Kiss of Fury Page 9

  Alex nodded, her eyelids drooping. She shook herself and straightened. “But others?”

  “Think it’s just a chance to breed, or maybe an obligation to make more Pyr. They have their firestorm, then carry on, leaving the woman to raise the child.”

  “But isn’t the child a Pyr? Isn’t that the point? If the Pyr father left the woman to raise the Pyr child alone, how would she teach it what it needed to know?”

  “The Pyr don’t come into their shape shifting abilities until puberty. I guess in those cases when the father leaves early, the other Pyr intervene to instruct the boy when he has his change.”

  “He?” Alex asked, doing a bad job of trying to disguise a yawn. She looked as if she wanted to stay awake and talk, but her body had other ideas. “Aren’t there any female Pyr?”

  “Just one at a time. She’s called the Wyvern and is a prophetess.” Sara shrugged. “She’s lovely, but mysterious.”

  Alex forced her eyes open. “You met her?”

  “We saved her from the Slayers.” Sara smiled. “But I think that’s a story I should save for another night. Get some sleep, Alex. We’ll go shopping for clothes in the morning. I promise.”

  “Shower, sleep, and clean underwear.” Alex nestled down into the bed and yawned again. “Forget dragons and Slayers and Wyverns: I’ve found myself a fairy godmother.”

  Sara laughed, but Alex was already asleep.

  “I went looking for Keir right after Donovan found him,” Rafferty continued. “I thought I might be able to reconcile the two of them. It must have been three hundred and fifty years ago now.”

  Donovan sat down heavily. “Three hundred and sixtyfive.” He believed Rafferty but he knew what he’d seen, as well.

  “What happened?” Sloane asked.

  “Keir was in Tortuga, where the buccaneers took haven. The tavern was full of drunks when I arrived. The brawl started shortly after that, when I was still figuring out who Keir was.” Rafferty spared a glance at Donovan. “There’s a resemblance, but it’s only skin-deep. You were right about him.”

  “Thank you.” Donovan couldn’t help but bristle. He didn’t like talking about his father, didn’t like to remember how that man had abandoned him, didn’t like to recall how he’d had to fend for himself for most of his life. The past was over and done.

  “The fight broke out and it spread like a disease.” Rafferty’s words slowed as he remembered the scene. “There were dozens of them, brawling and shouting. It was chaos. I finally saw Keir but I couldn’t get to him.”

  “He was fighting, too?” Niall guessed. “Giving as good as he got?”

  Rafferty shook his head.

  “He was in dragon form?” Quinn asked. “Meeting fire with fire?”

  Donovan was impatient with his friends’ attempts to paint his father in any noble light. “Keir told me he refused to shift anymore,” he said. “He was determined to be human, because he’d decided the Pyr side of him was evil.”

  Rafferty snorted. “It was the human side of him that was stealing a keg of rum. The owner shot at him with a musket from behind the bar. The shot missed, but Keir tripped when he was ducking it. He broke his neck, either in the fall or in the trampling of the fight.”

  “He might not have died,” Donovan felt obliged to note.

  “They buried him the next day,” Rafferty insisted. “I went to the funeral, such as it was, to be sure. I asked the earth a month later if he’d stayed put and he had.”

  “But he was here tonight,” Quinn said with a frown. “I saw him. He was peridot and silver, and resembled Donovan in human form.”

  “It was Keir.” Donovan had no doubt.

  “But how can that be?” Niall asked. “He was buried a month and the earth doesn’t lie. That eliminates all doubt.”

  “I’m not sure he was alive tonight,” Donovan mused, and began his pacing again. “He didn’t bleed. He couldn’t feel dragonfire, even when it scorched him, and he couldn’t tell when he was injured. He just kept on fighting, even when he lost limbs.”

  “It was as if he didn’t notice,” Quinn said, and the Pyr shuddered as one.

  “Then how did you stop him?” Sloane asked.

  “We dismembered him,” Quinn added softly. “Then burned him to ash. It was the only way.”

