Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (39 page)

He placed the crystal between himself and Rafferty, then reached out and took Chandra’s hand. Melissa came and took his other claw, then gripped Rafferty’s claw. Thorolf shifted shape in a shimmer of blue, becoming a massive dragon of brilliant silver and diamonds. It was a good thing they were friends, because the large space was crowded. Thorolf closed the circle, taking Chandra’s hand and Rafferty’s other claw.

Sloane began the slow chant he’d learned from his father, the healing tune passed down from father to son in the line of the Apothecary. The darkfire in the crystal leapt as if in response, and he tried to believe that Rafferty could be cured.

* * *

There was a kind of irony in the fact that Jac had finally succeeded at some goal, and no one noticed or saw fit to congratulate her. All of her life, she’d been compared to her super-successful sister and knew she’d come up short.

Now she’d shot down a dragon to avenge Nathaniel, but only Sam knew she was responsible—and Sam didn’t seem to care. She had—oddly enough—been concerned for Jac’s safety. That was new and a bit difficult to think about so Jac didn’t.

Marco should have been celebrating her triumph with her, but he was gone.

She went to a little local restaurant and ordered a salad and a glass wine to celebrate by herself. She tried to not think too much about Marco’s sudden departure, but to focus on her plan going forward.

The poem was her only clue, so she had to make it work.

The salad was delicious and the restaurant was filled with people who seemed to know each other. She savored the meal and the atmosphere

Jac noticed that the group of people at the corner table were a bit loud, but it was only when the woman laughed that she recognized her voice. She peeked over her shoulder to find Maeve O’Neill holding court. The others must have been her crew. She was even more gorgeous in real life and slimmer, too.

Jac was trying not to stare—and wondering whether she should confess to Maeve that she’d shot the dragon—when a guy came into the restaurant. He looked like a commando, or a model for a recruiting poster. He was tall and really muscled, his blond hair buzzed short and his eyes such a bright blue that she could see their color from across the restaurant. He was dressed casually, but looked ready for anything. He surveyed the occupants of the restaurant—who stared back at him in silence—and Jac thought of a laser being sighted.

Maeve checked him out so openly that Jac averted her gaze.

Even when she returned her attention to her companions, Maeve’s gaze flicked to the new arrival.

Incredibly, his gaze landed on Jac and he marched toward her with such purpose that she thought she might have heart failure. Maeve watched as the guy pulled out the chair opposite Jac and sat down, fixing that intent blue gaze upon her. “You’re the one,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t even blink as he studied her. “You’re the one who did it.”

Jac’s heart was fluttering and she felt the need to get up and run. That was irrational, though. They were in a public place. “Did what?” she asked, and her voice was higher than usual.

His smile flashed and she wasn’t surprised that he had perfect, straight white teeth. He leaned over the table, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “Shot the dragon, of course.”

Jac wasn’t sure whether to admit her deed or not. She was so shaken by her intuitive reaction to him that she couldn’t decide if he was friend or foe.

Then he offered his right hand to her. “Welcome to the league of
Slayers
.”

Jac felt her eyes widen. “You’ve done it, too?”

He nodded, as pleased with himself as he should be. “All the time. I’ve lost count.” He shook his head and his lip curled. “But there always seem to be more of them.” He smiled again. “I’m Jorge.”

“Jacelyn.” Jac smiled and put her hand in his. His skin was surprisingly cold, but his grip was firm as he shook her hand. Maybe a little too firm. Jac wondered whether the bones in her hand would crack. She must have caught her breath because Jorge glanced down, then grimaced and apologized as he released her hand.

“Sorry. I forget my own strength sometimes.” He winked. “I’m usually battling dragons, after all.”

Jac smiled at his apology. She had a strange sense that she should be charmed by him, but the hair was pricking on the back of her neck. She supposed that Marco’s abrupt change of attitude was affecting her reaction to Jorge. Men were so difficult to read.

“You must know Marco then,” Jac said, and Jorge’s gaze fixed upon her with new intensity.

“Marco, whose real name is Marcus?”

Jac nodded, encouraged that he knew this detail.

“Was he here?”

“We came together. He had the darkfire crystal that I used to take down the dragon.”

Jorge nodded sagely. “I thought it looked like darkfire,” he murmured. “There’s really nothing more effective.” He glanced up, his eyes alight with a raw hope that startled Jac. “You must have the crystal then.”

She shook her head. “No. The dark dragon took it.”

“Figures,” Jorge said and sighed. “They know it can be used against them, so try to keep track of it.”

“Marco said it was the only one.”

Jorge nodded. “There used to be three, but the other two were broken.” He shrugged. “I actually thought that this one was worthless.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I had heard that the darkfire within it was extinguished, and the stone was dead.” He pursed his lips. “I wonder how it was revived. Maybe Marco could tell us.”

Jac shook her head. “He’s gone, and I don’t know where he went.”

Jorge glanced up, his curiosity clear.

Jac blushed a little as she confessed what had happened. “He was angry with me for using the crystal. We argued and he left.”

Jorge surveyed the half pizza and the part bottle of wine. “And so you have to celebrate alone,” he mused, then shook his head in apparent disapproval. Then he smiled at her. “How about sharing your victory dinner? I’ll order another bottle of wine and a second pizza.”

Jac felt a strange suspicion of his motives and found herself beginning to decline. “I already ate…”

“Then share the wine with me. My treat,” Jorge said, interrupting her protest. He leaned across the table. “And I’ll even tell you why Marco was so angry with you.”

“How can you know that?”

Jorge smiled and leaned back in his chair, looking like the hungry predator she supposed he was. “Because I’ve been stalking
Pyr
for a long, long time.”

