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  Stacy shivered elaborately. “It’s so exciting.”

  Cassie saw Lorenzo smile at her friend’s reaction.

  “And here we are,” the announcer said. “Finally at the day of unearthing Lorenzo’s greatest spectacle. Let’s review the feat.”

  They ran footage of Lorenzo’s arrival at the site, his confident wave, the car being buried. Cassie was glad to see that her presence was completely invisible. She put her hand in Lorenzo’s and he squeezed her fingers.

  “That’s one great car,” Delaney said.

  “Shame about the paint,” Niall murmured.

  Lorenzo smiled as the video shifted to the feed within the car. He looked calm and composed, closing his eyes and settling back as if he’d sleep for the entire month.

  Serene.

  They saw the fireworks from that night for the first time, and Cassie thought about what they’d been doing while the world was entertained. She shivered, glad that Chen’s brand was destroyed for good.

  The shot changed to one announcer, who looked concerned. “Of course, we were all shocked when there were technical glitches with Lorenzo’s feat. The batteries died in his cell phone two weeks ago, so he’s been out of contact. His team, though, was determined to not intervene.”

  The announcer pivoted and gestured to another screen. “The video feed from the car also died two days later. No one knows what’s happened in that car in the past twelve days. No one knows Lorenzo’s status. The people gathered here today have come to see the truth with their own eyes.”

  “Is that what they’ll see,” Erik said softly, and the Pyr all laughed.

  The second announcer took up the patter, speculating on the possibilities and reviewing Lorenzo’s amazing career.

  Meanwhile, the camera panned in on the site of the spectacle. Cassie was surprised to see how many people had gathered. There must have been ten thousand people and their agitation was palpable. She was pretty sure that waitress and her kids were there, despite the hour.

  “Great turnout,” she said to Lorenzo, tightening her grip on his hand.

  His smile was quick. “The more witnesses, the better.”

  They split the screen then, showing a slice of the expectant crowd on one side, and the large, shiny bulldozer rumbling into position.

  “Should have gotten a bigger one,” Lorenzo murmured.

  The bulldozer dug into the earth, the crowd seeming to hold their collective breath.

  “An amazing feat, if he does survive it,” one announcer babbled. “What do you think his chances are, Ed?”

  “Not very good, I’m afraid. It’s been unusually hot this month here in the desert, with record-high temperatures recorded almost every day for the past two weeks. Even buried in the sand, the car would have become very hot.”

  “There were sensors linked to the car, weren’t there, Ed?”

  “There were, and they’ve recorded a consistent temperature within the vehicle between 90 and 110 degrees. There’s a very real chance of dehydration, as Lorenzo had only a small amount of water enclosed in the car with him. If, of course, he didn’t run out of oxygen first.”

  “But until the video feed failed, Lorenzo appeared to be sleeping quite comfortably in the driver’s seat of the car.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Rafferty murmured, and Melissa smiled. She’d been sworn to secrecy on the truth of Lorenzo’s feat, just like all the Pyr and their partners. Given the speculation about Cassie’s photographs and the identity of the man in those images, Lorenzo needed to lie low for a few years.

  The announcers continued. “Well, there are people, Bill, who can lower their metabolic rate. This means that they require less air and less water and burn less energy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lorenzo could do that. On the other hand, I’m not sure it would be enough to ensure his survival under these circumstances.”

  “You’re not optimistic, Ed.”

  “I fear that Lorenzo has reached too far this time.”

  “Well, let’s go down to the ground and find out. I can see the orange metallic paint of the car roof, and the crowd is becoming restless.”

  “That is one beautiful car.”

  Gears moved on the massive cranes and the enormous stainless-steel chains groaned. The car was lifted out of the hole, sand slipping away from it on all sides.

  The car was spun slightly—Cassie was sure every move had been choreographed by Lorenzo, and his smile of satisfaction convinced her that she was right—and turned over the crowd.

