Kiss of Fury Read online

  “No, we’re in this together now.”

  “No, we’re not. Just tell me what you want.”

  “Sparkling conversation; good champagne; peace on earth.” He shrugged and settled back against the seat with a sigh. Alex wasn’t fooled. She knew he’d move fast if she did anything unpredictable. “What everyone else wants, pretty much, which must be why there’s never enough of any of the above.”

  His smile must have been intended to weaken her resistance.

  It worked beautifully. Alex liked how his eyes sparkled. She liked that the scrubs stretched across his chest, and she even liked the single gold stud he wore in his left ear. Alex could believe that he didn’t have to take whatever he wanted from women.

  She was in big trouble.

  At least, things couldn’t get worse.

  Something heavy landed on the roof right then, landed so hard that the car bounced. Alex lost her grip on the wheel for a moment.

  “What the hell was that?” Her companion leaned forward to peer out the windshield.

  A large tail hit the glass with a resounding thwack at the very same moment.

  “Shit!” Alex’s companion put one arm over his own face and one over Alex’s as the windshield cracked into a thousand shards. Alex couldn’t see a thing—because she had her own eyes squeezed shut, too—but she didn’t lift her foot from the gas.

  She knew what kind of tail it was.

  “Dragons!” she shouted, and swerved hard to one side. The Buick went over the curb, nearly giving both of them whiplash, then bounced across rough terrain.

  The hunk swore again. “You’re going to kill us!”

  Even though he’d moved his arm and she’d opened her eyes, Alex still couldn’t see. The safety glass had done its job, breaking but staying in place. There was no light other than the meager bit cast by the Buick’s headlights. She must have broken one of them. Alex was going too fast, but she wasn’t going to stop the car and become dragon chow.

  She would not think about Mark.

  “What’s wrong with dragons?”

  “What’s right with dragons?” Alex winced as the dragon tail hit the windshield again, hard enough this time to take out the safety glass completely. Cold air rushed in.

  It was an amber-colored dragon tail.

  One of Mark’s tormentors had come after her.

  Alex didn’t need to ask why. Gleaming silver dragon talons appeared on the edge of the roof. Alex screamed.

  Her companion reached for the wheel. “I think we’re going fast enough.”

  “No, we’re not.” Alex pushed him aside. “We’re not going nearly fast enough.” She put her accelerator down to the floor, not caring that the car was completely out of control.

  The amber dragon leaned over the edge of the roof just then, the sight of his many teeth making Alex’s heart stop cold. He opened his mouth, exuded a puff of smoke, and Alex knew she was toast.

  Maybe the psych ward would have been the better choice.

  Donovan blamed the firestorm.

  He didn’t want a firestorm. He had tried to reassure Alex and had missed the scent of the approaching Slayer.

  Alex screamed and held up her bandaged hands in front of her face as the Slayer inhaled to breathe dragonfire. The car raced toward a stand of trees and Donovan had nothing left to lose.

  “Hey, do you know Boris?” he asked the dragon on the roof. “Because I haven’t seen him for a while. Is he doing okay?”

  The Slayer blinked, shocked into not loosing his dragonfire. “How do you know Boris?”

  That moment was the only advantage Donovan needed.

  He leapt through the windshield, changing shape en route. It was a smooth move. He reared back, flying above the car in dragon form, and felt the awe of his opponent. The car bounced across the field, losing speed. Alex must have taken her foot off the gas.

  “You’d better believe it,” Donovan said. “I was hoping to kill him, but the sneaky bastard got away.”

  “You’re Pyr,” the Slayer hissed with hatred.

  “The real thing,” Donovan said. “In living Technicolor.” He breathed dragonfire on the infuriated Slayer.

  The Slayer was the golden hue of amber, his scales patterned as if they held bubbles and leaves of prehistoric plants. His talons were silver and ornate.

  Donovan had never seen him before.

  The Slayer ducked and twisted under Donovan’s assault, taking off quickly. Donovan ascended behind him and seized his wings. They locked claws and wrestled, tumbling end over end through the air.

