Kiss of Fury Page 5

  It was Erik’s turn to look perplexed.

  Donovan felt his lips tighten. What had happened with Olivia was done. “She had no more and no less from me than she deserved,” he said, hearing dismissiveness in his tone.

  Rafferty didn’t let the matter go. “Yet still you can’t say her name. Did you give her the Dragon’s Tooth?”

  “Of course not. I still have it.” Donovan tapped his chest. “Quinn used it to repair my armor after the eclipse.”

  Rafferty arched a brow. “There is an irony in that.”

  Donovan glared at his mentor. “What do you mean?”

  “In using the Dragon’s Tooth to repair the wound that Olivia inflicted upon you.” Rafferty had that bemused confidence that was so annoying. He liked to think he knew Donovan’s secrets.

  “It has nothing to do with Olivia. The Tooth was just the best piece of treasure in my hoard.”

  Erik glanced between two of them, following the conversation but clearly not understanding all of it.

  “Uh huh.” Rafferty’s skepticism was clear.

  His mentor’s response irritated Donovan even more. “We don’t need to review the past in order to live the future.”

  “Don’t we?” Rafferty mused, his gaze steady. “I thought we would have to address the fears of the past to embrace the future.”

  “We are not going to talk about this,” Donovan said.

  Rafferty watched him knowingly. “Seems to me that Olivia’s shadow is sufficiently long that we do need to talk about her.”

  “All right. Who was or is Olivia?” Erik asked.

  “A dead woman.” Donovan changed the subject before Rafferty could answer. “I don’t need to be manipulated by the two of you,” he said with impatience. “I am not going to consummate this firestorm, no matter what you say, so just leave it alone.”

  Erik arched a brow. “No matter what I say?”

  “No matter.” Donovan folded his arms across his chest.

  “Not even that we are doomed as a race if we do not successfully negotiate the three firestorms immediately following the change of the moon’s node?”

  “This is the second of the three that begin the journey of the Dragon’s Tail,” Rafferty said.

  “That’s not true,” Donovan protested. “How can three firestorms be so important?”

  “They can be if they are foretold firestorms,” Rafferty mused.

  Erik’s gaze was fixed upon Donovan. “Sophie said it was true.”

  Donovan looked between the two older Pyr, seeing the determination of one and the yearning of the other. “I don’t believe it. Sophie says a lot of things that aren’t true, or that mean something other than what they appear to mean. I think you’re trying to persuade me to do what you want.”

  “I don’t care whether you believe it,” Erik retorted. “You must act upon your firestorm—”

  “I won’t do it,” Donovan said, interrupting his leader. “Alex is in our custody and safe now: you can defend and protect her. I don’t even need to see her again.”

  To Donovan’s surprise, Erik smiled. “I don’t think you have a choice,” he said softly, then held up a finger when Donovan might have argued with him.

  Donovan heard the distinctive rumble of a familiar motorcycle engine.

  Fading.

  “Sounds like she knows how to get your attention.” Rafferty settled back into his chair with a satisfied smile. “Only your destined mate would have the nerve to steal your bike.”

  It couldn’t be true. Donovan ran for the room where he’d left Alex sleeping.

  She was gone.

  So were his keys, his boots, his helmet, and his jacket. There was a terrible sound of a bike engine losing its rhythm as gears were changed badly, and the three Pyr winced in unison.

  “Second to fourth, I think,” Erik said with a grimace.

  Donovan swore. It didn’t make him feel any better. He flung himself out of the suite after Alex and his bike, unsure what he would do when he found her.

  Strangling her was probably not the right choice.

  Donovan took the stairs to the roof three at a time. He raced across the roof of the hotel, then leapt into the night, shifting shape in midair. The only good thing was that he had the gloves Quinn had made for him and he had time to pull them on before he shifted shape.

  This time, he was ready for anything.

  Donovan spun in the air, caught his mate’s scent, and flew in pursuit. She missed a gear again, the sound making him cringe to the tips of his scales.

