Kiss of Fury Page 8

  He flicked a hot glance over his shoulder, one that made Alex straighten. She licked her lips without intending to do so and he caught his breath, his gaze brightening as he watched the tip of her tongue. The air in the elevator began to get warm.

  Donovan turned his back on her abruptly. “Nothing personal.”

  “I see,” Alex said, trying not to sound insulted.

  He threw her a smile and her heart did a somersault. “I ride solo. That’s all.”

  “Why?”

  Alex thought he wouldn’t answer her but she was wrong. “It’s what I know best,” he said in an undertone. He gave her a look then, a look so cold that she shivered, one that reminded her of what he could be. “Remember that peridot and silver dragon?”

  “The incinerated one?”

  He nodded once. “That was my father.”

  Alex felt her eyes widen in shock.

  “Riding solo is what comes naturally to me.” He dropped his voice then, looking both hard and unreachable. “Blood of his blood, shard of his talon.”

  He’d just killed his own father.

  Was that the truth? Or was he just trying to frighten her? The elevator filled with an awkward silence. Donovan watched the display with apparent fascination. Alex pretended to do so as well, but instead she checked him out. There was something about knowing that he had no intention of seducing her that made her feel safe. It made her feel provocative. Contrary, even.

  It made her wonder whether she could change his mind.

  The man looked every bit as good in jeans as was humanly possible. But then, he wasn’t human, was he?

  She thought about the spark between their hands, the seductive heat that slipped over her skin when he touched her, the fiery power of his kiss. She reviewed what he’d said about the firestorm and recalled him shifting shape before her very eyes.

  She thought about the spark.

  Scientific certainty was based upon repeatable results. Alex reached out, just to check the hypothesis, and touched his elbow.

  Donovan jumped when the spark lit. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, brushing at his arm.

  “The firestorm doesn’t seem to care that you’re not interested,” Alex said, watching his response.

  He was irritated, so obviously irritated that Alex was intrigued. “It’ll pass,” he said, but Alex didn’t believe it.

  She wasn’t sure he did, either.

  The elevator doors opened on the eighth floor and he gestured for her to go ahead of him. Alex stepped past him into the quiet, carpeted corridor, then turned right as he indicated. It looked as if they were going back to the same hotel suite.

  Alex was sure this time she’d be sleeping alone.

  As she matched her steps to Donovan’s, she acknowledged that a night between the sheets with Donovan and his great butt would have been fun. It would have been the perfect stress buster and an ideal way to focus her thoughts.

  Trust Donovan to be not only a distraction, but a principled distraction. If ever there was a man worth a one-nighter, he was it. He said he wasn’t interested.

  His body was interested.

  Just the way hers was.

  It was a bit scary to consider how many things they had in common. The fact was that Alex didn’t have the time to be distracted right now, not when she had to get her backup prototype running—without Mark’s help—for the meeting with Mr. Sinclair. She didn’t have time to be obsessing about the way one man kissed, much less to wonder how his skin would feel against hers. She didn’t have the luxury of day-dreams and fantasies.

  Which meant she had to forget Donovan Shea.

  There were other men in the main room of the suite they entered. They looked up and several of them stood, as if they’d been waiting on Donovan’s arrival. Quinn was there, leaning against one wall with his arms folded across his chest. The hearse driver was there, too. Alex didn’t recognize the others, but she didn’t want to socialize.

  She needed to think.

  “You must be exhausted,” a woman said from the doorway to the adjoining bedroom. She had hair the color of honey and it was tied up in a ponytail. She was smaller than Alex, petite and pretty, and her smile was warm.

  She must be the accountant bookstore owner. Alex wanted to hug her just for being normal.

  “I’m Sara. Come and sleep.” Sara’s smile broadened. “I promise to keep the dragons at bay.”

  “Ha ha,” said a fair-haired man.

  Were they all dragon shape shifters? Alex couldn’t even think about that. “Thanks. That’s a great idea.” Alex trusted Sara.

  What’s more, she trusted Donovan to keep his pledge. She was as safe here as anywhere else, maybe safer.

