Kiss of Fury Read online

It wasn’t that easy to fool the Wyvern.

  “On the contrary, you know exactly what I mean.” Sophie recounted an old verse:Elements four disguise weapons three,

  Revealed if love harnesses fury.

  The Wizard can work her alchemy

  Only with the Warrior’s lost key.

  Transformation in the firestorm’s might,

  Will forge a foretold force for right.

  Warrior, Wizard and Pyr army

  Shall lead the world to victory.

  “I beg your pardon?” Alex said.

  “You will remember my words when you have need of their counsel. My arrival here is not a coincidence, for all its timeliness.”

  “Who are you?” Alex demanded.

  Sophie smiled with her characteristic serenity. “You know who I am. Or, perhaps more accurately, what I am.”

  “I don’t think so—”

  “Where do you intend to take him?” Sophie asked, interrupting her quietly. “Tell me and I will ensure his safe arrival. After that, the task of healing him is yours.”

  “I’m not letting you take him anywhere. . . .”

  Sophie met Alex’s gaze and held it. Something in her own silenced the woman’s protest as she stared. Alex was afraid, but she refused to be cornered by that fear. She faced it. The Wyvern respected that. Alex feared dragons but she aided Donovan, even though she knew his truth and it terrified her.

  Sophie could help.

  “You are the Wizard long foretold,” she said. “Look upon that which you fear.” She heard Alex take a quick breath, but she didn’t step away. The intelligence in her gaze told Sophie that Alex knew what to expect.

  Sophie summoned the change and felt the shift shimmer within herself. As always, she reveled in the power that made her what she was. She felt the vibration of change and let her body do what it did best.

  She shifted shape, in broad daylight, in the middle of a Minnesota country road. She did it slowly, as slowly as she could possibly do it, the better to let the Wizard see the truth of transformation. The slow transition was a sight that could drive a human to madness—as Donovan well knew—but Sophie had faith in her instincts. She knew Donovan would never to do this to Alex, just as she knew it had to be done.

  The Wizard must be as stalwart as the Warrior, yet have the ability to consider known matters in a new way. The Wizard must be able to make sense of what seemed to be madness. Or magic. The Wizard must be able to witness this transformation and survive to make use of what she had seen.

  Sophie unfurled her dragon form, praying to the Great Wyvern that this Wizard had all of that and more.

  The Pyr who could become the Warrior was going to need it.

  Chapter 9

  Alex’s mouth fell open as the woman changed shape right before her eyes. Her eyes glittered when she looked up that last time, a jewellike light appearing from their turquoise depths. Alex thought she knew what that glitter meant.

  The woman then began to shimmer, the edges of her body taking on a strange brilliance. It reminded Alex of a chemical reaction, an element on the cusp of transformation. It was hard to tell where the woman ended and where the air around her began.

  That was when Alex knew exactly what was going to happen.

  That was when she knew exactly who the woman was. She remembered what Sara had told her and realized that she was in the presence of the Wyvern, the only female Pyr.

  The beautiful but mysterious prophetess.

  The Wyvern became larger and larger. She stretched out her arms with languid grace, moving more like a bird than a human. Her nails grew into talons; her skin turned to scales. She threw back her head, apparently glorying in the change, and bared her teeth. They became long and sharp; her jaw-boneextended, as her tail coiled across the pavement. She was white, as white as milk or a bucket of pearls, as pale and ethereal as a dragon made of glass.

  She was magnificent, terrifying, and beautiful.

  Alex trembled right to her toes, but she looked.

  The Wyvern’s hair flowed into long pearlescent feathers, plumage that reminded Alex of a swan. Wings sprouted from her back and stretched wide overhead, adorned with those same feathers. She glistened in the sunlight, looking otherworldly and unreal. There seemed to be a translucence about her, and her presence was more serene than that of the Pyr Alex had met.

  Those talons and teeth, that piercing gaze, told Alex that she was still a formidable foe.

