“I’m sure it would have done,” Erik agreed, not hiding his impatience. “Unfortunately I didn’t know the lady’s destination.”
“Romance, is it then?” The conductor snorted and rolled his eyes at the very idea. “Change at Birmingham New Street,” he droned as he handed Erik his ticket. He widened his eyes in mock alarm. “Only twenty-two minutes there to change trains. You’ll want to allow for that.”
“Yes, we will,” Erik said. He clearly wished the conductor would move on quickly.
Eileen offered her ticket and the conductor approved it, then moved down the car. She felt as if she were burning up, and there was certainly an inferno raging in a more intimate vicinity. She wanted Erik more than she knew she should. Eileen wondered what Erik would do next, but what he did surprised her.
He leaned toward her. The green of his eyes was so bright as to be electric, and his proximity made her pulse leap. Eileen was ready for another sizzling kiss—half a night was far too long to go without one.
But instead, Erik began to answer her question about dragonsmoke, his expression so solemn that she knew he was telling her the truth.
Even though the truth was beyond belief.
Chapter 7
Nikolas knew one thing above all else. It was a violation of everything Pyr to injure the Wyvern. Some rules could not be broken. In planning to kill the Wyvern, Boris had crossed into a land from which there was no return. Nikolas would shred him alive for his crime, with no regrets.
Boris had already made the Wyvern bleed.
The choice Boris offered was no choice at all: It would have been ideal to save the Dragon’s Egg, but it was imperative to protect the Wyvern.
After all, she could not defend herself. It was the duty of the powerful to protect the vulnerable.
Nikolas lunged at Boris, seizing his head in both claws. Once released, Sophie shifted to a salamander and scuttled away. Boris roared and tried to stomp on her. He caught one of her legs under his heel and she screamed again.
The sound of her pain enraged Nikolas. He slammed Boris’s head into the brick wall, not caring how much injury he caused. Dark blood ran over his knuckles as he drove Boris into the wall again.
Boris roared and changed shape in his grip. Nikolas didn’t let go. They grappled with each other, both fighting to kill. Boris bit and clawed and thrashed, but Nikolas gave as good as he got. Black and red blood mingled together on the hardwood floor, dragonfire and dragonsmoke filling the loft.
Then the Dragon’s Egg shattered on the pavement outside the building. The crack of its rupture was far louder than it should have been. Nikolas felt a shock roll through him, an earthquake that rattled through his very bones. He was jangled and disoriented, shaken to his essence.
Worse, he lost his grip on Boris.
Boris leapt to the windowsill. He breathed a torrent of dragonfire behind himself to keep Nikolas at bay.
“What have you done?” Sophie whispered, her voice carrying from some hidden location.
“Evened the score,” Boris snarled. He spun to break a larger hole in the window with his tail. He scanned the loft, but evidently couldn’t see Sophie either.
Boris’s old-speak echoed in Nikolas’s thoughts, his venom unmistakable. “You can hide for now, Wyvern, but I will find you and I will finish what I have begun. Prepare to die.”
With a final blast of dragonfire at Nikolas, Boris leapt through the broken glass and flew skyward. Aching to follow and destroy him, but reluctant to leave the Wyvern alone and unprotected, Nikolas stood with clenched fists and watched the villain go.
Boris could have allies who were yet unnamed. The prospect chilled Nikolas’s blood. He had saved the Wyvern this time, but the threat against her was clear. He had to devote himself to her defense, at least until Boris—and whoever fought with him—was truly dead.
Nikolas scanned the loft, then saw a flash of white near the door to Erik’s hoard.
The salamander turned into a woman before his eyes, a woman with fair hair and turquoise eyes. Nikolas couldn’t keep himself from staring. Sophie was the most exquisitely beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Every time he was in her presence, he was awed. He had initially thought that his was the normal response of a Pyr in the presence of the closest representative of the divine, but his fellow Pyr didn’t seem to feel the same sense of wonder.