  Rafferty sat down. “I’ll ask the earth if he’s still in that Caribbean grave.”

  “He’s not,” Donovan said. “Somebody roused him and turned him into whatever he was tonight.” He turned to Sloane. “What if he wasn’t exposed to all four elements when he died? What could happen to him?”

  Sloane shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “The Slayers know,” Quinn pointed out. “They revived Ambrose when his fallen body wasn’t exposed to water.”

  “Or Ambrose revived himself.” Donovan focused on Sloane. “How would you heal one of us, if we seemed dead but hadn’t been exposed to all four elements?”

  “Theoretically speaking,” Rafferty added gently.

  Sloane frowned, seeming more intense than usual. “I’ve been trying to find the secret since we learned about Ambrose last summer. I think I’ve identified the right manuscript. It’s old, though, and it’s written in a cipher I can’t decode.”

  “You will,” Niall said. “You have the patience for it.”

  Sloane shuddered. “It’s more than an intellectual exercise.I dislike the manuscript. It has a bad feel to it. I had to copy it out to even be able to work on it.”

  “Maybe there’s a protective spell on it,” Rafferty said.

  “There’s no such thing as magic.” Quinn’s tone was dismissive.

  “But there are mysteries we have yet to understand,” Rafferty replied. “It could be charged with a protection that looks like magic to us.”

  Erik cleared his throat. He’d been following the conversation, his eyes gleaming. “Or it might be a new development. The Wyvern said that things were possible during the period of these three eclipses that had never been possible before. She said doors that had never been open before were open to the past.”

  “Why doesn’t that sound good?” Niall murmured.

  Donovan decided to tell them the rest. “There’s more, too.”

  “You mean it gets worse?” Niall asked.

  “There’s another Slayer,” Donovan said. “He says he’s Tyson and intends to avenge Everett’s death. I thought that was why he attacked Alex and me, but he didn’t challenge me to a blood duel.”

  “Why not?” Sloane asked.

  “Maybe he doesn’t know who killed Everett,” Rafferty guessed. “He doesn’t know that we three did it together.”

  “We should all challenge him,” Quinn said.

  “No!” Erik protested. “No blood duels now. It’s a distraction from our greater purpose.”

  “But if he’s bent on revenge—” Niall began to argue.

  “Let him go without it,” Erik snapped. “We don’t have the luxury of indulging in blood duels now. Tell him that he has to challenge all three of you simultaneously, if he insists.”

  Donovan kept quiet, knowing that Tyson would never play according to any rules imposed by the Pyr. Nor would he abandon his quest for vengeance. He thought about Rafferty, who was moving more slowly than once he had, and about Quinn’s commitment to Sara, and knew that, if it came down to it, he would answer Tyson’s challenge alone to protect his fellows.

  He might ride solo, but he played for the team.

  “How did he find Alex?” Sloane asked.

  “He must have been attracted to the firestorm,” Quinn said.

  Donovan frowned. “How did they know to attack the lab, then? It was before she and I met, before the firestorm sparked.”

  “It’s forbidden for the Wyvern to share the name of the human who will experience the firestorm,” Erik said quietly.

  “She told you,” Donovan reminded his leader.

  “She wouldn’t have told Boris.” Erik was adamant.

  “Sh
e told Boris Sara’s name,” Quinn observed.

  “She was tortured for that,” Erik reminded them, but the truth was that no one knew what Sophie would do.

  “I’m thinking that the fire at Gilchrist Enterprises wasn’t an accident,” Donovan said. “I’m thinking someone is stalking my mate, and was doing so even before I knew she was my mate.”

  Erik pivoted and turned back to his laptop, his move looking a lot like guilt to Donovan.

  “What do you know about it?”

  “It was Slayers,” Erik said tersely. “Sophie showed me when she told me Alex’s name.”

  Donovan’s heart clenched. “In advance? You knew in advance that the fire would happen?”

