Kiss of Fury Read online

  “Jorge,” the blond Slayer said. He grinned at their surprise and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Trick or treat.”

  Donovan realized belatedly that it was Halloween.

  Rafferty swore and Donovan immediately saw why. Jorge wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by a foe Donovan had never expected to see again.

  Magnus.

  That Slayer stepped out of the shadows, looking as virile and confident as ever. He hadn’t aged a day since their last exchange and still looked smooth and sleek, the image of a successful man in his fifties.

  “Surprised?” Magnus asked, turning to Rafferty. “How hale you look, my old friend.” He chuckled, and Donovan knew Magnus had noticed how tired they all were. The arrival of the Slayers had been perfectly timed to find them at their weakest.

  It wasn’t a coincidence.

  Delaney started to moan and twitch when Magnus spoke. Sloane put a hand on his shoulder, even as he watched the new arrival. Delaney wasn’t visibly reassured. Donovan understood then that Magnus had been partly responsible for Delaney’s change.

  “I was afraid of this,” Rafferty said with concern.

  Magnus cocked a finger at Rafferty. “We have unfinished business, you and I. All that hoard, so carefully gathered, lost in one night. I’ve never gotten over the shock.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Rafferty said.

  “I know you did. But we Slayers are somewhat difficult to kill.” Magnus smiled. “We came, actually, to extend an invitation to the rest of you. We thought you might want to join the winning team, while there’s still time.”

  “I’ll never become Slayer,” Quinn said, spitting the words.

  “Not a chance,” Donovan agreed with heat.

  “Ditto,” said Niall and Sloane in unison.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” Magnus whispered. “Not if we take you alive.” He whistled then and Delaney started, like a dog called to obey. Delaney’s eyes turned darker again, and he began to fight against Sloane and Niall, to try to regain his freedom.

  “Leave him alone!” Donovan roared.

  Magnus chuckled. “He’s the least of your worries. Listen.”

  There was a low rumble, the sound of shackles falling and heavy doors being thrown back on their hinges to collide with walls. Donovan heard locks tumbling, although he couldn’t see anything. The shadows seemed to be getting darker beyond the driveway, as if the light were being extinguished.

  “The earth moans,” Rafferty murmured, clearly as puzzled as Donovan.

  “The fire flickers,” Quinn added.

  “The wind dies,” Niall said, scanning the sky.

  Sara raised her hands to her mouth. “The dark academy is opened,” she whispered, her voice filled with dread.

  Donovan caught his breath as the darkness of the forest beyond the drive took on shapes. He saw figures silhouetted there, twisted shapes that seemed to absorb every increment of light.

  “Meet part of the team,” Magnus said amiably. He gestured to the approaching shapes. “Maybe you’ll see some familiar faces.”

  “My father,” Sloane whispered in shock as one figure stepped out of the shadows. “But not.” He rose to his feet and stared.

  The shapes kept coming closer, men with fathomless hollows where their eyes should have been. They were Pyr with no spark of the divine in their hearts.

  They were opponents who did not bleed.

  “My twin brother,” Niall said as he recognized one. “Or a travesty of what he was.”

  “Three of my brothers,” Quinn said grimly. He paled. “Or what the Slayers did to their bodies.”

  “My grandfather,” Rafferty murmured, his voice breaking. He turned to Magnus. “What evil is this that you do?”

  “In a war, every weapon must be put to use,” Magnus said with a smooth assurance that made Donovan want to injure him.

  “Going to hide behind your smoke?” Jorge sneered at the shocked Pyr. “Or are we going to solve this, for once and for all?”

  “We can take them,” Rafferty muttered. “We have to.”

  Donovan was already pulling on his gloves. “The smoke forms a wall six feet out from the garage doors,” he told Alex. “The barrier runs all the way to the wall adjoining the front door. They cannot cross it. Don’t believe anything they say otherwise.” He gave her a hard look. “All you have to do is stay on this side of it. Promise?”

  She smiled a little, her eyes shining with that familiar determination, and he knew there would be no guarantees. “No. I won’t promise because I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

  “To protect the Green Machine?”

