Kiss of Fury Page 31

  “Quinn sings the song of metal,” Sara supplied.

  “Let me try to reshape them,” Quinn said. He took the schematics from Alex and studied them, seeming to memorize the shape and dimensions required. He then studied the existing head gaskets and she sensed he was creating a plan.

  He started to hum, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. He glimmered before Alex’s eyes, and she knew that meant he was on the cusp of change. His eyes became a fierce blue, as bright as a laser, and he locked his gaze upon one of the six head gaskets. He cupped one hand over the metal, his low, wordless chant making Alex’s blood thrum, then added the other hand on top.

  Alex felt the vibration of his song in her sternum. It was old and strong. Quinn closed his eyes and his fingers clenched as he hummed. She could see that his teeth were gritted and the tendons stood out on his throat. His muscles were pumped, and beads of sweat gathered on his temples.

  She didn’t know how long he sang. She knew only that she was transfixed by the force of his will. The metal tracks for the garage doors vibrated overhead and even the concrete floor of the garage began to resonate.

  “Rebar,” Donovan muttered, and Alex nodded understanding. She remembered that the contractors had reinforced the poured concrete with metal because of the slope. All of the metal responded to Quinn’s song.

  Time seemed to stand still while Quinn sang, even though Alex knew it was ticking away with relentless speed.

  He exhaled suddenly and lifted his hands, staggering a bit as he stepped away. Alex gasped in amazement.

  It was done.

  Quinn had changed the head gasket.

  Peter Madison was restless.

  It wasn’t like him to worry. Diane said he was just working too hard, but it was more than that. He sat in the darkness of his office, his brandy glass empty, and fretted. A pool of light from the streetlight outside poured into the room, but otherwise, Peter sat in the dark.

  It was how he did his best thinking.

  Someone had obtained a credit card from his bank client with false identification. That someone had spent a thousand dollars at a shop at the mall. Peter’s new security system was designed to prevent the issue of fraudulent cards. That the system had failed, immediately after its installation, was a professional failure.

  But it was even worse than that. The bogus card had been issued in the name of Meredith Maloney. Peter had known Meredith Maloney and he knew she was dead.

  She had been his and Alex’s childhood nanny, the one who had taught them—well, Alex had learned the lesson better than Peter had—that fear was unacceptable. We have nothing to fear but fear itself had been Meredith’s favorite quotation.

  And now someone had a credit card from his bank client in her name. Peter had a feeling that he knew who it was. It didn’t help that he remembered Alex making fun of his confidence in his new security system. All systems can be hacked, she’d said, and he had a bad feeling that she’d decided to prove it.

  Plus, Alex was missing from the hospital where she’d been treated for her burns and her nightmares. She’d disappeared without a trace. Was she hiding, or was there foul play at root? There had been that strange fire at the research lab and Alex’s partner was dead. Peter knew they had been working on something secret.

  Had the fire been set by someone trying to stop them?

  Did Alex need the card to ensure her own safety?

  Or would she?

  Peter didn’t know and that was what had him pacing the floor. He didn’t know what to do to help his sister. Someone was using the card. Was it Alex?

  He also had a bad feeling that he’d forgotten something important. He was sure he’d driven to the cottage the night before—the big sedan had the odometer mileage to prove it—but he couldn’t remember what he had found there. He was sure that Oscar should be scheduled for service in two weeks—but why? If there was a flaw in the security system at the country house, shouldn’t it be fixed immediately?

  And why was he convinced that Alex had something to do with all of it?

  Just to add to the mess, he’d had a call from the police about the missing persons report he’d filed on Alex as soon as she disappeared from the hospital. Her apartment had been burglarized, although they weren’t sure when.

  He’d asked after the gun he’d given her, the one she hid in a cracker tin in the kitchen, and the investigating officer had gone back to the apartment to check. He’d just called to say that the gun was gone.

  Where was Alex?

  Was she safe?

  What could he do to help her?

  Had he been wrong to file the missing persons report?