  “You’re the Wyvern,” Alex said, and the Wyvern inclined her head in agreement. She moved with easy grace to shelter Donovan, a great tenderness in her manner. She arched her wings over him to shade him from the sun and bent to run the gloss of her pearly claw across his cheek. There was sadness in the gesture, a sadness that made Alex fear for Donovan’s survival.

  “Can he be healed?” Alex asked.

  The Wyvern lifted her head slowly to look at Alex. Her eyes were the same bright turquoise. “That depends upon you, Wizard.”

  “Why can’t you heal your own kind?”

  “It is the Wizard whose alchemy can heal the Warrior.”

  Alex felt as if the Wyvern’s answers only provided more questions, but she was determined to learn what she could. “What’s the matter with him? He doesn’t seem to be that badly hurt.”

  The Wyvern hesitated, her gaze lingering on Donovan. Her words were lower and more thoughtful than they had been. “It is in trial that a warrior learns his true strength, not in triumph. We all shall learn the measure of this fighter in this test.”

  “That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”

  The Wyvern raised her gaze. “It can be. He can become the foretold Warrior.”

  “How?”

  “The alchemy is yours.”

  Alex flung out her hands. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know much about first aid and I don’t know anything about healing dragons. How can you leave something important up to me?”

  The Wyvern seemed to smile. “The union of the firestorm is more than seed meeting womb; it is a cohesion of all four elements. The Warrior brings the fire of passion to the union. The Wizard brings the intellectual power of air. Their firestorm will not be a complete union until they add earth and water.”

  Alex folded her arms across her chest. Mating again. Didn’t these Pyr understand that she had work to do? “What if they don’t want a complete union?”

  The Wyvern chuckled. She lifted Donovan with her front claws, as effortlessly as if she cradled a child. She fired a glance at Alex, one that made her take a step back. “Where?”

  “I can’t heal him. I don’t know how.”

  “You are the Wizard.” The Wyvern reared up to her full height, holding Donovan high above the ground. “Where?”

  “I think you’re making a mistake in expecting me to do this. If Donovan is so important and you can’t heal him, then you need to get a Pyr doctor to fix him up.”

  The Wyvern’s wings began to beat and her feet lifted slightly off the ground. Alex panicked, not certain where the Wyvern was going, not at all certain she was ready to have Donovan leave her life forever.

  The Wyvern was three feet above the pavement. The beat of her wings stirred the grasses and made Alex’s hair blow.

  “Where?” she demanded once again, her tone sharper.

  Alex knew the answer, even though she didn’t like it. She and Donovan had agreed to work on her project together, after all. Maybe she could somehow heal him at Peter’s cottage. She was skeptical, despite the Wyvern’s faith, but it didn’t seem as if there were any other options.

  “I can’t explain easily how to get there, especially from the air—,” she began, but got no further.

  “Think of it,” the Wyvern commanded. “Fill your thoughts with the place and I will find it.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I am the Wyvern and not without my gifts.” Alex knew she didn’t imagine the haughtiness that tinged the white dragon’s tone.

 
Alex did what she was told. She closed her eyes and imagined her brother’s cottage, nestled in its hundred acres of perfection. She envisioned the winding road that led to it from the main road, the way the ancient lilac hedge obscured any sight of the building itself until you came around the last curve. She remembered going there in the spring, the smell of lilacs like a slice of heaven, their purple blooms tossing in the wind.

  She recalled how the house had been a farmhouse, how its foundation was made with stones that had been hand-fitted by some forgotten mason. She thought about the square-headed nails that held the big old beams together, the dirt floor in the basement.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw how the one long wall gave a stupendous view of hills and lakes over Itasca State Park. She remembered the day that hole had been opened by the contractor and how they had all stood and marveled at the view.

  She remembered arguing with Peter about making his executive retreat more ecologically friendly. She remembered having to help the contractor install the solar panels on the roof and helping Mark make the whole system work. She remembered Peter being impressed at how little he’d had to sacrifice.