The Wyvern was magical to him. As a boy, he’d been taught that only the blessed ever glimpsed the Wyvern. Now, in these days, she practically lived among the Pyr, gracing them frequently with her presence. He yearned for the rare sight of her smile. He ached to fix whatever vexed her. He wanted more than anything in the world to touch the silk of her hair. Nikolas couldn’t deny his fascination with her, and frequent exposure didn’t diminish it a bit.
He watched Sophie ease toward him, noting her curves and her grace. He saw the intelligence in her eyes, the burden of the secrets she held fast. He saw the weight of the knowledge she had inherited and had to wield with justice and temperance. Recognizing her responsibility and fallibility made her seem less divine to him, more mortal.
More like him.
That was the moment Nikolas knew that what he felt for Sophie was beyond reverence. He aspired far above his place, and he didn’t imagine for a moment that his feelings might be reciprocated.
But he would defend Sophie with everything he had.
When the Dragon’s Egg broke, Niall was on the prowl.
For weeks, Niall had sensed the presence of another Pyr near his home in New York City. The scent was weak and fleeting. It wasn’t a Pyr he knew and he suspected that the Pyr in question wasn’t in command of his powers. The elusive scent tormented him—strongest at night, it drew Niall out to search for the intruder.
Who was this Pyr? Why was he close? What were his alliances? Niall wanted to know all of this and more.
The trail invariably led to nightclubs, and Niall lost the scent in the mingling of cigarette smoke, pot haze, and perfume. The wind was no help to him, ignoring his queries.
Niall had too many questions to let the matter be.
On this night, the scent of Pyr had drawn Niall out again. He had followed it diligently and found himself in front of a bar. Niall wasn’t much for the club scene, the noise and confusion and stimulants. The Pyr had keen senses, more sensitive than humans, and Niall found that some experiences favored by humans were overwhelming.
But he was sufficiently annoyed to ignore discomfort. He wanted to find this unknown Pyr and he wanted to find him immediately.
He went in.
The scents were as maddening as Niall had anticipated, muddying his impressions and clouding his judgment. He felt nauseated and disoriented, but he kept moving. The interior was crowded, dark, noisy. The lights pulsed through the darkness from the direction of the dance floor. The beat of the music was deep and loud, throbbing and insistent. He was sure he couldn’t stand it much longer, but he kept going.
Then the world shattered.
The wind was knocked out of Niall and he had to grab the edge of the bar to keep on his feet. He felt as if someone had sliced him in half and stolen his guts.
It was such a strong sensation that he was shocked to look down and see that he wasn’t wounded at all.
The people around him clearly felt nothing. The party went on; the music continued without interruption. As the pain faded, Niall had an urge to mourn, to weep, to rage at injustice.
The couple closest to him stared at him. “Bad stuff, dude?” the man asked, giving him a friendly nudge.
“I guess so,” Niall said, accepting the excuse.
“Gotta watch where you buy,” the woman agreed with a sage nod. Niall moved away from them, thinking furiously. What had happened?
It wasn’t good; that was for sure.
In that moment, Niall noticed a crowd gathering on the dance floor. He pushed his way through the throng and found a tall man collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. His hand
s opened and closed, as if his fingers tried to clutch something that was irretrievably lost. He was writhing on the floor like a man caught in an electrical current, his expression pained.
Someone else had felt the jolt. But only another Pyr would have felt it. Niall knew then that he had found the one he sought.
The fallen man could have been a Viking warrior, with his long reddish blond hair and muscled build. He wore laced biker boots, tight jeans, and a tight blue T-shirt. The tendons on his neck stood out in his anguish and he had a number of tattoos.
Including a blue and black dragon on the back of his left hand.
“Do you know what you are?” Niall asked in old-speak.
The man on the floor started, leaving no doubt that he had heard Niall’s words. No human could have discerned the old-speak. He scanned the crowd with fear, seeking the speaker.
