Kiss of Fury Read online

  Shot him! The woman didn’t know her place.

  He circled the roof of the luxury retreat—thinking that it would make a sweet lair—and noted the security features in place. He liked the steel shutters that locked over the windows and nodded with approval when he heard the steel doors descend.

  Tyson was trapped in the conservatory because he had stupidly triggered the alarm system. Boris landed silently on the roof, hoping the battle wasn’t lost before it was begun.

  He was surrounded by morons.

  “He’s in!” Sigmund gloated in old-speak as he landed beside the leader of the Slayers.

  Boris noted the arrival of another incompetent. Sigmund was the scholar who should have brought him triumph, the son of the leader of the Pyr who should have been the Slayers ’ greatest asset.

  Yet somehow wasn’t. Was Sigmund too much his father’s son?

  Or was he a spy?

  Boris pondered that possibility. He heard the banter between the two dragons inside the house and was slightly appeased. At least Donovan was trapped in the conservatory with Tyson. At least Tyson had cornered his opponent: Donovan was equally unable to summon assistance. They would battle to the death in the old style.

  Too bad Boris wasn’t certain that Tyson could win.

  It was critical that Donovan, a formidable fighter, never transform himself into the Warrior. Just a day ago, Boris had been sure that the Slayers’ triumph was secured, that having Alex be the human for this second firestorm was fortuitous beyond belief. He’d encouraged Tyson to go after Donovan, thinking it a good opportunity to hinder Donovan’s chances of victory.

  But his confidence had proven to be premature.

  Boris sighed. It was unfortunate that Tyson had so much in common with Everett, his dead and thickheaded student.

  There was a crash and a hiss from inside the house, as well as the muted beep of another alarm being activated. Sigmund rubbed his claws together with glee, and only Boris’s lethal look kept the younger Slayer from commenting.

  Doubtless he’d say something clever, maybe how he’d like to watch the fight. Boris had no interest in watching the fight. He had no interest in revealing his presence here too early. He simply wanted to know that Donovan Shea and Alex Madison were both dead. The unlikelihood of that and Tyson’s responsibility for stacking the odds against himself made Boris even more irritable.

  Then he caught a whiff of something that put a sparkle in his eye. Terrified human. He sniffed again and smiled. Absolutely.

  And even better, terrified human mate.

  He spread his claw flat against the steel shutter, his smile broadening as he felt the heat of the firestorm. Alex was in the conservatory, as well, which tilted the odds in Tyson’s favor. On the other hand, Donovan would fight even more valiantly, given the presence of his mate. They could finish it all this very night.

  “I should like to have witnessed this fight,” Boris murmured, and Sigmund nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Tyson will kill him, for sure. And then Donovan’s mate will be undefended. What do you plan to do with her?”

  Boris thought immediately of a dozen equally horrible prospects. She had, after all, shot him. “Ensure the failure of her Green Machine, first and foremost. Then, we’ll see.”

  “We could fry her when she leaves the house. . . ,” Sigmund began.

  “I prefer to use human nature against her. It makes for a more elegant and satisfying solution.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean hope defeated adds spice.” When Sigmund would have asked more questions, Boris held up a talon for silence. Hope. He scanned the property thoughtfully. He had already checked and knew this was the only access to the house.

  Why had Alex chosen to come here? The place was obviously familiar to her, because she had ridden directly to it from the other side of the state, and ridden without hesitation.

  Clearly, the house was a sanctuary. He wouldn’t have put it past a human to have come due to an emotional attachment to the place—and a false sense of security—but he wondered if there was more.

  This human was more logical than most. She’d retrieved materials steadily all day. He had no doubt that she intended to continue her research, so she must be planning to do so here.

  His gaze fell on the boathouse. Anything of value would surely be secured in the house. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check.