  Donovan wished again for his steel claws as he tried to rip open the Slayer’s chest. The Slayer exhaled smoke and Donovan ducked it, slashing at his attacker with his tail. The Slayer took the hit and fell bonelessly toward the earth.

  The Buick, meanwhile, was leaping across the field. Alex couldn’t be intending to crash the car, could she?

  Donovan flew in pursuit and landed on the roof of the car. He reached through the windshield to grab her.

  Alex recoiled from him in terror, releasing the wheel as she lifted her hands in front of her face again. “No! Don’t touch me. You’re a dragon—”

  “And in five seconds, you’ll be dead. Choose your poison, gorgeous.”

  Alex gaped at him, obviously recognizing his voice.

  “Yes, I’m the dragon,” he said impatiently, not needing a replay of that scene from his past. “Come on!”

  She looked at the trees, closing fast, then looked at him and fainted.

  “Good choice.” Donovan snatched her arm and hauled her right through the broken windshield. He snatched her precious Ziploc from the seat, then ascended as quickly as he could.

  A heartbeat later, the car hit the first of the trees. It rolled and exploded, sending a tongue of flame into the night sky.

  So much for Archibald Forrester’s Buick.

  Donovan turned and watched the amber Slayer fly away. Boris had to be in the vicinity, if not others as well. Once again, the Slayers had let Alex live. It wasn’t a coincidence, although Donovan didn’t know their plan.

  He flew for Erik’s hotel suite. He looked down at Alex and his heart tightened. She was gorgeous, as well as tough and smart. Spunky even when terrified, she could have been specially ordered just for him, the precise kind of woman he liked best.

  But Donovan wasn’t going to have a firestorm.

  All he had to do was tell Erik as much, and that wasn’t likely to go well. On the upside, his mate was probably going to be good with his decision, given her fear of dragons.

  Funny, but that didn’t make Donovan feel any better.

  Alex awakened in a strange room.

  Again.

  She kept her eyes closed. It smelled more like a hotel room than a hospital room. She didn’t hear anyone else in the room, didn’t feel the presence of anyone else, either.

  She felt less woozy and cooler. The drugs were wearing off.

  Alex opened her eyes cautiously. She was lying on a regular bed in a darkened hotel room. Actually, it was a pretty nice bed, a king-sized bed with high-thread-count linens.

  Not a dumpy hotel, then. The door to an adjoining room was ajar. As far as she could tell, she was untouched. She still had bandages on her hands, still felt bruised, but was pretty sure there was no new damage.

  She was not going to think about dragons.

  There were men arguing in the adjacent room. Alex could hear the rumble of their voices. She heard the cadence of a familiar voice and knew that the hunk who had tried to kidnap her was close by.

  So, he had succeeded and, as a bonus, he was irritated.

  Another rumble sounded like his laconic older partner, the one who had driven the hearse. The third man had a faint British accent and Alex was sure she didn’t recognize his voice.

  She wasn’t going to speculate on their plans for her.

  It was time to go.

  The door with the dead bolt must lead to an outside corridor. Her Ziploc was
on the desk by the phone. There was a small backpack on the chair and a leather jacket hanging over its back.

  Alex eased from the bed and grabbed her Ziploc. She was relieved that it seemed to be exactly as she’d left it. She peeked into the backpack and saw a T-shirt and sweatpants. She decided they could be her spoils of battle. She dressed quickly, feeling warmer and less like a flasher. The sweats were too long and the T-shirt was too wide, but she’d live.

  Alex ran a hand over the shoulder of the black leather jacket and knew it was his. She tingled when she remembered how he had looked at her, as if she were the sexiest woman alive.

  He’d tried to kidnap her. He’d hidden in the back of her stolen car. He’d challenged her and charmed her, and Alex was more attracted to him than was healthy. Sparks had shot between them.

  She realized she was caressing his leather jacket.

  He had changed shape, too. He’d become a dragon. She hadn’t imagined that.

  The men’s voices rose slightly and someone was pacing in the next room. Alex’s heart leapt at the deep sound of his voice—she knew that she’d be in deep trouble if she saw him again, if he smiled at her, if he winked at her, if he laughed.

