Kiss of Fire Page 29

  “It’s taken you long enough to get around to it.”

  “I waited!”

  “You hid. You’re nothing but a big coward.”

  Ambrose breathed fire all over the treetops in his frustration, setting most of their branches alight. “Look at your mate. My marks are all over her. She might as well be mine.”

  “But she’s not yours and never will be.” The Slayer hissed and Quinn knew he’d found a sore point. The pair locked claws and tumbled above the burning trees, their tails pummeling each other. The flames hissed as the rain fell on them, but the forest continued to burn as the fire spread down from the crown.

  Ambrose tried to bite Quinn’s chest. Quinn shoved him into a deadened tree bough and knocked the wind from him for a moment.

  “Is that the problem, Ambrose? Are you lonely? Afraid no woman will ever love you?” Quinn saw the flash of anger in the Slayer’s eyes and pushed him further. “Maybe that you’ll never have your own firestorm? What a loss that would be, to see your strain erased from the world.” Quinn flipped Ambrose and tossed him toward the burning trees.

  Ambrose spun and came up fighting. “It would be a loss! I should have had a firestorm!”

  “I have to trust the wisdom of the Great Wyvern on this one.”

  “Audacity!” He swung his tail at Quinn, who ducked. They gained altitude together, slashing at each other and circling. “You never used to be so impertinent.”

  “Live and learn.”

  “I had hope for you.”

  “I wouldn’t call it hope.”

  Ambrose feinted and dove at Quinn. He caught the end of Quinn’s tail in his grasp, his talons digging deeply. Quinn turned and spouted fire at Ambrose’s belly, then slashed his claws across the other Pyr’s back. Ambrose swung his tail with force.

  Quinn saw the blow coming, though. He snatched at Ambrose’s tail, breathed fire to make Ambrose release his grip, then flung the Slayer across the sky. Ambrose came raging back, his fury tangible. He fell on Quinn in a torrent of claws and snapping jaws. Quinn pretended to falter beneath Ambrose’s blows and let himself lose altitude.

  He had an idea.

  Ambrose snorted as Quinn’s wings beat out of rhythm. “Your skills are nonexistent,” he sneered.

  They locked claws again, Ambrose’s tail knotting around Quinn’s to hold it down. His eyes gleamed and he exhaled smoke toward Quinn’s chest. The smoke burned and Quinn fought to release himself from the Slayer’s grip.

  Ambrose held tighter and exhaled more smoke. “You have your mother’s eyes,” he hissed. “It will make it so much more pleasurable to kill you.”

  Quinn was surprised. “You knew my mother?”

  “I knew Margaux first,” Ambrose insisted, his eyes flashing. “She was ripe and luscious, a virgin well worth stealing and claiming. I took her for my own. I took her to be my mate.”

  Quinn was beginning to understand what the Slayer had against his family. “She must not have liked you,” he said. “Or you would have been my father.”

  “The Smith saved her—or that was what he told everyone,” Ambrose spoke with bitterness, but it kept him from breathing more smoke. Quinn wondered whether he could provoke the Slayer into forgetting himself and breathing dragonfire. He let himself go slack and moaned as if he was almost finished. “The truth is that Thierry stole Margaux from me. He took what should have been mine and made it his own.”

  “Was she a partner or a possession?” Quinn pretended to be breathing hard, pretended to be having difficulty in flying as high as Ambrose.

  He lunged at the other Pyr as if making his last effort and Ambrose locked claws with him again. They struggled against each other, Quinn being careful to hide his full strength from his opponent.

  “Does it matter?” Ambrose laughed. “He bred with her, bred as abundantly as a human. He had the sons with her who should have been mine. He filled her head with the lie of the firestorm….”

  “It’s not a lie!”

  Ambrose spat into the trees and the flames hissed. “Margaux loved the notion of being a destined lover more than she could possibly have loved Thierry. She loved me, but he took her. I vowed that he would pay.”

  Quinn let his voice fade, left it to Ambrose to keep the weight of both of them airborne. “You waited, until he had a lot to lose.”

