Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (64 page)

“It’s not against my rules, and when we’re talking darkfire, my rules trump all the others.”

Jac’s smile lit the room. “You’re just trying to have your way with me.”

“I’m just trying to take care of you the way you’ve taken care of people in your life. Rafferty believes that the firestorm is an opportunity for us to become stronger, that the Great Wyvern chooses a mate for each
Pyr
who can both compound his strengths and compensate for his weaknesses.”

“You can’t expect me to seriously believe that dragon shifters have weaknesses.”

“I’ve slept my entire life away. Rafferty awakened me from the spell, but I could have been sleepwalking after that. It’s all been like a dream, and I never thought that anything could touch me.” Marco pointed a finger at her. “Until you shot him, and then everything changed.”

“You said you’d never been so angry.”

“I’d never been so alive or engaged. I think that he disturbed my slumber, but that you really woke me up.”

“With a kiss?” she asked, a sparkle in her eye again.

Marco smiled, liking that she liked the idea. “Maybe. Anytime you want to confirm your effect on me, you know where I am.”

Jac raised her hand and the firestorm flared from her fingertips. A brilliant orange spark leapt from the tip of her hand and soared through the air, landing with a sizzle upon Marco’s chest. He caught his breath as the heat of desire raged through his body and felt himself shimmer on the cusp of change. His heart was pounding and he felt Jac’s pulse race as well. He closed his eyes as his heart matched its rhythm to hers, the sensation leaving him dizzy. He had never felt so vital or aware of his own body.

And it was because of his mate.

“The way I see it,” Marco continued softly. “You’ll always take care of everyone else in your life. I’m going to prove myself to you by being the one to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Everyone needs someone to take care of them.” Marco nodded. “To watch their back and give them a hand when they need it. I’ve learned that from the
Pyr
.”

Jac considered that, her gaze sliding from his to the window, then to the green stone in the glass of mouthwash. He waited, knowing that the decision of what happened next was hers. She went to the window and dug in her pocket, pulling out her phone as if she’d just remembered it was there. He waited while she checked her messages, guessing that she was stalling while she made her choice, and deliberately didn’t eavesdrop.

Marco was surprised when she turned to face him, tears on her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up quickly.

Jac smiled through her tears. “Not wrong but right. Does your darkfire work on humans? Making the improbable happen?”

“I don’t understand.”

She waved her phone. “My perfect sister is becoming human.” She pointed to the stone. “We have to take her that. The darkfire is right.”

Marco was glad she agreed about that, but was still waiting for her decision about the firestorm.

She crossed the room abruptly, untucking her shirt and kicking off her boots. “I want a shower,” she said with resolve, and Marco thought she was going to ask him to leave. To his surprise, she looked him right in the eye. “If the firestorm draws
Pyr
and
Slayers
, you need to stay to defend me.” Jac smiled a little. “I understand what you want, but I’m not convinced I should have a son.”

“What would change your mind?” Marco watched her gaze slide over him and saw her catch her breath. His heart was matching the pace of hers again, and with such close proximity, the firestorm was blazing bright enough to steal his breath away.

“I’m playing with fire,” Jac said as she flung her shirt aside. “But I might have to get used to that.” She strode toward him, as purposeful as a warrior and as alluring as a princess. “I need to know a lot more before I commit to having your son.”

“Fair enough.”

“Would you stick around afterward?” she asked, her uncertainty in her eyes.

“Yes,” Marco said because he knew it was true. “Rafferty taught me that the firestorm is forever.” He raised a hand to her chin and they both inhaled sharply at the firestorm’s power. It
was
getting stronger. “Although I never really believed it until I met you.”

“You’re one persuasive dragon,” Jac whispered as she took a step closer. “But I’ll never forgive you if you use the firestorm to argue your case.” She shook herself and stepped back, clearly against her own desire. “Or if you beguile me.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Prove your intentions are good,” Jac said. She reached out, as if unable to stop herself, and brushed her fingertips over his skin. The assault of the firestorm’s sparks made Marco close his eyes against an inferno of desire. “And survive that last eclipse of the moon’s node,” she said softly. “Then we’ll talk.”

Marco wasn’t sure he could survive this test, but he knew he had to earn his mate’s trust. It would either kill him or make him stronger, and he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

* * *

Jorge was broken, burned and bruised. He’d put all the energy of the Elixir into healing his jaw and after the fight with Marco, he was spent. He changed to salamander form in the ruined library and panted. The room was a disaster, the ceiling fallen in, the books in piles everywhere, fire burning at a dozen points other than in the hearth. There was a lot of dust in the air, but the strange thing was that Jorge couldn’t find the half-consumed dead
Slayer
that he knew had to be there. He sought the corpse in as much of a frenzy as he could manage, feeling his power ebb with the effort.

His strength would rebuild and his body would heal, thanks to the residue of Elixir within him, but he knew he’d over-extended himself. It would take time, precious time, time he didn’t have.

What he needed was more Elixir, and he wanted it now.

He closed his eyes, stifling the urge to moan, and the taunt came. It was low and fast, slithering into his mind to merge with his own thoughts. It was old-speak uttered by a master, and it definitely caught his attention.

“Thirsty?”
The oily voice was familiar in a way that raised Jorge’s hackles. How like Boris Vassily—or one of his clones—to kick a
Slayer
when he was down. Jorge snarled instead of replying.

“What you need is some Elixir,”
Boris continued with a confidence that made Jorge long to tear him limb from limb.
“Lucky for you, I have too much.”