  Erik looked irritated. “You know how portents are. I knew pieces of it, but not the whole thing—”

  “We could have prevented the fire!” Donovan roared, interrupting his leader. “We could have ensured that Alex was safe, instead of keeping our distance!”

  Erik gave him a cool glance. “I thought you didn’t want a mate.”

  “Alex could have been killed in that fire!” The Pyr smothered smiles, as if he’d fulfilled some expectation. Donovan glared at them. “Humans are part of the treasure we are charged to protect.”

  “You’re not talking about protecting humans in general,” Sloane commented.

  Niall held up a finger. “Just one specific human.”

  “A pretty one,” Sloane noted.

  “Who happens to be your destined mate,” Rafferty added.

  “Who happens to be the one human who has made an invention that could turn the tide against the Slayers,” Erik said. “Sophie told me that humans have to help themselves to correct the injustices done to the earth. Alex’s Green Machine is a big part of that, which is why the Slayers tried to destroy it. Sophie also told me that we couldn’t prevent the fire.”

  “Sophie talks a lot of garbage,” Donovan said.

  “Which is why I tried to stop the fire, anyway,” Erik replied. “The lab was hidden, disguised under false names. I only just identified it on the day of the fire.”

  Donovan wasn’t interested in excuses. “Funny. Slayers found it easily enough.”

  Erik met Donovan’s glare with one of his own. “Maybe they had more time.” He shook his head. “Besides, I don’t think they intended to kill her that night.”

  “She has burns on her hands . . . ,” Donovan protested.

  “She was outnumbered,” Erik interrupted crisply. “And confronted by at least one Slayer. They could have easily killed her, as I suspect they killed her partner. I think they wanted to scare her and to destroy the prototype. That done, they let her go.”

  “But why?” Niall asked.

  Erik turned to face him. “Because if you want to destroy an invention, you have to eliminate every crumb of information that would allow it to be rebuilt again. When all of that is destroyed, then you eliminate the last person who remembers how to do it.”

  Donovan stared out the window at the night. He was thinking of the Ziploc that Alex had retrieved from the lab. Slayers had let her go and she was doing exactly what they expected of her. “They’re following her. They’re going to let her collect all of the backup data, and then they’ll kill her.”

  Erik nodded once and looked at the carpet. “And that’s what we have to keep from happening.”

  No one argued with that.

  The smoke was obscuring her vision but Alex knew the way. She eased down the hall to the lab and the Green Machine, hearing the sounds of struggle ahead of her.

  He screamed again—Mark, who never raised his voice— and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. She was terrified, her breath coming in anxious gasps, but she had to help Mark.

  She froze in the doorway to the lab, her eyes wide. There were two dragons in the bay beside the wreckage of the Green Machine, two dragons so massive that they filled the industrial space. Fire burned all around them, casting the scene in black and orange tones. The prototype vehicle had been smashed beyond recognition.

  The large amber dragon held Mark captive. He clutched Alex’s partner in massive talons that shone like the weapons they were. His amber scales gleamed like jewels in the firelight as he held Mark off the ground.

  Mark was incoherent in his fear. His glasses had broken on one side and his clothing was torn. He was struggling, but it made no difference.

  He was bleeding.

  The dragons were laughing.

  The second dragon, the red one, leaned toward Mark, and Mark flinched at his approach. This one’s scales could have been made of rubies edged in gold. He glittered as well, his savage beauty matched with malicious intent. He lifted a claw and held up Mark’s broken glasses so he could see his opponent. Mark shook as he was forced to look into the face of his tormentor.

  “Tell me,” whispered the dragon. His voice was low and horrible. It rasped and resonated, making the walls shake. “Tell me all about the Green Machine.”

  “No!” Mark shouted, and the amber dragon ripped one talon down the length of Mark’s chest. His shirt was shredded and one dark line was opened down the length of his torso. Blood flowed from the open wound and Mark screamed. . . .

  Alex awakened, her breath coming in anxious spurts once again. Two nightmares in one night. That had to be a new record.

  But then, facing dragons could be expected to have that effect.

