Master of Smoke (3 page)

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Authors: Angela Knight

BOOK: Master of Smoke
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Shit.
Eva slid to her knees beside him. “Hey, are you okay?” She took him by one brawny shoulder and rolled him over. He was heavy, massive with bone and muscle. Back in her human days, she probably wouldn’t have been able to budge him at all. He stared up at her, dazed and shocked. She tried again, enunciating, “Are you hurt?”
His pupils snapped into thin slits against crystalline blue irises, and his lips peeled back from fangs. One hand flashed out to clamp around her wrist in a grip like forged steel.
And he snarled right into her face.
Startled, she tried to jerk back. With her strength, she should have pulled free easily, yet his grip didn’t break. “Hey! Let go! I’m trying to help, dammit!”
He stared at her, something profoundly alien in his blue eyes. Abruptly the hostility faded, replaced by a hot male interest. She tugged again, but he dragged her down and breathed in deeply, as if drinking in her scent.
Just as she drank his. Damn, he smelled good. Pure male musk, tempting despite the sweat, rage, and fear lingering in his scent.
Eva frowned. There was blood, too, smelling of copper and pain as it rolled from the cuts and scratches marring muscled ribs and brawny arms.
“It’s you.” His voice was incredibly deep, as dark and soft as black velvet. “At last.”
“Me?” She swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
“We have waited for you for so very long,” he rumbled, his gaze searching her face with a passionate intensity she’d never seen in a man’s eyes. “We’ve hungered for your love—for your simple company. And now here you are. At last.”
As she stared at him in helpless fascination, his nostrils flared and his pupils expanded. With a tug of her wrist, he pulled her right down into a kiss, possessive and deliciously sexy.
For a minute, she was stunned still. Then arousal hit her in a wave, so incredibly hot, it was all she could do not to skim down her jeans and mount him on the spot.
Oh, hell, it’s that time of the year
, Eva thought, and kissed him back.
Most of the time, she felt relatively normal. Being a werewolf didn’t give her any desire to kill, and she controlled when and where she fuzzed out; the moon had nothing to do with it. But for one month a year, generally around springtime, Eva’s hormones went nuts. It was like PMS with a nymphomania chaser. She got incredibly bitchy and incredibly horny, all at the same time. Even the skinny geek customers at the shop started looking pretty good, except, given the bitchy thing, they pissed her off.
In the back of her mind, she’d known she was getting close to That Time for a couple of weeks. Now Tall, Dark, and Naked seemed to have triggered a full-blown attack of raging hormones. Eva dragged her mouth away from his to gasp as a wave of heat rippled over her body from hairline to heels. Desperately, she fought to think.
I can’t do this. I don’t even know this guy.
Having lost access to her mouth, TDN started working on her neck, right under her ear, licking and kissing and—
oh, God—
biting her pulse with delicious little nips. One hand found her breast, cupping her in long-fingered heat through her Comix Cave T-shirt and Victoria’s Secret bra, thumb flicking back and forth over a hard nipple. Squeeze. Flick.
Oh, holy God
.
Somebody was making a tiny moaning sound. With a jolt, Eva realized it was her.
Somebody else was making a low rumbling sound. That was him.
It wasn’t a growl, but it was loud, coming from deep in his broad chest, a rhythmic in-and-out rumble in time to his breathing. She’d never heard a human make that particular sound before, but something else had ... Wait, the cat she’d had as a teenager.
TDN was
purring
.
People didn’t purr. Books said they did, but humans weren’t capable of making that sound ... and
who cared
? He had amazing hands. The other one was exploring the curve of her butt through her jeans, squeezing and stroking.
There was some very good reason she shouldn’t make love to him right now. Damned if she could remember what it was, though.
Oh, yeah—White Fang. We really need to ...
TDN tangled a fist in her hair and dragged her head back down so he could kiss her some more, his mouth surprisingly gentle despite its searing heat.
With a heroic effort of will, Eva jerked back far enough to talk. “We can’t,” she gasped in desperation against TDN’s hot, soft lips. “We’ve got to get out of here. When that werewolf comes to, he’s gonna eat us. That happened to me once, and believe me, it’s not fun.”
The purr cut off, and TDN stiffened against her. “You are right. We must leave.”
“I’ve got a car.” She dragged herself off him despite the protests of her lust-crazed body. “Right over here.”
“Good.” He rose easily to his feet as she scrambled to hers. “We will go to your home, away from my enemy.”
“Yeah, I’ve got an apartment a few miles away. We’ll be safe there.”
He nodded, flicking a long lock of silken black hair over his shoulder. “Yes. Then we can have sex.”
Eva stopped and stared at him. He was easily six-four or -five and built like an NFL quarterback, all broad shoulders and long legs, power and speed in one yummy package. He had hair like the hero of an eighties’ Native American romance, long and straight, reaching halfway to his waist. The bone structure of his face was stark and sharply chiseled, with a broad, square jaw, a generous Roman nose, and a sensual mouth that definitely knew its way around female real estate.
Actually, sex with him sounded pretty good.
The heat abruptly drained from his eyes, replaced by confusion. “Who are you?” He looked a little lost. “I know I want you, but I don’t know who you are.”
Oh, now that was flattering. “I’m Eva Roman. And a werewolf wants to eat us, so we really need to go.”
“Yes.” He squared those amazing shoulders. “That I remember.”
“Good. My car is that way. You go. I’ll follow along when my ego stops twitching.”
“What? I don’t ...” He blinked at her, still white around the mouth.
She sighed. “Come on.”
 