  For the moment.

  Donovan didn’t even glance Alex’s way when she left his side, but she wasn’t fooled. The man was aware of her every move.

  It might not be smart to get involved with a dragon shape shifter, or even to have sex with him once, but Alex had to wonder whether she’d regret her choice if she didn’t. A firestorm couldn’t be something that happened every day.

  And Donovan didn’t look like a man she’d easily forget.

  Donovan paced the main room of the suite for the second time that day. He wasn’t any less agitated than he had been the first time, even though Alex was safe. The other Pyr breathed smoke in unison, surrounding the suite with a barrier impenetrable to Slayers. Donovan couldn’t calm himself enough to help.

  He’d kissed Alex to make a point, to prove to himself that he could resist the firestorm, that he wasn’t answerable to fate. His plan had nearly backfired. Alex’s kiss sent a yearning through him that undermined everything. The press of her against him dismissed all thoughts that weren’t related to lovemaking.

  His senses were saturated with her presence: the sweet taste of her, the silken brush of her hair in his hands, the smell of soap and toothpaste, and a faint lingering of antiseptic. Her eyes had shone with a thousand variations of gold and amber and brown, like kaleidoscopes designed to bewitch him. Her voice was low and velvety, a little raspy— as if she sang skat and smoked French cigarettes in the middle of the night.

  Donovan had barely been able to step away once the firestorm had had him in its grasp. Its power astonished him.

  And frightened him. He’d been aware of nothing but his mate while kissing her. Nothing. Anyone could have attacked him. Anyone could have injured or killed them both. He could have taken her in the parking garage without another thought.

  In a parking garage.

  The firestorm was a liability Donovan needed even less than a partner, mate, and child. He knew that and believed it, but he still paced the room, replaying Alex’s kiss.

  He felt Rafferty watching him, but couldn’t even glance his way. He didn’t want to talk about the experience. Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  February and the next eclipse seemed a very long time away.

  Erik worked on his laptop over by the window, frowning as he sought some elusive piece of data. Quinn leaned against one wall and watched, probably not missing any nuance. Niall and Sloane had arrived and both looked sleepy. Quinn had been scheduled to work on their armor at his studio in Michigan.

  “Cut out the pacing and let me see,” Sloane said with rare impatience when Donovan walked past him for the umpteenth time. Sloane had ancient apothecary skills. “I can’t tend your wounds if you don’t slow down, and I’m not in the mood to chase you.”

  Donovan stopped and let Sloane study the cuts on his shoulder and chest. The wounds were superficial and he had already forgotten them. He wished he could forget his mate as easily. He tapped his toe while Sloane gently cleaned the wounds.

  “Bad?” Erik asked.

  “No,” Sloane declared. “They’re pretty clean.” He went to his backpack and returned with a salve. He opened the jar and Donovan recognized the scent.

  “That stuff stings,” he said when Sloane offered it to him.

  The younger
Pyr was unsympathetic. “Infection stings more. I hear blood poisoning is a treat, as well.” He offered the jar again and this time Donovan took some on his fingertips. He grimaced as he eased it over his cuts. It did sting, but then it tingled. He could almost feel the skin knitting together again.

  Sloane offered the jar again. “You don’t have enough salve on the last one.”

  Donovan knew better than to argue. He added more salve, then changed to a clean T-shirt under Sloane’s instruction.

  “Let me guess: he’ll be ready to fight tomorrow,” Rafferty said.

  Sloane nodded. “It won’t even take him that long. This guy heals faster than any Pyr I’ve ever known.”

  “Born to fight,” Quinn observed.

  Donovan grinned. “I try to stick to what I know.” He tapped his chest with a fingertip and spoke to Quinn. “Now that you’ve patched my missing scale, I’m stronger than ever.”

  “How well did it hold up?” Quinn asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “It’s a thing of beauty.”

  The patch that Quinn had forged for him should be beautiful:it contained the richest treasure of Donovan’s hoard. The Dragon’s Tooth was a massive pearl that Quinn had framed in wrought iron and embedded in Donovan’s chest. The process had hurt like hell, but had been worth it—his natural armor was flawless again. In human form, it looked as if he had a mole where the pearl was located.