  “That’s not the only thing worth defending,” Alex said. She laid a hand on his chest, right where the new scale still ached. The admiration in her eyes stole his breath away.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “I always win,” he assured her in a low voice, then smiled. “And now I have more motivation than usual.”

  She smiled, just as he’d hoped. “Hotshot.”

  “That’s it.” He kissed her, hard and quick, before she could argue, then nodded once at his companions. They looked as resolved as he was. At his nod, the Pyr ran toward their opponents and shifted in unison. They flew through the barrier of their own smoke as the Slayers and their minions shifted, too.

  It was the fight Donovan had been waiting for.

  Erik parked the car on a darkened pier. It was an industrial space he had rented before, to moor a pyrotechnics barge and set up fireworks for their timed display. On this Halloween, it was dark and deserted, the lake beyond it reflecting the lights of the city. The rain fell on the car in a persistent patter, making the dock look slick and black.

  Once again, Erik had the sense that more could happen on this night than he expected. It wasn’t a feeling he liked and he was determined to get this battle behind him as soon as possible.

  Boris didn’t share his urgency. The Slayer turned Erik’s penny in his hand, then slanted Erik a smile. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

  “As long as I have, more or less.” Erik wasn’t interested in conversation, even though Boris seemed to be in a thoughtful mood.

  “Only one of us will survive,” Boris mused. “Winner take all.”

  “Those are the stakes,” Erik agreed curtly. He reached for his door, but Boris suddenly clutched his arm. Erik saw the talons on Boris’s hand—dragon talons on a human hand— then looked at his companion in surprise. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Pyr or Slayer linger on the mingled state between forms. Boris’s smile gleamed, his teeth more jagged and numerous than they should be in his human form.

  “How allied with the humans are you?” he murmured, his words low and persuasive. “How much will you do to let them live?”

  If Boris thought Erik would be impressed by his ability to hover between forms, he could think again.

  “There’s no one to do your dirty work for you,” Erik said, letting himself shimmer on the cusp of change. “Are you going to have to get your talons dirty, Boris?”

  Erik didn’t wait for an answer. He exhaled fire, still in human form, and felt Boris’s shock as the flames licked his skin. The cashmere coat smoldered, then began to burn.

  Boris snarled. He lunged for Erik, talons extended. Erik opened his door with one claw, and seized Boris by the throat with the other.

  He flew high, shifting as soon as he was out of the car, and carried his opponent far above the city. Boris changed form as well, his urgency evident in his failure to fold away his clothes. The burning cashmere overcoat fell to the wet pavement, followed by Boris’s suit.

  Erik was momentarily distracted by this unexpected concession. Were the old stories true? It was said that if a Pyr or Slayer lost his garments while in dragon form, he would be unable to shift back to human form. Erik had always thought it was a myth but was ready to find out.

  At Boris’s expense.

  Erik pivoted in midair and s
pewed dragonfire across the falling garments. Boris growled and snapped, trying to stop him, but Erik was undeterred. The coat burned; the suit burned; the silk tie danced as it fell toward the ground and the flames devoured it. The shirt burned, as did the socks and shoes and underwear.

  It was all incinerated, a smoking pile of executive wear on the dock. Erik’s penny rolled free and spiraled to a glimmering halt half a dozen feet away from the burning garments.

  Boris roared in fury, summoning the strength to slither free of Erik’s grip. Erik guessed that the Slayer believed the old stories were true.

  “Wyvern spawn,” Boris raged. “How dare you?”

  “All in the interests of investigation,” Erik taunted. “Only one of us will walk away.”

  “I bet on it being me,” Boris replied.

  They circled each other in assessment—one onyx and pewter, one ruby red and brass—then leapt at each other, locking claws in the time-honored choreography of dragon battle.

  They were both old, both strong, both experienced.

  And they both had everything to lose.

  In Minnesota, the Pyr locked claws with their Slayer opponents and with the captive converts. Rafferty flew directly to his grandfather—or what that old Pyr had become—and searched his gaze for a spark.

  “Gone!” Rafferty cried with pain. “They stole his soul!”

  “Released it,” Magnus confirmed mildly. “They have all been converted to fighting machines of maximum efficiency.”