  She kept still, listening before she opened her eyes. She could hear Sara’s slow breathing. It was dark and the hotel was quiet.

  Alex opened her eyes and let her vision adjust. A slice of night came through the drapes. The clock radio read three fifteen.

  It was early Monday. She didn’t have a lot of time left.

  Sara was sleeping on the couch on the far side of the room and lamplight spilled through the crack of the door that opened into the main room. In the light that shone at the bottom of the door to the hall, Alex could see two shadows, two shadows the size of a man’s two feet.

  The Pyr were standing guard over her.

  Alex didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, Donovan had protected her from that attacking Slayer. On the other, he had killed his father, apparently without regrets.

  Alex recalled the sight of Donovan in his dragon form and her mouth went dry. He was both splendid and terrifying. And in human form, he certainly made her tingle. She’d never had such mixed feelings in anyone’s presence before.

  The man was trouble, no matter how she looked at it.

  And he was distracting. Even if the Pyr had been on her side, Donovan’s presence was precisely what could keep Alex from rebuilding her prototype in time. Thinking obsessively about sex was not conducive to analysis and problem solving.

  But there were dragons hunting her. Alex’s breath hitched.

  Did she dare to be on her own?

  The prospect was terrifying, but how could she do anything else? Alex had a lifetime policy of refusing to let fear govern her choices and she wasn’t going to let it govern this one. There was too much at stake. She routinely challenged her own ideas of what she could do. She was afraid of Slayers , sure, but she needed to rebuild her prototype.

  Away from Donovan.

  And really, if she was away from Donovan, then there’d be no heat of the firestorm to attract Slayers to her precise location. They’d found her and Mark at the lab before, but that was an obvious place to look for her. After a couple of data collections, Alex intended to retreat to a refuge.

  The only one who knew there was a backup prototype was Mark. The only one who knew where that backup prototype was stashed was Mark.

  And Mark was dead.

  To save her invention, Alex had to escape the Pyr’s protective custody. She got out of bed, filled with resolve and terror, and pulled on Donovan’s sweats again.

  Those two shadows stopped her from taking the obvious exit.

  Maybe she’d have better luck with another door.

  Alex
eased toward the connecting door, then peered into the central room of the suite. The Pyr who had driven the hearse was sleeping on one couch. The drapes were open in this room, admitting the glow of streetlights. Alex could see a balcony outside the sliding glass door and sky beyond it.

  She took a step into the room; the sleeping Pyr didn’t stir. His breathing was steady and deep, too steady and deep for him to be pretending. There was a door on the far side of the room and she assumed there was another bedroom. That door was closed. How many Pyr had there been when she arrived? She thought there’d been six altogether, but wouldn’t have bet on her count.

  The same shadow pattern appeared below the door to the corridor. Another Pyr was standing guard there. That made three.

  And it left the far bedroom as an escape option.

  Or the balcony.

  Where was Donovan? Alex wondered whether he was sleeping in the far room or doing sentry duty. She wondered how he looked asleep. She wondered whether the spark would light between them when he was unconscious. She told herself she’d never know and that that was a good thing.

  Part of her didn’t believe it.

  With a glance at the sleeping Pyr, Alex took another cautious step into the room. She stopped cold when the hair prickled on the back of her neck—someone was watching her. She surveyed the room, her heart leaping when she saw him.

  Donovan lounged in one of the easy chairs on the far side of the room. He’d pushed it back into the corner, as if he were guarding the sliding door to the balcony, and he was wreathed in shadows.

  But he was watching her. His eyes were gleaming slits, narrow and unblinking and fixed upon her. He was so still that she couldn’t see him breathing. Donovan had changed, because his T-shirt was white now. It made him look even more like James Dean than he had before, more tanned and more sexy.

  More dangerous.

  When their gazes locked and held, Alex forgot about leaving. The glittering green of Donovan’s eyes held her motionless. Captive. The air in the room seemed to shimmer, the way it did over pavement in the middle of summer. The hotel room was sweltering.