  Peter paced as he tried to decide what to do. He hadn’t told Diane anything about it—she was focused on getting the kids ready for Halloween and Jared wasn’t making it any easier by changing his mind at the last minute. Peter didn’t want to worry Diane. He was plenty worried himself. He sat in his office and stewed in the darkness.

  And that was why he saw Jared being carried off by a stranger.

  Right across the front lawn.

  Peter leapt out of his chair. What the hell was going on?

  The man started, as if realizing that he was being watched. He pivoted slowly, peering into the windows of the house. Peter didn’t know how the man saw him, but he knew he did.

  The man froze.

  Peter wondered why the security alarm hadn’t gone off when Jared was snatched. He wondered why he’d ever thought it was smart not to have a panic button installed in his office. He palmed the letter opener on his desk, the only sharp thing within range, and wished he hadn’t been so fastidious about locking his gun away.

  By the time he got it from upstairs, the man would be gone.

  And so would Jared.

  The man was shorter than Peter, stocky, and he had sandy hair. Peter was sure he could take him. He went to the gym, a lot, and was fit for his age. The kidnapper looked perfectly average, except for his eyes.

  They began to glitter, like cut stones catching a jeweler’s light. Peter had time to think that it was the strangest sight.

  And that it reminded him of something.

  Then everything happened very fast.

  With rising excitement, Alex took the callipers and measured the new head gasket. “You did it!”

  “At what cost?” Rafferty mused, his narrowed gaze on Quinn.

  “I can do it again,” Quinn insisted, taking a deep breath.

  “Have something to eat first,” Sara said, her worry obvious.

  “He doesn’t need food,” Donovan said with resolve. “Do you still have the strength to shift?”

  Quinn granted him a poisonous look. “I’m tired, not dead.”

  Donovan stepped away from Alex. “Then shift and I’ll give you all the dragonfire you need.”

  “The Smith draws strength from dragonfire,” Rafferty reminded Alex, as he also stepped away from her. “It is part of his legacy. We’ll both breathe fire for you, Quinn. Then you can teach me to aid in your song.”

  Quinn bristled at that. “It is the legacy of the Smith to sing to metal.”

  “You need to all share your gifts and knowledge,” Sara said briskly. “And there are still five head gaskets to go.”

  The men nodded agreement; then Peter’s garage was filled with dragons and their fire.

  Alex was proud that her heart missed only one beat. She was getting used to this.

  Peter was out the front door and across the lawn in record time.

  “Leave him alone!” he shouted.

  Then, against all expectation, the sandy-haired man changed to a dragon.

  Peter gaped. He blinked and he stared, but the dragon stared right back at him. The dragon smiled coldly, malice emanating from him. The dragon could have been made of gemstones—his scales were striped green like malachite, each scale edged in silver.

  But the flames that erupted from his mouth were no ornamentation. He spewed flame at Peter, and Diane’s shru
bbery caught fire. He exhaled more fire, setting the cedar shingles alight on the house’s roof. Jared screamed and struggled. Peter didn’t care what it cost him to save his son.

  He lunged at the dragon and stabbed the letter opener into the dragon’s chest with all his might. The spike hit a scale and clanged as if it had struck metal. The dragon laughed and snatched at Peter with a talon, holding him in the air.

  He tightened his grip and that long talon dug deep. Jared watched his father and began to wail.

  “Shut up, brat,” the dragon snarled, then tossed Peter onto the lawn.

  Peter had the sense that the dragon was playing with him, the way a cat can play with a mouse, but the talon had cut deep all the same. It made no sense to be battling a dragon in his own front yard, but the blood that flowed from Peter’s shoulder was all too real.

  “Feeble human,” the dragon mocked.

  Peter would show him feeble. He flung himself at his opponent, gritted his teeth, and flailed at the dragon’s chest with all his might again and again and again.

  To his astonishment, on the fifth strike, the spike sank home.

  The dragon bellowed in surprise and rage.

  Even better, he dropped Jared.

  “Run!” Peter shouted even as the dragon tore at him in fury. Something was flowing from the wound, something vile and black.