  “They are abominations!” Rafferty roared. The ghoul attacked him with vicious strength, and Donovan knew the moment that his mentor fought for more than his own defense.

  “We have to kill them,” Quinn shouted. “It is the only dignity we can do them.”

  “Dismember and burn,” Donovan cried.

  He saw Rafferty weep as he fought the Pyr he had loved with all his heart and soul. Magnus attacked Rafferty from behind as he fought, doing his best to set the odds high against his former opponent.

  Quinn was set upon his three brothers. Donovan leapt to help. He exhaled dragonfire on his friend and locked claws with the largest of the three. Quinn sparkled with the influx of energy, then swung his tail at his brothers with new force, breathing fire as their scales scorched and burned.

  They fought on with fearsome determination.

  Niall engaged with his twin and Sloane fought his own father. Donovan knew himself how hard it was to separate memory from the truth of what these Pyr had become, how hard it was to strike a killing blow to something that so closely resembled a loved one.

  He feared then that the Pyr might lose.

  Donovan fought against Jorge, doing that Slayer injury so quickly that he feared a trick.

  Then he heard what he had missed. Delaney yowled and Jorge chuckled. “The darkness isn’t that easily dispelled,” Jorge said. “The charm is planted deep.”

  Donovan noticed that Magnus was murmuring a low chant, even as he fought Rafferty.

  “Don’t call him back to the darkness!” Donovan shouted, and struck Magnus with his tail.

  Rafferty took a blow from his own grandfather, one that sent him tumbling through the air, but Rafferty pivoted and raged back at his opponent.

  Magnus didn’t miss a beat of his chant.

  Delaney raised his head slowly. His cold gaze fixed on Donovan and once again, the light had been doused to a flicker.

  The Slayer shadow was winning because of Magnus’s song.

  Donovan targeted Delaney and made to lock claws. Delaney ducked his grip, seizing Donovan’s back claws instead. He snarled and gnawed on Donovan’s leg. Donovan struck Delaney with his tail, then shook off the Slayer’s grip. Donovan wasn’t fighting to kill: he needed to capture Delaney again so that Sloane could heal him.

  But Delaney fought as though possessed. He dove at Donovan time and again, biting and tearing. The metal claws Quinn had made for Donovan were lethal, but he used them sparingly. He tried not to cause permanent damage.

  Delaney was still in there.

  Somewhere.

  Donovan had seen the truth in his eyes. The firestorm had brought him back toward the light and Donovan was sure Delaney could be completely healed.

  For that, he had to live.

  “Look what we will do to all of you,” Jorge gloated, obviously noting Donovan’s dismay. “We can turn you all Slayer, and make you subject to our will. You will fight until the death for a cause you don’t even embrace.”

  “Never!” Quinn bellowed, his white-hot dragonfire dispatching one of his brothers. That shadow dragon fell and burned to ash on the pavement. Quinn raged after a second brother, snatching him and casting him against the stainless steel shutters of the house. There was a crash as he hit, and he had time to moan before Quinn hovered above him and breathed dragonfire.

  “Window damage in spare bedroom number three,” Oscar said, his voice faint behind the shutters.

  “We have to incinerate them,” Sloane shouted.

  “We have to let the wind disperse them,” Niall agreed, then grunted as his father slashed his belly open. Niall’s blood flowed, but he fought on.

  Quinn’s fallen brother, his scales alight with flames, leapt from the roof with fury and attacked Quinn. The other brother, still uninjured, assailed Quinn from the opposite side.

  Meanwhile, Delaney struck with fury and bit deep. Donovan breathed fire at him and struck him hard across the face. Delaney fell back only for a moment. He came after Donovan once more and Donovan hailed blows upon him.

  It made no difference. Delaney rose once more, and locked his gaze upon Donovan’s chest. He leapt toward Donovan, claws outstretched, and embedded his talons in Donovan’s chest.

  Donovan screamed as much in frustration as in pain. Delaney gouged at Donovan’s chest, as if trying to dig out the gem Quinn had just embedded there. Donovan wouldn’t part with Alex’s talisman that easily. He shredded the former Pyr’s back, ripped him free, and cast him on the ground.

