She trusted her body and its message.
She was carrying the precious burden of Erik’s child, and she was going to guarantee that she had a healthy pregnancy. She ate well, ensured that she got lots of sleep, and she exercised gently.
And she thought a lot about the future. She was positive that Erik would keep his word—he was predictable like that—so she considered what she would say to him. Increasingly, her weekend with him seemed less fantastical. Those couple of days became the most vivid parts of her life, the moments that were the most vehemently real.
She wanted more of that life.
The future was far from guaranteed, though. The one thing that Eileen could count on—assuming her pregnancy went well—was a child in her future. She thought a lot about Erik’s legacy and how she could share that with a child. She needed the help of the Pyr.
She needed the help of one specific Pyr.
She waited for him, sure of her decision and content to be patient. Meanwhile, she tended to the details of life.
Eileen was trying to figure out an appropriate memorial for Teresa when she received a solicitation for their alumni association. There was a move to beautify the campus of their alma mater with landscaping and perennials. Eileen knew that was the perfect project to honor Teresa’s memory and sent a healthy donation in the name of her former roommate.
She talked to her sister weekly and exchanged e-mails with her, enduring Lynne’s tirade about her failure to return to the house for a visit. They agreed that Lynne would bring the girls to Boston during their summer break, and Eileen decided she’d tell her sister about the baby then.
Spring came reluctantly to Boston and, without classes to teach, Eileen walked a lot. She enjoyed the change of the seasons as she seldom had before, mostly because she previously hadn’t taken time to witness it. She talked to her baby, sharing her joys and fears, feeling only incrementally less alone. She wrote course syllabi for the fall term and composed book lists; she consulted with her graduate students and continued her own research.
At night, she opened the window of her apartment, sat at the kitchen table, and wrote longhand. As much as she wanted to write up her notes on the Dragon Lover of Madeley and its deeper truth, Eileen couldn’t do it. Not only would the truth damage her academic credibility, but it felt like a breach of trust to “out” the Pyr and their hidden world.
Eileen found herself instead writing a history of the Pyr. She liked the thought of compiling a book as a legacy for her child, and loved the idea of a reference manual for new mates.
In the beginning, there was the fire. . . .
Eileen had a good memory, particularly for stories, and she was sure after a week of nightly writing that she’d recorded every snippet of Pyr lore she’d heard and overheard. There were still holes in the story, though, and she yearned to fill the gaps.
She was missing the company of a certain forthright dragon in her life. The book wasn’t the only reason she wanted to see Erik again, though.
Eileen talked to the baby about the challenge of compiling a history of the Pyr, of the real threat of losing her academic credibility if she published such a volume, of the paucity of sources, of her need to write it anyway.
The baby, not surprisingly, didn’t reply.
But two days later, a package came by courier from Michigan. There was a book inside, a receipt for postage paid on its return, and a note from Sara Keegan.
Quinn’s mate.
Eileen—
I dreamed that you needed this.
If I’m wrong—or when you’re done—please send it back to us. We can’t afford to lose this volume.
All my best,
Sara
The package was rolled in bubble wrap, then sealed in plastic. After Eileen opened that protective layer, the book was carefully wrapped in tissue paper. She smiled, remembering that Sara was a bookseller, liking that Sara found books as precious as Eileen did.
This volume was old, its leather cover stamped with gilt letters and embossed. The title made Eileen sit down hard.
The Habits and Habitats of Dragons: a Compleat Guide for Slayers.
The author’s name made her eyes widen. It had been written by Sigmund Guthrie.
Eileen looked out the window and ran her hand across the cover, marveling that Sara had sent her precisely what she needed. But then, Sara was supposed to be the Seer.
Then Eileen opened the book and began to read.
At the end of that lunar month, Eileen was teaching a guest lecture on research. She had her back to the auditorium and was writing a couple of references on the board to conclude her lecture when she felt the atmosphere of the hall change.
She knew why.
Even without the firestorm, even after a month’s separation, even with her back turned, she knew that Erik had arrived.
She was sure she could pinpoint the seat he had taken.
She tingled from head to toe, a wild joy taking hold of her and making her heart pound. It wasn’t the firestorm, but in a way it was more powerful. His presence made her smile.
She wrote the last of her references on the board and completed her lecture with her usual flourish—she pivoted, tossed the chalk into the air, and caught it.
“Any questions?” she asked. She saw Erik immediately, exactly where she guessed he was, and her smile broadened.