“Deal,” Jac said, even though it was against her better judgment. “But we’ll split the bill.” She didn’t want to feel that she had to be intimate with Jorge, but she did want to learn what he knew.

His smile broadened, his gaze sweeping over her, and she shivered when she saw how his eyes glittered. Her bad feeling about him intensified and she almost got up to leave the table. Then he turned to gesture to the waiter, his manner so easy that she wondered whether she’d imagined the glitter of his eyes.

Maybe she was just shaken up by the day’s events.

Maybe she was too skittish.

Maybe she should welcome the chance to learn what she really wanted to know.

* * *

It was remarkable to Jorge that such a weak species had managed to survive for so many eons. It must be simply because humans bred with such abandon. Raw numbers made up for the inadequacies and misjudgments of the individuals.

This one, for example, this Jacelyn, had absolutely no clue that Marco was
Pyr
and that Jorge was
Slayer
. Even better, she was unaware that the dragon she sought to destroy was sitting right across the table from her. Her obliviousness to the truth made Jorge want to laugh out loud.

He had recognized her scent, of course, as being the woman with the boy in Seattle all those months ago. She lost some weight, but it was the same woman. There were shadows in her eyes and her lips were tight, and she dressed more athletically than she had. Clearly the boy’s death had changed her, giving her new purpose.

Jorge could work with that.

He was keenly aware of the woman on the far side of the restaurant, a real beauty, who was watching him. There was a confidence and a hunger about her that Jorge found remarkably appealing. He had little time for the wiles of women, but liked how intently she watched him.

At least she could appreciate quality.

Jorge could almost taste Jac’s curiosity, but he let her wait for the morsel of information he could share. The wine was opened and poured, and the alcohol put a flush in her cheeks. The hum of conversation resumed all around them. Jorge asked her questions and the more wine she drank, the more readily she replied.

She had moved to Seattle recently although she didn’t say why. Jorge could guess.

She had wanted to be an artist, but had put aside her goals and opportunities to take care of her sick mother. In fact, she seemed to be one who frequently put aside her own goals to help others. She’d taken care of her sister’s son frequently, too.

The details of her life were excruciatingly boring, but Jorge smiled and listened as if fascinated. He believed that he even managed to appear sympathetic at the right moments—like when she confessed to providing palliative care for her mother.

All the while, he schemed as to what he would tell her. There was so much he knew of Marco, but most of it would show Jorge in bad light. He selected one key detail.

“So?” Jac asked when the pizza was served. “What do you know about Marco?”

“Just enough to guess why he might have been angry with you today.”

Jac’s manner was expectant.

“The dragon you shot today…”

“The opal and gold one,” she interjected. “There’s video footage of him fighting a green and gold dragon near London, and he was in that television special that Melissa Smith did about the
Pyr
. At least, I think it was the same dragon.”

“It was,” Jorge said with authority. “His name is Rafferty. He killed Marco’s uncle a few years ago, and Marco witnessed the attack.” Jorge shook his head sadly, even though he knew that Marco hadn’t mourned Magnus for a second. “Marco had no other surviving family.”

Jorge chose not to tell her that Rafferty was only wounded, not dead.

Jac’s dismay was evident. “Then it was personal for him, too,” she whispered and bit her lip. “He must have been stalking that dragon. He was the one who wanted to come here. Maybe he heard that Melissa Smith would do an interview here and guessed that Rafferty would make an appearance.”

Jorge nodded and ate pizza.

“But I ruined his plan!” Jac took a gulp of wine. “No wonder he was angry with me.” She shook her head, her disgust with herself clear. “I don’t blame him for being furious. He must have planned and prepared, and I ruined everything by being impulsive.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Jorge murmured. “It’s easy to be overwhelmed by enthusiasm.”

“But it’s the mark of an amateur,” Jac said with such despair that Jorge had an idea.

Time would be heavy on his talons for the next few months. He had to wait to verify that Drake’s mate was pregnant and also for the next blood moon to ripen the next batch of clones. In Jac, he saw an opportunity to create more trouble for the
Pyr
, which might give him an unexpected advantage.

“Wouldn’t it be great if you could make it up to him?” he asked, and Jac looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“How could I do that?”

“What if you continue with what you started?”

“You mean kill more dragons.” She nodded with vigor. “I’d do it, but I have no idea how. The crystal was the only weapon I knew about.”

“There are others,” Jorge said, eating the last bite of pizza. He forced himself to sound casual, but really, the idea of having a human in thrall to him was exciting. And he still had the option of beguiling her. “If you like, I can teach you.” He pushed a napkin across the table to her. “I live in Portland,” he lied. “Give me your address in Seattle and I’ll call you when I get home. It could be a week or two.”

“Me, too,” Jac said, writing her address on the napkin. “I want to check out the nest where those eggs were.”

“Really?” Jorge asked idly, guessing that she knew more than she’d told him. “I’m more interested in finding out where the others are.”

“There are more?” She glanced up, her gaze darkening when Jorge smiled. “Because there were only five,” she said softly. “Which means there have to be eight more to make thirteen.”

Jorge was startled but he hid his reaction. He nodded. “How did you know?”

“Marco has a verse on the wall of his apartment that talks about them.”

“You’ve visited his apartment?” Jorge asked.

Jac smiled. “It was how we met. He lives in the apartment right over mine. There was a parcel delivered to him instead of to me.” She frowned then. “At least that’s what he told me at the time. Later I guessed that it was really from him.”

“How so?”

“Oh, it was a book about slaying dragons, by someone named Sigmund Guthrie.”

A jolt ripped through Jorge at that detail. Sigmund, of course, had contrived the cloning of Boris Vassily, and Jorge would love to have had more than thirteen clones at his disposal.