Master of Smoke

length of it, running her fingers along its cool metal skin. Not only had Smoke repaired the Hummer damage, he’d fixed the dent in the front door inflicted by an errant shopping cart. Even the scrapes from her run-in with a concrete pylon a year ago had disappeared. The car hadn’t looked this good when she’d bought it. “Damn.” Eva turned to grin at him. “It looks ...”
    Smoke’s face was white as paper and streaming sweat. He swayed like a man fighting a gale, his hands shaking as he lowered them to his side.
    “Oh, hell.” She dropped the sword and dove for him. She barely managed to catch his shoulders before his knees buckled.

    “No, you bastard.” Warlock’s lips curled back from his teeth. “The power’s mine now. You don’t get it back.”
    He knelt in the center of the silver spell circle, both hands fisted on the grip of a massive battle-axe planted butt-down on the stone floor. Lips curling back from his fangs, he stared into the great red gem that tipped the shaft between massive double blades. The stone, responding to his will, blazed a sullen crimson, the glow burning its way along the deep runes engraved in the alien steel.
    Arthur had Excalibur. Warlock had Kingslayer.
    Kingslayer’s gem could act as a focus for his power, amplifying it as a ruby intensifies light into a laser. Kingslayer was Warlock’s most powerful weapon, and he guarded it jealously. No one living even knew of its existence, not even the core leaders of the Chosen. He had not used it in decades. Hadn’t needed to.
    Panting with effort, Warlock stared into the heart of the gem, seeking the bright cord of magic that stretched tight between him and the godling. He could feel Smoke fighting him, trying to drag the power away, to steal it back into himself, reassemble his fractured mind.
    Too bad, Cat, he thought, gritting his teeth and tightening his psychic grip. It’s mine now.
    Gathering all his power, Warlock blasted mind and magic through the stone, sending it ripping into Smoke’s wounded consciousness. He heard a short, psychic howl that suddenly cut off.
    And he smiled.
    The new magical cage Warlock had conjured with his axe was much stronger. Strong enough to separate Smoke’s power from his memories and the fragments of his godling’s soul.
    He wouldn’t escape again. And once his body was dead, the elemental’s rebellion would be over.
    Forever.

    “Arrrrrrrghhhhh!” Smoke’s powerful back arched as he screamed, his arms flinging wide, hands clawing at empty air.
    “David!” Eva fought to support his writhing body. If not for her supernatural strength, she’d have gone down with him in a heap. As it was, she barely managed to hang on to him as she dropped to her knees, cradling his head and shoulders in her arms. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips pulled back from gritted teeth as he twisted in her grip like a man tortured. His face gleamed with sweat, and she could feel his heart slamming in his chest. “David, what’s happening? David!”
    As suddenly as he’d begun to convulse, he collapsed, his body going boneless in her arms.
    A dead weight.
    Her heart jammed her throat until she saw the rise and fall of his chest. She put her ear to his sternum and listened with desperate attention.
    Yes, his heart still beat. It was slowing down, which was probably a good thing, considering it had sounded as if it was about to burst from his rib cage a moment ago.
    She sat up again, licking dry lips. “David?”
    A long tense moment passed. Finally he stirred, a frown line forming between his thick dark brows.
    “David, we need to get out of here. That Warlock guy you were talking about ...”
    His eyes flared wide at the name, rage hot white in their depths, pupils tightening into ovals in the moonlight. His lips peeled back, revealing fangs, and he growled, a low, savage sound. His alien gaze met hers, burning blue.
    Who the hell is he now? Eva thought, staring at him in sick despair. That’s not Smoke, and it’s sure not David.
    Wait. Smoke had said something about a cat—“The cat outdid himself. He’s quite protective of you.”
    So he had multiple personalities now? David, Smoke, and this “cat.”
    And where in the name of God and little fishes did Warlock fit into this mess?
    Reminded that they needed to get the hell away, she braced her hands under David/Smoke/Cat’s shoulders and pushed him into a sitting position. Thank God for werewolf strength. “Listen, Fang, we’ve got to