. The gray’s fangs sank into the red-furred one’s flank, and the big beast yelped.

Blood flew, splashing across the sketch Tom Danvers was studying. “Goddammit! Cut that shit out! I’m trying to work here.”

The two wolves froze, wide eyes flying guiltily to Danvers as he glared at them. They immediately separated, the gray tearing his fangs from the flank of the other as they slunk in opposite directions, heads down, tails low. The two headed up the stairs to the den, claws clicking on the wooden steps. One beast nosed the door open, and they slipped out. It closed behind them again with a quiet click, leaving the basement in silence.

Danvers watched them go with grim satisfaction. Three months ago, he’d have had to Change and rip into them, but he’d successfully established who was in charge.

“Fuckin’ idiots,” Steve Miller muttered from the other side of the battered Ping-Pong table. A sixty-watt bulb hung over his head, casting his craggy face in deep shadows. The smoke from his cigarette floated in a lazy blue haze over the cinder-block room.

“Yeah.” Danvers returned his attention to the sketch he’d drawn after casing FBW Savings and Loan that afternoon. He tapped the door he’d drawn in rough, slashing lines. “You, me, and Frank will go in here. Jim’ll be in the Hummer outside. The tellers will cave right in when they see the shotguns ...”

Miller’s eyes gleamed, yellow and cold. “’Specially if we shoot one of ’em first.”

“Right. We’ll ...” He jerked up from the schematic as his Direkind senses detected a burst of magic. “Oh, fuck.”

Warlock stepped through the dimensional gate, eight feet of white fur and gleaming black claws. They had never seen him in human form. Tom wasn’t sure he had one. “Go to your vehicles and prepare to gate out. I’ve found the cat.”

Hiding his irritation—Warlock’s idea of discipline was even bloodier than his own—Danvers tossed the pencil on the table and reached for his keys.

Eva looked into
her father’s irritated hazel eyes, knowing she’d better talk fast. Preferably with at least a kernel of truth. “David and I had a little run-in with Ronnie Gordon last night. He’d beaten the heck out of Shelly and hit Terry a couple of times. Terry came banging on the door in hysterics, so David and I went over there. Ronnie pulled a gun on us, but David backed him down.”

“And he’s on the way now,” David said, right on cue. “He is armed. He seeks revenge.”

Bill gave him a long, cool look before transferring it to Eva. “Who writes your boyfriend’s dialog? I used to play Dungeons and Dragons with a guy who talked just like that.”

“He’s getting in character for a movie role.
Please
, Dad. Mom would kill me if I got you shot.”

Bill lowered his head like a bull. “I am not running from Ronnie Gordon. He needs his ass kicked.”

“Dad, you are
not
faster than a speeding bullet.” Eva hauled the Tahoe’s door open. The dome light came on, spilling light over the darkening parking lot. “Look, you can pound Ronnie when he’s not armed to the teeth. Right now, go home.”

David lifted his head and looked across the street. With a mutter that sounded like some exotic curse, he literally lifted her father off his feet and stuffed him into the Jeep.

“Dammit,
get off
!” Going red, Bill plowed a fist right into David’s face with a crack of bone on bone.

Eva’s heart catapulted into her throat.
Oh, holy God, that tears it ...

David’s head didn’t even rock. He lowered his head, the better to subject Bill to a long, cool stare from his six-five height. “Do you really want your daughter in the line of fire? Because we both know she will not leave you.”

Bill’s rage-narrowed eyes widened as the shot struck home. He glowered at David as Eva held her breath. Finally he threw up his hands. “Fine. I’m gone. Take her and get out of here. I’ll deal with that bastard later.” He threw the Jeep into gear as Eva slammed the driver’s door with a grunt of relief. The Tahoe’s big tires screeched as he backed up and tore out of the parking lot, almost hitting a pair of motorcycles and a Hummer.

“Oh, man.” Eva shook her head as she watched the Tahoe’s taillights disappear up the street. “I hope that doesn’t blow up in our faces. I think Ronnie’s still in the county jail.”

“Your father is the least of our worries.” He jerked his chin toward the Harley-Davidson motorcycles and the Hummer. All three vehicles had pulled over onto the side of the road. A street lamp illuminated the motorcyclists as they dismounted. Two others piled out of the Hummer. “Those men smell like were.”