  The lock to the boathouse door was easily picked, as none of the same electronics were in place. Boris immediately saw why. The boathouse was empty, with the exception of a canoe, several oars, and half a dozen life jackets. The life jackets and oars were hung on the wall, and the canoe hung from the roof. It swayed slightly overhead as they shifted and stood on the dock that lined three sides of the interior. There was water in the middle of the boathouse, a finger from the lake beyond, and it radiated cold.

  “They must have a boat,” Sigmund said.

  “It’s probably in storage for the winter,” Boris mused. “The lake must freeze, at least on the surface.” He had a sense that he was missing something obvious, the still water drawing his gaze. Something might be submerged there. He looked and began to smile.

  The undercarriage of a car was reflected perfectly on the surface.

  Boris tipped back his head and considered the automobile tucked into the rafters of the boathouse. There could be only one reason why it was there. He focused upon it and inhaled, his smile broadening when he detected the faint scent of the human he had killed at Gilchrist Enterprises.

  “A backup prototype,” he said, with no small satisfaction.

  “We could burn it,” Sigmund suggested, but Boris scoffed.

  “I shall teach you something about subtlety, if it’s the last thing I do,” he said. “The critical meeting is Thursday. We shall ensure that there is no way this prototype can be made to work in that amount of time.”

  “But why not just destroy it?”

  Boris sighed with forbearance. “A fire would set off alarms, I expect, even here. And the destruction would alert them immediately to our presence. They might intervene. They might respond. They might have an alternate plan. Better that we delay the discovery of our deed for as long as possible.” He smiled. “Better to let the human feel the full burden of her failure when it’s too late to repair anything.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “You will remove the engine, but leave the prototype undisturbed. You will destroy the engine in your lair. And before you leave, you will disguise all signs of our presence here.”

  Sigmund frowned. “And what are you going to do?”

  Boris snarled at the younger dragon. “I do not sully my claws with physical labor. There are better uses for my talents.”

  “Such as?”

  Boris chose to forgive Sigmund’s audacity, for the moment. “I intend to meet Mr. Sinclair, the potential investor and key contact. According to the Day-Timer of the first human, he arrives Thursday in Minneapolis from Chicago. It is entirely possible that he can be dissuaded from the folly of making this investment.”

  Sigmund looked impressed. “That’s devious.”

  “Of course.” Boris knew he sounded bored. “My ideas are always both devious and brilliant; it’s their execution that’s the persistent problem.”

  Sigmund bristled, predictably. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Pyr thrive as much because of their own abilities as the incompetence of my minions.”

  “You can’t say that to me after all I’ve done.”

  “Can I not?” Boris turned on Sigmund, and the other dragon backed away in surprise. Boris bared his teeth and Sigmund took another step back. He didn’t move fast enough. Boris seized him by the throat and enjoyed how Sigmund’s eyes widened when he felt the sharp edge of Boris’s talon against his windpipe.

  “You shouldn’t be able to do that,” Sigmund whispered, eying the dragon talon on Boris’s human hand.

  Boris ignored that an
d spoke in a hiss of old-speak. “Explain to me again how Donovan survived that battle that was supposed to eliminate him. Explain to me again your flawless plan to make Delaney a Slayer against his will, the one that would make him our helpless pawn. Explain to me how your pet has eluded recapture.”

  “It was an experiment. . . ,” Sigmund squeaked aloud.

  “It was a failure.” Boris bared his teeth in a cold smile. “I do not like failure, Sigmund. I think it shows a lack of foresight on the part of the planner.” He let his gaze brighten as Sigmund’s throat worked in fear, then spoke aloud. “That would be you.”

  Boris exhaled dragonfire in a long, slow stream, mingling it with smoke in the way he had perfected. Sigmund winced and twitched as the combination touched his skin.

  “And finally, explain to me why I do not hold the Dragon’s Tooth right now, despite all of your pretty promises to that effect.”

  Sigmund squirmed. “Everyone makes mistakes—”

  “I do not make mistakes.” Boris cast Sigmund aside. “I tire of being surrounded by incompetence.”