  Ambrose smiled even as he gritted his teeth at the burden of Quinn. “He had everything. I gave him time to gather it. Material success. The respect of friends and neighbors. Prowess in his craft. Five sons from that faithless bitch’s womb, all Pyr.”

  “Who knew you had such patience?”

  “I waited many years for my due, and the prize was all the sweeter for having ripened. I let Thierry think he was safe and secure. He was cocky then: he didn’t think he needed any other Pyr to protect what was his own.” Ambrose chuckled. “I enjoyed teaching him just how wrong he was.”

  “And the people who died along with him?”

  “Vermin.” Ambrose snorted. “Collateral damage, as they say these days. They will all be exterminated sooner or later.”

  “But you missed me,” Quinn taunted. “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think you are.”

  “I let you go!” Ambrose bellowed and the dragonfire slipped from his mouth. Quinn gave no sign of how it invigorated him; he just hoped for more. “I let you run and I tracked you. I waited until you were reduced to nothing more than a dog, and then I tempted you.”

  Quinn was shocked. “You meant to make me a Slayer.”

  “Pyr are born: Slayers are made. You would have made a good one, if you’d had the heart for it. I even slaughtered your mate, thinking that would turn you against the world.”

  “You couldn’t make me evil. Ever.”

  “Why not? What do you get from these Pyr? They argue that they’re noble, that they’re true Pyr, that they fight for the greater good.” Ambrose sneered. “But here you are, the Smith they’ve waited centuries to find, and they abandon you to me. You’re dragon fodder, Quinn Tyrrell, while they cluster around your mate. What does that tell you about your valiant friends?”

  Quinn had no chance to concoct a reply before Ambrose caught his breath.

  “They’re protecting your mate instead of you,” Ambrose said slowly as understanding clearly dawned. “Your seed has taken fruit and she will bear the new Smith. Your days are numbered, Smith, and they know it.”

  “No, no, that’s not it,” Quinn argued in desperation.

  Ambrose laughed then, taking a deep breath to finish Quinn with his smoke. “I’ll claim your mate as the spoils of this challenge,” he hissed, the first tendrils of smoke emanating from his nostrils. “I’ll take your Smith son and turn him to my purposes. The fruit that can save the world can surely be used to condemn it. That will be true justice against Thierry the Smith!”

  The prospect so horrified Quinn that he didn’t need dragonfire for more strength.

  This was the moment he’d waited for.

  Quinn cried out as if dying.

  Ambrose laughed and let him fall.

  Quinn crashed into the crown canopy of the forest, praying the trees would hold his weight. They did, although he broke a number of branches on impact. He lay as if stunned, a dozen feet down from the summit of the forest. He kept one eye open a slit to watch for Ambrose, and moaned.

  Quinn was certain that Ambrose wouldn’t be able to deny himself a killing blow. And he was right. The other Pyr descended in a glorious swoop of gold and yellow, completely confident.

  Ambrose raged against Quinn, thrashing the younger Pyr with his tail and breathing smoke. He walloped Quinn on one side and Quinn let himself fall through the branches even farther. Ambrose incinerated trees to make way for himself, and Quinn stifled a smile as he felt the surge of dragonfire.

  The trees were burning with dragonfire. The source of the flame was the same, whether it directly landed on Quinn or was passed via the burning trees. The flames touched him, caressed him, built the
strength within him to a fever pitch.

  And Ambrose thrashed with his tail. Quinn let himself be assaulted as his strength built. He moaned and pretended to crumble beneath the Slayer’s blows.

  “You fooled me before,” Ambrose declared, his breathing labored. “I’ll be sure you’re dead this time, Smith.”

  Ambrose breathed smoke with vigor, letting its tendrils wind around Quinn. It would have weakened Quinn further, if not for the presence of the dragonfire, but Quinn played along.

  “So close to dead. Let’s see it done.” Ambrose gave a laugh and lunged for Quinn, his claws bared. Quinn realized that Ambrose was aiming for the missing scale on Quinn’s chest. Quinn waited, feigning unconsciousness, letting his assailant come close.