He was right. The scent of werewolf rode the cool night breeze: fur and magic and a trace of old blood.
Claws, ripping into her guts, fanged jaws opening over her face, dripping hot saliva, the flash of yellow eyes ...

“In the car!” Big hands closed over her shoulders. She cried out in terror, swinging wildly, but a fierce shake snapped her out of the flashback. “We don’t have time for that. Get in the car!” David snarled, jerking the driver’s door open and bundling her inside. “Drive!”

He vaulted over the hood in one astonishing leap, jerked the passenger door open, tossed the blunt sword inside, and dove after it even as Eva started the car and threw it into reverse. She stomped the accelerator and sent the Focus shooting backward, tires squealing, forcing the two big men directly behind it to scatter. As she put the car in drive, she saw all four race across the parking lot after them. She floored it.

Brakes squealed and a horn blared as the little Focus shot into traffic. Eva spun the wheel, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a Toyota. Somehow she got the car into the proper lane and floored it again. “Fasten your seat belt, David!” With one hand, she hauled her own belt out and fumbled until it snapped home.

Darting a glance into the rearview mirror, Eva saw the four werewolves racing for the Hummer and their Harleys. They were still in human form, but she knew that wouldn’t last. And once they changed ...

“You’re panicking,” David growled. “Calm down and drive.”

Eva jolted, hearing herself chanting, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” in a mindless stream of profanity. She clamped her teeth shut and concentrated on dragging every possible ounce of speed out of the laboring Ford. Spotting a side street, she whipped down it, then took another left, then a right, glancing in the rearview mirror every few minutes as she drove, in the blind hope she’d shake the wolves.

The two Harleys stayed stubbornly on her tail, their headlights bright in her mirror, the Hummer roaring after, its lights riding higher. If she couldn’t lose them ...

Fangs ripped into her belly. Blood sprayed. Hot, bright agony. Oh, Christ, Oh, Jesus, he’s
eating
me ...!

“Eva!”
David’s roar snapped her back to full awareness just as the car’s right tires left the road, bumping over the thick grass of the shoulder. She jerked the wheel, overcorrected, and almost ran off the road on the left. Somehow she got the car back under control and tromped the accelerator again.

Fighting terror, she blindly took turn after turn along the narrow county roads, trying to lose their pursuers. Yet the two bikes stayed stubbornly on her tail, hanging back just far enough not to lose sight of the Focus, sometimes whipping into oncoming traffic despite blaring horns and swerving cars.

Dammit, where the hell were the cops? She’d be happy to get a ticket, if only a set of blue lights would show up to force those furry bastards to back off.

Swallowing bile, she jerked the wheel for another tire-shrieking turn, ran a stop sign, and ignored the furious blare of a horn. “Call the fucking cops!” she spat at her rearview mirror.

Which wasn’t a bad idea, if only her cell phone wasn’t buried somewhere in her purse. Which was God knew where. Had she even put it in the car, or had she driven off without it? She’d be lucky if some jerk didn’t make off with her bank cards ...

I’ll be lucky if one of those damned werewolves doesn’t
eat
me
.

“They’re getting closer.” David sat sideways in his seat as he calmly watched their pursuit.

“I know that!” The steering wheel creaked in her frantic grip, and she loosened her hold, afraid she’d break it in a burst of terror-fueled werewolf strength. Her mouth tasted brassy, and her heart felt as if it were trying to pound its way out of her chest. She swallowed hard.
You’re going to get David killed if you don’t get it together
.

The thought hit her like a slap, stiffening her spine, narrowing her widened eyes.
I am
not
going to get David killed.

An image flashed through her mind: David, braced over her on sweating, muscled arms, his gorgeous eyes lost and blue as he filled her so impossibly full with those long, delicious strokes.

Her beautiful lover. She set her teeth.
He’s not going to die today. Not because I lost it and turned into a werewolf in the fucking
car
.

She whipped the Ford into another turn. This time her hands were controlled and sure on the wheel. Spotting another turn, she took it.

BOOK: Master of Smoke

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