  Before Sigmund could try to excuse his failures again, a shot echoed from the house. Boris winced. He knew who had fired that gun and he could guess who had taken the hit.

  Alex Madison was going to pay.

  Boris scowled at the car overhead. “If only I could clone myself a dozen times, we would be rid of the Pyr and their pesky humans.”

  There was a pause, one that caught Boris’s attention. He turned to find Sigmund looking thoughtful, even as he rubbed the red mark on his throat.

  “Maybe I can do something about that,” Sigmund said. “Would that count as competence?”

  Boris snorted, even though the possibility made his pulse leap. Dozens of himself! Encouragement didn’t motivate as well as fear.

  “It’s all so much idle speculation,” he said, using his bored tone. “Let me know if you can manage it.” He pointed at the car overhead. “Now, get to work before I really get annoyed.”

  The claw on the back of his neck, the darkness of the water, and the lack of air reminded Donovan of another struggle.

  Another battle he had nearly lost.

  Another betrayal.

  He had fought Magnus because Olivia had betrayed him. He seethed with rage at the memory. Donovan let his anger build. He wasn’t ready to die just yet. He wasn’t ready to let down anyone else. He wasn’t ready to see Alex injured.

  This time, he would not fail.

  His anger burned hotter and hotter, even as he let his body fall limp. He stoked his rage to epic proportions; he let the energy of his fury build. He heard Tyson chuckling to himself and knew he’d stop the Slayer’s laughter.

  For good.

  Donovan held his breath so that there were no more bubbles floating to the surface. He sensed Alex’s terror, but ignored it. He allowed Tyson to enjoy his moment.

  It wouldn’t last.

  Donovan felt the moment when the Slayer eased his grip, the instant when he was confident he had won.

  Then Donovan turned the power of his anger to his own use. He converted it to strength; he used it to fuel his own escape. It shot through him, invigorating him and doubling his power.

  He stretched his back claw out of the water and seized Tyson’s genitals. He sank his steel talons in deep, locked them into the tender flesh, and squeezed.

  Tyson screamed.

  Donovan held tight. Tyson released Donovan, and his claws scrabbled against Donovan’s grip.

  Donovan raged skyward, leaping out of the lap pool. He hauled the Slayer to the ceiling by his balls. Tyson was incoherent in his anguish, but Donovan didn’t care.

  He flung the Slayer into the shuttered windows, keeping his grip all the while. Three more windows broke. Tyson wept and went limp.

  Donovan wasn’t fooled. He pulled back to thrash the Slayer again. Two more windows paid the price.

  “There!” Alex shouted as Tyson moaned.

  Donovan saw it, too. The Slayer was missing a single scale, low on his belly. The white skin showed through the gap in his golden scales. He glanced toward Alex and saw her lifting her gun, aiming to shoot, and knew he had to give her a better shot.

  “No,” he commanded, and she blinked in surprise. She stopped though, maybe guessing what he was going to do.

  Or maybe she trusted him.

  Tyson began to rouse himself, but Donovan gave him no chance. He hauled the Slayer into the air, biting his neck from behind. He sank his teeth in deep, tasting the foul blackness of Slayer blood. He locked his claws around each of Tyson’s, then entwined their tails. He flapped to keep them both airborne, then pulled the Slayer out spread-eagled in front of him.

  “Don’t miss,” he muttered as Alex raised her gun.

  When Donovan pulled Tyson back against him, holding the Slayer captive and airborne, Alex was stunned by his power. The Slayer thrashed and twisted, roused by his terror of what might happen next. He tried desperately to cast off Donovan’s grip.

  He didn’t succeed.

  The Slayer breathed fire, but could only scorch Donovan’s knuckles. Alex heard a rumble like thunder but ignored it.

  She focused on her shot.

  Just before Alex fired, Tyson twisted and sank his teeth into Donovan’s front claw. Donovan swore. He slammed the Slayer into the stainless steel barrier and the steel clanged with the impact.