  This was for his mother, and his father, and his brothers.

  This was for Elizabeth.

  This was for the future; the future he and Sara would share.

  Ambrose’s talons touched Quinn’s chest. The tips just barely tore into Quinn’s flesh and Ambrose chuckled in anticipation.

  Then Ambrose had the last surprise of his life.

  Sara saw Quinn fall into the burning forest and feared for his survival. She bounced to her feet.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Rafferty said with authority, putting one heavy claw on Sara’s shoulder.

  “You could go breathe fire on Quinn,” she charged but Rafferty shook his head.

  “You need me. You have no other defender now,” he said, drawing himself taller. She could feel him gathering his strength and knew things were turning bad. “We must keep our gaze fixed on the prize.”

  Sara didn’t like the idea of being a prize. She didn’t have time to argue with Rafferty, though, because Quinn emerged from the forest in a blaze of power, Ambrose trapped in his grip. The Slayer struggled, to no avail.

  Quinn twisted Ambrose’s wings, then tore open his chest. He spouted dragonfire until Ambrose screamed. He slashed at the Slayer with steady strokes of his tail, clawing at him at irregular intervals. He shredded Ambrose’s wings and ripped the claws from his body. All the while, Quinn’s dragonfire blazed and flared, sizzling Ambrose in midair.

  Ambrose didn’t have a chance. He struggled to defend himself and remain aloft, but was losing badly.

  Sara was on her feet, jumping and cheering, when Ambrose fell out of the sky. Quinn followed his opponent’s descent with a stream of brilliant fire. He began to glimmer and Sara guessed that he was breathing an ever-tightening circle of smoke around the Slayer. She saw the truth in how Ambrose recoiled and twitched.

  She heard him moan and then he writhed.

  Quinn breathed steadily. Ambrose tried to rouse himself to fight, then obviously realized that breathing dragonfire on his assailant would only make matters worse. He shifted rapidly from human to dragon and back, over and over again, as if caught in a cycle he couldn’t break.

  Sara saw all of this through the haze of orange dragonfire. She smelled roasting flesh and heard the sizzle of rain on embers. A smoke rose from the Slayer’s body as she watched, but she knew it couldn’t be dragon smoke. It was simply the smoke from a fire, because Quinn kept up his assault.

  The rain settled into a steady torrent, beating a rhythm on the ground. Within moments, a wind came up and brushed the clouds away, clearing the sky as surely as if the storm had never been.

  The cabin was a blackened shell, the flames that had destroyed it extinguished by the rain. The forest that had been set ablaze had burned branches sticking toward the sky. There was a distant sound of approaching sirens as the Wyvern stretched her wings. Her movement revealed Erik, unconscious but in human form. He looked to be asleep.

  “You mended his spirit,” Sloane said with awe and Sophie smiled.

  “There are a few things I’ve learned,” she said, then stretched her wings again. She surveyed the sky, then studied the Pyr and Sara each in turn. “You have no need of me now,” she said, then gracefully took flight. Her white wings were bright against the blue sky, and Sara knew that the Pyr watched her fly west until they couldn’t see her anymore.

  Sara, though, was watching Quinn. She was nervous about his plan, his thoughts, his idea of the future.

  She had a very firm idea of what she wanted to happen.

  Sara watched Quinn exhaust his supply of dragonfire, then kick the ashes of what had been Ambrose. He scattered the ashes with purpose, then heaved a sigh of relief. He tipped his head back and glowed brightly as he shifted to human form.

  Then he looked directly at Sara with the intensity that she had associated with the firestorm.

  Sara realized it was just Quinn and his effect upon her. He was a man of honor, one who kept his word, one whose company she would be honored to share. His lips tugged into that slow smile she loved so much and he began to walk toward her.

  “Now you can go,” Rafferty rumbled, but Sara was already running toward Quinn.

  Quinn had never felt such relief. The dread that had haunted him for centuries was finally gone. Sara ran to him and he knew she was safe from his past forevermore. She leapt into his arms and he swung her around, fiercely glad to have the chance to hold her close again. He buried his fingers in her hair and felt her strength pressed against his chest, then pulled back to study her.