  The car was set down and then brushed off by Ursula and Anna, Lorenzo’s stage assistants. They had enormous feather dusters for this job and took their time, steadily building the suspense.

  “Can you stand it?” Stacy whispered, then gave a squeal of anticipation.

  On screen, Anna held up her hands, beginning to clap a steady rhythm. The crowd quickly copied her gesture, the sound of their applause almost deafening.

  She knocked on the window, as if to awaken Lorenzo from a long sleep.

  There was no reply or movement.

  She turned to the crowd, spreading her hands as if asking them what to do.

  “Open it!” one man roared and the crowd took up the cry.

  The announcers were chuckling. “Always the perfect showman,” Ed murmured.

  The Pyr grinned.

  Ursula held up a car key dangling on a ring, one with a Ferrari logo. When the sunlight touched it, the crowd started to cheer. She touched the button to unlock the doors. The car’s lights flashed once.

  Encouraged by Anna, the crowd began to chant Lorenzo’s name.

  Beside Cassie, the man himself folded his arms across his chest and watched with undisguised satisfaction.

  Ursula opened the door on the driver’s side with a flourish, gesturing to the man within.

  Then she stumbled backward in such obvious horror that the crowd fell silent. She put her hand over her mouth, obviously gagging.

  “Another false alarm, Ed?” the announcer asked, his tone jovial.

  “Just part of the show, I’m sure,” Ed replied.

  But one camera zoomed in, capturing an image of the man in the driver’s seat.

  Who was very, very dead. In fact, he had decomposed to the point that he wasn’t even recognizable as Lorenzo.

  But he was wearing the same leather jacket and orange shirt that Lorenzo had worn when he’d been buried in the car.

  The Pyr gathered in Venice broke into applause.

  “Balthasar?” Brandt guessed. “Is that what happened to him?”

  Lorenzo just grinned. The announcers were chattering away in their excitement at an unexpected development, but Lorenzo turned off the sound. He stood in front of the television and took a bow, for the greatest disappearing act of his career.

  “And now we have a surprise for you,” Erik said.

  Cassie enjoyed the sight of Lorenzo’s confusion. “What surprise?”

  She went to the sideboard and got his lost scale, the one she’d kept and hidden away from him. She offered it to him on both hands, smiling at the sight of his surprise.

  “Erik told me that you need to get it repaired. That’s why they’re all here. That’s why Quinn is here. To fix your armor.”

  And she saw that, as much as he might have preferred to hide it, Lorenzo was overwhelmed.

  Cassie had surprised him one more time. Lorenzo was honored that she was his partner and knew he could never love another woman the way he adored her.

  He hoped she would never stop surprising him.

  Quinn murmured satisfaction as he took the scale. He turned it over in his hands, checking it for damage and obviously pleased with what he’d found.

  Meanwhile, Cassie pushed the button that closed the drapes. T
his room had sixteen-foot ceilings and was enormous. Lorenzo knew it had once been a ballroom, with such dimensions. It had a long line of tall windows that opened to a balcony over the canal.

  The drapes—of navy Fortuni velvet with light-blocking linings—had cost a fortune, but Lorenzo had wanted to ensure their privacy. Now he was glad to have them. At the touch of a button, they rode on an automated track, too heavy to be simply tugged across the glass.

  He liked how precisely and neatly they closed.

  Centered on the opposite wall was the enormous painting of his mother and her place of business.

  This same property.

  Although Lorenzo had bought adjacent buildings and expanded upon the footprint. He’d been quietly restoring it, as L. Rossi, waiting for the chance to make his escape.

  It had turned out far better than even he’d hoped.

  The massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling glittered. They were gilt and hung thickly with glass drops, as well as each being six or eight feet across. He’d scoured half of Italy for them, and they were perfect. There were nearly a thousand bulbs burning in this room and he appreciated every one of them when the Pyr began to shift shape.

  This was the true spectacle.

