Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (5 page)

And even though there was a lot Ronnie didn’t know about Drake, she realized she knew more than enough.

“I don’t want coffee,” Drake whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Neither do I,” Ronnie admitted and put the mug down on the counter. She turned to face him. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t take a full breath, but she knew what she wanted and she wasn’t going to chicken out now. “I want
you
, Drake,” she said, amazed by her own audacity. Once she wouldn’t have been able to say such a thing aloud, but Ronnie had changed.

She hoped Drake would still want her.

Drake’s smile was so satisfied that Ronnie could have no doubt. He moved slowly but with purpose, his hands locking around her waist. His grip almost encircled her, and he made a little growl in his throat, as if that pleased him. He pulled her closer, so that her breasts collided with his chest, and backed her into the counter. It felt good to have his erection press against her and the radiance of the light between them—never mind the heat it generated—made Ronnie gasp in awe.

She might have asked after it, but Drake’s mouth closed over hers in a possessive kiss. Ronnie surrendered completely. His was a kiss that turned her blood to fire and destroyed any vestige of doubt, a kiss that melted her bones and branded her with his touch. It was a kiss that claimed her, a proprietary kiss of such passion that she knew she’d remember it forever.

She was Drake’s, at least for this night, and Ronnie Maitland was glad.

In fact, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

* * *

The firestorm was a gift unexpected.

That it should spark for Drake again was good fortune beyond any he had ever known.

That it should burn between himself and this woman, this woman who had haunted him for four years, was a marvel he refused to question.

He could have found Veronica even without the spark of the firestorm, for the scent of her was seared into his very being. It had been her blend of resilience and vulnerability that had snared him four years before, her fragility matched with a conviction that she could change her own circumstance. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and her thoughts were clearly read in her eyes, but she had a resolve that would surprise most people.

Veronica fascinated Drake. Contrast seemed to characterize her, not just in her nature but in her choices. He had to think it would have been simpler for her to have married again than to have raised her son alone. He hoped she was a person guided by principle and that they had that trait in common. He liked that though her life was modern, the necklace she wore was of pearls old enough that they’d been perfectly matched. Her home showed the same contrast, being simply decorated but elegant, with a few well-chosen pieces. It felt like a sanctuary.

He’d known four years before that he could love this woman, that he likely would idolize her, given half the chance, but when they had met, she had just lost her husband. He’d known she had to grieve her loss.

He’d checked on her at intervals, without her knowing of his presence, because he felt protective of her. He liked to think that someone had taken an interest in his lost wife Cassandra after he had failed to return from battle. Drake had noticed that on occasion, Veronica seemed to sense his presence, but he was sure she had never seen him.

He’d never dared to hope that she might remember him with more than kindness.

Never mind that she would melt into his arms so readily, a desire in her eyes that fueled his own. He was amazed that she had no questions, that she made no demands, that she needed no explanation of the firestorm and its sparks.

She must be one of those humans who now knew about the
Pyr
and must understand the import of the firestorm. Relief surged through him that there were no questions to answer and no explanations to make. It was all so simple between them that he could believe in destiny again.

That he had come to her appeared to be enough for Veronica.

That she wanted him was certainly sufficient for Drake.

He wanted to make love to her slowly, but the firestorm combined with Veronica’s enthusiasm to undermine his intention. When he’d seen her in that short skirt, the hem of it fluttering around her knees, he’d been sure that no woman had such perfect legs. When she’d turned in the parking lot to find him waiting for her and smiled, her eyes lighting with such obvious pleasure, his heart had started to thunder.

The firestorm’s heat had doubled and redoubled with every step she’d taken toward him, the inferno of its demand obliterating everything from his world other than Veronica. That she’d kissed him of her own volition had been enough to take his desire to a fever pitch. Snared in the brilliant yellow heat of the firestorm, he’d felt her every breath, her every shiver, and her touch had filled him with a burning need to possess her. When his heart had matched its pace to hers, he’d felt disoriented with desire.

Drake backed her into the counter, holding her captive there with his hips, gripping her waist as he lifted her to his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, stretched to her toes and returned his kiss with more fervor than he could have hoped. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, so full and soft that he wanted to cup them in his hands. Her hair was shorter than it had been, falling just to her shoulders like chestnut silk. He found his hands tangled in it, his fingers bracketing her face, his kiss deepening as she pulled him ever closer.

“Too many clothes,” she whispered when he broke their kiss. Her impish smile made her look younger and less careworn. He liked that she was forthright, as it would make it easier to ensure that she was pleased.

Veronica seemed to feel the same need for haste, and the same desire to feel skin against skin. Her hands were on his jacket, unzipping the front and pushing it over his shoulders, tugging his shirt free of his pants. The first touch of her hands on his bare back was electrifying and he caught his breath, which made her laugh.

Drake had never heard such a wondrous sound.

It made him playful.

He spun her around and found the zipper on her top, then the one on her skirt. He peeled her out of those clothes, casting them aside with impatience, then cupped her breasts from behind. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against hers, fingering her nipples through the soft fabric of her bra. He kissed her neck and her ear and her nape, loving the way she squirmed against him. She was so responsive, and the smell of her arousal gave him a primal pleasure.

Veronica gasped and arched her back, leaning against him with an abandon that made his heart clench. He unfastened her bra and cupped her breasts in his hands, awed by the softness of her skin. She was as perfect as a goddess. He rolled each nipple between finger and thumb, and she moaned.

“Don’t tease me,” she whispered and spun in his embrace. Her eyes sparkled as she held his gaze, and she stripped off the rest of her undergarments. He could only stare, and made no effort to hide his admiration.