  She remembered how she had run down to the edge of the lake with Peter’s kids in the early morning just this past summer, the grass wet and cold on their bare feet, the water sparkling in invitation. She saw Mark doing cannonballs off the dock, after installing those solar panels, after hiding the first Green Machine before everyone else arrived. She saw Mark lose his glasses in the lake and smiled.

  She thought about the crisp edge of the air there in the autumn, the colors of the leaves, the scent of distant wood smoke. She remembered how the fire crackled on the big stone hearth, how the hand-hooked rug in front of that fireplace seemed to glow in the firelight, how hot chocolate tasted better there than anywhere else in the whole world. She thought about snow against the porch, the Christmas tree glittering in the main room and duvets pulled up to her chin as snowflakes fell fast and thick outside.

  She recalled how she felt free and alive at Peter’s cottage, in a way that she never experienced in the city. She thought about blue herons fishing in the shallows and the silhouettes of fish in deep water, the gleam of dragonflies, the call of the pair of loons who took up residence on the lake each summer. She remembered guiding a canoe across the lake as the first rosy light of dawn touched the water and tasted that tranquility again.

  When Alex opened her eyes, she stood alone on the road. She thought she could see a speck high above that might have been the Wyvern, but she couldn’t be sure. It was heading north, though, the very direction she needed to go.

  Alex started Donovan’s bike, pulled on her helmet, and turned in the direction of Peter’s cottage. She believed that the Wyvern would be there before her, waiting, with Donovan.

  With any luck, the first Green Machine was still there, too.

  Lost in shadows, Donovan dreamed of his past.

  He dreamed of betrayal.

  He dreamed of deceit and he dreamed of greed.

  He dreamed, inevitably, of Olivia.

  The pair descend to the cellar, her skirts rustling. He will follow her anywhere, and he suspects she knows as much. He is unsated by their lovemaking and prepared to do anything to join her abed again.

  Olivia has asked a favor.

  Donovan will do it.

  He will do anything for her.

  When she leads him to a dark corner of her cellar, one filled with cobwebs, he thinks she has planned an amorous game. Instead, at her command, he turns a great lock and opens a hidden door.

  Her eyes gleam with satisfaction that she has surprised him and she holds a finger to her lips when he might have commented upon it. He holds the lantern high and looks.

  There are stairs that descend from the cellar to points unknown. They are rough-hewn from rock but fairly even. He leans into the space but can see only stairs descending endlessly. He can smell the dampness and hear the drip of water far below.

  She leans against him, her high lace collar prickling against his throat, her perfume tempting him to take her again. The light from the lantern plays lovingly with the white curve of her breast and he yearns to cup it, kiss it, run his tongue across its ruby nipple. She whispers, her voice so soft that he has to strain for her words, even though her lips are against his ear.

  “It is said that at the base of the stairs, there is a grotto.”

  He nods, unsurprised. He hears the water dripping, after all.

  “And in that grotto is a lake,” she continues, her hand rising to caress the necklace of pearls that he has given to her. “And in that lake is a pearl beyond price.”

  She smiles and he knows what she wants of him. She has a weakness for pearls, after all. It was with a pearl-encrusted doublet that he first gained her attention, without any intent of doing so; a pearl pendant that saw him invited first to her home; this very pearl necklace that gained him entry to her bedchamber. His blood quickens with the prospect of what she will surrender if he fetches this pearl for her.

  “The Dragon’s Tooth,” she says, and he fears that she has glimpsed his secret.

  But no. It is simply the name of the pearl.

  “And you desire it?” he asks, no question in his voice.

  She nods, her eyes glowing with anticipation. “I will do anything for it.”

  He considers the stairs for only a moment. He is a champion, a duelist who takes every challenge and triumphs every time. He is invincible. Unassailable. Without peer. He is a Pyr disguised in human society, a man who wins his every desire.

  He wants this lady for his wife.

  She wants the pearl.