  “You’re all right?”

  Sara smiled. “I want to ask you that. What happened in the woods?”

  “I thumped him. Don’t tell me I have to do it again, just for you to be able to see.”

  Sara laughed. “No. But I thought you were fading.”

  “I pretended to be.”

  “That smoke went right for your damaged scale.”

  Quinn inhaled as she put her hand over his heart. He could feel her pulse through her palm and listened as his own heart matched the pace of hers. There was no firestorm, but maybe there didn’t need to be.

  They seemed to be good at building a heat of their own.

  “It’s too bad the elements can only injure you in unison,” she said with a frown. “Instead of healing you.”

  Quinn blinked, struck by the elegance of her suggestion. He wondered whether it was possible, and knew he’d think more about it later.

  “The forest was lit with dragonfire,” he said, watching delight shine in her eyes. “I thought I could use it.”

  “So the dragonfire made you stronger at least.”

  Quinn nodded, content to hold Sara close and stare into her eyes. They were hazel but it seemed to him that the flicks of gold were getting brighter.

  “Are you all right?” she asked with concern. “Let me see your chest.”

  “Right here, in front of everyone?” he teased and she blushed. “Maybe we should save that for later.”

  She pulled back to study him, her eyes changing hue as he watched. He caught his breath at their golden glimmer and felt his body respond.

  “The firestorm’s over,” she said quietly. “What does that mean?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Maybe that we need to make our own sparks.”

  Her smile was fleeting. “I thought it would mean that you were leaving.”

  He liked how much that prospect troubled her and was encouraged. “Not unless you want me to.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’m thinking Magda wouldn’t want me to let you get away that easily.”

  “So you only want me around for my effect on your air conditioner.”

  “No! More than that.” Sara looked up at him again and his chest clenched at the bright promise in her eyes.

  “Far more than that,” he murmured. There was electricity between them of a different kind, maybe a more enduring kind, and Quinn liked it a lot.

  He bent and kissed Sara, slowly and sweetly, savoring the way she made his pulse leap. When he lifted his head, she looked tousled and happy. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear with a gentle fingertip, feeling luckier than he ever had. “I’m wondering, though, how I’m supposed to follow all this.”

  “What do yo
u mean?”

  “Well, traditionally, winning a challenge meant celebration.”

  “What kind of celebration?”

  “Earthly pleasures, pretty much,” Quinn admitted, leading her toward the other Pyr. “Eating, drinking and, um, making merry,” Quinn said, sparing Sara a look that told her what kind of merrymaking he meant. She smiled at him, which had to be a good sign. “But an invitation to dinner seems a bit flat in comparison to a dragon attack.”

  Sara slanted a mischievous glance his way. “Not if it includes dessert.”

  Quinn was mystified. “I didn’t think you had that much of a sweet tooth.”

  “Oh, I do,” she said in a way that made him think he was missing something. Something important, from the way Sara seemed to be on the verge of laughter. She glanced up, her eyes dancing. “I really like chocolate sauce, in fact.”

  Quinn still didn’t understand why she found this so amusing. “Really?”

  “Really. And you know, I’ve been thinking that there’s one particular way I’d like to try it,” Sara said.

  When he held her gaze, mystified, she stretched to her toes and whispered. “It involves you and me naked and no spoons.”

  Quinn was both surprised and intrigued. He’d never been much for chocolate sauce, but he had a feeling that was going to change.

  Sara laughed at his response, then put her arms around his neck. “And you know, since life is so uncertain, maybe we should have dessert first.”

  Quinn could only agree with that.

  Chapter 17

  It was the end of August when Sara drove toward Traverse City in her rented hybrid car. As always, she felt a tingle of anticipation when heading toward Quinn and his studio. His home was like a haven to her.

  They’d been seeing each other regularly since the art show, commuting back and forth. Sara had been doing some research in the shop, with Magda’s help, and Quinn had been experimenting at the forge between commissions. She sensed that they were on the cusp of a revelation about using the elements to heal the Pyr.