Kiss of Fury Page 15

  That didn’t mean Boris had left the scene. In fact, Donovan was pretty sure Boris was wherever Alex was.

  Donovan didn’t like that he couldn’t sense Alex’s presence, although he tried to catch her scent again. She could be dead. Unconscious. Beguiled and captured, the way Sara had been. The prospect terrified him. Donovan had no obligation to fight this smaller Slayer and he turned to seek his mate instead.

  Shots rang out just then, shots that made Donovan scan the forest in terror.

  Alex?

  While he was distracted, the smaller Slayer attacked.

  “I thought the flames might change your mind,” the Slayer said to Alex. His great leathery wings spread wide and he flapped them leisurely. He took flight as if in defiance of gravity. He was far more massive than Alex had realized. He smiled and his teeth seemed to number in the thousands.

  Each and every one was sharp and yellow.

  His talons were downright evil.

  Alex’s mouth went dry.

  The Slayer rose slowly, appearing to her in increments over the wall of flames, as if letting her appreciate his power. The firelight danced off his ruby red scales and made the brass along their edges sparkle. His talons gleamed in vicious splendor. There were red feathers on his tail and down the center of his back, feathers that waved in updraft from the fire like streamers. His eyes shone with hunger or malice—Alex wasn’t sure which and didn’t much care—and she was terrified by his size and strength.

  “Impressive, aren’t I?” he mused. His voice was low, like a rumble from the earth. “I’m Boris Vassily, leader of the Slayers.”

  “I’m not impressed,” Alex lied.

  He smiled, showing more sharp teeth. “Tell me everything you know, right now.”

  Alex was skeptical. “And you’d let me go, then?”

  He laughed. “Humans have such a ridiculous optimism.” He sobered then, his eyes glinting. Alex had the sense that he was deciding just how much of a meal she’d make. “You will die. Don’t imagine otherwise.”

  “Then why would I tell you anything?”

  “Because that will make the pain stop. The only thing we’re negotiating is the amount you will suffer before you die.” That smile was even meaner this time. “And I know so many ways to make humans suffer. You might be surprised.”

  “The firestorm isn’t my fault. . . .”

  “Stopping this firestorm is an interesting prospect, a bonus offer for me, shall we say, but it’s not my main objective.”

  “Why me, then?”

  “I want the Green Machine to disappear, of course.”

  “You’ve destroyed my prototype. You’ve stopped the project.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Boris blasted the ground in front of the bike with fire and Alex winced at the burning heat. “You’ll only stop working on your project when you’re dead. And other humans will abandon the project only if all records of it are destroyed. I must ensure that no one else can use your knowledge. If the Green Machine is eliminated now, the moment that it could have made its greatest impact will pass.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Alex lied. “I passed my notes along—”

  “Liar!” Boris extended his talons and flew closer, seeming to compose his anger as he did so. “I wonder whether lying changes the taste of human flesh,” he mused. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Alex didn’t share his curiosity about the taste of human flesh, particularly of her flesh. He closed his eyes, reared back to bare his teeth, and Alex pulled the gun from inside her jacket.

  She locked both hands on the .45 to steady it, just the way she’d been taught, and fired straight where his heart should be.

  Assuming that Boris Vassily had one.

  The Slayer fell upon Donovan, taking advantage of his surprise, and sank strong teeth into Donovan’s chest.

  Donovan fought the Slayer and flung off his weight. He tried to put distance between them, but the Slayer came after him again immediately.

  The attacking Slayer did look familiar to Donovan. He was green, as green as emeralds, his scales touched with copper in a way that made Donovan’s breath catch in memory of a lost fellow.

  A lost brother.

  But he moved so oddly.

  “Delaney?” Donovan demanded, certain he was wrong. Had they found a Slayer who looked like Delaney to surprise him? Delaney’s body had been taken away by the Slayers so that they could ensure he remained dead. Had they changed another Slayer to resemble him?

  Donovan thought of Keir again.

  What if Delaney wasn’t dead?

