Kiss of Fire (14 page)

She watched, fascinated. When Quinn parted his lips and exhaled, Sara thought she could see the silvery tendrils of smoke drift toward the floor. If she squinted, she could almost see the line of wispy smoke emanating in a continuous stream, easing incrementally beneath the door.

Quinn was marking her apartment as his territory, which worked for Sara. She left him to it. She peeled off her clothes in the bedroom, and stepped into the adjacent bathroom. She could hear him breathing, slowly and steadily, and it was a comforting sound.

As if he slept while keeping vigil. But Sara knew that Quinn wasn't that complacent about protecting her. She hesitated before closing the bathroom door, then chose not to.

Sara knew that Quinn would wait for her invitation. It was the kind of man he was, and that suited her just fine.

If he saw the open door as an invitation, she was fine with that, too.

Sara smelled delicious. Quinn had a hard time focusing on breathing smoke. He heard her turn on the shower, heard the water falling against the tile and tub. He heard her clothes hit the floor, heard her slight sigh of irritation. He imagined that she was considering her reflection; she didn't like to look disheveled, although he found it distractingly sexy.

He heard her brush out her hair and could almost see it gleaming gold on her shoulders. He breathed deeply and focused on his task, trying to ignore the fact that he was raging and his mate was naked not a dozen steps away.

Steam drifted from the bathroom, carrying with it the scent of a shower gel. It smelled of vanilla, feminine but not floral. Perfectly Sara.

Utterly distracting. His concentration broke and he found his rhythm with an effort, weaving together the ends of the smoke and continuing to breathe more.

Quinn was raging.

As was typical after a fight, he was ravenous and not just for food. Surviving a fight meant primal needs in full force. It traditionally meant a night of drinking, eating, and womanizing. Although Quinn's youth was far behind him, on this particular night, he felt the relentless surge of passion.

The firestorm seemed to enflame his normal reaction, and make it an order of magnitude stronger.

His mate had been attacked. He had fought for her defense and wanted to seal their union. He wanted to take her out for dinner—or better, abscond to his lair where he'd cook for her. They'd eat and drink, dance and talk, and end the night in bed.

They'd greet the dawn in his bed, still passionately entangled. It would be a perfect night.

But they'd been summoned by Erik instead.

Quinn thought that made for a lousy second choice. He wanted everything Sara had to offer, but was painfully aware that she might not be ready to offer all of that to him.

Quinn finished breathing smoke and wove in the ends. He glanced around Sara's apartment, painfully attuned to the presence of his scrumptious mate, and forced himself to think about what was going right.

Sara hadn't been killed yet, despite two attempts on her life.

She hadn't bolted at the sight of his changing shape, and didn't appear to find him revolting.

And she wasn't arguing his insistence on her remaining in his presence.

It wasn't bad for a first day, but Quinn didn't expect that last bit would continue forever. His mate was independent and accustomed to looking out for herself. She was a thinker and a problem solver, and a determined woman once she set her mind on something. He respected that, and he respected that she accepted his help when she knew she needed it. It was only a matter of time, though, before her self-reliance appeared again.

Quinn could only hope that the
Slayer
s hunting her were dead by then.

They would be, if he had anything to say about it. He cursed himself again for not showing more care and neglecting to notice the hidden green
Slayer
. If he didn't protect himself, they'd both be finished.

It was a reminder he didn't need of his vulnerability, just like the damaged scale Sara had fingered on his chest.

Quinn didn't much believe in prophecies or seers; he wasn't particularly convinced of the importance or the existence of the Wyvern and he was disinclined to help his fellow
Pyr
after everything that had been done to him in the past—especially seeing as they were led by the
Pyr
responsible for most of the losses in Quinn's past.

Quinn was solitary and self-reliant. He was a man in touch with the elements and with what he could hold in his hands.

He was experiencing a very earthy desire to feel more of Sara.

The fact was that Quinn would have noticed Sara Keegan anywhere, firestorm or not. He liked how she carried herself, how she walked tall, and how she sought solutions to problems. He liked her sense of humor, her intelligence, and her resilience. He respected that she had been wounded, but scars in Quinn's experience made a person stronger.

More intriguing.

