Kiss of Fate

  Jorge’s eyes flashed and he folded his arms across his chest. “You know more than you share.”

  “That’s the privilege of age and experience.” Magnus blew a smoke ring of perfect symmetry.

  “Yeah? What happens if you die, Magnus? There’ll be no one left to lead the Slayers.” Jorge leaned closer, his eyes glittering as he slipped into old-speak. “If you die, the Pyr will win.”

  The prospect would have horrified Magnus more if he’d believed himself mortal.

  As it was, he smiled. “I’m not going to die.”

  Jorge’s eyes narrowed. “You do have the Dragon’s Blood Elixir.”

  Magnus smoked with real pleasure.

  “You should share!” Jorge said aloud.

  “I wait only for a suitable acolyte to distinguish himself,” he said, speaking with disdain.

  “What about Boris?” Jorge sneered, and Magnus knew that his decision to tutor the former leader of the Slayers hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “What about Boris?” Magnus shrugged and brushed an invisible bit of lint from his trousers. “He might not be dead, but he’s ineffective. I took the suzerainty of the Slayers from him without a whimper of protest.” He shrugged. “Clearly I made a less than ideal choice of protégé.”

  Jorge leaned closer. “And what will distinguish your next protégé?”

  “Effectiveness,” Magnus spit. “I want my Dragon’s Teeth back.” He stared at Jorge and switched to old-speak. “Yesterday.”

  Jorge’s expression hardened with a purpose that Magnus recognized. There would be no more mistakes, no matter what the cost. He knew ambition when he saw it and he recognized its merit.

  But temperance had its place, too. Here, then, would be Jorge’s first lesson.

  And his reward.

  Magnus put a cautionary hand on Jorge’s sleeve, and the younger Slayer couldn’t hide that he was startled by the touch. He didn’t flinch, though, and he didn’t pull back.

  Another good sign.

  “We’ll give Erik some time and distance,” Magnus advised. “Feed his confidence, let him do whatever it is he means to do.”

  Jorge smiled. “Let him screw up.”

  Magnus patted the Slayer’s sleeve, liking how well they understood each other. “You, meanwhile, will practice hovering between the forms. Shift only your right nail to a talon, if you can. Most have not the discipline and clarity of mind.”

  “And then?”

  “Master the feat first. Then we’ll talk.” Magnus smiled to himself, feeling the intensity of Jorge’s concentration. That would keep the younger Slayer busy.

  And who knew—he might actually succeed.

  The firestorm was even more enticing the second time than it had been the first. Or maybe Erik had forgotten its power. He liked that Eileen knew what he was and wasn’t afraid of him.

  Either she trusted him, or she hid her trepidation very well.

  Once he had gotten over the shock of the story she sought, he realized he should have expected Eileen’s fascination with Ironbridge and the Dragon Lover of Madeley. Why else would a soul be reincarnated other than to address the imbalances of the past? It made sense to Erik that Eileen was drawn to the same location, perhaps to make another effort at conquering those life lessons.

  And he could help her. Opening Eileen’s eyes to her own story was a small concession for him to make and it was one that made Erik feel slightly less mercenary.

  He’d have to live with his remaining reservations.

  Erik finally broke their kiss and Eileen smiled at him. Her lips were reddened and soft, inviting him to sample them again. He was enchanted by the sparkle in her eyes and the way she shyly dropped her gaze to her knitting again.

  “Now, that was a kiss,” she said with such satisfaction that he found himself chuckling.

  “Indeed,” he agreed, and she shot him a coy smile.

  “I stayed at a wonderful inn the last time I was here,” she said, that blush rising over her cheeks again. He loved that she could look so innocent and speak so boldly. She gave him a look through her lashes. “It was very romantic.”

  “We could use a refuge,” he agreed carefully, understanding her implication. “One that I can protect with a smoke barrier.”

  She arched a brow. “One room or two?”

  He liked how direct she was and answered in kind. “My choice is one, but I leave the decision to you.”