  The Slayer attacked again and Donovan saw that his eyes weren’t like Delaney’s. Instead of sparkling brown eyes, this dragon’s eyes were black and cold.

  Flat. Empty. Donovan shuddered at the evidence that no one was home, then understood.

  His brother’s body had been stolen.

  His soul had been evicted, and this thing had been created. Neither alive nor dead, a conversion made against Delaney’s will. Donovan was pretty sure his opponent wouldn’t bleed.

  It was a horrible notion, deeply wrong and offensive.

  But the proof was clawing at Donovan’s chest, seemingly fascinated by the new scale that Quinn had lodged in Donovan’s chest. Maybe he sensed it had been a point of weakness. Maybe he knew it was Donovan’s prize. Maybe some shred of Delaney remembered. His talon slashed at it as he tried to rip it loose.

  No one was taking the Dragon’s Tooth from Donovan.

  Donovan breathed dragonfire on the smaller dragon and struck him aside. Delaney had never been a fighter and he was sure he could defeat him easily.

  Donovan was wrong.

  He clawed the Slayer and struck him repeatedly, pummeled him and it made no difference. The Slayer was like a wild animal, snapping and biting and grappling, returning to the fray over and over again. He didn’t seem to tire. He didn’t seem to feel his wounds. His scales burned and blackened under the dragonfire, but he did not even notice. He did not bleed.

  He was just like Keir.

  Donovan felt dread again. He couldn’t accept that the Delaneyhe had known was completely gone. Keir had still been resident in the abomination he had become. If Donovan could make contact with his brother again, maybe Delaney could be saved.

  He had to try.

  Donovan had to prove that he was different from Keir.

  “Delaney!” he shouted as the pair locked claws again. He felt the Slayer’s vicious strength as they grappled for supremacy. “Delaney! Remember when we met? When we touched fingertips and recognized each other? Remember when we first shifted shape together?”

  The Slayer hauled his claw free and took another swipe at Donovan’s chest. He left a gaping wound that trailed blood.

  Donovan was desperate to find an incident that triggered Delaney’s memory. “Remember how seasick you were on the ship to England? Remember when we met Rafferty in Magnus’s cave? Remember when I took Olivia the pearl she so desired?”

  The sharp green talon hesitated for a moment over the Dragon’s Tooth and there was a flicker deep in those dark eyes.

  Delaney was still in there. He’d always hated Olivia.

  Was that why he wanted the Dragon’s Tooth?

  Donovan caught the Slayer’s claws in his and held him spread-eagled as they hovered together. The Slayer struggled desperately. Donovan spoke with urgency, not knowing how long he could restrain him. “Remember Olivia’s maid, the blonde who liked you so well? Remember how we planned for you to be alone? Remember the night of that party, the last party?”

  Delaney snarled and screamed, as if a battle raged deep within him. He tipped back his head and roared in anguish, the sound of his pain making Donovan ache in sympathy.

  “Remember . . . ,” Donovan began, but got no further.

  The darkness flashed in his eyes as Delaney ripped his claw free and snatched at the embedded pearl. His sudden move tore the Dragon’s Tooth free of its setting.

  The pear
l fell, glimmering as it turned in the air.

  “No!” Donovan bellowed. He pivoted instinctively to dive after the gem, to snatch it from the air before it was lost.

  His move, or maybe his inattention, gave the Slayer who had once been Delaney a clear shot.

  Donovan felt movement behind him but thought he had time. His grip closed around the pearl, he glanced back, and the Slayer’s tail caught him across the side of the head. It was a fierce blow, harder and meaner than anything Delaney could have done.

  Donovan lost consciousness and fell.

  Alex would have reloaded and shot Boris again, but he screamed and flew away. Black blood dripped from him as he ascended, the drops sizzling as they hit the pavement.

  Alex must have hit him—she wasn’t sure because she’d kept her eyes closed—but she had no idea how many hits he’d taken. He was hurt, though, and she was glad. As he flew away, he just barely cleared the tops of the trees.

  Too bad she hadn’t managed to kill him.