The sound of the water changed, sluicing instead of dropping, and he knew with complete certainty that Sara was in the shower. Naked. Wet. Golden. She was smoothing the gel over herself with long, slow strokes. She was sleek and wet and gleaming. He dared to glance toward the bathroom for the first time.

The door was open. Was that an accident or a choice? He had a hard time believing that his Sara did anything by accident.

The open door was an invitation.

Quinn peeled off his T-shirt and kicked off his boots, heading for the bathroom before she could change her mind.

Sara felt Quinn's presence in the bathroom and her mouth went dry. The temperature rose in the small space and the air seemed more tropical than it had just moments before. She pulled back the curtain and found him in the doorway, his hands braced on the frame, his gaze smoldering.

He was wearing only his jeans. His chest was as broad and muscled as she'd imagined. He was tanned golden, as if he often worked without his shirt, and the hair on his chest was dark. His skin gleamed with a patina of perspiration and he seemed taut, as if he held himself back. He watched her, his eyes the most vivid blue she'd ever seen, and Sara simmered.

There was a question in his expression, one to which Sara knew the answer. She pulled back the curtain an increment more, letting him see her, then beckoned with one finger.

She didn't need to ask him twice.

Quinn chucked his jeans in one smooth move, cast his underwear after them, and crossed the bathroom in record time. He was huge and hard, even his presence making the bathroom seem smaller than it was. She felt tiny and delicate beside him, more feminine than she ever had. He paused outside the tub, maybe sensing her hesitation. He took her hand in his and the spark flashed between their fingers.

“Will the water extinguish it?” Sara asked, and he smiled that slow smile.

“Maybe we should find out,” he murmured. Sara eased back as he stepped into the shower behind her. He was directly behind her, the space confined and shadowed. The water fell over them, the heat rose, and Sara couldn't catch her breath.

Quinn inhaled deeply, then spared her a hot glance. “Vanilla.”

“Do you mind it? I might have something less girly….” Sara would have stepped out of the shower to look, but Quinn tightened his grip on her hand.

“It's perfect,” he murmured, shutting the curtain with his other hand. They were enclosed in the shadowed space, together under the onslaught of hot water. The shower felt intimate with the light filtered through the curtain.

Quinn lifted Sara's hand and kissed her fingertips. He let his tongue slide between her fingers as he watched her intently. Sara felt a sizzle and caught her breath.

She met Quinn's steady gaze and watched him deliberately mouth each of her fingertips. His lips were soft and firm, his touch persuasive. And hot. He was kindling the fire between them to an inferno, easily and slowly.

Sara could barely breathe. She laid her free hand on his chest, exploring him with her fingertips. His other hand landed on her waist. His fingers curved around her and his thumb eased across her flesh, as if he were memorizing her shape. His touch set her flesh afire.

Sara's blood began to simmer. She felt in charge of an unruly force, knowing with complete certainty that she could stop Quinn with a fingertip anytime she wanted.

But she didn't want to.

In fact, she wanted to add to Quinn's fire with some heat of her own. Sara stretched to her toes and leaned against Quinn's chest. Her nipples beaded immediately and she rubbed them against his muscled strength. She heard Quinn inhale sharply, watched him incline his head toward her, but she pulled their entwined fingers to her lips instead.

Sparks danced between their hands, sizzling in the falling water, as she kissed his fingertips. She echoed his play but went one better. She slid her tongue between his fingers and dragged her teeth across his palm. She nipped at his skin and ran his fingers across her face. Quinn groaned and locked his hands around her waist, impatient for a kiss. He lifted her against him, pressing his erection against her belly, and claimed her lips.

Sara closed her eyes and surrendered to pleasure. She tangled her tongue with his, demanding as she had never been before. She'd never been so uninhibited, but it felt exactly right to be with Quinn.

She trusted him. For once in her life, she was going to go with that.

Quinn met her touch for touch, teasing her desire to burn brighter and hotter. Water rained down on the pair of them. It wet down their hair, left their bodies slick and smooth, simmered and steamed wherever their bodies were in contact.