  If she messed up the Ducati, he’d definitely have to kill her.

  Firestorm be damned.

  Chapter 3

  The Ducati was different from the old Yamaha Alex had ridden for her motorcycle classes. It was for racing, nimble and powerful, designed for someone who was in perfect union with his machine.

  As Alex didn’t happen to be.

  She shifted badly twice, but learned from her mistakes. She found herself leaning over the bike, urging it to greater speed, liking its efficient purr.

  She needed some different clothing. A bra. Boots that fit. It was time to find out whether the fake credit cards worked.

  Alex stopped at a bank with automated teller machines, one with a drive-through lane so she wouldn’t have to leave the bike. It was the bank for which Peter did contract security work, and she wondered whether he’d be the one watching the video of her in the morning.

  The name on the card would tip him off. Would Peter send the police after her? Alex knew the answer to that, given that her brother was the straightest straight arrow on the planet.

  She wasn’t the only one who knew nothing about a life of crime.

  The helmet proved to be an asset, as the camera in the ATM wouldn’t get a good shot of Alex’s face through the tinted visor. It wouldn’t even know how tall she was.

  Ha. The fictional Meredith Maloney would remain hidden.

  Alex punched in the personal identification number. It seemed to take an eternity for the card to authorize.

  Maybe the machine was calling the cops. She glanced casually down the road in both directions, seeing only a long line of gas stations and fast-food restaurants. There weren’t very many cars driving on the road, and certainly no police lights.

  Nary a dragon to be seen.

  That worked for Alex.

  The machine beeped and spit out a fistful of twenties.

  Ha! Alex was tempted to call Peter and nyah nyah at him—Peter had been so sure that his new antifraud program was infallible that he deserved no less—but anyone following her would expect her to call Peter for help.

  She was going to think like a felon now.

  Alex put the money away in her Ziploc and closed the jacket. It was a nice leather jacket, supple and yet thick enough to keep out the wind. Alex had always wanted a biker jacket, but hadn’t thought it would go with her practical image. Changing her look might help her hide, though.

  Maybe it was time to release her inner biker chick.

  First she had another collection to make.

  Alex revved the bike and put her foot on the tread. Alex would have pulled onto the road, but a large blue and gold dragon landed right in front of her.

  A dragon.

  Alex’s mind stalled, then skipped ahead, as if she’d mentally missed a couple of gears. There was a dragon in front of her.

  He could have been jeweled, the way his dark blue scales gleamed in the sodium lights. He looked like he was made of lapis lazuli stones, set in gold. He was more than twice as tall as she, a serious piece of bling, and his tail coiled a long way across the asphalt. The only part of him that wasn’t lapis lazuli and gold was a massive pearl that looked like it was mounted in the center of his chest.

  He was also familiar. Alex felt a tingle in his presence, and it was easy to remember how her body had responded to the kidnapper/orderly’s smile.

  Except that now he was furious. Alex could tell by the light in his eyes. Od
dly enough, he hadn’t been angry about her foiling an abduction or stealing a car or their being attacked by a dragon.

  Stealing his bike, though, had ticked him off. It was hard to believe that this fuming dragon was the one who had saved her.

  Maybe he was having second thoughts. He reared up to his full height, opened his mouth, and she knew that nothing good could come out. She flinched, expecting flames.

  “Get off the bike,” he growled instead.

  “I don’t think so,” Alex said.

  He took a step closer and Alex felt the pavement vibrate. “Get off the bike now,” he said. Something about his manner put Alex in mind of fire, destruction, and a dead partner.

  “It’s a good thing you’re a figment of my imagination,” she said, and gunned the bike, driving straight at him. She was so frightened that she missed second gear, but Alex didn’t care.

  The dragon did. She could tell by the way he screamed.

  He leapt out of her way in the nick of time, taking flight as she zoomed past him. She felt him flying right behind her, practically incinerating the back of the jacket. Fire and brimstone had nothing on the heat of his breath. The little hairs on the back of her neck were singed.