  What did it take to kill a dragon? Alex really wanted to know.

  The flames Boris had lit on the pavement extinguished themselves, as if they had lost interest in burning in his absence.

  Alex took a shuddering breath, reloaded the gun and put the safety back on. Her hands were shaking and so was she. There were no other dragons in sight. She was careful and started the engine successfully this time. She drove the bike back down the road to the turn she’d initially taken.

  Where was Donovan? If he hadn’t come to defend her, then something was wrong. Alex couldn’t hear any sounds of dragons fighting and there didn’t seem to be any flames in the forest ahead of her. She heard a car engine start and wondered whether it was that gold SUV.

  She accelerated in her concern. She turned back onto the secondary highway in time to see Donovan dive from the sky, stretching after something that shone in the sunlight. A smaller copper and green dragon leapt after her dragon.

  The vicious blow caught Donovan hard and fast from behind. Even from a distance, Alex heard the horrible thump of the Slayer’s tail connecting with the side of Donovan’s head.

  No! Alex let the bike rip. She raced down the road, not having the first clue what she’d do when she got to Donovan.

  She winced as Donovan fell heavily to the ground. The impact made the pavement jump. His blue scales were singed from the other dragon’s fire and his wings hung limply. His chest was ripped open and there was a lot of red blood. He didn’t look powerful and invincible anymore.

  He looked broken.

  Alex squealed the tires as she stopped and got off the bike in a heartbeat. She knelt beside Donovan, terrified by his size and strength, even when he was injured.

  She had a moment to stare at him in his dragon form, all jeweled and splendid, lapis lazuli and gold. His chest had been ripped open, and there was something clutched in his right claw.

  Then he shimmered and changed shape.

  In a heartbeat, Donovan was a man again. A tall, sexy man with auburn hair sprawled on the ground in front of Alex, unconscious and injured. He didn’t look as if he’d be winking anytime soon.

  That bothered Alex.

  A lot more than would have been sensible.

  The car engine she’d heard had been the gold SUV: Alex saw the vehicle farther down the road as the driver made a U-turn. The truck sped back toward Minneapolis.

  She heard the beat of wings and glanced up to see the green and copper dragon glance after the SUV. He looked wounded, too, but seemed untroubled by his injuries. Alex thought about Donovan’s father the previous night and how he didn’t seem to feel pain.

  Why did good dragons bleed, and bad dragons didn’t?

  But Boris had bled black blood. This dragon and Donovan’s father were somehow different from the others.

  He hesitated as she stared, hovering overhead and looking down at Donovan. Alex watched him in terror. What if he descended to finish off Donovan? Could she shoot a dragon who didn’t bleed?

  He abruptly turned and flew in the opposite direction of the SUV. Alex watched until he was out of sight, then released a breath. She didn’t care where he went. The Slayers were gone.

  That was good enough for her.

  Alex dropped to one knee beside Donovan, uncertain what she could do to help him. He was breathing at least.

  He had bleeding wounds on his shoulder, and his face and chest were burned. The gouge in his chest was deep and nasty. She recalled that he had had a pearl embedded there in dragon form. She opened his fingers and found the large pearl in his right hand. It was oddly shaped, jagged like a mountain peak, and set in iron. Alex put it into her pocket to keep it safe for him.

  She tried to stop the bleeding with a strip off the bottom of his T-shirt and couldn’t tell if she was helping him or not. Too bad she didn’t know anything about first aid. Applying Band-Aids was the extent of her expertise and Donovan looked as if he needed more care than that.

  Taking him to the hospital had to be a bad idea. His physiology might be entirely different from that of a human, and a battery of tests could lead to more questions than answers. Any cure might kill him. Would he change shape again as he healed? If he died? Alex didn’t know.

  She had no idea how to contact the other Pyr, so that they could help him. She took his cell phone from his pocket and checked the address book: he had no numbers saved. Although she knew the advantages of keeping all important information in one’s head, there certainly were disadvantages.