  “One,” she said with conviction, and Erik caught her hand in his.

  He held fast to her fingers, letting the firestorm build to an inferno between them. She stared up at him, an answering heat in her eyes. He brushed her fingertips across his lips, savoring the shower of sparks that erupted between them. He wanted to show her that her choice was a good one, but he was shocked at his rapid reaction to her skin pressed against his own.

  He was hard and thick and ready. He could smell that teasing scent of her perfume and wanted to taste every increment of her skin. He wanted to peel away her black clothes and leave her in only her silver jewelry and her curtain of hair.

  He moved his leg so that their thighs touched for their entire length and Eileen pressed her leg against his. His heart matched its pace to hers, making him feel part of an intimate union even though they only held hands. He felt their breathing synchronize and nearly lost himself in the assault of the firestorm.

  Then he realized that he was oblivious to everything but Eileen, and Slayers were pursuing them. There would be a time to indulge in the firestorm but this wasn’t it.

  He still had tasks to complete before he died.

  Erik pulled away and sat opposite Eileen again, putting an increment of distance between them. “You’ll never finish your knitting,” he said with a smile when she looked surprised.

  She smiled. “Knitting waits. Not everything else does.”

  That was a telling reminder. Erik found his fingers drumming once more. What had broken this morning? What had happened? He sent a message in old-speak to Rafferty, who was the closest Pyr, and hoped that Rafferty would hear him.

  He also hoped that Rafferty would answer him, after their dispute of the night before.

  But there was only silence.

  Erik had left Nikolas in charge of his lair, but Nikolas did not share the abilities of the more modern Pyr. Nikolas had yet to conquer the feat of sending old-speak at a distance, for example, which was inconvenient.

  Erik cast his thoughts toward London, toward Chicago, toward the future, and found nothing at all. Not a ripple of a portent. Not an image or an impression.

  The gift of foresight that Erik had relied upon for so long, the ability he had taken for granted, was extinguished.

  He did his best to hide his trepidation from his observant mate. Would his foresight return when he consummated the firestorm? Was it lost forever in the firestorm’s heat? Was his future irrelevant?

  Or nonexistent?

  “The Dragon’s Egg is shattered beyond repair.” Rafferty’s old-speak slid into Erik’s thoughts, the words startling him with both their abruptness and import.

  “Are you certain?” Erik asked before he caught himself. Of course, Rafferty would have confirmed such a rumor before repeating it.

  Rafferty didn’t reply, an indication that he was still annoyed with Erik.

  “Where is everyone?” Erik asked.

  “Gathering at your lair in Chicago.”

  Erik refrained from checking his watch. It was still morning in England, so even earlier in Chicago. He calculated quickly, knowing what he could do.

  What he had to do.

  “I will be there as soon as possible.”

  “What of your mate?”

  Erik didn’t have to imagine Rafferty’s disapproval. It dripped from every word. He decided to ignore it.

  “The firestorm will be satisfied before I leave,” he assured Rafferty. “I will bring the Dragon’s Teeth and we can proceed from there.”

  Even in the silence that follow
ed, Erik could feel his old friend’s disgust with his decision. Still he was shocked when Rafferty continued in old-speak.

  “I will not be there.”

  It was the harshest condemnation possible from Rafferty and one that took Erik completely by surprise. He had never expected his oldest ally to break rank with him, especially in the midst of this conflict, but he knew that Rafferty wouldn’t be easily swayed once he’d made up his mind.

  Erik would just have to prove that his choice was the right one. “The choice is yours, but I hope that you reconsider,” he said, not surprised when there was no reply. Erik ignored his own misgivings and focused on Eileen.

  Eileen glanced out the window and wrinkled her nose. “Listen to that thunder,” she said, mistaking the old-speak for a natural force. “It figures that there couldn’t be a single day of my time here that it didn’t rain.”

  “I think rain is romantic,” Erik said softly.

  “I hate it,” she said, and grimaced.