  And she was ridiculously turned on.

  What had been in her drip?

  “Stop the bike,” he commanded. “Now.”

  Alex didn’t answer, just kicked it up a notch.

  This corner of Minneapolis was asleep. There were a couple of tractor trailers pulled into the gas station by the interstate, but the drivers were probably asleep in their cabs. The road was an empty black ribbon, unfurled in front of her. There was no one for her to hit, if she had to employ evasive maneuvers.

  There was also no one to help her, much less save her from a furious dragon.

  “That’s my bike and you’ve stolen it,” he fumed. “You’re going to return it now.”

  As if Alex was going to stop.

  “Why don’t you just call the cops?” she suggested, and heard his grumble of frustration. She could believe that the police wouldn’t be hot to take a stolen vehicle report from a dragon.

  She hadn’t thought he’d be able to hear her talking, what with the visor down on the helmet, but he could. And she could hear him as clearly as if he whispered in her ear. Alex thought about the spark that had lit between them and wondered what was going on.

  Maybe they’d been giving her the really good stuff in the hospital.

  Experimental stuff.

  “Pull over. I’ll drive you to wherever you’re going.”

  “I can drive. You can follow. It’s working for me.”

  “You can’t drive.”

  “Yes, I can!”

  “I have three words for you,” he muttered. “Archibald Forrester’s Buick.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “It crashed and burned.”

  Alex felt herself blush, even as she thought she didn’t have to worry about her fingerprints anymore. With any luck, Archibald had good insurance. “Well, that was extenuating circumstances. I was attacked by a dragon.”

  “And who says you won’t be again?”

  Alex spared a glance to the night sky, which glinted with stars. She changed gears to accelerate and heard his satisfaction at how smoothly she’d done it.

  He had saved her from the other dragon. Were there good dragons and bad dragons? It seemed too complicated, given that a few weeks ago, she hadn’t thought there were any real dragons at all.

  Considering how many dragons had shown up in her life recently, it might be handy to be on good terms with one inclined to defend her. Alex had to think about that.

  Later.

  When she was alone.

  “Pull over now.” His anger made her reluctant to comply.

  She glanced up and he bared his teeth.

  That wasn’t what made Alex’s heart leap in fear.

  It was the other dragon right above him and closing fast. “Look out!” she shouted.

  Her dragon pivoted right in midair, and she was impressed by his agility and strength. He was like a piece of over-the-top jewelry—or the Romanov egg of action figures, fit for a czar. It was hard to believe he was real. He raised his tail and his claws, then exhaled fire.

  The flames were very real. Alex heard them crackle in the night air and felt their heat.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” he said, beckoning to the amber dragon with that confidence she found so attractive.

  His claws looked like retractable knives. Alex wouldn’t have rushed to fight with him, but the amber dragon dove toward him without hesitation. It was the same dragon that had attacked them earlier.

  The same one that had held Mark down . . .

  Alex tore her thoughts away from the memory. The two dragons collided overhead with a crash, sounding like mailed knights in combat. The earth jumped at the impact.

  Some instinct for self-preservation urged her to get out of there right then and there.

  But it didn’t seem right to abandon her dragon, not after he had defended her earlier. Alex wasn’t sure what she could do to help, but there had to be something. She pulled the bike over to the curb, but left it running when she got off.

  Just in case.

  It took everything in her to hold her ground and watch the dragons fight. Meredith Maloney had taught Alex a long time ago that the only way to conquer fear was to face it squarely. Alex hadn’t managed to watch dragons up close and personal earlier that evening, but that wouldn’t keep her from trying again.

  She just hoped they stayed really high.

  The amber Slayer was already weakened from their earlier fight. Donovan was surprised that he engaged again so quickly, but he knew there had to be a reason.

