Authors: Angela Knight

Master of Smoke (40 page)

BOOK: Master of Smoke

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The stag leaped. The impact of his charge rocked her back on her heels as he vanished into her chest. She looked down just in time to see his glowing hooves disappear between her bleeding breasts.

The magic Merlin used to create both Warlock and his people was exactly the same,
his voice said in her mind.
But to make the Direkind immune to the Majae’s power, he had to limit your ability to use your magic. But you can shift your DNA just as you do your bones and flesh ...

Eva’s eyes went wide as Zephyr showed her the spell deep within her own DNA—a spell Merlin had created, that had spread to her by the the werewolf who bit her five years ago. The stag showed her the simple molecular shift in her DNA that would change the spell, so that she could reach into the dimension the elementals called home. So she, too, could call power in a torrent of magic.

So Eva called the magic and transformed, just the way she’d always done. But this time, with Zephyr’s guidance, she shifted her DNA as well. To become a magic user.

Eva had stopped
screaming.

But Warlock, damn him to all the hells, would not let Smoke past. Every time he tried to get by, Warlock sent lighting and fire to block his path. Smoke had managed to avoid every stroke, shield against every blast, but he hadn’t managed to get by. And Eva might be dying.

Helpless fury filled his mouth with the taste of brass and blood. He was going to have to take the time to kill the fucker and pray Eva could hold on a little longer. As long as she remained alive, even if badly hurt, he could use his magic to heal her.

“Eva, I’m coming,” he bellowed.

Warlock stepped out from behind a block and grinned at him in the smug way that was quickly driving Smoke insane. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, gods curse you,
I am
.” The sword materialized in Smoke’s clawed hands, and he leaped forward, swinging the huge blade with all his werecat strength.

Warlock heaved Kingslayer up to meet the attack, and the two weapons clanged together with teeth-jarring force. Until Kingslayer’s gem flashed and the magic roared, picked Smoke up, and tossed him through the air.

He hit rolling, lost the sword, and somehow rolled to his feet, shaking his spinning head hard.

“You can’t beat me, Cat.” Warlock stalked toward him, raising Kingslayer as he came. The axe burst into red flame. “You don’t have the power.”

“You know what I’ve noticed about you, Warlock?” The voice was female, but so deep, Smoke didn’t recognize it. “You have a talent for biting off more than you can chew.”

Magic sizzled through the darkness, a blazing white blast that caught Warlock in the side. The werewolf howled as it picked him up and tossed him like a Ping-Pong ball in a hurricane.

Gods and devils, what now?
Smoke spun.

Eva stepped out from around a block. She was in Dire Wolf form, but a great glowing rack of ghostly antlers crowned her head. Sparks danced from point to point in a way Smoke recognized. “Eva,” he whispered, “what did you do?”

She tilted her antlered head in a way that was painfully familiar, though it was nothing she’d ever done before. “Made a deal with what’s left of Zephyr.”

“Which couldn’t have been much.” Warlock vaulted a block to land directly in front of her. “I ate most of him.”

“Yeah,” Eva bared her fangs. “And he’s really pissed about that.”

Her fist swung. It must not have occurred to Warlock that she’d have the balls to hit him, because the blow rocked his head.

“You
bitch
!” He swung the axe at her, but the blade clanged against Smoke’s conjured great sword. The werecat rammed his shoulder against Warlock’s, driving him back a pace.

Smoke stepped in with a left cross that snapped the Dire Wolf’s head around. In the same motion, the cat raked his claws down Warlock’s belly, though the wolf jerked back so the blow didn’t quite gut him. Pivoting, he rammed his elbow at Smoke’s chin.

Smoke knocked the blow aside and struck, claws raking the Dire Wolf’s throat. Blood flew, and Warlock stumbled back with a yelp, one hand covering his wounded neck.