She reached to unclasp the pearls but he stopped her with a fingertip. “They suit you,” he murmured. “And I like how they glow against your skin.”

“Naked except for my pearls?”

“A beautiful woman needs no other adornment.”

Veronica laughed with pleasure and tugged at his T-shirt. “It’s no fair that I’m the only one naked,” she said. He peeled off his shirt and her fingers fell on his belt buckle, shaking a little in her haste to strip him bare. In moments, his khakis were on the kitchen floor and he was as naked as she.

She took a breath, her lashes sweeping her cheeks as she eyed the size of him, then her fingertips landed on the tattoo on his upper arm. It was a dragon rampant, the mark of the Dragon Legion, and the sparks that flew between her fingertips and the tattoo made it burn as if it were new again. “Your company,” she whispered, her eyes aglow. “Mark had a tattoo for his, too.”

If she found similarities between him and her dead husband, Drake could have no issues with that. He knew her husband had been a man of merit and honor, and he was glad that she found him of the same ilk. Indeed, he saw much of what he had admired in Cassandra echoed in Veronica, and the similarities made him think well of the future. The differences made this all seem new.

He reached for her, sliding his fingers along the softness of her jaw, and she pressed a kiss into his palm that electrified him. Their gazes clung for a potent moment, then she was in his arms again and his mouth was locked over hers. She slipped her tongue between his teeth and closed her hand around him, making a few demands of her own. Drake was only too glad to provide whatever Veronica wanted of him.

* * *

How could Boris be back?

Erik shifted shape at first glimpse of his old adversary, roaring with rage that the
Slayer
was back again. Boris breathed a plume of dragonfire, the orange flames brilliant against the night. As he turned, his ruby and brass scales glittered in the light. He looked fit and fighting trim, and his eyes shone with that familiar malice.

It was impossible. Boris was dead!

But the
Slayer
swung his tail hard and broke the massive window, the force sufficient that shards of glass flew into the apartment. Eileen bent over Zoë, protecting her from the flying splinters, and Erik leaped through the gap to fight his foe.

They locked talons in the ancient fighting pose and flew high above the city.

“Back from the dead again?”
Erik taunted in old-speak.
“You need a new trick, Boris.”

“This
is
a new trick,”
Boris said, then laughed.
“I’m reborn as myself!”

Erik failed to see the humor in that.
“Too bad you didn’t trouble with any improvements.”

“You’re more observant than that, Erik Sorensson.”
Boris laughed as his tail entwined with Erik’s.
“You have to have noticed that each time, you get older and weaker, while I keep getting younger and stronger.”
His eyes narrowed and his old-speak dropped to a threat that resonated in Erik’s thoughts.
“Maybe this is the time that the balance will be tipped.”

Erik had a definite sense that Boris had some advantage that he wasn’t in a hurry to reveal, but he didn’t care. He’d finish the old
Slayer
as many times as was necessary.

“Let’s find out!”
Erik breathed fire, scorching the red plumes that trailed from Boris’s wings and tail. Boris bellowed in outrage as they pushed away from each other. They retreated, eyed each other, then the battle began in earnest.

The two dragons collided with enough force to make the windows rattle in the darkened towers of the city. They snatched and bit and grappled for supremacy, each as slippery as an eel and a hundred times more strong.

Erik realized with dismay that they were more evenly matched than they had been before. Maybe Boris
was
stronger. The
Slayer
was savage and forceful, striking Erik with a power that left the leader of the
Pyr
reeling.

Boris couldn’t be right about winning this time! Erik had only to think of what Boris would do to Eileen and Zoë to roar with rage and attack again. He slashed at Boris’s wings and ripped a claw through one of the tendons. Boris bellowed and spun, a line of black blood flowing from the wound. He pounced on Erik and bit in the middle of his chest, sinking his teeth into Erik with savage force. The pain was excruciating, and Erik saw his own red blood flow over his scales.

Erik ripped himself free by kicking Boris in the gut, then used his tail to smack his adversary in the head, sending the
Slayer
flying. He seized Boris’s tail and flung him through the sky. Boris growled and spun, leaping at Erik with talons extended on all four claws. He slashed and bit, while Erik raged dragonfire. The last of Boris’s red plumes were fried to cinders and his scales were scorched.

When Boris tore open Erik’s chest again, Erik saw the
Slayer
take a deep breath. The wound was deep and dragonsmoke would cheat Erik of strength too quickly, maybe even doom him.

Erik pretended the injury was worse than it was. He closed his eyes and fell back, apparently in anguish, keeping his wings from flapping. He let himself tumble through the sky and summoned his will to breathe dragonsmoke as he fell. He felt Boris following him closely, the
Slayer
’s dragonfire singing the tips of Erik’s wings. Erik filled his lungs with dragonsmoke and focused his mind on his scheme for it, then pivoted sharply and exhaled it at Boris.

Surprise was on his side. Boris flew backward, but not quickly enough to evade the dragonsmoke. It followed Erik’s will and sank into the wound on Boris’s wings like a well-aimed dart. Boris tipped back his head and screamed with pain. The line of dragonsmoke tightened into a conduit and Erik felt a surge of power as the dragonsmoke cheated Boris of his strength.

“So you
have
learned a new trick,”
Boris taunted, a satisfying anguish in his voice. He then broke the line of dragonsmoke with his claws and tail, even though it had to burn. Erik smelled the smoke emanating from Boris’s claws and saw the
Slayer
grimace in pain.

The injury didn’t stop him, though, or even seem to slow him down. Erik feared that Boris was still filled with the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. The color was already returning to his scorched scales, after all.