  There was a dint in it when Donovan flew backward, the Slayer still in his grip. He repeated his move, driving the Slayer into the cold steel. Tyson sagged in Donovan’s grip as he pulled the Slayer out again. Blood was dripping in profusion, black blood mingled with red on the tile floor.

  “Now!” Donovan roared.

  But Tyson twisted and locked gazes with Alex. “You don’t want to kill me,” he said in a low, melodic voice. His words were more persuasive than they should have been.

  There were little flames flickering in the depths of his gaze, flames that Alex instinctively distrusted. The Slayer’s smile turned malicious. He was fighting for his life.

  But then, so was she.

  “Don’t I?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Of course you don’t,” Tyson said with that same smooth assurance. “And what if you injured Donovan? Think of the risk. . . .” The words wound into her thoughts, tempting her to agree with the villain.

  The light could have been better. She didn’t want to hit Donovan. Doubt assailed Alex, doubt in her own abilities.

  “Alex!” Donovan shouted, and she knew she was being warned of something. The shadows were so distorted by the falling water that she wasn’t sure she could hit her target. “He’s beguiling you.”

  Alex didn’t know what that meant, but she understood that Tyson was feeding her doubts.

  “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” she said. Then she fired twice in rapid succession.

  Alex thought that she must have missed. The Slayer breathed fire in enormous quantities before she could shoot again. A brilliant orange wall of flame came toward Alex with frightening speed.

  She darted backward until she was trapped against steel.

  And the flames kept coming.

  Then she remembered what Magnus had done.

  “You can turn the flames,” she shouted at Donovan. “Harness the energy and use it.”

  She saw the glitter of Donovan’s eyes through the fire. She saw him concentrate, then closed her eyes against the approaching fire. She raised a hand and winced as the heat grew hotter.

  But the flames never reached her.

  She peeked to discover that they were receding. The fire stopped in the middle of the conservatory, burning like a campfire with no fuel whatsoever. Donovan was brilliant, his eyes shining, coiled with new power.

  Tyson hung limp in Donovan’s grip, and there were two smoking holes in his chest. One, right where the missing scale had been, was bleeding profusely.

  Alex took a shaking breath. She’d killed her first dragon.
r />   Donovan wasn’t taking any chances. He had released one of Tyson’s claws and as Alex watched, Donovan ripped his metal front claws across the Slayer’s stomach. They cut like the knives they were. Black blood and innards spilled all over Diane’s beloved imported tiles; then Donovan dropped the Slayer into the last of the flames. He glared at the blaze and it leapt higher, gobbling the Slayer’s scales.

  The fire went out as he sucked the last of its energy.

  He glittered so brightly that she couldn’t look straight at him. Then Donovan chucked Tyson’s burned body into the lap pool. The water boiled, simmered, and steam filled the conservatory.

  When the steam cleared, Alex leaned forward to look. Lying in the pool was the swarthy man from the diner, not a dragon at all.

  “Slayers and Pyr have to be exposed to all four elements to truly die,” Donovan said from close behind her.

  Alex ticked them off on her fingers. “Fire, water, air.” She glanced at Donovan.

  He picked up the end of the planter in his powerful claws. Alex was impressed, given the size and weight of it. He dumped the last of the potting soil and ferns into the lap pool.

  “And earth,” he said with satisfaction.

  Alex exhaled shakily. Tyson was dead and would stay that way. Her knees were shaking.

  “Nice shot,” Donovan said, and she thought she could see his amusement even in his dragon form. He was wet from the water of the sprinklers, the water glistening on his scales and reflecting their brilliant blue. There might have been a thousand crystal beads rolling across him and she was awed again by his splendor.

  “You just keep getting bigger and scarier,” she said, her words husky. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

  Donovan gave her a sharp look. “Anything but that.”

  Alex took a deep breath. “Then let’s get over this. Let me touch you.” She beckoned to him. Her heart was in her throat, but she had to do it.

  Donovan hesitated. “Aren’t you going to faint if I come closer?”