Master of Smoke

an extensive collection of film and comic book memorabilia over the years, and most of it was proudly displayed at the Comix Cave. There were all kinds of colorful superhero figurines in freestanding display cases, but the object that interested David most was the replica sword that hung point-down on one wall.
    “May I examine this?” he asked, the third time he’d gravitated over to the big weapon.
    “Sure. Just don’t break anything with it.” The thing was solid steel; it had been used in a sword and sorcery epic a few years back, so it was a fairly hefty prop.
    David lifted it from its brackets with great care, then sighted along its length before testing its edge with a thumb. “Dull.” He hefted it and swung the weapon in a circle with a twist of his wrist. “The balance is not bad. A bit gaudy, but it would make a decent practice weapon.”
    “It’s more for looks than anything else. Dad paid a pretty penny for it several years ago. He loves stuff like that.”
    David grunted and fell into a crouch. His blue eyes narrowing, he surged forward into a lunge, thrusting the weapon through an imaginary opponent. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he slashed the sword in a shining arc.
    Luckily there were no customers in the store; they might have been a little alarmed. That, or awed. Eva propped her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her hands, settling down to watch.
    David went after his imaginary enemies like a professional swordsman, flipping and spinning the heavy weapon as if it weighed no more than a yardstick.
    When he started sweating, he paused just long enough to tug off his knit shirt and toss it onto the counter. Before Eva could frame an objection, he was hard at work again, half-naked, sweat painting gleaming trails down his broad chest.
    Fluffy started purring.
    Eva had to agree. Watching the muscle work in his broad chest made her remember the way he’d felt stretched along her body, thrusting slowly, using his mouth and hands to drive her straight out of her mind.
    He wheeled, revealing a set of parallel scratches down his broad back. Eva winced, remembered digging her claws in at a particularly intense moment. “Ouch. Does that hurt?”
    David gave her a blank look. “What?”
    “Your back. I scratched you up pretty bad.”
    “Ah.” He grinned, broad and slow and more than a little wicked. “Feel free to wound me whenever you want.”
    She snorted. “That’s a dangerous offer, stud.”
    “Sometimes danger makes a delicious spice.” The grin broadened. “Even on the tastiest dishes.”
    Eva laughed. “Flatterer.”
    The bell jangled a bright note as the shop door swung open and closed. The customer stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide at the sight of the muscular, half-naked man with a sword in his hands.
    “Hi, Joel,” Eva said, thinking frantically. “This is David. We brought him in for a swordsmanship demonstration.”
    “Oh.” Joel Harmon edged past David, watching in fascination as he hunted imaginary werewolves. Circling display cases or lunging down the aisles, the big man moved with a predator’s silence and a bullfighter’s cruel grace. His brilliant eyes were narrow, intent, and his sensualist’s mouth flattened into a grim, cold line.
    Beautiful killer.
    Joel seemed as helplessly fascinated as she was. “He’s uh ... really good.”
    “Yep.” Remembering last night, Eva grinned. That’s putting it mildly. “Want your bag?”
    “Yeah.” Joel leaned against the counter, still watching David. The prop sword flashed as he wove thrusts and parries in response to phantom attacks, every move fast and fluid, yet utterly controlled.
    Eva dragged her gaze away with an effort and pulled open a file drawer. She started flipping through bags, searching for Joel’s. Most of the shop’s customers maintained a “pull list” of the comics they collected, which were put aside for them every week. Once a month, they were supposed to come in and pick up those books. Being a more dedicated fanboy, Joel came in as soon as he got paid every other Thursday.
    Eva slipped the comics from his bag and started scanning them, the cash register beeping as it totaled the purchases. “Is he a stuntman?” Joel asked.
    “Something like that.” She gave Joel a brooding glance. Even when they’d been dating, he’d given her no more than a pleasant tingle.
    David damn near set her on fire.
    Objectively, Joel was almost as handsome; tall, blond, and athletic, he