  The green scrubs were discarded on the carpet. There was a helmet on the desk, a set of keys tossed beside it.

  Alex stared. She couldn’t possibly be so lucky, could she?

  The key tag had a Ducati Monster logo. Alex knew that was a kind of motorcycle, an expensive Italian kind: she remembered Peter wanting one desperately and arguing with their father as only a teenager can argue for his heart’s desire. Peter—no surprise—had lost both the battle and the war.

  He’d never been good at getting what he wanted.

  Alex remembered her brother’s astonishment when she’d shown him her own motorcycle license shortly afterward.

  She picked up the keys, ensuring they didn’t rattle. There couldn’t be two Ducati Monsters in the parking garage, and if there were, she’d steal the one that the key started.

  There was a pair of black leather boots beside the desk: she took them, pulled on the jacket, and carried the helmet. Alex crept to the door and eased the dead bolt open.

  The men continued their dispute in the other room. Alex turned the knob and was very appreciative of the maintenance people in this particular hotel.

  The hinges didn’t make a sound. Alex slipped out the door. She pushed her feet into the boots. They were too big, but would be better than riding barefoot. She put the Ziploc into the inside pocket of his jacket. The elevator was in the direction opposite to the room where the men argued.

  Alex didn’t linger long enough for her luck to change.

  Donovan paced the main room of Erik’s suite. It wasn’t enough that his mate was safe in the next room. It didn’t appease him that the smoke the Pyr had breathed together was deep and thick, protecting them from Slayers as surely as if they had been in a permanent lair.

  He had been deceived, and his mate could have easily paid for it.

  Rafferty tented his fingers together as he watched Donovan, waiting for trouble to erupt. Erik was at the desk, using his laptop, trying to ignore Donovan.

  Donovan wasn’t ready to be ignored. “You sent me to my own firestorm!” he charged. “Without one single word of warning. You lied to me, Erik!”

  “Not exactly,” Erik said mildly, typing without glancing up. His British accent was more pronounced, as it always was when he was annoyed and pretending not to be. “Unless you count a lie of omission.”

  “I do!”

  “Lead with anger and follow with remorse,” Rafferty murmured.

  “What are you talking about?” Donovan demanded.

  “It’s an old saying,” his mentor explained mildly. “One that I’ve endeavored to teach you for several hundred years without success. You need to harness your anger.”

  “I need friends who don’t lie to me.”

  At that, Erik glanced up. “And if I had told you the truth, would you have gone to collect her?”

  “Of course not. I don’t want a firestorm. You know that.”

  Erik returned his attention to his laptop. “Precisely my point.”

  “You won’t compel me to act upon the firestorm.”

  “I don’t think you have a choice.”

  Donovan strode to the desk and leaned his weight on it, compelling Erik to look at him. “I’m not going to consummate a firestorm. I ride alone, always have.”

  “You don’t have to commit yourself to her forever,” Erik said. “Quinn’s solution is not necessarily that of every Pyr.”

  “What then?” Donovan challenged. “I should have sex with her, get her pregnant, and walk away? No kid needs to live my story again. Keir didn’t do me any favors.”

  “Your father’s choices don’t have to shape yours.” Erik frowned at the display.

  “I decided years ago that history wouldn’t be repeated,” Donovan informed Erik. “No child of mine ever will repeat my history, because there will never be a child of mine. Understand?”

  “Not even for the firestorm?” Rafferty asked, and there was yearning in his voice. Donovan understood then that his mentor disapproved of his failure to embrace his good fortune. Rafferty had waited centuries for his own firestorm and it must seem unfair to him that Donovan didn’t want his.

  Not that Rafferty’s feelings would change Donovan’s choices.

  Only Alex could do that. Donovan thought of her, the way she moved with athletic ease. He liked her determination and he liked how she’d fought to get rid of him. Her short haircut and lack of makeup should have made her look boyish, but instead only made her look more feminine. It was her long lashes, he was sure of it, and the way her eyes tipped up at the outer corners.