  Her challenge is a barter he cannot refuse.

  He smiles agreement, senses her relief, then bends to kiss her. She turns her face in the last moment so his lips brush against her cheek, a tease typical of her flirtatious games. He has no doubt that her reward will be worth its cost.

  He lifts the lantern higher and steps into the hidden space. The flame wavers in a cold draft from the darkness below.

  The door slams behind him. He raises a hand to it in time to hear the key turn in the lock. He runs his hands over it but there is no latch on this side.

  “Farewell,” whispers the lady whom he had believed to be his love. There is poison in her voice. “I shall miss the pleasure you offered, if nothing else.”

  “What of the Dragon’s Tooth?”

  She laughs low. “No man returns alive with it. I have sold you to its keeper in exchange for the prize.”

  “But—”

  “If you are the first to defeat him, this portal will be the least of your obstacles.”

  As her footsteps retreat, his heart takes on the chill of the hewn-stone walls. A thousand tiny incidents take on new importance; a hundred overheard rumors align themselves with her most recent deed. He has been tricked by one he mistakenly trusted. He has been only another pawn to her, another means of achieving her desire.

  He will not be so foolish as to trust a woman again.

  In fact, he will teach Olivia a lesson. He will win the pearl, but his terms will not be easily met. She will pay a price for her treachery.

  He draws his sword, tightens his grip on the light, and begins his descent into darkness.

  It was twilight when Alex reached the cottage. The sky was thick with stars overhead, but she didn’t take the time to stop and look. The Ducati’s engine sounded loud on the winding drive to the house, and the shadows felt ominous. Alex wondered whether her decision to come here was really that unpredictable.

  It was good to know that the Wyvern would be on the porch, waiting for her.

  At least, Alex hoped she would be. What if the imaginary navigation system was a failure? What if there were a thousand other cottages that were more or less like Peter’s cottage?

  Alex turned the last curve, catching her breath the way she always did when she first saw the house. Peter’s country retreat shouldn’t really have been called a
cottage. It was massive, an architectural marvel outfitted with every luxury known to modern man. There were seven bedrooms with en suite baths, a stainless steel chef’s kitchen, a viewing room for movies, and a security system that was cutting-edge technology.

  Locked up until Peter’s family’s arrival for Christmas, the place was a fortress.

  That was part of what Alex liked about it.

  Every window was dark, although Alex knew this was because of the metal blinds that locked down over the wide expanses of glass. There was only one point of entry when the house was secured: the front-porch door alongside the triple garage. There was always a light on there—the house had an enormous generator for backup power in the case of a power failure or battery exhaustion.

  And there was Oscar. Oscar was the voice-activated heart and soul of Peter’s smart house.

  Alex was disappointed to see that the porch was empty. Her doubts grew—and so did her trepidation—as she parked the bike. She turned it around, in case she needed to make a quick departure, and hid it against the far side of the garage where there was a path to the back side of the house. The lilacs were tall there, and the shadows deep enough to disguise the bike.

  She stepped into the night, well aware of the rustlings in the darkness. Were there Slayers lying in wait for her here? Even if there were, Alex knew she’d feel better in the house. It’d be like sleeping in Fort Knox. Oscar would watch the gates.

  She trotted up the steps, noting that there was no sign of anyone having been there. There was a scuttle of fallen leaves on the porch, undisturbed by any footsteps.

  Maybe the Wyvern had reconsidered and taken Donovan to some dragon rehab center. Alex frowned as she punched in the string of access codes. Oscar scanned her iris and reviewed her thumbprint. After a beat, a green light flashed that her access was approved.

  “Good evening, Ms. Madison,” Oscar said in his usual dulcet tones. “I trust you had a good journey.”

  “No, actually. It was hell, but I’m glad to be here, Oscar.”

  “Welcome, then.” Alex wondered whether Oscar would notify Peter that she had entered his retreat. She’d never thought of that, but it wouldn’t have surprised her.