Kiss of Fire (24 page)

There had to be a way to escape.

Sara just had to figure out what it was.

Soon.

B
y morning, Quinn was restless and even more irritated than he had been before.

Which was saying something.

Rafferty had led the pair of
Pyr
to a copse of trees near the cabin but too far for Quinn to hear what was going on there. Niall had seemed to guess the other
Pyr
's intent, even though Quinn hadn't known what to expect.

Rafferty had lain on the ground and shifted to human form. He had put his ear to the soil and closed his eyes, listening.

Quinn tried to ask a question, but Niall shushed him to silence.

And they sat, the three of them motionless. The sky, which had been pale blue and bright when they arrived, gradually darkened to indigo. The stars came out. The sounds of the forest around them changed to night whispers and still Rafferty hadn't moved.

Quinn had tried to push himself to his feet several times, but Niall had scowled at him and gestured him back to his seat. Erik and the others had come, and after a brief consultation, had returned to Ann Arbor to pack up Quinn's booth and secure his truck.

Quinn waited. The sky had begun to brighten in the east when Rafferty sat up. He took a deep breath, shifted to dragon form, and without opening his eyes, began to hum.

Quinn was fed up and might have left then, but a hole began to open in front of Rafferty, as if an invisible finger stirred the earth.

Sara settled back against the wall beside the Wyvern, impatient that there was so little she could do but wait.

Maybe she could find out something while they waited. The Wyvern should know pretty much everything, after all.

“I don't really understand all of this dragon stuff,” she said lightly. “It's so very different from my real life.”

“And seems so much less real,” Sophie guessed. She tilted her head to study Sara, her slow perusal reminding Sara of the way Quinn looked at her.

As if he could watch her all day.

She yearned suddenly to be with him again, to feel his strength and heat beside her. She wished that she had had more than one kiss from him.

And maybe a little bit more. Her mother had told her that she should start living life instead of marking time—in fact, that had been the crux of their last discussion at JFK—and Sara was wondering whether she'd missed her chance.

“Are you frightened of the Smith?” Sophie asked.

Sara shook her head. “No. I'm not afraid of Quinn. I know he'd never hurt me.” What she felt for Quinn was both simple and complicated. She wanted him more intensely than she'd ever wanted any man, but it wasn't just lust. She was fascinated by him, and she loved talking to him. He had a way of explaining things that made even the most bizarre notion make sense, and she liked how he challenged her to look at things from a different angle. She had a feeling that the way he smiled slowly would captivate her for the rest of her life.

Maybe he was happy to watch her: she was happy to watch his expression change from solemnity to humor.

And she loved the progress of that slow smile.

Sophie smiled. “But you are frightened of the firestorm?”

Sara summoned a smile of her own, feeling as if the discussion was a bit personal. “Well, it's not what we learned in Sex Ed, if you know what I mean.”

“How so?”

“It's powerful.”

“Yes.”

Sara shrugged. “I'm used to being a little bit more in charge of my emotions.”

The Wyvern considered that for a moment, then looked at Sara. “How interesting that your emotions are already engaged.”

Sara was startled. “Isn't that the point? Isn't the firestorm about destined love?” She shrugged, feeling silly even saying the words. “I mean, assuming that you believe in that kind of thing.”

Sophie smiled. “The firestorm is a mating sign.”

“You mean it's about sex.”

“Many
Pyr
believe as much.”

Sara had the definite sense that the Wyvern wasn't telling her all of the truth. “What about Quinn?”

Sophie met her gaze steadily. “What about him?”

“Does he think the firestorm is about sex or love?”

“I have never met the Smith. How would I determine such a thing?”

“I thought you were the Wyvern.”

Sophie smiled.

Sara leaned back against the wall with frustration. It was obviously important that she ask the right question to get a useful answer, but unfortunately, she didn't know what that question was.

“I sense your resistance to Quinn's courtship,” Sophie said, when they'd sat in silence for a long while. “Is it the prospect of mating with a dragon that troubles you?”

“Why?”

“I assure you that the shift is to a fighting pose: you need not worry about surprises in intimate moments, unless you are physically attacked in those moments.”

“And then we'd have other problems,” Sara mused.

Sophie chuckled. “Indeed. Are you worried then about the Smith's intentions, to use an old expression?”

Sara looked away, not particularly inclined to answer all of Sophie's questions when the Wyvern wasn't answering all of hers. As the silence stretched long again, she decided she had nothing to lose. “I don't think it's a crime to be a romantic, to hope for a long-term relationship based on love. The idea of being useful to a man who wants a son, like a brood mare, isn't appealing at all.”

Sophie smiled, as if the notion amused her. “You believe in happily ever after,” she teased, “regardless of how you express it.”

“Well, it works. My parents were crazy in love with each other. It made them happy. It gave them a way to face obstacles and challenges. They worked together and gave each other strength; they balanced each other's strengths. When one was blue, the other lightened the mood.” Sara stopped, her throat closing as she realized the weight of her loss.

Again.

Sophie didn't seem to notice. “And you do not believe you can have this with the Smith?”

