Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (2 page)

If nothing else, he’d make sure he slept.

The worst of the worst was that there would be another full moon on this night, and another lunar eclipse. That meant there probably would be another firestorm, and another
Pyr
would feel the spark light that identified his destined mate. Sloane had always been patient about the firestorm, trusting that his time would come, but his patience was disappearing fast. He realized that he’d always assumed he’d have his firestorm before the end of the Dragon’s Tail cycle of eclipses.

Once it had seemed as if the Great Wyvern were steadily working her way through the ranks of the remaining
Pyr
, and that his own firestorm had to be soon. Now, there were dozens of new
Pyr
, thanks to the darkfire crystal and Drake’s adventures in the past. The odds were skewed decidedly against any of them having a firestorm next.

Thorolf had had his firestorm in April. There would be an eclipse tonight, another in April 2015 and the final eclipse of the cycle next September. Only three left, before the fate of the
Pyr
was decided forever.

Sloane was beginning to feel as if he were being punished for his failure to solve the riddle of the plague.

In addition to that, the presence of his new neighbor made him resent the fact that he couldn’t choose his own mate. He turned underwater and roared through another pair of laps. Samantha was exactly the kind of woman he’d have chosen for himself. She was blond and delicately built, but clever and sensitive. He suspected that she was stronger than even she knew. She was feminine but pragmatic, too, which had to be the most enticing combination.

He’d met her when she’d moved in and talked to her again when she’d come to buy herbs from his greenhouse. She was a tarot card reader who said she sometimes cast spells with herbs for her clients. She had a secret, though—Sloane could smell it on her—and a vulnerability that got him right where he lived. Something had hurt her badly and she’d made a big change in order to deal with that injury. Sloane wanted to help more than he knew was sensible.

The thing was that until he had his firestorm, he couldn’t promise anything more than a short fling to any woman. He sensed that Sam needed more than that and plowed through another half dozen laps disliking that he didn’t have more to offer.

The moon moved, the first shadow of the eclipse touching its radiant glow.

Sloane swam harder.

He closed his eyes as a firestorm sparked, his heart sinking with the realization that it wasn’t his. He reached the end of the pool with a growl, pulled himself out of the water, then caught a whiff of jasmine and musk.

Sam’s perfume.

She was standing at the gate, watching him in silence.

Sloane froze, braced on the side of the pool, and stared, transfixed. It was as if he had conjured her out of nothing, willing her to appear. He halfway thought she was a vision, but he could sense her uncertainty. He saw her swallow and wanted to reassure her.

No, he wanted to protect her forever from whatever she feared.

And he wanted to spend the night making love to her first.

Sam evidently took his silence as an invitation, because she opened the gate and stepped into the paved yard. She slipped out of her flip-flops and eased the linen shirt from her shoulders. She was wearing a bikini so small that Sloane’s mouth went dry. She flicked a glance at him, then smiled as she unfastened the clasp in the middle of the top. She bared her breasts to the moonlight, then slipped out of the bikini bottom. Sloane could have been turned to stone.

She walked toward him, and he told himself he had to be dreaming. The moonlight made her skin look silver and her eyes luminous. She sat down on the lip of the pool beside him and put her feet into the water. She smiled, licked her lips, then touched his shoulder.

“I was so hot,” she whispered, her gaze clinging to his. He didn’t dare survey her again, because he didn’t want to spook her, but he could see the patina of perspiration on her upper lip. He wanted to kiss it off. “It made me think of you,” she admitted, and her words astonished him.

She wasn’t lying.

So, he wasn’t going to.

“I was just thinking of you,” Sloane admitted, and she smiled with pleasure.

“But you’re too much of a gentleman to have done anything about it,” she charged, then shook her head.

Sloane might have defended himself, but she was right. He wouldn’t have gone knocking at her door on a moonlit night, no matter how much he wanted to do so.

“Is that why you were swimming laps so hard?”

Sloane dipped his head and grinned that she’d guessed at least part of the reason for his frustration. “Caught,” he murmured, daring to look into her eyes once more.

She was pleased by that and her eyes started to sparkle. She looked good enough to eat, but whatever happened had to be her choice. Sloane was keenly aware of her vulnerability, an indication of an emotional wound, and instinctively wanted to help her to heal. He sensed she was trying to make a change, to move past something, and it was in his nature to facilitate that.

Which meant he had to wait.

He wasn’t sure how long they stared into each other’s eyes before Sam reached out and touched his mouth with her fingertip. “I’m hoping you’re not too much of a gentleman to do something about this,” she whispered, then bent closer and replaced her fingertip with her mouth.

Her lips were soft and sweet, her kiss gentle, her scent beguiling him as little else could have done. Her mix of boldness and vulnerability kicked all of Sloane’s desires into overdrive. Before he could think twice—much less be cautious and responsible—she was in his arms and he was slanting his mouth over hers, deepening his kiss.

That distant firestorm burned hotter, sending fire through Sloane’s veins.

It wasn’t his firestorm.

It might have been a thousand miles away.

But the funny thing was, Sloane no longer cared.

* * *

Virginia

She’d always known that he’d come.

Yet when she turned and saw Drake watching her, Veronica Maitland couldn’t believe her eyes.

It had been more than four years since she’d last seen Drake, more than four years since he’d brought her the news she’d dreaded but had needed to hear. A thousand times, she’d remembered the flicker of compassion in the depths of Drake’s dark eyes, felt the crinkle of the photograph he’d brought to her from Mark’s corpse, remembered the firmness of his cheek beneath her lips as she impulsively granted him a kiss of thanks.