  Her strong feelings about water were interesting. On some level, she must remember the past. “Maybe I can change your mind,” he said in a low voice.

  Eileen’s gaze flew to his and he smiled slightly as he touched his ankle to hers. The firestorm’s heat surged through him, turning all thoughts to cinders, coaxing desire to burn with new vigor. The slight contact was like gasoline tossed on a fire, sending a blaze though his body that made him catch his breath.

  And want.

  He watched his mate, seeing the firestorm’s effects on her. Eileen blushed, her eyes sparkled and her lips curved; then she abruptly looked down. She shifted her ankle away from his and he knew that breaking the contact was the smarter choice.

  Erik had no doubt that his firestorm would be consummated within hours. He should have been relieved by the relief that promised, but instead he found himself irritated with the need for haste. It might have been good to savor an event so rare.

  But he had no time to languish over a seduction. He had to breed and return to his obligations as quickly as possible. His own inclinations were irrelevant.

  For once, he resented the burden of his responsibility to the Pyr.

  Eileen felt Erik’s growing agitation. He checked the platform at the next station, then returned to his seat. He couldn’t sit still, apparently, his toe tapping and his fingers drumming relentlessly on his knee.

  Eileen was worried about Magnus and his thugs, too, but at least she had her knitting to soothe her nerves. Erik’s vigilance reassured her as well—she understood that he knew more than she did and believed that he would protect her.

  She would still have preferred to have been in a car or other vehicle under her own control, so she could make decisions or change direction. Traveling on public transit with a fixed schedule made her feel vulnerable.

  It would be too easy to figure out where the train would be and when, too easy for Magnus to check whether she and Erik got off at any of the scheduled stops.

  Eileen didn’t doubt that that was what worried Erik, too.

  He frowned and tried to hide his consternation, then suddenly looked directly at her. “Tell me what you know of this story,” he invited.

  Eileen understood that he needed the kind of distraction that her knitting provided for her. Maybe she could use it, too.

  She rummaged in her satchel and pulled out her battered notebook. “A student of mine told it to me. She said her grandmother used to tell it, and she wondered what it really meant.”

  “And the grandmother?”

  “Long dead, unfortunately. But she had come from Shropshire when she was very young, and routinely said that her grandmother had told this story, so I came back here to look for details.”

  Erik sat back and studied the ceiling of the train car. Eileen could see him thinking and, from his haunted expression, she guessed that he was remembering something.

  Something important.

  Again, she wondered what she had said.

  Then he looked at her again, smiled slightly, and invited her to continue. It wasn’t the same kind of smile he’d offered her before, though. There was a shadow in his eyes.

  “You were remembering something,” she prompted.

  “Nothing of relevance. Go on.”

  She closed the notebook. “That’s not true. You looked upset for a minute, which means it wasn’t irrelevant. Tell me, please.”

  “No.”

  They had a deal. Eileen picked up her knitting and ignored him.

  She felt Erik glare at her but didn’t look up. She heard him sigh with exasperation and almost smiled that he found her so infuriating. “If you must know,” he said with obvious reluctance, “I was thinking of my son.”

  Eileen glanced up in surprise. “You have a son?” At Erik’s terse nod, she sobered at the implication. “Do you have a wife, then?”

  “I had a wife. She died, partly because of our son.”

  Eileen waited.

  Erik took a quick breath and fired an annoyed glance her way. “He chose a reprehensible life. It broke her heart.”

  “And yours,” Eileen guessed quietly.

  Erik frowned. “I thought you were going to tell me a story.”

  Eileen should have left the subject alone, but she was curious. “How was your son’s choice responsible for your wife’s death?”

  He glared at her.

  Eileen held his gaze, waiting.

  Erik grimaced, then sighed. “She committed suicide as a result of it. And I refuse to speak more of this right now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eileen said immediately. She saw the agitation that he couldn’t hide and felt guilty for pushing him so much.

  All the same, her heart softened toward him.

