Master of Smoke

for Warlock to detect any hint of disloyalty in his mind. The sorcerer was already furious with him as it was.
    Gerald had reported Miranda’s slaying of Worthington right away, knowing Warlock would want to know of it. He’d expected to be summoned immediately for discipline—which would be highly unpleasant, judging from past experience.
    Instead, Warlock had seemed oddly distracted during the call, as if he was far more concerned with something else. He hadn’t even been able to make time for Gerald’s full report until just now, hours after the initial incident.
    Odd. Warlock had been obsessed with Miranda’s every move for years. Now she’d killed the man the sorcerer has designated to breed her, and he scarcely seemed to care.
    Not that his distraction would save Gerald. He’d always known the little bitch would be the death of him. Warlock would lose his temper over something she’d done, and Gerald would end up a dead werewolf. He’d never expected to survive her rebellious teenage years, much less into her twenties. Luckily, she loved her mother, though Merlin alone knew why. Joelle was good for very little else, but she made an excellent hostage.
    At first, the task of raising the werewolf witch had seemed simple enough. Marry Joelle, control her little brat, and reap the considerable rewards Warlock rained down on him in the form of magical advantages for his construction business. Gerald had grown rich thanks to the sorcerer’s spells, as government contracts fell into his hands like ripe peaches, while competitors suffered disasters natural and otherwise.
    Now his corporation was the largest in three states, with multimillion-dollar contracts to build everything from schools to bridges.
    But the price—Merlin’s balls, the price was high.
    Warlock had left him waiting in his throne room for the better part of an hour now, uneasily considering the glowing magical runes carved into the stone walls. A circle of inlaid silver lay set in the floor at the center of the space, surrounding a low dais and Warlock’s massive ebony throne. Stone statues of Merlin’s original Direkind Chosen stood in niches around the room, and the scent of exotic spices filled the air, making Gerald’s nose itch.
    He stifled a sneeze as his sensitive ears picked up the click of claws on stone. He straightened to his full height as Warlock padded in. To Gerald’s uneasy surprise, four strangers followed him, all in Dire Wolf form. They were huge even by Direkind standards, tall and massively built—one with thick black fur, two in shades of brown, a fourth who was as blond as a movie starlet.
    Must be the Bastards. At least some of them; weren’t there supposed to be twelve? Where were the others?
    Not that it mattered. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
    Warlock flung himself down on his throne, his white fur seeming to glow against the dark wood. Black lips peeled off white fangs as his eyes glowed amber with a sullen, feral rage. “Now, Gerald. Tell me again how you failed to control my daughter.”
    Terror tied his belly into a sick knot. Miranda, you’re going to pay for this.

    The silence steamed with rage for the first half of the trip home. Miranda knew it wouldn’t last, and it didn’t.
    “You’ve destroyed us.” Joelle’s grip made the steering wheel creak in protest.
    “What the hell do you want from me, Mom?” Miranda exploded, a knot of frustrated rage coiled in her belly. “Am I supposed to just submit to being raped with a smile? Fuck that! I’m not a doormat like—”
    “Me?” Her mother’s voice had gone deep again, growling with fury and an incipient transformation. “Did it ever occur to you to wonder why, Miranda? Why I put up with everything Gerald does—the cheating, the violence, the casual contempt? Do you honestly think this is the life I wanted?”
    Miranda threw up her hands. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—book me another flight on Guilt Air. I’m not responsible for your choices, Mom.”
    “What choices? When did I have a choice?”
    “Half an hour ago! Tristan and La Belle Coeur would have taken both of us to the Mageverse if we’d said the word. But no—you had to fucking attack them!”
    “Because it really would have triggered a war, you little twit! Don’t you understand, Warlock is not going to let you go.” Her mother’s eyes flashed red in the blue glow of the Volvo’s dashboard lights. “You’re the key to the dynasty he’s determined to