Kiss of Fury Page 24

  Asking to see him change hadn’t been wrong.

  And coming so close to having great sex but not having it, over and over again, was making her cranky. She marched down to the boathouse, trying to remember the last time that having her own orgasm hadn’t been good enough.

  She couldn’t remember that ever happening.

  That realization just made her more cranky.

  Alex heard the door open and close behind her but didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. She felt a shimmer of heat on her back and knew precisely who had followed her.

  If Donovan had something to say, he could come after her and say it.

  Was it possible for a woman to be more stubborn than Alex Madison? Donovan doubted it.

  On the other hand, most women would have backed down from a dragon’s challenge, or been unable to shoot one dead. Few who had seen whatever she had witnessed at Gilchrist Enterprises could have remained in the same room with dragons. No woman could have stirred his blood with such ease.

  The firestorm really didn’t fight fair. Donovan watched the way Alex walked, the sweet sway of her hips, and the way she held her head high. He liked that she was tall and took long strides. He liked her easy athleticism. He liked her honesty.

  He liked her.

  He was falling for her.

  That was the trouble. He wanted to protect her from himself.

  Alex had had a bit of wine. Donovan noticed it in her stride. It didn’t matter: there was little trouble she could find with him right behind her. He was keenly aware of their surroundings, and alert after the battle with Tyson. His body was still ready to celebrate, but more easily controlled now that time had passed.

  There was a faint scent of Slayer in the vicinity, so faint that he decided it must be residue from Tyson’s arrival. Had other Slayers come with Tyson? Donovan thought he detected Sigmund’s scent, but it had diminished almost to nothing.

  He would have preferred to have found the air clean, but he knew what he had to do to protect Alex from any hidden threat.

  She did go into the boathouse. She locked the door against him. He wasn’t surprised. He doubted that either of them believed that a door lock would keep him out if she found trouble inside.

  The boathouse was made of wood and had an A-frame roof. There was a regular door on one side, the one Alex had used, and a larger opening on the lake side for the boat. The modified garage door securing access from the lake side was locked. On the roof was a cupola with a copper roof and a weather vane. The cupola was shuttered on all four sides and acted as a vent.

  Donovan had no idea what she was going to do in there— probably finish that bottle of wine and sleep in some deluxe boat of her brother’s, complete with all the amenities—and he didn’t care. He shifted and flew to the roof of the boathouse, knowing she’d hear the sound of him landing.

  Then he changed back to human form and sat straddling the ridgepole, his back against the cupola. He could see the house fitted into the slope of the hill before him, and it was an impressive building. The stainless steel shutters gleamed in the moonlight. Behind him, the lake spread like ink.

  There were trees on either side of the house, running all the way down to the shore, and Peter’s house might have been the only one on the lake. Donovan could smell wood fires and see the flicker of lights through the trees. There were other homes tucked into the woods, each ensured some privacy by the trees.

  It was tranquil here, almost romantic. Donovan could have used a glass of that wine Alex had brought down here. He could have used some of her company, but he knew better than to ask. The woman could tempt a saint, and he was no saint.

  “I’m breathing smoke,” he said. “I’m making a boundary mark around the boathouse so you can work in peace.”

  “I don’t believe in the invisible,” she shouted from inside.

  “What about motion detectors?” he replied. “Or magnetic fields? Sonic waves? Radio waves? Electrons?”

  “You have a tendency to be irritating, you know.”

  Donovan grinned. “Well, there’s something else we have in common.” He heard her laugh in surprise, a throaty sound that made his pulse leap. “You don’t have to talk to me, Alex. I just have to protect you, and I will.”

  There was a long pause and he didn’t think she would answer him. He composed his thoughts and began to breathe smoke. Alex’s sudden words startled him into snapping the first tendril.

  “So, how exactly is it that you figure you aren’t responsible?”

  Donovan stopped breathing the smoke. He blinked and stared down at the roof. Her words made him think.

  “You don’t fool me, you know,” she said, her conviction winding its way through his emotional barriers. “You would have died defending me in the conservatory. You would have done anything to beat Tyson, and it wasn’t just about winning. It was about doing right by me and don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

  Donovan couldn’t think of a word to say.

  “Good,” Alex whispered. “At least you’re not trying to tell me stories anymore.” He heard her yawn. “If you ever want to talk about why you think you can’t be counted on, I’m listening.”

  Donovan was intrigued. “I thought you were worried about being beguiled.”

  “If you ever tried to beguile me, I’d make you regret it,” she said, and he smiled. “I saw what you were doing to Peter. I just wanted to understand it.”

  “That’s the idea. It’s supposed to be interesting, then fascinating, then hypnotic.”

  “There are people who are lousy hypnosis candidates and I’m one of them.” He heard her take a shaking breath. “Look, I owe you one. More than one, actually. I could have been destroyed by Slayers several times over in the past day, but you keep charging into the rescue.” Her voice softened. “So, thanks, Donovan. And if you want to talk about anything, I’m listening.”

  It was a generous offer and one he knew he should accept. He looked across the lake, thinking. “You said they tortured Mark.”