  He had a rat of a son and his wife had committed suicide. Eileen understood that Erik would have emotional walls like nobody’s business as a result of that experience.

  She could respect that he had scars. Only a man who had cared deeply for his wife could look so stricken when talking about her death. He had married her. They had had a son. He was disappointed in his son’s choices. This was all perfectly normal and very reassuring to Eileen.

  It was good that he had some romantic history. Solitude was a warning sign, in her opinion.

  At least those who were divorced had tried. People who tried marriage had believed in happily ever after, even if they had ultimately been proven wrong.

  Eileen thought of Lynne’s comments and opened her notes impatiently. “It’s an occupational hazard, I guess,” she said. “I sense a story and have to pursue it.” She smiled and even though Erik didn’t answer her, she saw his expression soften slightly.

  “Some wounds don’t close so easily,” he said quietly.

  Eileen understood that he had loved his wife deeply, perhaps so deeply that he continued to love her long after her death. The distinction between sex and love suddenly seemed very clear.

  Fortunately Eileen knew which she wanted from Erik. Just sex would suit her fine. Eileen ignored the dissenting voice in her mind and began to read her clumsy version of the story.

  Chapter 10

  “ ‘Once upon a time, in the parish of Madeley, there was a young woman,’ ” Eileen said, noting that Erik closed his eyes. “ ‘She was beautiful, with dark hair and flashing eyes, and was avidly courted by every young man in the vicinity. She had a sister who was as fair as she was dark, and the people called them Sunshine and Shadow. Their natures were opposite to their coloring, for the raven-haired one was as merry as a beam of sunlight, while the fair one was so quiet that she was easily overlooked.

  “ ‘Shadow was the eldest but had no desire to wed. She denied all of her suitors, declined every invitation and offer, much to the frustration of her father. Sunshine insisted she would wed only after Shadow did, which didn’t please their father either.’ ”

  Erik smiled ever so slightly but he didn’t say anything and he didn’t open his eyes. It was funny that his smile didn’t make him look
any less daunting. Even with his eyes closed, he seemed fully alert.

  Dangerous.

  Sexy.

  There was a green glimmer between his lids, as if he were watching her. Eileen shivered with mingled dread and delight, then kept reading.

  “ ‘The days passed and the sisters grew older, and fewer suitors came to call. The father argued with Shadow, but she refused to marry. Sunshine, in her turn, refused to wed first. Shadow had a tendency to go out into the fields and spend the day painting, and Sunshine often accompanied her. But Shadow took to disappearing before Sunshine was awake and returning late, after Sunshine was in bed.

  “ ‘This annoyed their father still more and he became suspicious. He tried to follow his daughter and learn what she was doing. The first morning, he lost her in a sudden swell of fog. On the second morning, it rained, and he lost sight of her in the mist. Furious that even the elements were arrayed against him, he waited up for his errant daughter.

  “ ‘They argued that night and Shadow admitted that she was with child. Her father’s fury knew no bounds. He destroyed everything Shadow had ever contributed to the household, shredded her paintings and scattered her paints. He banished her from the house, sending her out into the night, and disavowed her in his anger.’ ”

  Erik shifted in his seat. He opened his eyes and frowned, bracing his elbows on his knees. He watched Eileen, his eyes as bright as cut glass, and Eileen knew she’d reminded him of something.

  “Go on,” he urged when she hesitated.

  “ ‘Sunshine was afraid for her sister, but she was more afraid to defy her father. At first light, Sunshine slipped from the house with food and a dry cloak, hoping to find her sister. She was relieved when she saw Shadow appear in the rain and the sisters embraced. Sunshine saw the shadow of a man, but he did not come close enough for her to see his face.

  “ ‘Shadow had returned only to say farewell. She kissed her younger sister and bade her to be happy. As a farewell gift, Shadow gave Sunshine the only painting yet in her possession. Shadow bade her sister not to look at it until she was gone, to keep it safe forever as a talisman; then the sisters embraced one last time and the elder one departed.’ ”