Niall wondered whether he even knew how to use old-speak. He might not be able to reply in kind.
“I’m at your twelve o’clock.”
Niall’s conviction grew as the man looked directly at him. His terror was obvious, but so was his hope. He rose to his knees tentatively as he studied Niall, looking ready to fight.
“Because I do,” Niall continued. “You are not the only one.”
Niall didn’t wait for the Pyr to rise all the way to his feet. He had more important issues to pursue. What had that shock been? He had to get to Erik and learn more. Niall left the bar, suspecting that the Pyr who had no mentor would follow.
He did.
“What the hell was that?” the man shouted after Niall once they were both on the empty street. “And how did you put words in my head? Who are you? How do you know what I am?”
His voice rose as Niall kept walking.
“What the fuck is going on?” he roared.
Niall turned into a darkened alley, waiting for the other Pyr to rage closer. That Pyr lunged around the corner almost immediately, his eyes lighting when he saw that Niall had waited for him.
“Can you shift on purpose?” Niall asked.
The Pyr scoffed. “Duh.”
“Then come with me.”
Niall’s new companion was incredulous. “Now?”
“Now.”
“Where?”
Niall took the scent of the wind, asking it Erik’s location. The answer came to him swift and clear. “London.”
“England?” The foundling Pyr was incredulous. “But how? Why? Are you out of your f—”
Niall shifted without answering, taking flight in one smooth gesture. The other Pyr swore with vigor behind him; then Niall heard the rustle of leathery wings.
The kid needed some practice.
A long, fast flight would be good for him.
In the moment that the Dragon’s Egg shattered, Sara Keegan awakened abruptly. She sat bolt upright, her breath coming in anxious pants. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts filled with a conviction that something was deeply wrong.
But everything seemed normal. It was the middle of the night and the house was as quiet as the property outside the window.
Quinn was immediately awake. “Is it the baby?” He sat up beside her, his hand falling to her rounded belly. “Is it time?”
“No, no.” Sara locked her hands over his, letting him entwine her fingers with his. She trembled. “I had a nightmare.”
Quinn caught her close, wrapping his warmth around her. Sara closed her eyes and leaned against his strength, forcing herself to note how tranquil their home was. She loved Quinn’s land, which was near Traverse City in Michigan, loved the serenity of the forest and the glimmer of the stars overhead. The house he had built for himself was solid and rooted like no other house she had ever occupied.
It was home.
It was haven.
“A nightmare or a vision?” he asked, his lips against her hair.
“Maybe both.” Sara pulled back to look at him, letting him see her trepidation. Although she was the Seer of the Pyr, Quinn knew more about the symbols of his kind. She had missed the importance of her dreams before.
“I dreamed that the world had cracked in half,” she said softly. “That there was a great fissure right to the center of the planet, one that released something vile from the depths.”
His eyes narrowed. “Something?”
Sara shook her head. “I woke up before I saw.” She had hoped that Quinn would reassure her, but instead he got out of bed. He stood and looked out the window, although she knew he wasn’t looking at the snow covering the meadow.
“I felt it myself,” he admitted quietly. “Something has gone wrong.” He spared her a glance, his eyes gleaming blue. “Do you feel strong enough to travel? Erik will know what has happened and what we should do.”
Sara got out of bed herself, feeling cold. She was seven months pregnant and would have preferred to have stayed home until the baby’s arrival.
“I won’t go without you, Sara,” Quinn said with quiet force. “It’s up to you.”
“Is it?” She looked at him across the rumpled quilts on the bed. “Do you really think that I could choose to keep you from helping the Pyr? If you don’t go and they fail, what kind of partnership would we have?”
He dropped his gaze and frowned.
Sara spoke softly. “I know that the Pyr’s mission is more important, but I’m afraid.”
“I’ll stay, if that’s what you want.” Quinn held her gaze, his own eyes bright, and she knew he would do what she wished.
