Darkfire Kiss (4 page)

“I chose to accept your lure.”
Rafferty smiled with confidence, letting Magnus think he might not be alone.

Magnus moved like lightning to strike Rafferty again, sending the
Pyr
into one wall. That wall vibrated hard, but Rafferty barely felt the blow. He leapt after Magnus, locking his talons around his throat. Magnus shook free, the pair exchanging blow after blow as they moved down the corridor.

“
You didn’t know
,” Magnus scoffed.
“You couldn’t sense me.”

“
No
,” Rafferty insisted, “
but I know you. I can anticipate you.
” He proved it by ducking a blow, feinting, and driving his head up hard beneath Magnus’s ribs.

Magnus hissed in pain, then kicked Rafferty.
“So, you stepped willingly into the trap. How…valiant.”
Magnus emitted another mocking laugh, one that was cut short.

Rafferty had quickly locked his tail around Magnus’s tail. He entwined their two tails, holding Magnus captive, then tugged hard. Magnus lost his balance and stumbled closer, just as Rafferty slashed at the
Slayer
’s gut with one back claw. Rafferty’s golden talons cut deep, leaving four parallel wounds across Magnus’s gut—cuts that oozed black blood. The blood pooled on the floor, gleaming and slick. Rafferty slammed Magnus into the wall, and the entire house shook.

Where was the woman?

Rafferty strained his ears, trying to hear some sound that would indicate her presence. Nothing. He didn’t dare to glance away from Magnus to look for her.

If she’d chosen to run, she wouldn’t get far.

What if she was on Magnus’s side? What if she was preparing a trap? He struggled to hear some hint of her presence, alarmed when he could detect none.

At the same time, he held fast to Magnus.

He squeezed, letting his talons dig into the old
Slayer
’s hide. Magnus cried out in pain and struggled for release. Rafferty held him, loosing dragonfire on his enemy.

An elegant runner, rich with pattern, ran the length of the hall floor, and Rafferty regretted when the carpet ignited. It had been stained, probably irreparably, with the
Slayer
’s blood, anyway. It burned quickly, and the light of the hungry flames danced high, illuminating the pale walls with orange.

Rafferty spared a glance toward Magnus’s office, but there was no sign of the woman.

The gun was gone, too. Interesting. Had she taken anything else? He suspected then that she wasn’t in league with Magnus at all.

Maybe this thief was smarter than he’d thought.

Magnus twisted in Rafferty’s grip, appearing to be more injured than Rafferty expected. He coughed and writhed, then moaned feebly. Rafferty held fast, declining to be fooled by this old serpent. He thrashed his opponent, then aimed his dragonfire at the scarred skin where Magnus was missing a scale.

He would finish this now.

Magnus cried out in pain, arched his back, then froze.

He began to breathe slowly and deeply, his eyes narrowed to shining slits of malice. Rafferty had a moment to feel dread before Magnus’s dragonsmoke unfurled.

R
afferty saw the tongue of dragonsmoke winding toward him before he felt it. He knew the silvery ribbon of smoke would make a conduit if it touched him, allowing Magnus to steal his strength.

The dragonsmoke coiled, beginning to spiral around Rafferty. He had the sudden thought that it would strangle him, catch him around the throat, and milk him dry. He decked Magnus one last time and backed away, his blow making no difference to Magnus’s breathing.

In fact, the old
Slayer
’s eyes glinted brighter, shining like jewels even as his blood pooled on the floor and his carpet burned. The fire burned high, surrounding the old
Slayer
and illuminating his jade scales.

His dragonsmoke wound ever closer.

Rafferty struggled to evade it, even as Magnus breathed a longer and longer tendril of unbroken dragonsmoke. Rafferty ducked and weaved, aiming dragonfire at Magnus all the while, but the old
Slayer
had focus. He never broke that stream of dragonsmoke; ultimately, Rafferty had to retreat to escape its touch.

He backed down the hallway, the silvery dragonsmoke still targeting him. It wound through the air toward him, relentless in its quest. Rafferty backed away as quickly as he could, but the dragonsmoke kept pace.

He saw that Magnus had straightened and that he was holding his injured gut with one claw while bracing himself against the wall. He continued to breathe slowly and deeply. He was grinning, well aware of Rafferty’s predicament, but his pleasure in his deed didn’t interfere with his performance.

The tendril was impressive in its length. It was thick and robust, too.

“
Why don’t you come closer?
” Magnus taunted in old-speak.
“Why don’t we just end it now?”
His smile broadened.
“Or are you hoping to negotiate for a sip of the Elixir?”

He flicked his tongue then, catching the last tendril of dragonsmoke. His eyes brightened as he deftly wove that last end together with the one he had started to breathe, breaching the interruption with startling ease.

Rafferty kept backing away.
“The source is destroyed. If you have any left, and I doubt you do, you’ll never share it.”