“That’s right, fucker.” Smoke sneered at the flash of fear in Warlock’s eyes. “You can die just like the rest of us.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught enough flesh to really hurt the bastard—Warlock was damned fast. The werewolf sneered right back. “So can you, Cat. And you’re going to—right
now
.” He started to swing his axe.

Which was when Eva lowered her head and came up under Warlock’s guard to drive her suddenly solid antlers into the Dire Wolf’s gut. He roared in pain, the cry spiraling into a high, shocked yowl when she sent a spell crackling through her rack. The air filled with the nauseating smell of burning flesh.

Warlock grabbed for her antlers, as if to drag them out of his body, but his hand passed right through them.

Eva jerked her ghostly horns free in a spray of hot, red blood. Cursing her viciously, Warlock swung his axe at her head. Smoke surged forward meaning to block the blow, but Warlock was too damned fast, and he missed.

Eva leaped straight up, and the axe whizzed harmlessly past her clawed feet. She landed ten feet away with a neat, catlike thump.
“Zephyr says to get that damned axe,”
she growled directly into Smoke’s mind.
“It amplifies his power. Without it, we can take him apart.”

“Ooooh, yessssss!” Smoke lunged forward, transforming his sword into an axe of his own. He hooked Warlock’s blade with his, dragged it down, and punched the Dire Wolf with merciless force, right in his sensitive nose. The blow loosened Warlock’s grip as Smoke twisted his axe, jerking both blades into a hard arc.

Kingslayer went flying. Eva reached up to grab the airborne weapon.

“Don’t you touch my axe, bitch!” Warlock roared in rage and leaped, snatching the great blade out of the air before her fingers could close around the handle. Power boiled red around the blade as he drew it back. Smoke smelled the familiar reek of death magic, and knew if the blow landed, she was finished.

He leaped over Warlock’s head and came down right in his path, both hands lifted as he reached for his magic and sent it all, everything he had, screaming into the Dire Wolf’s face. Even as he fired, he watched the axe arc toward his head and knew he was looking at his own death.

Eva’s slender hand reached past his ear. Far more magic than she should have had blasted from her palm, adding to his furious salvo.

The mingled energy hit Warlock like a freight train, smashing him backward right through one of the blocks. The thing shattered, but Warlock kept going, hitting yet another block, then still one more, before sailing over the edge of the cliff.

For a long, ticking moment, neither of them moved as they strained their ears. But there was nothing: no outraged curse, no roar of rage, not even a distant splash.

“I sure hope that got the bastard,” Eva said in a faint voice, “Because I just used up everything I had.”

“You’re not the only one.” Smoke limped toward the edge of the cliff to peer out into the darkness. Though he strained both his eyes and his magical senses, there was no sign of the Dire Wolf.

“You’re bleeding,” Eva said, walking up behind him. “There.” One of her furred hands touched a deep cut in his ribs.

He had no idea when he’d gotten it. “I must’ve missed a parry.”

“Not completely,” she murmured. “Or you’d be dead.” Her big, dark eyes met his, lovely and familiar even in her lupine skull. “Just as I’d be if you hadn’t stepped into his path. He was going to take my head.”

Smoke gave her a tired smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “No he wasn’t. You wouldn’t have let him.”

Eva cuddled against his chest, her furry arms encircling his equally furry waist. “I don’t know about that. He’s damn fast.”

They fell silent, clinging together like a pair of weary children, until she asked, “You think he’s dead?”

“We’re not that fucking lucky.” Smoke wondered whether he had the energy to levitate out over the ocean and search some more, then reluctantly decided it was probably beyond him. He’d wiped out his energy reserves.

Fortunately, he was willing to bet Warlock was in no better shape.

When Smoke cast
the communication spell with the last of his magic, he got through to Guinevere. Twenty minutes later, dozens of witches and vampires were combing the ocean and every inch of island beach. But they found nothing.