Jorge’s head snapped up. His prize had been stolen! That was why he couldn’t find the corpse.

“Okhotny Ryad station,”
Boris said.
“A couple of hundred meters straight up. Surely you can manage that, if the stakes are survival.”
He chuckled.
“If not, I’ll eat well today.”

Jorge wanted to roar but he saved his strength. He latched on to the
Pyr
scale remaining on his table of hoard, closed his eyes and flung himself in pursuit of Boris.

And his stolen treasure.

* * *

Jorge and the clone who called himself Boris IV met in the middle of the three tunnels in the subway station. Both were in dragon form and both were snarling. The half-devoured dead clone was cast on the checkerboard tile of the station floor, his head resting against the system map in the very middle of the area. A black pool of blood had gathered beneath his body, just the sight of it making Jorge want to lick the floor.

But between him and the prize was the other Boris.

Fresh. Uninjured. His eyes glinting with malice and his tail thrashing. His one arm was paler than the other, which revealed his identity to Jorge. It had regrown, though, and healed. Jorge didn’t doubt that it was strong.

Because this Boris had taken and eaten the other hatchling from Uluru.

To the left and to the right were the adjacent narrower tunnels, each with a platform for passengers and track for the trains. The entire station was tiled in silvery grey marble, and this central tunnel was illuminated by spherical lights down the middle of the heavily carved ceiling.

Jorge couldn’t have cared less about the decor. He roared and flung himself at Boris.

He wanted that corpse.

He needed that blood.

He took Boris by surprise with the vigor of his attack and made the most of his advantage. It would probably be fleeting, after all. He slammed the other
Slayer
hard into the carved ceiling, the force of impact hard enough to break some of the plaster free. The spherical light fixtures swung and the closest one smashed, that light going out.

Boris roared and dug his talons into one of Jorge’s eyes. Jorge’s grip loosened as he screamed, and Boris kicked him hard in the gut. Jorge felt his strength fading fast. He breathed smoke, desperately trying to latch it onto Boris in time. The
Slayer
slashed through it, ignoring the way the dragonsmoke left his claw smoking, then exhaled a plume of fire on Jorge.

He’d be killed in this subway station, killed like common vermin. Jorge should never have accepted the taunt. He should have let his strength rebuild.

But he wasn’t going to die over a miscalculation.

Jorge fell back, pretending to be more hurt than he was, and stumbled into the side tunnel with its empty platform. Once out of the view of his opponent, he made a remarkable recovery. He flew down the length of track and ducked back into the central corridor behind Boris.

Jorge leapt on the dead
Slayer
and managed three greedy bites before the live Boris spun to attack. Boris’s claws were raised, but Jorge was sufficiently restored to escape. He couldn’t take his prize, unfortunately, but he could get away.

He blew fire at Boris, then launched a serpent of dragonsmoke when the other
Slayer
fell back, his feathers scorched. The dragonsmoke latched on to Boris’s tail and Jorge drew deeply on it, needing all the power he could get.

Where would he go? He had no lair, not any more, and there were no other
Slayers
he could trust. The
Pyr
were probably watching all the lairs he’d used recently, so he couldn’t risk a return to any of those places.

Not when he had to lie low and recover for a while. Regenerate. He needed a sanctuary and a cover story, a safe haven.

He sucked deeply on the dragonsmoke, savored the surge of stolen power, and eyed its glittering length. It looked like a serpent of frost.

It reminded him of cigarette smoke, in a pizzeria on Easter Island.

Jorge smiled at the inspiration. Boris roared and tore free of the dragonsmoke, then lunged at Jorge. He let himself shimmer blue, changed form to a salamander so he could get as far as possible, and filled his mind with the scent of French cigarettes, Chanel Number Five, and one particular woman.

* * *

Sam was packing up her gear. She was just finishing up, and planned to move to Atlanta the next day. There was no reason for her to remain in Virginia now that her patient was gone. The infected nurse remained in the latent phase and had been moved to Atlanta. There wasn’t much for Sam to do here, but she didn’t look forward to returning to Atlanta.

It would be like the past two years of her life hadn’t even happened.

By four, she’d run out of things to do and decided to treat herself to an early dinner. Once she got back to the main labs, she’d probably return to her routine of working all the time. People were still dying. It was up to her to find a cure.

Even if she was infuriated by the intervention of dragons. She really hoped that Veronica Maitland was okay, but wasn’t particularly optimistic. A characteristic trajectory would have that woman quite seriously ill by this point. How many more had been infected by now?

Sam was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice the woman leaning against her car until she was reaching for the door handle. “Jac!” she said, jumping a little in her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Jac said, her eyes twinkling.

Jac looked good. Happy. Radiant.

In fact, she seemed to be glowing.

“Are you pregnant?” Sam asked, unable to think of another explanation.

Jac laughed as if surprised. “Not yet.”

Sam hugged her sister, guessing what had made her sister so happy. Another guy. More great sex. Whether it was a fling or something more permanent, Sam felt an unwelcome stab of jealousy.

It made Sam feel even more alone.

“I called you,” she said.

“I know. Awesome message. I thought an alien had stolen my sister again.”

“Where were you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Sam surveyed her sister and Jac blushed a bit. “Does he have a name?”

“Marco.”

“Just Marco?”

“Just Marco. Marcus, actually, but he prefers to be called Marco.”

“Okay. Is he treating you well?”

“Slaying all my dragons,” Jac said and Sam froze.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not supposed to be. It’s true.”

“Don’t even go there…”