  Donovan made to leap after his cousin and trap him, but Magnus struck Donovan from behind. Donovan tumbled, startled, and Delaney leapt skyward after him. Delaney buried one claw in Donovan’s chest, then opened his mouth to bite at Alex’s jet talisman.

  He froze, as if confused. That blank gaze was fixed on Donovan’s chest with curious intensity. Donovan saw the flicker of light in his doubt and dared to hope.

  “Get it!” Magnus bellowed. “Get the Dragon’s Tooth!”

  Donovan knew what the problem was. “The Dragon’s Tooth is gone,” he said to Delaney. “Your quest has failed. You battle for nothing, or for nothing that can be won.”

  Delaney shook his head.

  “They’ve given you an impossible task, Delaney. Come back, my brother, come back to the light. You felt the firestorm. Surrender to me and be healed.”

  Delaney loosed a scream of anguish and had a convulsion. It was as if demons battled within him for supremacy. Donovan almost lost his grip on the writhing snake Delaney had become, but he wasn’t going to lose his brother again.

  Donovan locked one rear claw around Delaney’s neck to hold him down. He kept talking to him, kept urging surrender, and gradually the convulsion ended. Delaney shuddered and fell still.

  What had happened within him? Which side had won? Donovan didn’t know and he wasn’t going to guess.

  What he needed was a shackle, one strong enough to keep a dragon captive. He looked up in time to see Sloane slash at his father so that his wings fell in tatters. The older dragon didn’t bleed, but he tumbled toward the earth.

  “Did you have to make work for me?” Sloane muttered, then landed beside the fallen Delaney. “All I need is physical damage to heal along with the psychological.”

  “He’s not dead,” Donovan said. “That’s a start.”

  The copper and emerald green dragon appeared to be unconscious, which Donovan thought was a blessing. Sloane leaned closer to examine the former Pyr’s injuries. At that same moment, Pete
r’s son came running out of the garage.

  “No!” Jared bellowed, pointing at something behind Donovan and Sloane. “Don’t hurt my dragon!”

  “Jared, stop!” Alex shouted, and lunged after the little boy.

  When they both crossed the smoke barrier, Donovan’s heart stopped cold.

  Erik fought hard early, wanting to secure his early advantage. He didn’t trust Boris as far as he could throw him, and didn’t doubt that the leader of the Slayers had a trick or two in his arsenal.

  Boris, after all, seldom engaged in physical work. Erik should be able to overwhelm him, if he came out strong.

  They rolled across the sky, claws locked together and tails slashing. Erik landed a blow on Boris’s back with his tail, and simultaneously tore at Boris’s chest with his back claws. He flung Boris across the sky and into an electrical billboard. Sparks flew as part of the display shorted out and smoke rose from the Slayer’s bruised and fallen form.

  Boris straightened with a snarl and leapt after Erik, his red feathers streaming like flames. He caught Erik by the wings and hurled him into the darkened window of an office building. The glass cracked noisily and Erik fell, dazed from the blow.

  He glanced up to find Boris breathing smoke.

  The dragonsmoke unfurled toward Erik and he retreated warily. Smoke sought weakness and multiplied that weakness. But Boris’s smoke did more than that: it tracked Erik. It followed him, pursuing him no matter how he changed course.

  Until finally it touched him. Everywhere the dragonsmoke contacted Erik, it burned. It was a brand touched to his flesh, a burning weapon that eased beneath his scales, seeking weakness it could exploit.

  Erik couldn’t evade it and he couldn’t outrun it. He heard Boris chuckle even as the Slayer breathed an endless tendril of dragonsmoke. Erik felt the smoke stealing vigor from his body, wearing him down, weakening him with pain. He struggled and twisted, knowing one target it sought.

  He had one misshapen scale, one lost scale that had grown back, thick and unnatural. Erik didn’t doubt that the smoke would writhe beneath it. He flew away from the smoke and it followed him with leisurely persistence. It caught him again, winding around his ankle to hold him captive, rising like a cobra before him, stealing the strength with its furtive touch.