  The light caressed the sapphire and steel scales of Quinn, the Smith. It danced over the lapis lazuli and gold scales of Donovan, the Warrior. It gleamed on the ebony and pewter hide of Erik, the leader of the Pyr. The light flashed on the amethyst and silver scales of Niall, the Dreamwalker. It lit the emerald and copper scales of Delancey. It glimmered on the opal and gold scales of Rafferty, the new Cantor. It twinkled on the brilliant tourmaline scales of Sloane, the Apothecary, highlighting the way the color shifted over his length from green to purple and gold. It flickered on the orange and yellow scales of Brandt, making him look like a dragon made of flame.

  Stacy’s eyes were round.

  Lorenzo roared and shifted shape, knowing the light would glow on the hammered gold of his own scales. He cared only for the way Cassie’s eyes shone as she stood before him.

  “Show-off,” she teased, and he grinned. He caught her in his embrace and reared back, baring his chest to the Smith. Quinn breathed fire, heating the scale that he held in his talons; then he cast a glance at Cassie.

  Lorenzo was appalled to realize that he didn’t know what the Smith wanted.

  Quinn put out a claw.

  Cassie knew, though. She offered him a pearl as big as her thumb, which was set in a gold pendant.

  “A gift willingly given from the mate is required to heal the scale,” Quinn said.

  “I saw it in a shop here,” Cassie said. “It reminds me of those earrings your mom is wearing in the painting.”

  Quinn reared back and breathed more fire, heating the gold setting of the pendant, then fusing it to the scale. He worked deftly and quickly, his older son watching raptly as he worked.

  Then Quinn turned to Lorenzo and lifted the glowing scale toward the gap in his armor. “Fire,” he said, heating it again.

  “Earth,” the Pyr and their mates cried, pounding their feet on the floor. The kids enjoyed this part and continued to stamp.

  Lorenzo bared his teeth and growled as the scale was pressed into place and his skin seared.

  “Air,” the Pyr said and Cassie blew on the wound.

  Lorenzo held her close, his throat tight with the goodness she brought into his life. He had the definite sense that he’d finally arrived home, after a long journey. He glanced up at that painting and thought he saw Angelina smile and nod approval.

  He knew he saw her glance over her shoulder, her smile filling with satisfaction. He followed her gaze and found a younger, more handsome version of Salvatore lounging at a table, watching her. The room was empty, save for the two of them, the heat of their smiles telling him everything he needed to know.

  Lorenzo shed a tear, a tear of relief that his parents were united in some dimension. He felt Cassie lift it from his cheek with a gentle fingertip.

  “Water,” she murmured and put that tear on the repaired scale. It sizzled on contact. She looked up at him and he saw the tears shining in her own eyes.

  She was the treasure he’d sought all his life.

  And winning her heart was the greatest feat he’d ever performed.

  “Kismet,” Stacy pronounced with satisfaction and not one soul in that room would have dared to disagree.

  Lorenzo shifted shape and caught Cassie close, kissing her soundly as the others hooted approval. The future was everything he’d ever hoped it might be.

  Because of the firestorm.

  Because of Cassie.

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  Author’s Note

  Balthasar’s rental car, the red Ferrari 360 Spider, is available for rent in Las Vegas from Dream Car Rentals. At this writing, the going rate is $750 for five hours or $1,050 per day—probably not inclusive of taxes and insurance. Lorenzo’s prize Ferrari—the 1963 Ferrari 250 GT Berlinetta Lusso—is the same as one owned by Steve McQueen, which sold for $2.3 million dollars in 2007. Only 350 of these cars were made, and the V-12 engine (even if it burned oil) would be the stuff of a car lover’s fantasy. I have to think that Lorenzo’s car would be a more flashy color than the metallic brown “Marrone” of McQueen’s.

  * * *

  Read on for a peek at the next exciting installment in the Dragonfire series by Deborah Cooke,

  Ember’s Kiss

  Coming from Signet Eclipse in October 2012.