  She pulled out Donovan’s wallet and checked his driver’s license. His home address was in Chicago. Other than a pair of credit cards in his name and a couple of hundred dollars in cash, there was nothing else in the wallet.

  He was a better spy than she was.

  But then, being a dragon shape shifter had to require a certain amount of subterfuge.

  Alex looked from Donovan to the bike and back again, wondering how she would move him. With a car, she could have managed. With the Green Machine, she could have managed. The Ducati posed a challenge.

  Just her rotten luck: a woman was walking down the road toward them. She had long fair hair that was blowing in the wind. It was so blond that it looked almost white. She was dressed in jeans and a quilted purple jacket, a woman out for a walk. She turned her steps directly toward Alex and approached with purpose.

  Uh-oh.

  Alex stood up and waited for the woman. There was nowhere she could go, nowhere to hide, and she wasn’t leaving Donovan. She was going to need a plausible story to ask for help.

  Too bad Alex had no idea what that story might be.

  Sophie heard the chorus of the Pyr throughout her days and nights. It was a constant hum in her thoughts. It was both her gift and her curse as the Wyvern. She was the first to hear a sour note or a voice cut short.

  She heard Donovan fall. Once she would have trusted in the wisdom of the Great Wyvern and left the matter be, but those days were gone. She had learned that it was not possible for her to remain beyond the daily concerns of her kind.

  The Slayers had taught her that.

  It seemed that they had also taught Donovan that he wasn’t omnipotent. She didn’t imagine that he would take easily to that lesson.

  Sophie was torn between the tradition and a world in transition. It was her role to aid the Pyr, but traditionally, the Wyvern had remained aloof from worldly affairs. A part of her believed that her gift of prophecy relied upon her avoidance of active participation in worldly events.

  Another part of her insisted that the time for remote observation and indifference was past.

  The Pyr needed her.

  Donovan needed her.

  Sophie didn’t know what price she would pay for involving herself in the mundane, but she couldn’t stand aside and watch the Pyr lose the fight for their own existence. She couldn’t let Donovan sacrifice his chance to become the foretold Warrior.

  There was too much at stake.

  She had to help.

>   She manifested close to him. As she walked down the road in human guise, Sophie tasted the terror of Donovan’s mate. This was the Wizard of the prophecy, the one who could transform Donovan into the Warrior. Together, these two could do a big part of pulling the planet from the brink of disaster.

  Alex Madison wasn’t what Sophie had expected. Her black leather pants and spike-heeled boots were not what one would expect a Wizard to wear. Sophie had expected practical clothing, a focus on the intellectual and not the sensual.

  Interesting.

  Perhaps Donovan had also found his mate’s choices interesting.

  Perhaps the Great Wyvern had a number of tricks up Her sleeve.

  Sophie smelled blood and violence, Slayer blood and Pyr blood in nauseating combination. There was something else, too, a scent of cinders and ash, of death and dark shadows. She didn’t know what it was but she had an instinctive dislike of that smell.

  It was wicked.

  Like the academy.

  Perhaps from the academy.

  Sophie focused on the human’s fear and noted her resolve. She felt the power of this firestorm, even with Donovan fallen and unconscious. There was heat even at a distance. She observed all of this as she walked a hundred paces toward the Wizard.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn’t known she’d find a wounded man at the side of the road in this precise place. “You must have had an accident. Can I help?”

  Alex was wary. “Thank you, but I’m not sure what to do.”

  Sophie sampled the Wizard’s scent as she stood beside her, recognizing intelligence and caution mingled with that fear. Donovan, she was glad to note, was not fatally wounded. He was injured and he was shocked. She pushed another dream into his thoughts, then spoke. “Surely he needs assistance.”

  Alex looked away. “He likes to be self-reliant. I’m not sure he’d be happy to wake up in a hospital.”

  Sophie understood. Alex knew what Donovan was and she had made her peace with it. They were together. It was more than she had hoped for.

  “He won’t change shape while he’s injured,” she said softly.

  Alex stepped back in shock. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she lied, trying to hide what she knew.