  Or maybe it was their brown hue. They seemed to be full of shadows and secrets. Mysteries left for him to solve.

  Even the hospital nightgown hadn’t disguised that she had curves in all the right places—or that she hadn’t been wearing a bra. He’d seen the silhouette of her nipple tightening right after the spark had lit between them.

  It had distracted him, and put them squarely into danger.

  And there was another problem with this plan.

  Erik was impatient with Donovan’s logic. “You’re being emotional about a practical matter. We Pyr can ensure that your child is not abandoned, even if you choose not to be involved. . . .”

  “Be serious. You can’t be advocating for me to breed and forget about it.”

  The leader of the Pyr pushed to his feet, his gaze steely. He changed to old-speak, so his insistence would echo in Donovan’s own thoughts, perhaps even meld with Donovan’s own thoughts. “We must breed. You must breed. We must consummate each firestorm.”

  “I won’t do it,” Donovan retorted, speaking aloud. “You can’t make me do it.”

  Erik glared at him for a moment, then pivoted to pace the room himself. The silence in the room was charged with restless energy, but Donovan wouldn’t back down. Erik took a deep breath, then spoke quietly. “Think about what you just said to me.”

  “What about it?”

  “You accused me of deliberately sending you to your firestorm.”

  “And you didn’t deny it.”

  Erik turned to face Donovan, a challenge in his eyes. “How did I know the name of your mate?”

  Donovan and Rafferty exchanged a glance in the silence that followed. “The Dragon’s Egg ritual?” Donovan guessed, but he knew that wasn’t right.

  Erik shook his head. “That tells us the location of the firestorm.”

  “The Wyvern has been to see you,” Rafferty suggested.

  Erik stared down at the carpet, his hands on his hips. “The Wyvern is forbidden to reveal the name of the human who will experience the firestorm. Sophie learns the name of the woman during the eclipse ritual, but she is charged to keep it secret.”

  “She knew Sara’s name,” Donovan reminded his leader.

  “And sh
e only confessed it to the Slayers under torture.”

  Rafferty caught his breath. “You didn’t . . .”

  “I did not injure the Wyvern!” Erik snapped. “That, too, is forbidden among our kind.”

  Rafferty mumbled an apology, his neck turning red. “But then, how did you know?”

  “How do you think? Sophie offered the name to me,” Erik said tersely. “She came to me and she told me Alex’s name, of her own volition.” He paused, looking between the two Pyr. “Do you understand what that means?”

  “It means we’re in deep shit,” Donovan guessed.

  “It means that something is happening, that a threat that we have not yet discerned conspires against us.” Erik shoved a hand through his hair. “Sophie is not inclined to be of assistance if she knows we can surmount a challenge ourselves. I fear that she knows we are about to have a set-back. A major one.”

  “But that makes no sense,” Donovan protested. “It was the Slayers who had heavy losses in the fight for Quinn’s mate.”

  “We lost only one,” Rafferty agreed, and Donovan refused to think of that one loss, so horrific had it been for him. “One too many but far fewer than the four Slayers we killed.”

  Erik stared out the window, his hands shoved into his pockets. He was reflected in the glass, superimposed on the city lights. He looked even more grim than usual. “I have dreamed of a dark academy, a place so foul that it has no name.” His low words sent shivers down Donovan’s spine.

  “What kind of academy?” Donovan demanded. “What do they teach?”

  “I don’t know,” Erik said, turning and looking weary. “I sense only that crimes are committed in the shadows. There is evil, I know as much, but I can’t see into its murk. The dream fills me with such loathing that I can’t look deeply.” He sighed. “Not yet, but I continue to try.”

  “Can you do it without injury to yourself?” Rafferty asked, concern in his tone.

  “I am not sure.” Erik shuddered. “It is a wicked place, more wicked than ever I believed could exist.”

  The hair prickled on the back of Donovan’s neck.

  “While I have dreamed of teeth,” Rafferty said with a smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood in the room. “Dragon’s Teeth, in fact.” He cast a glance at Donovan. “Do you still have it, or did Olivia have that treasure from you in the end, as well?”