Drake had been both strong and gentle, tough and kind. He was a warrior, just as Mark had been, and she’d recognized that on sight. He had a family, she’d guessed that immediately, because he’d known just how to talk to Timmy. Drake had been a rock for her, when she’d most needed something to cling to.

He had delivered the most devastating news with respect and understanding. Ronnie would never forget him, or that.

Those first years without Mark had been challenging. She’d had to adjust to raising her son alone, which had never been part of her plan and was a change she deeply resented. It had been lonely, as well as difficult. She’d had to go back to school and finish the degree she’d abandoned when Timmy had been conceived, but do it when she was older and had more responsibilities. She’d started a new job and a new career, beginning at the bottom with more bills than her co-workers. She’d had to find a place for them to live and get Timmy settled in a new school, as well as figure out how to be a working mom on her own.

She’d had to stop crying herself to sleep at night.

There was something about triumphing against adversity that had made Ronnie feel strong again. She had built them a new life and Timmy was thriving. At eleven, he looked more like his father every day. He was hardworking and a good kid, the kind of son who would make any mother proud. She’d stopped worrying about him quite so obsessively and dared to think that there might be a future for her, as well.

That had led her thoughts back to Drake. She’d known that she’d never be able to find him on her own, though she had asked both the embassy and Mark’s commanding officer about him four years before. It seemed that no one knew anything about him, but Ronnie was sure that was just proof that he was also in covert operations. She hoped that Drake’s fate was better than Mark’s and began to include him in her nightly prayers.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise when Drake showed up in her dreams.

It should have been less of one when he started to star in her fantasies. He was a ruggedly handsome man, unabashedly masculine, but it had been the gentleness that tempered his strength that captivated Ronnie.

She’d added Drake’s family to her prayers, remembering her conviction that he was also a father, but also recalling the shadow that had touched his eyes when she’d asked him about it. Had he lost them? Was that why he’d understood her grief so well?

It seemed Ronnie would never know.

Until the evening she hefted a bag of groceries out of the trunk of her car, turned around, and Drake was there.

She nearly dropped the bag in her shock.

Yet, it felt absolutely right to see him again.

There had been a lunar eclipse earlier and Ronnie had felt shivery all day. Timmy was staying at a friend’s before they departed on a school trip to the capital the next morning, and she’d assumed she was on edge because she always worried about him when they were apart.

But that unsettled feeling intensified as Ronnie stared back at Drake, and she realized it was rooted in a much more earthy response than fear for her son.

She wanted to be touched.

By this very man.

Joy had teased her about having a hot date tonight, and Ronnie had rolled her eyes, unable to even imagine herself having sex again. That part of her life had died along with Mark. She hadn’t been able to even think of bringing another man home when Timmy might discover them, and in all honesty, she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to survive falling in love again.

In this moment, though, many things seemed possible again.

Drake stood, eyes narrowed slightly, watching her from the shadows surrounding the entrance to her townhouse. He studied her so closely that Ronnie wondered whether he could read her thoughts. He was completely motionless, still dressed in olive drab though these were casual clothes instead of a uniform. She surveyed him, hungry for details of how his life had changed these past four years.

He was still muscled and stern, still tanned and resolute. His hair had a little bit more salt than pepper now and was still cut short. His gaze was just as unwavering, his attention absolute. He still looked coiled to strike and ready for anything, and she again had no doubt that he could kill with his bare hands.

Ronnie’s heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She told herself it was just that she’d had a start, but she knew better.

Drake was back.

And she was glad.

Ronnie tried to act as if she weren’t surprised and probably failed completely. This man missed nothing.

It would have been part of his training.

“Hello, Drake,” she managed to say. She took a step closer and felt the dampness on her hands. “How are you?” It was a lame question, but she couldn’t think of what else to say.

“Well enough,” Drake said, his gaze sweeping over her. A glint of appreciation lit his dark eyes, and she felt both flustered and pleased. “You look well, Veronica.”

She liked how he said her name, how deep his voice was and how slowly he spoke. Had he ever called her by name before? She was sure she would have remembered it if he had. There was that foreign inflection to his words that she remembered, and he still spoke with a formality that made her think English wasn’t his native tongue.

That glimmer of admiration in his eyes was unmistakable as she stepped closer. “How is Timmy?”

Of course, he would think of her son. He had seemed to have such an intuitive connection with him.

Ronnie smiled, unable to hide her pride. “Taller! He looks so much like his father now.” She faltered and licked her lips, wondering whether she’d said the wrong thing, but Drake simply waited. He didn’t look offended. “This week, he wants to be an astronaut.”

A ghost of a smile touched Drake’s mouth, lifting one corner an increment before disappearing from view again. “Good. A boy needs confidence to have dreams. You’ve given him that.”

“I’ve tried.”

They stared at each other for a moment that seemed too long to Ronnie. She felt flustered and warm and knew she was blushing. Maybe that was because of her fantasies, and her fear that Drake knew what she was thinking.

Well, if he knew that and was like most men, he’d push his advantage.

But Drake didn’t move.

Ronnie knew he wasn’t like most men. He was waiting for her to decide what would happen. The fact that he was standing in front of her probably said it all, as far as he was concerned. Nothing like a man of few words.

Ronnie was aware that they were standing fifteen feet apart in the parking lot and that it was only a matter of time before one of her neighbors came home.