  Jared shouted but Peter couldn’t hear him.

  He was busy, fighting to live.

  The dragon buried his claws in Peter’s chest so slowly that he must have been enjoying the sensation. Peter bit back a scream. He grabbed at the handle of the letter opener, which was slippery and dark, but couldn’t get hold of it. He felt Jared’s presence and looked to see his son hesitating at the front door, his hand on the latch.

  “Go inside!” Peter shouted, sensing that his son didn’t want to leave him.

  “No, stay,” the dragon said, his voice low and melodic. “Stay with me. Follow me.” Jared took a step away from the door, his gaze fixed on the dragon. “I’ll show you the magic dragons can make.”

  “No!” Peter screamed, and Jared looked at him. He leapt for the door again, the dragon’s spell broken.

  The dragon swore and exhaled a torrent of flames at Peter, setting his clothing afire.

  “Dragons!” Jared cried, and Peter feared that things were going to get worse.

  But the dragon gasped, and Peter was flung toward the front walkway. He rolled and stumbled to his feet as Jared ran to his side. Peter caught his son close with relief.

  Then he turned to look and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. Two dragons battled the kidnapper. One was purple and gold and the other was amethyst. Peter blinked, but there were still three dragons fighting on his lawn.

  The new arrivals were winning, but he wasn’t sure whether that was good news or not.

  Niall descended on Sigmund like a hurricane hitting the shore. He brought the wind with him and it whipped the fire into a frenzy. The orange flames on the roof burned high and hot, beyond Sigmund’s control, before the Slayer even knew Niall was there.

  Niall exhaled his own dragonfire on Sigmund, scorching the Slayer’s back.

  “Niall!” Sigmund muttered in old-speak, then snatched for Peter and his son. He was going to use them as a shield or hostages.

  Sloane landed between the two humans and the attacking Slayer, adding his own torrent of dragonfire in the humans’ defense. Sigmund swore and flinched, but kept on fighting to reach Peter and his son. His scales scorched and blackened, but he kept going.

  Niall sang to the wind, summoning it to do his bidding. The maelstrom he had already loosed changed its direction. It wound behind Sigmund, pushing him away from Peter and his son.

  The wind blew Sigmund back toward Niall, its force like a gale. Niall breathed dragonfire, the flames singeing Sigmund’s scales from behind. The wind pushed the Slayer steadily into the inferno, whipping up the fire at the same time. Sloane continued to spew fire, as well, and Sigmund was surrounded by flames.

  Sigmund roared in frustration.

  Then Niall felt Erik behind him. He sensed that the leader of the Pyr breathed smoke, then saw the tendrils winding past his own tail. He was too busy with the wind to help, but he noticed that the smoke moved directly into the wind. Erik was guiding the smoke.

  Just the way Boris had.

  That meant Erik was going to use it as a weapon, just the way Boris had. The leader of the Pyr had been practicing a new trick. Niall was impressed.

  Sigmund watched the approaching smoke with horror. He tried to back away, but the wind was against him. He struggled and fought, but the smoke wound unerringly closer to him.

  It seemed to rise up, like a cobra about to strike. No, more like a thousand cobras preparing to strike. The smoke ascended into points, a many-headed hydra with teeth of venom. Sigmund regarded it with horror.

  “Would you do this to your own son?” he asked Erik.

  “When you let the shadow fill your heart, you ceased to be my son,” Erik said.

  Then the smoke struck Sigmund at a thousand points simultaneously. It slipped beneath his scales, biting and tormenting him, sucking the life from him. He screamed and fought, to no avail. The smoke grew thicker, feeding on his life force, weakening him with every strike. Sloane watched with dismay. Erik was impassive.

  When he could look upon the Slayer’s suffering no longer, Niall whistled to the wind.

  It knew exactly what he desired of it.

  The cyclone came out of nowhere and surrounded the writhing dragon. It targeted him with precision, swirling around him and him alone. The smoke wound into it, making a cocoon of wind and smoke that held Sigmund captive. The Slayer changed shape rapidly, shifting between human and dragon in his struggles, but the wind only tightened its grasp upon him.