He had slipped into the back of the hall and probably had hoped to be incongruous. The man couldn’t have been incongruous to save his soul—or his spark. He was older than most of the students and carried himself with more confidence than the others in the hall. Students in his vicinity were casting sidelong glances his way, and she could hear the whispers beginning.
But Erik’s gaze was fixed on her.
And he was wearing a red T-shirt.
It would go perfectly with the scarf she’d knit for him.
Even from the podium, Eileen was sure she could see the glitter of his eyes and the question in their depths.
Her heart skipped. He’d come right on time, right when he had said he would.
A promise from Erik Sorensson was a promise kept.
Eileen liked that.
There were several questions from the students, which she answered easily; then the professor who had invited her to speak to his class thanked her. There was a smattering of applause and Eileen exchanged a few private words with her fellow professor. Then she gathered her notes, pushed them into her satchel, and headed for the man waiting at the back of the hall.
“You missed the best part,” Eileen said with a smile.
“I heard it all,” Erik replied. “I didn’t want to risk being a distraction.”
“As if. I’m an old pro.” Eileen laughed at his skeptical expression, then slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they left together. “You’re right, of course. I might have lost my place if I’d seen you sooner. I was afraid you might not come.”
“You changed my mind about fleeting connections,” he said with a resolve that sent a thrill through her. He cast her a glance, and his eyes gleamed a vivid green. “And I think we make a good team.”
“I decided exactly the same thing,” Eileen agreed, and smiled at him. She was rewarded by Erik’s smile, one that made his lips curve in a sexy way and put a sparkle in his eyes.
“Is question period over?” he asked in a low voice. “Because I didn’t ask my question.”
“Why not?”
“I thought it might be inappropriate for the lecture hall.”
“You wouldn’t ask me in front of everyone whether the story of the Dragon Lover of Madeley was true or not, would you?”
Erik laughed, a wonderful sound. “No. My question was whether you’d have dinner with me tonight.”
Eileen tightened her grip on his arm, liking the solid strength of him. She’d been thinking about more than talking with Erik. “Dinner would be great, but I have to insist on dessert, too.”
Erik squeezed her fingertips a
nd Eileen knew he understood exactly what she meant. “Not breakfast, as well?” he teased, his words too low to be overheard by anyone else.
Eileen felt her cheeks heat. “No. There’s no chance of breakfast.” She enjoyed the sight of his surprise, then smiled. “I have a swimming lesson first thing in the morning.”
“You?” He was visibly startled.
Eileen squared her shoulders. “I’m getting used to the water and becoming a better swimmer. It’s less frightening each time.” She cast him a mischievous glance. “Besides, it’s supposed to be great exercise during pregnancy.”
His grin was all the reward she needed.
Eileen tugged him into her small office and closed the door, leaning her back against it. She liked that he spared the room the barest glance before meeting her gaze again. She also liked that he could probably name several dozen of the books she had on the shelves even after such a quick survey. He was so observant.
“So, you’ve had it confirmed.” Erik was cautious, and Eileen knew he was watching her response. “Are you pleased?”
She dropped her satchel on the desk and pivoted to face him. Her office was sufficiently small—and sufficiently full of books—that they were only a step apart. The intensity of his gaze made her feel warm and sexy, as if she were the axis of his world.
It was an intoxicating feeling, one that she’d missed, one that she doubted would ever change. She could count on him—her instincts told her as much—and Eileen had learned to trust her instincts.
“I think we can do better this time,” she said softly. “Especially if we do it together.”
“I agree,” Erik said with such conviction that Eileen smiled. She reached up and touched the silver hair at his temples, letting her fingers linger against his skin. “Is there more of it now?”
He nodded once.
“I thought at first that you Pyr were all immortal.”
“No. Long-lived, at least until our firestorms; then the aging process speeds up for us. A Pyr often gets his first gray hair after his firestorm.”
“But you could live long beyond your mates,” Eileen whispered, feeling that this was incredibly sad.
Erik shook his head slightly. “My old friend Thierry believed that commitment to one’s mate made those years more precious, that love made a Pyr more than he could be otherwise.” He smiled crookedly. “He was the Smith before Quinn. He said that the firestorm made a Pyr stronger, just as the forge tempers steel.”
“That’s not an effortless process.”
“Is a love worth having easily won?” Erik didn’t wait for an answer, but lifted Eileen’s hand in his own. “Thierry believed that a Pyr would choose to die, either consciously or unconsciously, after the loss of his mate. He believed that the days and nights would no longer have any point to that Pyr after years of companionship.”
“That happens to people, too, after they’ve been together for a long time.”
