Master of Smoke

into a shrink-wrapped steak. Along one wall near the worrisome door sat a bright red couch crowded with fat yellow pillows. A bowl-shaped chair occupied the opposite corner, a red pillow in its bright yellow seat. A large black rectangle he somehow recognized as a flat-screen television hung from the facing wall.
    The remaining walls were covered with posters of people in heroic poses. Their clothing was very colorful, and so tight it showed every muscle. He frowned, staring at one. It appeared the man had no genitals at all, judging from the lack of bulges below the waist.
    Odd. Why would she have pictures of people who had suffered such a terrible injury?
    Statues of similar figures stood here and there on the coffee table and inside a tall, narrow display case. Both those pieces of furniture were made of oak, with clean, simple lines.
    He breathed deeply as he inspected. To his pleasure, the only male scent belonged to a young child who seemed to visit quite frequently.
    “Are you hungry?” Eva asked, walking into the kitchen area that was separated from the living room by a long island. His stomach growled, and she grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
    “Combat sharpens my appetite.” And not just for food, though he decided not to mention that. She didn’t seem to like double entendres. He followed her around the oak island into the small efficiency kitchen, drinking in her scent as he went. His eyes shuttered in pleasure.
    Sex. Distilled femininity, pure temptation. He really had to get her into bed.
    “Do you like lasagna?” She opened the freezer door and withdrew two packages wrapped in aluminum foil.
    “I have no idea, but I would be happy to eat it.”
    Eva laughed as she unwrapped the packages and put them in the microwave. “Enthusiasm. What more can a cook ask?”
    David studied her profile as she moved over to open a drawer beside the stove. Her face was delicate, but there was strength in the line of her nose and the stubborn angle of her jaw. Her eyes were large, a velvety brown so deep as to be almost black. Her hair was the color of dark chocolate, falling around her shoulders like a straight, gleaming curtain that framed her face in shorter wisps.
    The microwave pinged, and she took out the two containers. Picking up a spoon, she scooped their contents onto a couple of plates. He watched intently as she brushed past. She moved well, with a lithe athlete’s grace.
    And she smelled delightful—citrus and femininity, with the faintest hint of fur. And under it all, the rich, fizzing scent of magic.
    David realized he was purring and made a conscious effort to stop as he prowled after her to the kitchen table. Settling into a straight chair with red cushions, he watched her return to the refrigerator and pour drinks for them both.
    Absently, he picked up the fork she’d placed beside his plate and dug in as he watched her carry their drinks back to the table. The “lasagna” was delicious, tasting of tomatoes, spicy beef, and at least three different kinds of cheese. “This is very good.”
    “Thanks,” she said with a pleased smile as she put the glasses down. “I love to cook. Taking a bunch of ingredients and combining them to make something special—it’s a lot of fun.”
    He listened to her talk about cooking as he ate, watching her full lips shape words like kisses. Until he could stand it no longer. Grabbing the arm of her chair, David pulled her closer. Her eyes widened in surprise as he leaned forward and took that tempting mouth in a long, erotic plunge into heat. The moment he tasted her, he wanted more. She moaned softly against his lips. He reached across, scooped her up, and pulled her into his lap. She wrenched her mouth away. “Wait—we can’t ...”
    “We can,” he growled back, and swooped in for another kiss. To his satisfaction, she hesitated only a moment before she threaded her arms around his neck and started kissing him back.
    Which was when someone began pounding on the front door in desperate slaps. “Eva! Miss Roman! Help!”
    It was unmistakably the voice of a child.

    Warlock jolted awake with power singing arias in his veins and the Demigod’s memories howling in his brain. The storm of power and alien recall sent him staggering to his feet.
    Thousands of years. The cat had lived thousands and thousands of years.
    All that experience and power seared Warlock’s consciousness like a blowtorch. He could feel his mind cracking under the