  When the cyclone lifted and disappeared high into the sky, there was no sign of Sigmund left.

  Although the sky had been clear and filled with stars, rain began to fall with sudden intensity. It drenched them all in its abrupt downpour, extinguishing the fire on the roof.

  Then the rain stopped, as unexpectedly as it had begun.

  Peter looked up at the clear sky in surprise.

  Quinn was visibly exhausted by the time they had changed the shape of four of the head gaskets. The fourth one wasn’t quite within the tolerance Alex had hoped for, but she didn’t complain. Quinn’s hair was wet with sweat and the muscles in his shoulders were twitching. Rafferty, too, looked exhausted, and Donovan shoved a hand through his hair.

  “Are we going to screw it up if we do another one?” he asked, and Alex knew he had seen the disappointment she’d tried to hide.

  Quinn exhaled heavily and eyed the other two head gaskets. “It’s a strong song,” he said slowly.

  “There’s no point in wearing yourself out too much,” Sara said. “What if the Slayers attack again? You won’t be fighting at your best.” Her obvious concern told Alex what she had to do.

  Especially when Quinn flicked a glance at Sara’s belly and his lips tightened. Alex couldn’t ask them for more.

  Only she could call a halt to their work schedule.

  “Look,” she said. “There’s only two head gaskets left and a whole day until my meeting with Mr. Sinclair.” The others glanced her way. “We’re all tired and hungry, and none of us will do our best work in this state. We have some time, so let’s take a break. Let’s have a hot meal and get some sleep, then get back to it in the morning.”

  Quinn’s relief was obvious. “Fair enough,” he said, and took Sara’s hand. “I’m thinking a shower would be the first order of business.”

  Sara smiled. “Want company?”

  Quinn’s slow smile told everyone his thoughts. The pair headed into the house, followed by Rafferty. Donovan caught Alex’s hand in his, the firestorm burning bright and hot between them again.

  Alex looked at the dancing sparks, then met his gaze. He wasn’t surprised. “It’s still getting hot
ter.”

  Donovan nodded. “Harder to ignore.”

  “Why do I get the idea that the firestorm isn’t going to allow any cheating?”

  Donovan smiled, his wicked expression making her heart leap. “We could try again,” he suggested, his voice low. “Because, you know, it doesn’t make sense to give up on anything too early.”

  “Try, try again,” Alex agreed, desire sizzling inside her.

  “Can’t hurt,” Donovan said, and they headed for the house as one.

  On the contrary, there would be only pleasure shared between them. Alex couldn’t wait.

  The fire engines turned down Peter’s street, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Niall and the other Pyr shifted shape without a word of discussion. Peter stared at them.

  “Dragons!” Jared said with awe.

  “Not the child,” Erik reminded the other two as he turned his attention upon Peter.

  Sloane plucked the boy from Erik’s grip. “Go tell your mother and sister about the fire,” he said. “And hurry back.” Jared pivoted and ran into the house, clearly anxious to return as soon as possible.

  Erik meanwhile dropped his voice to the melodic rhythm required to beguile a human, and Niall saw the flames appear in the depths of Erik’s eyes. “Your house is damaged,” he said softly as Peter held his gaze. “Why not go to the cottage for a few days?”

  Niall understood Erik’s meaning immediately. He feared that the Slayers would be back and had decided that it would be simpler for all of the humans they were protecting to be together. It made sense. All of the Pyr would be together then as well.

  “Why not go to the cottage for a few days,” Peter repeated, his tone flat. He looked as if he would ask a question, but Erik continued smoothly.

  “You have no idea how the fire started,” Erik said, stepping closer. “But you tried to put it out.”

  “I tried to put it out,” Peter said with a sigh. He looked down at his hand, at the letter opener and Slayer blood on his skin, and frowned. Sloane was already examining the burn from Sigmund’s black blood. He took an antiseptic cloth from his backpack and cleaned it away, his gaze darting to the approaching paramedics as he applied one of his salves to the burn.