  Donovan noticed Quinn’s change of mood. “Why? Did you expect otherwise? What’s wrong?”

  Quinn indicated Sloane and Niall. “I couldn’t repair their armor.”

  “The patches kept separating from our scales,” Niall said.

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Sloane said, and shrugged.

  “Or lack of skill,” Erik contributed. “Quinn is the most skillful Smith in eons.”

  Quinn inclined his head in acknowledgement of that, but still looked frustrated. “I can’t understand what went wrong.”

  “Maybe they need a firestorm to have their armor healed,” Rafferty mused. “You fixed Donovan’s after the last eclipse.”

  “Which heralded his firestorm.” Quinn looked thoughtful.

  This was the last reminder Donovan needed of Alex’s proximity. He was sure he could hear her getting undressed in the next room, the sound of her sweats—his sweats— dropping to the carpet. He could imagine her naked, tall and lean with those splendid breasts. Her skin would be tanned to gold and as smooth as satin. She would walk like a queen.

  And those dark, dark eyes would be lit from within, promising the surrender of a thousand mysteries in exchange for a kiss. He heard the shower begin and his imagination provided a vision of her under the running water, one that made him ache to join her.

  He heard her throaty laugh in response to something Sara said, and his gut clenched. He glanced toward the closed door, trying to muster his resolve, and caught the bemused gaze of Quinn.

  “You can’t resist it,” Quinn said in old-speak. “Some forces are greater than our will.”

  Donovan wasn’t interested in anyone’s advice.

  Erik nodded. “It would make sense that a Pyr could be healed only during his firestorm. That which creates vulnerability can also make you strong.”

  “I would have liked to have healed their weaknesses before their firestorms,” Quinn said with a flash of irritation.

  “Ditto.” Sloane was grim. “That’s when you need the power.”

  “And you never know when yours will come,” Rafferty said. Donovan felt the heat of his mentor’s gaze upon him again. He didn’t look up. “Or what secrets it will awaken from your past.”

  “True enough.” Donovan knew that what he would tell the others would surprise them all. “After all, I killed my father tonight.”

  A ripple of shock passed through the room.

  “What?” Rafferty demanded first, roused from his characteristic tranquility. “How can that be?”

  “Keir attacked me and I killed him. Quinn saw it.” Donovan shook his head. “I haven’t seen the old bastard in centuries, but Tyson sent him after me. They must have thought I wouldn’t strike my own father.”

  Rafferty pushed himself to his feet. “But you can’t have killed him. That’s impossible.”

  Donovan heard bitterness in his own tone. “You don’t think I could kill him? I owed Keir nothing. I owed him less than nothing. It was easier than killing a stranger.”

  “No, no. It’s impossible because Keir died centuries ago.”

  Donovan was shocked. “What?”

  “He hasn’t been alive since shortly after you met him, Donovan,” Rafferty insisted. “He was killed in a bar fight in Tortuga.”

  “You never told me this before,” Donovan said, unable to hide his skepticism.

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Rafferty retorted, his eyes flashing. “I tried to tell you, but you refused to discuss Keir. You didn’t want to talk about him.”

  Donovan looked at the carpet, knowing it was true.

  Rafferty raised a finger. “It has persistently been your inclination to refuse the assistance and advice of others—”

  “Perhaps you might tell us about Keir,” Erik interrupted smoothly.

  Rafferty heaved a sigh as he halted his lecture. He still looked annoyed. “I was in Tortuga. I saw Keir die. I don’t know whom you killed tonight, but Keir Shea is long dead.”

  Donovan was remembering that Keir hadn’t bled and wondered again what his father had become. He met Quinn’s gaze across the room as dread slid down his spine.

  What had the Slayers learned to do?

  Chapter 5

  Sara stood guard outside the bathroom while Alex showered. Sara thought about the first time she and Quinn had shared a shower, during their own firestorm, and smiled.