They called her
La Belle Coeur. It wasn’t her real name, but after so many centuries, that scarcely mattered. She was Belle even in her own thoughts now.
Davon’s cock felt like a length of stone, thrust to the balls inside her as he rolled his hips, grinding deep. She braced her palms on the hard rise of his muscular chest as she rode him at a fast, hard jog. Belle always made a point of being on top the final time. It was safer if things went wrong.
His velvety skin looked as dark as expensive chocolate under her pale hands, striking and beautiful. Davon was a handsome man, with his high, stark cheekbones, full mouth, and broad, regal nose. At thirty-three, he was no boy, yet he seemed very young to her. They were all young to her, unscarred and innocent in a way she hadn’t been a long time.
A stinging pulse of power suddenly rolled from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and Belle shuddered. Her magic was gathering, preparing to trigger Merlin’s Gift, buried deep in Davon’s DNA.
Triggering the Gift was a court seducer’s job, and Belle hated it. Unfortunately, she was also a very good court seducer, and her sense of duty was too acute to permit her to quit. Still, it hurt, and the effort reminded her far too much of giving birth. Which in a way, she was.
Like giving birth, it was dangerous for them both. If she’d misjudged Davon, if the Majae’s Council had erred in sending her to him, he could kill her.
If he got very, very lucky. More likely she’d kill him, as she’d killed sixteen of her Latent lovers over the past thousand years. She loathed killing, and every one of those boys haunted her, but none of them had given her a choice. The Gift brought insanity to those not strong enough to handle it. Usually she could spot the ones who were too weak to make the transition, but everyone made mistakes.
Belle didn’t think she was making one now, though. Davon was as intelligent and determined as he was handsome. Which was no surprise: wimps didn’t become surgical residents specializing in trauma at Chicago’s Mercy Hospital.
Merlin’s Cup, she hoped she hadn’t called it wrong. Killing Dr. Davon Fredericks would be a tragic waste. He didn’t deserve madness and death because she’d screwed up.
Another pulse rolled over her, hot and burning. She ignored it, concentrating on the handsome face lost in delight as she ground down on him. Yet even as he rode the breathtaking build of his climax, he worked to pleasure her, one hand flicking a hard nipple, the other thumbing her clit, each tiny motion sending another sweet jolt through her body.
As her power built, the magic started coming in rolling waves like the contractions of labor. She caught her breath, recognizing how close she was from all the times she’d brought men to the Gift. And then ...
The spell exploded out of her to lance into Davon like a solar flare. Merlin’s Gift ignited in his DNA, and he turned into a glowing thing of pure, blinding magic, his cock pulsing inside her as she came, screaming out her release, screaming out the magic.
Too late to stop now, we’re committed, please God, let him keep his sanity . . .
Belle rode out the spell like a woman in a hurricane, clinging to Davon’s blazing body with all her strength. Until the glow faded some endless instant later, leaving her half-blind and deaf, feeling seared to the bone. She collapsed across his sweat-slicked body, sides heaving like those of a horse run too hard. His heartbeat galloped in his chest, a wild thudding, and she listened to it, praying she wouldn’t have to kill him. He groaned.
Then Davon put his arms around her. It wasn’t a grab for prey, but a tender lover’s hold, light with affection and gratitude, perhaps even a little love. Belle closed her eyes in relief.
But there was one more test they had to get through. And it was the trickiest part, the one that determined if he’d really made it—or if insanity rose out of some dark cave in his soul and turned him into a monster.
They really should start, but instead Belle lay listening to his heartbeat slow as his abused body adjusted to its magical transformation.
Until she could put it off no longer.
Lifting her head, Belle met his eyes and forced a smile. “Hey, you.”
“Hey.” Davon smiled, dazed and happy and clueless. She’d warned him about the risk of blood-madness, but she was fairly sure he had no idea how much danger he was in. “God, that was ...” He blinked big brown eyes. “Surprisingly painful, actually. I’ve never been hit by lightning, but it’d probably feel a lot like that.”
“Yep, that’s the Gift.”
He sounds good. So far
. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it.” Another blink. Dazed delight slipped into discomfort as he processed the implications. “You mean ...?”
“Your body needs blood to complete the transformation.” Rather a lot of it, more than the cupful vampires usually took. Which was what made this so damned tricky.
“Now?” He looked queasy and apprehensive, though nowhere near as scared as he should be.
They never were.
“Now. I’ll show you what to do.” Belle slipped off his limp cock and eased up his torso to reach his mouth. Unable to resist his worried expression, she gave him a quick kiss. “You’ll be fine.”
I hope
. She tapped a forefinger at the point right under her jaw where her pulse thumped. “Bite here. It’s better if you do it fast. And for God’s sake, don’t gnaw.”
“One clean stroke, like with a scalpel.” He frowned. “But won’t it hurt you?”
“Don’t worry about that. You’ll learn how to give pleasure during the bite later.” She leaned down, carefully bracing her left hand on his upper arm, the other on the center of his chest. She eased up her right knee until it was next to his left arm, ready to clamp down and pin his hand if she had to.
Angling her throat right over his fanged mouth, she waited, doing a little praying while she was at it.
Davon hesitated a long moment, as if working up the courage. Then he bit, quick and stinging.
Both of them froze, nether so much as breathing. Until he finally began to drink. First one swallow, then another, then another. He moaned in startled pleasure at the taste.
Belle swallowed at the lush sensation of his mouth working at her flesh, delight seeping through her dread.
She lifted the right hand she’d braced on his chest, angled it. And conjured a knife, its blade thin and sharp, its point bare inches from the underside of his jaw. Ready to drive into his brain if he lost it and began to rip.
She’d have only the blink of an eye to decide if he’d gone blood-mad. If she stabbed too late, she’d be dead before her knife broke the skin. If she stabbed too early, she might murder a sane man who could have been a warrior Avalon needed.
Merlin’s Cup, I am so sick of this
. The thought flashed through her mind, cold and heavy as lead.

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