Quinn's kiss drove everything else from Sara's universe—everything except the heat of the firestorm Quinn awakened. Sara could have lost herself in this blaze of passion, without regret. His hand swept over her breast, teasing her nipple to an even tighter peak. He cupped her breast in his palm, then broke their kiss. Sara made a sound of disappointment; then his mouth closed over her breast with surety. She arched back, gasping with pleasure at his demanding caress. With teeth and tongue, he teased her so that she was hotter than she had ever been.

Then his fingers were between her thighs. She gripped his shoulders, lost to his touch, and he held her fast with one arm. She moaned and writhed against him, murmuring incoherently until he kissed her again. His fingers were merciless in coaxing her pleasure, in tempting her higher and hotter in pursuit of her release.

Sara's skin seemed to shimmer; her blood boiled; her resistance melted. She closed one hand around Quinn's strength and was surprised by the size of him. Her caress made him growl and she felt power in her touch. He caught her closer and his fingers slipped inside her.

Sara cried out as the inferno of the firestorm claimed her and obliterated every coherent thought.

There was only Quinn.

He was all she needed.

She opened her eyes moments later to find him smiling down at her, a very male gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “My mermaid,” he murmured, then kissed her with such leisure that Sara had no complaints. He certainly had made her glow, just like the door knocker.

Except there was no threat to her with Quinn's presence.

When Quinn lifted his head, he sighed with such regret that Sara had a moment's fear. “Erik,” he said with a grimace and reached for the shower gel.

Sara laughed at his rueful expression. “We can be late.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Quinn said, with such obvious disappointment that she couldn't doubt what he'd rather be doing.

“Let me do something first,” she offered, and lathered up her hands. His eyes widened as she soaped down his chest and slipped her hands around his erection. “The least I can do is balance the books.”

T
hey weren't too late in reaching Erik's hotel.

Although Quinn would have been happy to remain in Sara's shower all night.

Sara had knotted up her hair while it was wet and one lone tendril hung down the back of her neck, inviting Quinn's touch. She'd changed to a black-and-white halter sundress that looked retro and wore strappy sandals that would have been appropriate for a date. Long earrings dangled from her ears and brushed against her neck, making her look elegant and cool. He liked the way the heels showed off her legs and that the sundress left her back bare.

He also liked his sense that she had chosen to wear something special, maybe because she was going to spend the evening with him. She looked as if she wanted to tempt him; he wouldn't tell her yet how well she succeeded. Although she probably knew.

He'd come twice in the shower and was still so fired up that he could have gone another half dozen rounds.

The others were already gathered in Erik's room. Quinn could feel their collective presence as soon as he and Sara got off the elevator on the floor where Erik's suite was located.

“What's wrong?” she asked with concern. Quinn realized that she was becoming more observant in his presence.

“We're outnumbered.” He smiled to reassure her. “It probably doesn't matter but I don't have to like it.”

“Aren't Erik and his followers true
Pyr
like you?”

“I'm not sure. We'll find out soon enough.” Quinn didn't think it was time to tell her that even true
Pyr
could destroy each other, if they believed it was for the greater good.

He hoped this exchange was short and sweet. Even bringing Sara into such company made him edgy. He lifted a hand to knock on the door, but Erik opened it before Quinn's knuckles made contact. Quinn noticed Sara's surprise. “He just heard us coming.”

“All the way from Washtenaw Avenue,” Erik confirmed.

“So you're not psychic, just extra-observant?”

Quinn nodded, noting Erik's smile. “That's the root of it, although many observations taken over a long time add up to a lot of experience. It becomes easier to anticipate what will happen.”

“The benefit of experience,” Erik agreed. “You begin to see the patterns of behavior and can better guess what choices any individual will make in any situation.”

Sara seemed to think about this. “Did you know what would happen when you threw me from the tower?”

Erik nodded once and Quinn couldn't tell if he was lying or not. “Quinn has always been strongly attuned to others.”

Quinn scoffed at that, but Sara ignored him.

“What others do you mean?” she asked Erik.

“Friends, family.” Erik smiled. “Lovers. The pattern is apparent over time. He's rather like his father that way.”

Erik had known Quinn's father? Quinn met the other
Pyr
's gaze and wasn't sure what to think. He would have given a great deal to have had his father's assessment of Erik, but that was impossible.