  “Let’s talk about that some other time,” Alex said, her breath catching slightly. “When it’s bright and sunny and there are no dragons to be seen. Maybe after Thursday.”

  “Deal,” he said, smiling slightly. “But you don’t fool me, either, Alex.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t believe you’re afraid of anything or anyone.”

  She laughed. “Wrong. I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

  “Let me put that another way, then.” Donovan tapped the roof. “Your fear doesn’t stop you. You might be afraid, but you don’t let it keep you from doing what you need or want to do.”

  “The Green Machine is important.”

  “It’s not just with regard to the car. I’ve never seen anyone face their fears with such determination.”

  Alex sighed. “I refuse to live in terror,” she said quietly. “I refuse to let anything or anyone restrict me, even myself.”

  “That’s a tough code.”

  “Sometimes it is. I just don’t think anyone gains anything by hiding away or playing it safe.”

  Donovan thought about that.

  Alex half laughed. “On the other hand, a little security is welcome sometimes. If you felt inclined to be my guardian tonight, maybe breathe a little of that magic smoke, well, I’d be grateful.”

  Donovan’s heart skipped at the prospect of how she might show her gratitude. “It’s not magic, Alex.”

  “No. It’s using dragons to defend against dragons. Or fighting fire with fire. Something like that.” He heard her yawn. “I really need to get some sleep. I’m not making sense anymore.”

  Donovan thought she was making perfect sense, but he let it be. He heard Alex settling somewhere below him and refused to consider whether she was planning to sleep naked. Little sparks were dancing from his body to the rooftop all around him.

  It was as if the firestorm were upping the ante, burning hotter the longer they denied it.

>   Donovan sat on the roof of Peter’s boathouse and began to breathe a continuous stream of smoke. He heard Alex’s breathing become more rhythmic and her pulse slow. His own matched pace and his smoke flowed more thickly.

  He wove his smoke around and around the small building, securing the windows and the doors, the access from the lake and the roof. He exhaled circuit after circuit, lulled to a meditative state by the sound of Alex sleeping in the boathouse below him, meshing it all into a coherent web to protect her.

  The smoke shimmered as it flowed from him. It shone as it spilled over the roof and it glimmered as he wove each tendril into the others. The perimeter mark began to resonate as it grew more and more solid, and Donovan could feel the strength of it.

  He kept weaving, kept breathing, kept thinking about Alex’s words. He leaned against the cupola and breathed.

  Donovan opened his eyes and his field of view was filled with stars. He listened to the clear crystalline ping of his smoke mark and knew that it was the best barrier he’d ever woven.

  But then, he’d never had such motivation.

  He listened to the vibration of his fellows inside Peter’s cottage and had no desire to join them. The sky overhead was utterly cloud free, and so deep an indigo that he wanted to caress it. He leaned back against the cupola and forced himself to relax. For the moment, Alex was safe, secure within the smoke he had breathed. There was no scent of Slayer and no sign of trouble. He should take the opportunity to rest.

  That was when the impossible happened.

  Alex screamed.

  Erik awakened suddenly.

  He lay in the darkness and listened, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. He tried to recall whether he had had a dream or nightmare, but there had been only his old familiar one.

  He shivered and shoved its reminder aside.

  Then he knew what had roused him. He felt a tingle, a sense of something about to happen.

  Erik sat up. He listened, straining his ears, and he knew that the Slayers were making trouble again. Niall didn’t even realize as much yet, but Erik sent him a message on the wind.

  Then he summoned Sloane to be his second.

  He met the younger Pyr in the hall and they moved as one in the shadows. They slipped silently down the stairs, not even pausing for Erik’s brief exchange of old-speak with Rafferty.

  All would be well here, with Rafferty standing sentry.

  Erik stopped to ask the house a question, one to which Oscar responded discreetly. With a nod at Sloane, the two leapt into the night sky, shifted shape, and set course for Minneapolis.

  Erik only hoped they could arrive in time.

  Rafferty dozed, watchful but conserving his energy. He listened to the song of the earth and thought about the dream the Wyvern had sent him. He knew it was best to let a student find his own path. Only if Donovan strayed or if time ran out would Rafferty prompt him with the prophecy he had dreamed.

  Until then, Rafferty would bide his time. It had been only a day, and Donovan made more progress than he knew.

  The earth was restless, her song more agitated than had long been the case. Rafferty had become used to the discord in her rhythms. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t change it. Rafferty listened, trying to see her course, trying to learn how to better anticipate her angry mood.

  This motion was different, though.

  Closer.

  More violent.

  Not of the earth herself but within her soil.

  Rafferty heard the disruption of soil, but mostly he heard the earth’s displeasure with the intrusion. No, with the intruder. She recoiled from it, whatever it was. Her indignation caught Rafferty’s ear and he listened more closely.

  It was digging under the house.

  It was not an animal.

  It was not a human.

  Only when he listened very closely could Rafferty detect that it was something neither Pyr nor Slayer. It carried a vestige of both. Rafferty thought of Sloane’s manuscript and the back of his neck prickled.

  He would have bet that whatever was digging did not bleed.

  But why was it digging under the house?

  What was its plan?