“Then maybe you want an old secret or two.”

“You have no secrets I wish to know.”

“How can you be sure? Kill me and so much knowledge will be lost forever.”

“We’ll be well rid of it.”

Magnus laughed in disbelief, breathing smoke all the while. The smoke came after Rafferty, shimmering in the light of the fire, but moving with steady determination. Magnus breathed with more power, and Rafferty wished he had the
Slayer
’s ability to cut smoke.

Without it, he had to retreat into the servants’ corridor, shifting back to human form to fit into the working spaces. There was no sign of the thief anywhere. He suspected she was smart enough to have fled the house. He could see Magnus in the foyer, his dragon form silhouetted by the flames that consumed his carpet. He was so fixated on breathing dragonsmoke that he didn’t seem to care about any damage to himself from the fire.

Rafferty hastened for the back door, the smoke right behind him. It wound through the air, at shoulder level, relentless and persistent. As soon as Rafferty stepped out of the house, the smoke halted, much to his surprise. It was as if Magnus had wanted only to drive them apart.

To give himself time to recover.

That meant this was Rafferty’s chance to finish their duel to the death. Magnus was weaker than he’d believed.

Rafferty made to step back into the house, but the dragonsmoke had spun itself into a wall of glittering white. It was impenetrable, like a barricade of ice, one that would burn him if he touched it. It defended Magnus better than his security system, blocking Rafferty’s access completely.

“
The disadvantage of a long acquaintanceship such as ours
,” Magnus said in melodic old-speak, his words sliding into Rafferty’s thoughts, “
is that we each can anticipate the other.
”

Rafferty felt frustration that Magnus knew he couldn’t cut the smoke.
“This isn’t over. We exchanged challenge coins….”

“Of course it’s not over. But you’re concerned for the human. As always.”
Magnus sighed with forbearance.

That Magnus believed humans to be disposable was key to his perspective as a
Slayer
, but that didn’t mean Rafferty didn’t find it annoying.
“It is our mission as
Pyr
to defend the treasure of the earth, including humans….”

“Yes, yes. But you and I define
treasure
rather differently.”
Magnus paused, and Rafferty heard laughter in his tone when he continued.
“I wonder which of us will find her first.”

Rafferty heard a car engine start. It sounded as if it were down the street. He could have guessed whose car it was, especially when the tires squealed in the driver’s haste to get away.

Magnus chuckled darkly, as if in anticipation of a tasty meal.

The woman’s perfume teased Rafferty’s nostrils, kindling that very male awareness of her. Rafferty knew she was a fool if she imagined she could break into Magnus’s home wearing that scent and get away with it. The
Slayer
would be able to track her anywhere.

Rafferty knew he’d need to do that first.

Just as Magnus anticipated.

Maybe the woman didn’t know Magnus’s truth. Maybe she didn’t realize how keen his senses were.

Why hadn’t she been driven mad by the sight of them both shifting shape in unison? It was a puzzle he had no time to solve.

Because Rafferty felt the first tingle of the pending eclipse. In that moment, he knew he had lost this opportunity to finish Magnus. The next time he met Magnus, the
Slayer
would be stronger.

All the same, he had to find the woman first.

Magnus laughed when Rafferty turned away—evidence that he had come to the same conclusion. Maybe the spark of a new firestorm would draw the
Slayer
from his smoke-defended lair. Rafferty could only hope. He strode into the garden, deaf for once to Gaia’s complaints, and shifted shape. He was just about to take flight when Magnus shouted.

“My book!” Magnus’s fury was clear. “The bitch has taken my book!
Find her!
”

This last utterance was broadcast in old-speak, a command from Magnus to his minions, whoever they were and wherever they might be. Rafferty felt a stab of fear for the woman’s safety.

The thief’s safety.

The thief whose crime he had enabled by fighting Magnus. She had probably entered the house with the intent of stealing from Magnus, and he had facilitated her crime by keeping Magnus busy while she got away.

And now, Magnus and his
Slayers
would hunt her.

Rafferty bounded into the sky. He quickly soared high and turned slowly over the neighborhood.

It was easy to spot the woman’s car—an older model moving too quickly out of the quiet neighborhood. It was the only car on the roads in the area, and the driver was in a hurry. It also emanated the scent of that perfume. Rafferty followed it, scanning the roads for a big black sedan.

Magnus’s Benz had to be somewhere, coming closer. In a trio of heartbeats, he spied the car.

Rafferty had been right. He raced toward the woman’s car, hoping he could reach her before Balthasar did.

Dragons!

Who would have believed it?

Melissa wasn’t sure she
did
believe it. Maybe she had imagined the dragons she thought she had seen. She certainly hadn’t seen the men shift shape, even though it was the logical conclusion. Where else could the dragons have come from? And where could Mr. Conscience and Montmorency have disappeared, as quickly as that?