Because Erik had made sure of it. Quinn knew his hostility showed, but he was surprised that Erik didn't respond in kind.

Sara gave Quinn a quizzical look. “Just how old are you?” she asked and he knew that wasn't the question she wanted to have answered.

Quinn spoke as much for Erik's benefit as for hers. “Old enough to know better,” he said lightly and winked. He took her elbow as Erik coughed, then led her into Erik's temporary lair.

The perimeter of the suite was ringed with a territory mark, the smoke woven with dexterity as deep as Quinn's hips. Once again, he was impressed by Erik's abilities. He felt Sara shiver as she stepped through it and knew she felt the barrier she had crossed.

The way her gaze flicked over him, looking for injury, was evidence that she remembered what he had told her.

And maybe that she was concerned for his welfare.

Quinn would take encouragement wherever he could find it. He tightened his grip on her elbow, knowing that he didn't imagine the way she drew closer to him.

“Might as well be in a locker room,” she murmured and Quinn stifled a smile. There was enough testosterone in Erik's suite to make even him take notice.

Four
Pyr
waited in the suite's living room. They were all fit and looked virile, handsome, and athletic, their poses showing various degrees of antagonism toward the new arrival.

Quinn hadn't expected anything different. He only recognized one of them and was surprised by that. What had happened to all the old
Pyr
? Several of Erik's fellows were young—Quinn could tell by how lithe they were—and he feared suddenly for the survival of his species.

Not that it was his concern. The focus of Quinn's attention was upon himself and Sara. The rest of the
Pyr
could look out for themselves.

Quinn knew Donovan from times past and was glad, in a way, to see that
Pyr
well. Donovan was tall and powerful, auburn-haired, and quick to anger. He leaned against one wall, arms folded across his broad chest, his tight T-shirt and jeans showing his muscles to advantage. He had a gold stud in his left ear, a tattoo of a dragon on his left bicep, and a wicked smile that dropped women to their knees. Donovan was a fighter whom it was best to have on one's own side. Quinn inclined his head once in that
Pyr
's direction but Donovan didn't respond.

Erik introduced the others quickly. Niall was fair and built more like a weight lifter, his eyes flashing with suspicion. He sat on a leather couch with Sloane, who was as dark as Niall was fair. Sloane was the kind of wiry man whose fighting prowess and strength were easily underestimated. His expression was grim. They were both younger than Quinn, maybe three or four hundred years old, and didn't have the attitude and confidence of an old
Pyr
.

Rafferty was tall and older, and Quinn had heard his name although they had never met. He waved a lazy fingertip in greeting, apparently conserving his strength for more important encounters. Rafferty would also be underestimated, because of his laconic manner. Quinn wouldn't have turned his back on Rafferty for a heartbeat, not when his eyes gleamed as they did now.

Quinn felt them appraise his mate, Niall tilting back his head to take Sara's scent in a very rude fashion. Quinn wanted to deck him and maybe Erik perceived that because he was quick to chastise the younger
Pyr
.

“Mind your manners, Niall,” Erik snapped in old-speak. The
Pyr
in question settled back to simply look at Sara. “Quinn enters as a friend: he and his mate are under my protection.”

“Maybe she doesn't want him,” Donovan suggested in old-speak. An appreciative gleam lit his eye and his smile broadened ever so slightly.

Sara drew a little closer to Quinn, even though she couldn't hear what was being said. “What's going on?” she whispered. “It sounds like distant thunder.”

“Keep out of my firestorm,” Quinn said to Donovan, not bothering with old-speak. “If the lady wants your favors, she'll say so.”

Sara caught her breath and gave Donovan a glare of her own. She put her hand deliberately into Quinn's and the firestorm sparked between them. Quinn noticed how Rafferty's expression changed to yearning as he watched the flickering sparks.

Donovan got to his feet, challenge in his stance. “The way you stay out of everything
Pyr
?” he demanded aloud. “Where have you been, Smith? Don't you think we could have used your services for the past centuries?” He glared at Sara. “You need to know the truth about this
Pyr
, if you're going to have his child. Why should his legacy continue, when he contributes so little to the rest of us?”