“Do you think you got him?” Arthur asked, as the healer worked over Smoke’s collection of scrapes, bruises, and one of two really deep wounds. He was still in werecat form, since he’d been too drained to change. The healer looked tiny next to him, her hands trailing sparks as she gently traced his injuries.

Eva was already healed; Smoke had insisted the witch work on her first. Now she watched the Maja with quiet interest, as if absorbing her techniques.

Knowing Eva, she probably was.

“Frankly, I suspect he’s back in that lair of his licking his wounds and plotting revenge,” Smoke told Arthur bluntly. “He stole a hell of a lot of power from Zephyr.”

“And he was formidable even before that,” Eva put in absently.

Arthur cursed. “So basically we’ve still got to deal with the bastard. I’ll have to talk to the Direkind Council of Chosen again, try to convince the idiots to give him up.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tristan said, appearing with a weary Belle at his heels. A light coat of sand covered his armor, and he looked tired and grouchy. Which was no surprise; he should be in the Daysleep now, but like Arthur, he’d woken when Belle had transported him to this night-shrouded hemisphere. “Those people really believe Warlock’s a god.”

“And they’ll protect him to the death,” Belle added, her expression grim.

Arthur growled. “Fanatics. Hate ’em. Every fanatic I’ve ever encountered has been a pain in my ass—including the ones who were supposed to be on my side.”

“Yes,” Smoke said, rising to his feet, the healer’s work finished. “But I’d like to point out that you’re still here, and they’re not. We’ll find Warlock, and we’ll take him out, just like all the others.”

“And we’ll make him pay.” Eva’s eyes flashed white, and for a moment, ghostly antlers appeared over her head. “Get his axe and he’s done. We almost had it today, but he was quicker than I thought.”

“You do realize he’s going to come after Excalibur just as hard?” Tristan said, lifting a blond brow. “Because that sword is just as important to you as the axe is to him.”

“He’s not going to get it.” Arthur’s hand fisted on the sword’s hilt. “Trouble is, Merlin created those bastards to defeat us, and I’ve got a really ugly feeling they’re going to give it their best shot.”

Warlock swam in
pain, his big body twitching and cold. It had taken everything he had left to create the gate back to his lair before he slammed into the ocean. He’d had just enough wit left to realize the impact probably would have killed him.

He still needed to shift to heal the burns that covered his body from the cat’s final attack. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the power. He was going to have to endure until his magic regenerated.

But until it did, he had plans to make.

He’d tried to resolve this fight with Arthur with a minimum of deaths. He’d meant to kill only Pendragon’s son, which would have made the Celt easy prey. When that plan failed, he figured stealing the elemental’s power would enable him to take Arthur out. But Smoke had proven to be stronger and more powerful than he’d anticipated. At least he’d obtained Zephyr’s magic.

He drew Kingslayer close with bloody, swollen hands and glared at the rocky ceiling of his lair. The Celt had to be brought low. And the past weeks had taught Warlock there was only one way to do it, even if it meant his own people would suffer in the process.

“War,” he said into the silence, his voice cracked and dry and weak with pain. “The Magekind must bleed.”

TWENTY-TWO

Belle took a
break from the search long enough to open a portal to the gateway pool for Smoke and Eva, since neither was up to it just then.

Then she went back to work on her new hobby—pissing Tristan off.

Exhausted to the bone, Eva and Smoke walked into the pool hand in hand. The softly glowing water swirled around their feet, then their calves and hips as they waded deeper. And with every step, their bodies drank more magic.

“Oh, God,” Eva moaned over the sound of the waterfall thundering into the pool. Her maned head fell back as her eyes closed. “That feels almost as good as sex.”

Smoke laughed, a delicious male growl. “Nothing’s as good as sex with you.”

She opened one eye. It had already started to glow white. “Well, it does depend on the partner.”

“Doesn’t everything?” Sucking in a deep breath, he released her and dove, then began to swim toward the waterfall.

BOOK: Master of Smoke

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