  She knew the Pyr had very keen hearing and wondered whether Quinn could hear the water, whether he was remembering the same night. That made her smile even more.

  Alex took her time and Sara couldn’t blame her. Steam eased beneath the door, carrying the scent of floral shower gel. Maybe Alex was trying to come to terms with the firestorm. Even Sara was aware of the heat between Alex and Donovan. She knew from experience that it was a much more potent sensation for a participant than an observer.

  Donovan had to be sizzling.

  Alex probably thought she was coming down with a fever.

  Sara remembered the thousands of questions she’d had during her firestorm with Quinn. Quinn had welcomed the chance to explain matters of the Pyr to Sara.

  Donovan, Sara sensed, had no intention of doing the same.

  It wasn’t fair. Sara decided that she’d aid the firestorm in her own way. As the wife of a Pyr and the mother of a Pyr-to-be, Sara knew she was a part of the Pyr team, for now and forever. And she liked Donovan. She didn’t want him to mess up his own firestorm. She’d answer questions, no matter how many of them Alex had.

  Alex finally emerged. She had a towel wrapped around her and a new Band-Aid on her left hand. “That felt so good,” she said, and her smile almost lit the room. “Thanks for watching the door.”

  “I think you can trust Donovan,” Sara said. “But I don’t mind staying with you tonight if it makes you feel better.”

  “It would. Thanks.” Alex still carried that Ziploc and put it now on the nightstand. She pulled on the T-shirt again, which hung to the top of her thighs, and grimaced.

  “I really need to get something decent to wear,” she muttered, then took the wet towel back to the bathroom. She hung it up, then combed out her hair, as if she had no questions to ask.

  Sara didn’t believe it. Alex just didn’t want to sound insane by asking about dragons.

  Sara leaned in the doorway. “I know that the firestorm can be really confusing, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  Alex looked at her, her gaze clear. “You have one?”

  “Had one. Last summer.” Sara smiled. “It was pretty amazing.”

  “It does
end, then?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a short-term thing.”

  Alex straightened the towel, apparently with full concentration, but Sara knew that she was paying more attention than that.

  “Ask me anything you want,” Sara said, and went back into the bedroom. She sat down in one of the easy chairs.

  Alex followed, then crawled into the bed and sighed. She took the plastic bag and put it under her pillow. Sara wonderedwhat was in it. Alex plumped the pillows against the headboard, then eyed Sara. “So, the firestorm is why I got attacked by dragons?”

  “Yes. The firestorm happens when a Pyr meets his destined mate. Pyr and Slayers can all sense the firestorm. Slayers try to stop Pyr from breeding, usually by trying to kill the human mate.”

  “Nice.” Alex grimaced. “How long do Pyr live?”

  “Long. Hundreds of years.”

  “And how many firestorms do they get?”

  “One in a lifetime, I think, if they’re lucky.”

  Alex grinned impishly. “That’s no-hassle birth control.”

  Sara laughed and her hand fell to her stomach.

  Alex watched Sara’s gesture. “When was your firestorm?”

  “July. The blood test came back positive in August.”

  “You look happy.”

  “I am.” Sara ran out of words, so she smiled and shrugged. Alex smiled in turn and Sara felt a connection with the other woman.

  Alex sobered and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “How does the firestorm end?”

  “When you have sex the first time, the firestorm is over.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the woman conceives.”

  “The first time?” Alex was skeptical. “The women always conceive the first time they do it with their Pyr partner?”

  “Yes.” Sara patted her belly. “It happened for us.”

  Alex was clearly unpersuaded. “That’s really against the odds. Unless the firestorm synchronizes with the woman’s cycle . . .”

  “I don’t know the biology. I only know what happened to me.”

  Alex thought about that for a moment. “But you and Quinn are still together, even though the firestorm is over?”

  Sara nodded and felt she should warn the other woman. “There are two schools of thought about the firestorm. Some Pyr, like Quinn, think that it indicates that the Pyr has found his life partner, that he’s more with his mate than he is alone. It’s like our idea of a one true love.”