  Rafferty didn’t care to find out. He wouldn’t risk his fellows, never mind Donovan and Alex’s firestorm. He’d stop the intruder in a prison of soil. He began to hum a low chant, a melody dispatched to the earth and attuned to her rhythms. She responded slowly, as troubled as she was, but gradually she warmed to Rafferty’s call. He was, in many ways, an old friend and ally. Once she recognized him, she responded to his melody.

  Rafferty knew the moment that she blocked the digger’s path, trapping him in a cavern of its own making. Rafferty heard the earth close the tunnel behind the intruder.

  He heard the digger bellow in rage and thrash in its confines.

  As the intruder battled in futility, Rafferty thought about the strange mingling of Slayer and Pyr in its vibration. He could not understand it. It had been Pyr, or it was becoming Pyr. Rafferty wasn’t certain but he wouldn’t kill it. He could not destroy anyone or anything charged with the spark of the Great Wyvern.

  It was not Rafferty’s place to make such decisions.

  But whatever it was, it would die, buried in the earth as he was now. Its breathing was already labored. Rafferty murmured to the soil and opened an air passage from the surface to the intruder’s dungeon. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He heard the captive gulp at the air.

  The decision could wait until Erik returned.

  Chapter 14

  Dragons.

  Alex awakened in terror. For a moment she didn’t realize where she was; then she recognized the interior of Peter’s boathouse.

  “Alex?” Donovan said from the door. He knocked on it hard. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”

  His concern reassured Alex as nothing else could have done.

  “Just a nightmare,” she said, then climbed out of the canoe where she’d been sleeping. She loved sleeping there—it was like a hammock when hung from the roof. It rocked gently and with all the life jackets piled in it, it was reasonably comfortable.

  “Are you sure?” he demanded. He jiggled the door and Alex smiled at his impatience.

  Then she realized he hadn’t shifted shape to defend her. That would have been his instinctive choice and it must have been hard for him to stop it. He was determined to shelter her from the sight of him changing. Even though she didn’t understand why he thought it so important, Alex’s heart warmed.

  “Seulement un cauchemar,” she said, remembering an old movie.

  “That’s from a movie, Murder on the Orient Express.”

  “Right.” Alex smiled as she moved closer to the door. She liked that he’d understood her reference. The boathouse was chilly but she felt warmer with each step she took closer to Donovan, as if she were drawing close to a bonfire.

  The firestorm was becoming a reassuring constant in her life.

  Or maybe it was Donovan.

  Donovan laughed. “How is that supposed to make me feel better? It was the murderer who said it, pretending to be the victim.”

  “Who didn’t speak French,” Alex agreed. “He couldn’t fool Hercule Poirot.”

  “Maybe you should open the door and prove you’re okay.”

  Alex laid her hands against the bolted wooden door and watched the sparks leap toward her hands. The firestorm was burning hotter, shooting sparks even when there was a barrier between them.

  It wasn’t going to be ignored.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Alex said impulsively. “I’ll let you see that I’m okay if you let me watch you shift.”

  “No.” Donovan’s tone allowed no room for negotiation.

  Alex opened the door at the force of his reply. He glared at her but she didn’t back down. “It’s because of Olivia, isn’t it?”

  His shock was obvious. “What?”

  “You lost a scale because you loved her, and now the patch has come off
and you don’t want to risk losing another scale, too.”

  Donovan took a step back. “That’s not it.”

  “Sure it is. The Dragon’s Tooth is the only souvenir you have of her, so that’s why you were upset that it fell off. You dove after it because you didn’t want to lose the memento. It makes perfect sense. She must have died hundreds of years ago. . . .”

  Donovan was obviously shocked. “How do you know about Olivia and the Dragon’s Tooth?”

  “The Wyvern showed me your past.” At his obvious astonishment, Alex continued. “On the television. She must have been warning me that you were emotionally unavailable, but you have to know, Donovan, that sex doesn’t have to be about forever.”

  “That’s not it,” Donovan snapped.

  “Liar.” Alex held his gaze, feeling his irritation. Why was he so angry?

  Because she knew about his past, without him telling her? That would have annoyed Alex, too, but she knew that Donovan wasn’t the kind of man to confide the details of his history, either.

  He leaned closer and dropped his voice low. She couldn’t look away from the vivid green of his eyes. “It is because of Olivia, but not for the reason you suggest. I didn’t love her. I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

  Alex frowned. “But you lost a scale. Isn’t that what that means?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex waited, but he wasn’t going to help. “So, you loved somebody else?” she prompted.

  Donovan shrugged and looked over the lake. “Romantic love isn’t the only kind, Alex.”

  She watched him. “You said you had a cousin who was like a brother to you,” she said, and knew by the tightening of Donovan’s lips that she’d guessed right.

  “We were inseparable,” he admitted, his voice husky.

  “A team,” Alex guessed, understanding something more of him.

  Donovan met her gaze steadily. “Exactly. Except Delaney wasn’t my cousin. He was my brother. The Wyvern showed me that.”

  “Delaney?” Alex recognized the name. “He’s the one who’s dead but not. The green and copper dragon who attacked you yesterday.”