Master of Smoke

was also covered in blood and wearing an expression that reminded her of Mel Gibson killing people in way too many movies.
    Eva knew she could hit him upside the head—which had worked once today, but was likely to end really badly no matter what—or she could grow a pair of ovaries and take a really big chance.
    Blue eyes glittered. The sword lifted, ready to swing.
    Eva grabbed for the magic and changed.
    When the blue glow faded, her jeans and T-shirt had returned from wherever they went when she shifted. And she was looking up at David, who loomed over her with that big blade dripping blood. She tried to square her shoulders and meet his gaze with the fearless courage of Lois Lane staring down Lex Luthor.
    Unfortunately, a cowardly squeak emerged from her lips and blew the whole effect.
    He blinked. Took a step back and lowered the sword, looking confused.
    She gave him a broad, totally unnatural smile. “It’s me, David. It’s Eva.” Voice dropping, she added on a mutter, “Please don’t chop me into teeny tiny bits.”
    He blinked again and frowned, as if coming back to himself from a very long way away. “They were going to kill you.” His voice growled around the consonants in a way that didn’t sound like him at all.
    “But you stopped them, didn’t you?” Boy, did you. The coroner won’t even know what species they are. Good thing, too. Werewolves on the front page would be bad.
    David’s gaze turned catlike and intent again, but this time his mood was visibly more horny than homicidal. He reached for her.
    “If you kiss me covered in blood,” she informed him with brutal honesty, “I’m going to yark on your shoes.”
    David froze. His face worked, expressions flashing over it too fast for her to be entirely sure what they were.
    And he ... changed. His shoulders drew back, his head came up, and something shifted in his eyes. He blinked, a long, slow drop and rise of his lids, and when he met her gaze, something new looked out of his eyes. Something ancient and intelligent she didn’t recognize.
    “Well. We can’t have that, can we?” He made an intricate, graceful gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding the sword. Sparks shimmered above his head, spiraling down his body in a glittering double helix. When the glow vanished, so did the blood. His clothes were wrinkle-free, as if freshly laundered, and his hair lay smooth and dark over his broad shoulders, clean enough to gleam in the moonlight. Even his formerly gory sword was bright and shining again.
    Eva blinked in astonishment. “David, how the hell did you do that?”
    He shrugged. “Magic. But my name isn’t David. I’m Smoke.”
    “You’ve regained your memory?” Eva frowned, surprised at her sinking heart. This should be good news. Why did it feel like a disaster?
    “For the moment.” He cocked his dark head, studying her with that alien intelligence that made her skin creep. It was as if he’d been possessed by something very, very old.
    And not human at all.
    “What do you mean, ‘For the moment’? You think you’ll forget again?”
    “If Warlock has anything to say about it. Which unfortunately, he does.” Turning, he moved away to crouch over one of the butchered bodies. The feral bloodlust was gone from his face, replaced by a clinical interest. Definitely not the man she knew.
    But whoever he was, he was scary as hell.
    He rose and circled the bodies, studying them, head cocked. “Warlock isn’t here.”
    “Uh—Warlock?” She watched as he sank onto his haunches to examine a particularly mangled corpse, breathing deep as if seeking the man’s scent. He didn’t even move like David. There was something animal about the way he held his head and placed his feet, something more tiger than man. “Who’s Warlock?”
    “The Dire Wolf who tried to steal my magic and memories.”
    “Dire Wolf?”
    “That’s what they’re called. That’s what you are. Except unlike the rest of you, Warlock is a sorcerer. He attempted to strip me of my powers.” He glanced up at her, teeth flashing in a snarling smile. “So I rammed it all down his throat and tried to choke him with it.” Broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I did not quite succeed, but at least I escaped. Or rather, most of me did.”
    Realization dawned. “You’re talking about when I found you—when you fought that big white werewolf—Warlock?”
    David—Smoke—nodded. “He wishes to become a god to his people. Fool. There is