“He seems very practical. And solitary.”

“Those with the largest hearts often learn to hide them.”

Sara studied her companion with interest. “Are you saying that Quinn was hurt?”

“I am saying that the greatest romantics are often idealists,” Sophie mused. “Even if they hide that behind skepticism.”

“Like Quinn?”

“You tell me.”

Sara paused, needing to think about that. Quinn was practical and sensible, as far as she could see. He recycled materials so he appreciated the past and took the long view. He protected and defended her, even at his own expense. They were traits she admired, but she wasn't sure they made him idealistic, much less romantic. “He's purposeful. Focused on the end goal.”

“Which is?”

“The firestorm, or its culmination.”

“Is it?” Once again Sara found herself looking into the Wyvern's aquamarine eyes, so filled with mystery and humor. “Even the Seer is blind in a storm,” she said quietly.

“Or a firestorm,” Sara amended.

Sophie laughed lightly. “Fair enough,” she said, speaking at so low a pitch that Sara knew she was mimicking Quinn.

Sara leaned against the wall, tired and impatient. The heat was making her irritable, and being hungry and thirsty didn't help. She thought about Quinn's experience with Ambrose and could see how he would have come to trust the
Slayer
—especially if the
Slayer
presented himself as a
Pyr
mentor. Quinn had no basis of comparison.

And he had been hungry for knowledge of his own powers.

Seeing Erik at the site of his parents' death, as well as witnessing Erik's killing of Ambrose, could explain Quinn's distrust of the leader of the
Pyr
. All the same, her sense that Quinn had it backward was even stronger than it had been before. She wondered if there was more to the story than either she or Quinn knew. She reviewed her dream, feeling as if she was missing something. There had been something that had struck her as odd.

It was the look in Ambrose's eyes as he threw the coin.

As if the gesture should mean something. His expression of benign friendliness had changed for an instant, as if a mask had slipped, to reveal a brutal determination.

What was it with gold coins? There had been a coin on the threshold of her shop the day before. Sara rummaged in her purse and dug it out of the bottom. It shone in the dim light and she had a feeling that it held a secret she needed to know.

There had been a coin in the arcade before she had been attacked, as well. Had it been the same kind? She wished in a way that she'd seen it.

“There is a pretty challenge,” Sophie said from beside her.

“What do you mean?”

“Was that tossed at the Smith?”

Sara was getting used to Sophie answering questions indirectly, if at all. She frowned at the coin. “It was left at the door of my shop yesterday. Why?”

“How strange,” Sophie mused. She lifted her hands and Sara gave her the coin. She peered at it for a minute, arched a brow, then handed it back to Sara. “It speaks of the Smith's origins. A pretty challenge from someone who knows who he is and where to find him. You say it was outside your shop?”

“My bookstore, yes.”

“And no one entered it?”

“No. I had locked the door at Quinn's request, and he had made a territory mark around the shop….”

“Ah!” said the Wyvern as if that explained everything. “So the challenge could not be delivered.”

“Why do you keep calling it a challenge?”

“Because that is what the
Pyr
do. They challenge each other to blood duels, when they perceive that justice must be served. The
Slayer
s do it just to provoke a fight to the death, because no
Pyr
of honor will decline a challenge to his integrity.”

“Challenge how?” Sara asked, her scalp prickling.

“The challenger tosses a coin at the one with whom he would fight. If the coin is caught, the battle is accepted, and they will fight to the death.”

Sara remembered Ambrose tossing the coin at Quinn in that village, the gold coin bouncing off Quinn's bound hands. “Why a coin?”

“It is tradition. I suppose it is derived from the winner claiming the hoard of the loser as spoils of the blood duel. Once upon a time, our assets were almost purely gold.” She shrugged. “It must be somewhat more complicated to claim the stock holdings of a losing
Pyr
.”

So, Ambrose had declared his intention, to fight Quinn to the death, on that first meeting. But Quinn hadn't understood and maybe over the years, he had forgotten that detail.

She hoped she had a chance to tell him. It might make the difference in his trusting Erik.

She pushed herself to her feet and paced, trying the bolted door again. She paced the cabin once again, feeling silence and inactivity weigh heavily upon her.

The Wyvern simply watched.

Sara wasn't even sure she was breathing.

Sophie spoke softly, as if for Sara's ears alone. “Tell me, Sara, where is it writ that what you and the Smith create together must be a child?”

Sara pivoted to find Sophie's gaze solemn and steady. There was something a bit creepy about how seldom she blinked, how she seemed to see Sara's most secret thoughts.

“The prophecy,” Sara began, but Sophie shook her head.

“That is not what it says.”

Sara sat back on her heels, trying to remember Quinn's verse. Sophie filled in the gaps that she couldn't recall, until they recited it together.

The Wyvern was right. It didn't specify what would result from the union. “I'd assumed,” she began but Sophie shook her head.

“You know what they say about assumptions. I think sometimes that prophecies exist to make us all look like fools.” That wry amusement lit Sophie's eyes again. “And that the Great Wyvern greatly enjoys a joke at our expense.”

Sara folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall. She'd have to think about that.