She swallowed. “But you’re the Smith and the Pyr need you.”
“We could go to Chicago and wait for Erik. He will have breathed a smoke barrier, and it’s a shorter journey, too.” Quinn watched her, giving her the time she needed to decide. “Or I could breathe smoke here, if you wanted to stay home until I learned more.”
Sara smiled a little. “But I’d rather be with you. We’ll go.”
Quinn crossed the room with the determination that still left Sara dizzy. He caught her close and she clung to his strength. “You know that I’ll do anything to protect you,” he murmured.
Sara felt her tears rise. “That’s what frightens me.”
He squeezed her more tightly and she heard the smile in his voice. “I’m not that easy to lose.” Quinn lifted her chin with one hand when she didn’t look at him or respond. One tear had spilled onto her cheek and he eased it away with his thumb. “Don’t ever forget that you’re my warrior queen,” he whispered, then smiled the slow, hot smile that she couldn’t live without.
Would she have to?
Sara held tightly to him as he bent and kissed her soundly. Was she just afraid of uncertainty, or had she seen more of their future than she recalled?
Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
On the other side of the world, Rafferty thought he was having a heart attack.
It was early in the morning when the pain shot through him, radiating from his heart to his extremities. He fell to the floor of his kitchen, one hand clutched to his chest. He closed his eyes against it, but when he might have called for help, the pain began to fade.
It wasn’t in his body. His body was responding to an outside stimulus of some kind.
It was responding because he was Pyr.
That couldn’t be good.
Erik hadn’t returned the night before, but Rafferty didn’t know why. It might have been because he had spoken his mind. It might have been because Erik was consummating his firestorm. Rafferty wouldn’t be the first one to ask.
He was still annoyed with Erik for not appreciating his good fortune in having a second chance at his firestorm.
As the pain eased, Rafferty stumbled into his small garden. The ground was damp but he didn’t care. He laid down on the patio stones, ignoring the frost on them, and put his cheek to the earth. He slowed his breathing and his pulse, spreading his palms flat on the soil. He strove to match his rhythms to those of the element he knew best.
He asked the Earth for tidings.
> She didn’t immediately reply, but then she never did. Rafferty kept his face against the soil, closed his eyes and waited.
He didn’t care who saw him. His neighbors had long ago decided that he was odd.
Sloane was working late, pushing seeds into potting mixture one at a time. He had rows and rows of flats to plant to get the seedlings started for spring. Usually he liked working late in the quiet of the greenhouse at his nursery. He enjoyed seeing the stars through the glass roof and singing his soft song of encouragement to the seeds. His sharp Pyr sight allowed him to plant the seeds without artificial lighting, which Sloane believed the seeds preferred.
But he and Delaney had been arguing. There was an unhappy vibration in the greenhouse as they worked together but not in unison.
“You need to confront it,” Sloane said for the hundredth time.
“Easy for you to say,” Delaney replied yet again. He spared Sloane a glance of hostility, then kept poking seeds into soil.
Delaney had recovered a great deal in his months of working at Sloane’s nursery—so much so that Sloane was convinced that the greatest impediment to Delaney’s full recovery was his own conviction that he carried a scar that would not heal. Sloane was sure that Delaney had to face the truth of his experience in Magnus’s dark academy in order to feel whole again. He thought there must be a way to convert a negative to a positive, but Delaney wouldn’t even talk about it.
“I could hypnotize you,” he suggested again. “You wouldn’t even remember, unless I told you to. I could listen to you and decide.”
Delaney shoved seeds deep into the dirt. “No one but no one is going to mess with my mind again.” He glared at Sloane, looking a whole lot like Donovan in a temper.
Sloane would have argued again, but a jolt ripped through him, leaving him dizzy with pain.
His first thought was that the San Andreas fault had finally made its big move. That had been one of the hazards of locating his nursery in California—but the climate had been too big an asset to overlook.