Master of Smoke

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