  * * *

  Oahu, Hawai’i

  Friday, December 9, 2011

  The sun was setting over the ocean, painting the sky in rich shades of orange and indigo. Brandon was standing outside his favorite beach bar in Kane’ohe with a few buddies, talking about the best curls of the day, when four cars pulled into the dirt lot. The guys turned as one, curious about any new arrivals, and watched the group spill out of their cars. Brandon and his friends had made the drive to Kane’ohe, after all, because Matt had insisted they needed new scenery. Their usual haunts on the quieter North Shore were filled with familiar faces.

  About half of this group were in their thirties, as was Brandon, but were conservatively dressed, as he and his gang were not. Many of them didn’t know each other, judging by their body language, and they exchanged a lot of polite smiles. More than half of them wore glasses. The rest of the group was older and had a scholarly look about them. There was one older woman with gray hair wearing a vivid pink Hawaiian shirt who seemed the most gregarious. She put her arm around a dark-haired woman who may have been the youngest of the group and shepherded her toward the restaurant.

  Brandon noticed immediately how pretty that woman was. She was wearing a lei of yellow plumeria, black capris, and a white top. He guessed from the lei that she had just arrived on the island. The woman in pink must be trying to make her feel welcome. He smiled at that and noted that she needed a pair of flip-flops to even begin to blend in.

  The younger woman was slim with curves in all the right places, was taller than most, and had delicate hands. Her hair was long and thick, with just a hint of wave to it. He thought it might curl more in the island breezes. She would be stunning when she got a bit more of a tan, and he wondered whether she’d brought her bikini.

  “Fresh bait,” Matt teased, as crude as usual.

  Brandon gave him a poke. Matt was a good surfer, but a jerk with women. “Don’t be a pig. It’s not just about sex,” he said.

  Matt and Dylan laughed. “What is it about, then?” Dylan demanded.

  Brandon shrugged, watching the woman. “I don’t know. Romance. There’s got to be more going on to make it special.”

  “From thirty feet away, it’s about sex,” Matt concluded, then finished his beer. He was cocky, the way he usually was w
hen he’d had a couple of beers and wanted to show off. “Tell you what—let’s square it off between sex and romance. Let’s see who gets results first.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brandon asked, although he already could guess.

  “Let’s go for your brunette. She can choose sex or romance. Whoever gets lucky doesn’t have to buy tomorrow night.” Matt stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

  The very idea annoyed Brandon. He had been raised to respect women, and the brunette’s quiet manner made him feel particularly protective of her. “You really are a jerk, aren’t you?”

  “Either that or you know you’re going to lose,” Matt countered with a grin.

  Dylan started to laugh.

  Meanwhile, the party moved into the bar. Josie, the waitress, pulled tables together for them, and there was a lot of jostling as they chose seats. The older woman in pink seemed to be in charge, or at least she bossed people around in a genial way. The brunette hung back, indecisive. Her gaze flicked to Brandon and he impulsively smiled at her. She blushed and averted her gaze, then took a seat in a hurry.

  “She’s not going to know what hit her,” Dylan commented.

  “I’ll tell Josie to give her the extra large mai tai,” Matt said with satisfaction. “On me. It’ll smooth the way.”

  “Wait a minute. You can’t just target her,” Brandon objected. “That’s not right.”

  “Right?” Matt seemed to be amused by this idea. “Look at her—she just got here. For all we know, I’m exactly what she wants on her vacation. All those mainland girls are looking for action.” He preened a bit and smiled at the brunette.

  Her eyes widened slightly and she shook her head, as if disinterested in Matt’s attention. Her gaze flicked to Brandon again and he rolled his eyes, as if despairing of his buddy.

  She smiled then, a real smile, one that brightened her features and made her look young and pretty. Brandon’s heart thumped and Dylan chuckled. “You’re on,” Brandon said to Matt, who moved to the bar to order that drink for her.