  Slayers were sneaky. Donovan couldn’t catch a scent of another Slayer, but he wasn’t going to make assumptions. He’d learned the previous summer that Boris, the leader of the Slayers, could disguise his scent. Maybe the others could as well.

  He remained watchful and alert, even as he turned his attention on the amber Slayer. If the Slayers thought they could take Donovan easily, they could think again. The presence of his mate sharpened Donovan’s instincts and made him more determined to win than usual.

  That was saying something.

  The amber Slayer was big and old, and again Donovan was surprised that they’d never met. Donovan locked claws with his opponent, who sent them both tumbling with his momentum. The Slayer aimed dragonfire at Donovan’s chest as they spiraled through the air.

  Donovan twisted away from it, striking at the Slayer’s belly with his rear claws. The Slayer hissed and tried to retreat, but Donovan held tightly to his front claws. The Slayer winced as the metal talons bit deeply into his claws, and Donovan saw his surprise.

  “Don’t go yet,” Donovan said. “Not when we haven’t been formally introduced.”

  “I know who you are,” the Slayer snarled.

  “Then return the favor. I like to know all of my dance partners by name.”

  The Slayer growled. Donovan struck the Slayer with his tail, as a reward for his poor manners, then kicked his opponent as he loosed his grip. The Slayer grunted and fell toward the pavement.

  Alex gasped far below, but Donovan knew she was okay.

  The Slayer snarled, recovered, and raged upward. Donovan was waiting. He struck the Slayer across the face three times in rapid succession, making his head whip from one side to the other. The Slayer roared and snatched at Donovan; his teeth tore at Donovan’s chest; his tail lashed Donovan’s back. Donovan took a hit to his shoulder and a scratch to his chest. He spun in the air and fried the Slayer’s left side with dragonfire.

  The Slayer arched at the pain and bellowed.

  “Tyson is my name,” he said, his eyes glinting with malice.

  “Delighted to meet you,” Donovan said.

  Tyson watched Donovan as they circled each other. “Surely you know who I am.”

  “Sorry, but your repu
tation hasn’t preceded you.”

  “It should have. I was famous as a candidate for Warrior, until I left the field.” Tyson’s eyes narrowed. “I stopped fighting, at least until Everett died.”

  “Everett?” The Slayer’s confession gave Donovan a bad feeling. Donovan had been one of three Pyr who had killed Everett just a few months before.

  “My student,” Tyson hissed. “I mentored him for centuries.”

  Donovan chose not to comment that Everett had been born with both the cruelty and stupidity that were his distinguishingcharacteristics. Did that say more about Tyson’s tutelage or Everett’s thickheadedness? Better not to ask. “So, this is personal?”

  Tyson chuckled and attacked.

  Donovan was surprised that Tyson wasn’t challenging him to a blood duel. The two grappled for supremacy again, each raining blows on the other with his tail.

  “Nothing like a firestorm, is there? I find it gives a little extra spice to the meat.” Tyson laughed, then pivoted to pounce on Donovan’s mate.

  Alex was already leaping onto his bike. Donovan liked that she didn’t just wait to see what happened. All the same, she’d never get away. Even his bike wasn’t fast enough for that.

  He sprang his retractable claws, bellowed, and attacked Tyson from behind. He sank the claws Quinn had made for him into the Slayer’s wings and ripped the tendons. Tyson screamed and spun, struggling to keep himself airborne. He turned to fight, bloodlust in his eyes, but Donovan caught the Slayer across the chest, leaving four long wounds.

  Black blood fell on the pavement far below and sizzled. Tyson twisted and ascended, then turned to leave. Alex gunned the bike and rode away. Donovan hovered between Alex and the departing Slayer, ready to finish the fight.

  But Tyson kept flying. Were his wounds sufficient that he knew he’d be defeated?

  Or was there a trick? Donovan turned to follow Alex, fearing he’d been distracted on purpose. He heard a rush of air, then was attacked from behind himself.

  “Hello, son,” his assailant breathed in old-speak.

  Son.