Master of Smoke

private.
    She chose a spot in a nearby state park she remembered from childhood rambles. It lay deep in the woods beside a shallow, snaking creek where she’d caught frogs as a kid. Best of all, it was far enough away from any homes that they shouldn’t have to worry about interruptions.
    Eva felt a strange combination of excitement and worry—excitement that he would teach her what she wanted so badly to learn, worry that she would somehow screw it all up. “I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be better to get me a gun and just shoot them? I think Dad’s got a pistol. I could probably persuade him to give it to me.”
    “Shooting a Dire Wolf is a waste of time,” David told her, walking around the clearing examining the thick layer of fallen leaves that covered the ground. “They can heal the injury too quickly. It takes massive damage to put them down for any length of time, and for that you need a bladed weapon.”
    She frowned at him. “What did you just call them?”
    “Dire Wolves. That’s what they call themselves.”
    “Yeah, I know—Cat told me. But how do you know that? For that matter, how do you know the gun thing?”
    David looked at her, opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I have no idea. But it’s true.” He shrugged. “It just feels right.”
    “Okay. So we know swords work. Why don’t we get one for me? We probably don’t have time to order something like that online, but I bet we could find a machete at a garden supply store.”
    “Using a blade effectively takes a lot more training than we have time for. As it is, an attacker would probably take it away from you and behead you with it.”
    Eva eyed him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dr. Phil.”
    He met her gaze with a cool lift of an eyebrow. “Would you rather I told some flattering lie that got you killed?”
    “Not really.”
    “Good, because I’m not going to do it.” He gave her a come-on gesture. “Change now. I want to show you something.”

    When she’d recovered from the grinding pain of transformation, he extended a powerful arm, bent at the elbow. “Take my hand.” Eva obeyed, instantly conscious of the warm roughness of his callused palm beneath her furry one. “Now see if you can force my arm down.”
    Eva eyed him dubiously. “So we’re arm wrestling now?”
    “Yes.” His cool gaze did not invite argument.
    “Okay.” She started to push.
    He lifted a dark, faintly amused brow. “Is that the best you can do? Because I don’t believe our enemies will be impressed.”
    Anger zipping through her, Eva bore down hard against his arm. Thick muscle rippled as he fought her strength, but he still looked faintly contemptuous. Anger growing into rage, she applied more force.
    And wrenched his arm down. He released her and jumped back, shaking his hand and flexing his fingers.
    “Did I hurt you?” Alarmed, she caught his hand and examined it anxiously.
    “No.” He watched her check him over. “You know, you’re considerably stronger than I am.”
    Eva blinked, eyeing the width of his shoulders and the curve of the powerful muscles in his arm. “Who, me?”
    “Yes. Which implies that the werewolves we fought yesterday were even stronger. Yet who won?”
    “You did, but you had a sword.”
    “Was that the only reason?”
    “No.” She remembered his savagery as he’d chopped his blade into the fallen werewolf, his face contorted with ferocity. “You hit them so hard, you caught them by surprise.”
    He nodded. “A bigger fighter expects to win against a smaller one. And usually, he’s right. He’s got the leverage, he’s got the reach and the strength, and nine times out of ten he’s going to wipe the floor with the smaller man. So how does someone like me win against an eight-foot werewolf?”
    She considered the question thoughtfully. “You didn’t hold back at all. You hurt them so bad, so fast they don’t have time to counterattack.”
    “And you can do the same thing. More easily, in fact, because you’re bigger and stronger in this form, but you’re also female, which means they’re not going to expect you to give them a fight at all. They think women are weak and cowardly, and when they smell your fear, they’ll assume they can rape and kill you and get away with it.”
    He sounded so calm about it, she started to get a little pissed off—until she looked in those blue eyes and saw his cold anger.
    So she decided on honesty. “David, I just don’t see how I can