Melissa didn’t know. She reviewed the facts as she drove. She hadn’t imagined the fire, because she could smell the smoke on her coat. And she wasn’t imagining the blue leather-bound book on the seat beside her. She touched it again with her fingertips. It was real and she had it in her possession.

Daphne had been right about that. She hoped Daphne had also been right about the book’s contents.

Melissa wasn’t imagining the gun that she’d dropped on the floor in front of the passenger seat, either. It gleamed in the darkness there, looking evil. She hated guns. Why on earth had she taken the gun? And what was she going to do with it now? It was probably stolen or linked to some other crime.

She wished she’d taken her camera into Montmorency’s house. She would have had evidence then, evidence she could review later, as to what she had actually seen.

Dragons? Probably not.

But what if there were? That would be a story!

Melissa was driving erratically, her palms damp and her hands shaking on the wheel. So much for being a smooth intruder, getting in and getting out without a hair of bother. James Bond she was not.

She was okay with that. She never needed to break the rules again.

Because she had the book. When she got home and had a good look at it, she’d figure out how best to proceed. She hoped that Daphne hadn’t been lying about its contents and that it really did include the evidence needed to condemn Montmorency.

She hoped she hadn’t taken a stupid chance for nothing.

Melissa checked the rearview mirror again, not in the slightest bit reassured that no one was following her. It was hard to believe she could have gotten away with this.

Of course, if she had, it had been because of Mr. Conscience. She recalled his dark eyes, the understanding in his expression, and felt something a little different from terror. When was the last time a man had looked at her,
really
looked at her, like that? Why couldn’t she have met him under other circumstances?

Maybe when she would have made a better impression.

She certainly couldn’t complain that she felt isolated from life anymore. She wouldn’t be able to tell her brother when they next talked that she still felt insulated from the world, wrapped up in quilt batting and unable to feel anything real. Her heart was pounding, and her breath was still coming in anxious gasps. Running to the car had made her aware of her muscles and the power of her body in a forgotten way. It felt good to push her body, to
do
something, to take a chance.

As if she’d awakened from a long sleep.

Melissa hoped a lack of practice had not led her to take a stupid chance instead of a calculated risk.

She’d know when she read the book.

There was still no one behind her. Melissa forced herself to relax her grip on the wheel, schooled herself to take a long slow breath, and lifted her foot slightly off the gas pedal. The car slowed just as she saw the lights of a busier thoroughfare ahead. She found herself reassured by the prospect of the presence of other normal people.

People who presumably hadn’t broken the law.

Why had Mr. Conscience followed her into the house? Didn’t that make him complicit? Or had he been hidden in the house all along?

Was he friends with Montmorency?

No. Friends wouldn’t have fought like that. He must have followed her into the house. Why? What had been his plan?

Not that she was going to have the chance to ask him.

Melissa reached over, grabbed the book, and put it in the pocket of her winter coat. No point in losing it now. Then she opened the glove box, keeping her gaze fixed on the road, and felt around for her digital camera. When she had it in her other coat pocket, she felt more composed.

Ready for anything.

With luck, the evening would proceed without any more excitement.

Dragons. Right. What
had
she seen? Even the morphine hadn’t given her that kind of delusion. Feeling guilty was one thing; losing touch with reality was quite another.

Get a grip.
That was what the cameraman, Bill, had said to all the new arrivals who lost their nerve. Panic didn’t fix anything, after all, and adrenaline was best used sparingly. She could see Bill, lighting a cigarette with that nonchalant attitude, rolling his eyes, and advising the new kid on the team—the freaked-out one—to get a grip.

Usually while bombs were detonating close by.

Melissa smiled.

She had just wiggled her shoulders, easing the tension away, when a sedan rocketed out of a side street and T-boned her car.

Melissa’s car was slammed hard to the left, skidding across the pavement. There was a crash of metal on metal, the tinkle of breaking glass, the squeal of her tires sliding crosswise over the pavement, all before she could make sense of it.

Melissa’s head snapped hard to one side as her car hit the curb. Her left front tire leapt over the concrete, and the car lurched to a halt, its tires sinking into the muck of the boulevard. She exhaled shakily, incredulous at her misfortune.

What crappy timing.

What kind of rotten luck set her up for an accident right now?

Then she got mad. She knew all about rotten luck—this was about bad choices. What kind of loser wouldn’t stop at a stop sign? Was the other driver drunk? Melissa glanced over the damage as she got ready to give the driver a piece of her mind.

And get his insurance information. She wasn’t going to pay for this.

A large black sedan was slammed into the right side of her car, its hood having pushed in the doors and broken both windows of Melissa’s car. Melissa ground her teeth. Her right mirror was gone, too. It was going to be miserable to get her car fixed, given its age and the rarity of parts, and the hassle was the last thing she needed. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to be buying a new car anytime soon.