Sara blinked in surprise but said nothing. Quinn knew without looking at her that she'd have plenty of questions for him later and he liked that she didn't enter the fray now. She listened. That made things easier.

“I don't have to serve those who don't appreciate me,” he told Donovan.

Donovan took a step closer and jabbed a finger through the air at Quinn's chest. “No one appreciates a craftsman who can't—or won't—do his destined job.”

Quinn held his ground. “Why should I arm those who use their weapons against me?”

“No one attacked you,” Erik contributed.

“No, not directly.” Quinn eased Sara behind him. They were fighting with words, but that could change. The hostility in the room was rising steadily. “But I saw you kill Ambrose.”

“Ambrose was a
Slayer
,” Erik said.

“Ambrose was my friend,” Quinn retorted.

“Then you place your trust poorly, Smith.”

“Where were all of you when I had no one?” Quinn asked. He hadn't chosen to live in solitude and he knew that Erik knew it.

“Your past is your problem,” Donovan snapped.

“Ambrose was the problem in your past,” Erik insisted. “And I saw to it you were rid of him. You should thank me, not blame me.”

“Because you say he was a
Slayer
.” Quinn's eyes narrowed. “How convenient to make that charge when no one can challenge it.”

Erik's eyes snapped. “You have my word upon it.”

“Maybe that's not good enough,” Quinn retorted.

“Maybe you should mind
your
manners, Smith,” Niall interjected, getting to his feet as well.

“Maybe there is more to the truth than any of us guess,” Rafferty drawled. His relaxed tone broke the tension and Quinn stepped back. He shoved a hand through his hair, certain that coming had been a bad idea. The others moved into a line as if creating a barrier before him. He was used to that.

“Ambrose was my mentor and my friend,” Quinn said with quiet force. “He was my
only
mentor and my
only
friend. Where were the
Pyr
when I was alone, if my abilities were so important to you all?”

“Perhaps you did not see that we were there,” Erik said.

“Perhaps you were not there at all,” Quinn replied. “Why would I join forces with Ambrose's murderer?”

“Because he was a
Slayer
,” hissed Niall. “Because his death was right.”

“It didn't seem right to me.” Quinn glared at Niall. “And what do you know about it? You're too young to remember Ambrose.”

“I know what I've been taught.”

“And anyone can be taught lies,” Quinn concluded.

“That's precisely my point,” Erik said crisply. “How do you know that what Ambrose taught you was the truth?”

“No one else offered lessons. Ambrose taught me to breathe smoke and he taught me to shift shape more quickly. He taught me to control my body's urges and to whisper to the fire. All that in less than two years. How much more could he have taught me if you hadn't cut him down?”

“How much indeed?” Erik asked softly. “
Pyr
are born but
Slayers
are made. Perhaps he would have taken the Smith to the other side.”

“Don't insult me with such garbage,” Quinn said, not hiding his disgust. The pair's gazes locked, anger simmering between them, until Quinn remembered Sara and stepped back. If a fight erupted, she alone would be undefended, and he was one against five.

“We're not here to talk about Ambrose,” Erik said, his tone indicating that he also wanted to make peace. “The past is in the past. We need to think about the future and how to protect ourselves. The time of reckoning is upon us and we must fulfill our mission.”

Donovan paced the room and looked unwilling to abandon the argument. “Even if our numbers were just diminished for nothing.” He pointed at Quinn. “Delaney died for you today, because Erik abandoned him to defend your mate.”

“That wasn't my choice,” Quinn said. “I appreciate what he did, but your argument is with Erik.”

“My intent was to serve the greater good,” Erik said when Donovan turned upon him.

“You always say things like that, as if you can see the future,” Donovan muttered. Quinn noticed again that Erik almost smiled. “Delaney is dead! And for what?” He faced Quinn in his frustration. “What have you ever done for the rest of us? What do you propose to do for us now?”

“They even took his body,” grumbled Sloane. “We can't honor our fallen properly, or know that his body has been treated with respect. Why would they do that? What was the point?”

“They did it to demoralize us,” Donovan said flatly.

“Looks like it's working,” contributed Rafferty. He shrugged as the others glared at him. “But you're being distracted by details. Delaney was dead. You can't let the loss of his body affect your attitude, as unpleasant a fact as it is.”