Erik bent and kissed her palm gently.
Eileen caught her breath. “Why didn’t you die after Louisa did, then?”
He looked up at her, his expression intent, and Eileen’s heart clenched. His words were soft and low, and his gaze searched hers. “I guess we had unfinished business, you and I.”
“You waited.”
“Not consciously, but I think on some level it was a choice.”
“And now I’m back.”
“No. You’re here, and well worth the wait.” He smiled and she found herself smiling back at him. “The choice is yours as to what we do about it.”
Eileen cleared her throat, feeling a little bit nervous about her recent decisions. She and Erik had a deal about honesty, though, and she wasn’t going to lie to him. “You should know that I sent my c.v. to a couple of schools in Chicago.”
“Really?” His eyes shone with a delight that he couldn’t hide.
“I’ve already had one request that I come out for an interview in the next few weeks.”
“You’d move?”
“There’s only one place I want to be.” Eileen echoed his own gesture, pressing her lips against his palm in turn. “With you.”
“And they’d be lucky to have you,” he said with a smile.
“I think so,” Eileen agreed.
“Not as lucky as me, though.”
Eileen grinned at him as her heart thumped.
“I’ll assume that you’re agreeable to dinner, then,” he teased, and she had time to laugh before he kissed her soundly.
Erik lay beside Eileen hours later, his body tired and his heart full. She nestled against him, sleeping sweetly, and he caressed her shoulder with his fingertips. The window was open and he could smell the sea, feel the wind.
Spring had arrived. He’d seen green leaves pushing from the ground on his walk through the campus today; they’d discovered some yellow primroses in bloom in a garden they strolled past this evening. The earth was redolent with the fresh promise of rebirth.
Erik didn’t miss the fact that it coincided with his own change. He felt lighter. He felt complete. He felt aware of the possibilities and excited by them—a new optimism had seized him.
Or maybe an old optimism had been reawakened.
Something inside him, a wound he had never known he had, had healed. And like the king in Eileen’s story, he could feel the land responding to his own state of health. There were still challenges before him and the Pyr, but Erik was confident that he would face them better with Eileen at his side.
Thierry had been right.
Erik hoped that his old friend knew that he had been persuaded.
He smiled in the darkness, knowing that Thierry would appreciate that Erik’s destined mate had been the one to change his mind.
His mate.
His partner.
His love. Her hair was cast across his chest, a tangle of red-gold curls. It could have been a Valkyrie’s net for gathering her plunder of souls. But this Valkyrie had given Erik back the part of his soul that he had lost.
He would do anything for her.
Maybe his necessary sacrifice had been surrendering his independence, or the idea that he could be complete alone, or the conviction that duty came before everything else.
Erik’s firestorm had been aptly named. It had swept into his life, incinerating his objections and preconceptions. He might as well have been tossed into a crucible, heated and purified beyond all expectation. His defenses had been dissolved. His protests had been eliminated.
And when the air had cleared, when the balance had been restruck and the past had been addressed, he had risen from the ashes of his own history like a phoenix. He felt new and strong, powerful and capable. Erik didn’t have to choose between the Pyr and himself—he could be whole if he held the right balance between the personal and the collective.
Eileen had taught him that.
Eileen had helped him to heal.
Erik dozed beside Eileen, content as he had seldom been, lulled by the soft sound of her breathing. He thought of their child taking shape inside her, savored the way his body matched its rhythms to hers. He was not quite asleep, so he was surprised when he dreamed.
“There is only one way,” Sigmund murmured in old-speak.
Erik’s eyes flew open at the familiar sound of his son’s voice, but he couldn’t see him in Eileen’s apartment or sense his presence.
Perhaps Sigmund was only in his dreams.
“How?” Erik replied in kind.
“You must destroy the source, the source of the Dragon’s Blood Elixir.”
“But where is it? What is it?”
“Close your eyes. Open your thoughts to me.”
Erik did as he was bidden, trusting his son in death as he seldom had in life. An image formed in his mind’s eye, and he smiled at the sight of Sigmund in human form. He was in Erik’s old lair, on one knee beside the coffee table.
Where the broken Dragon’s Egg still rested in majesty.
Sigmund picked up one ha
lf of the obsidian orb and blew upon it. The surface came alive as it had not done for Erik, as it had once beneath Sophie’s song. Erik leaned closer, as he had once before, and peered into the stone.
He saw a cavern, a massive cavern with a smooth tower in its center. He leaned closer and the tower appeared in greater detail, as if he walked toward it. It was made of glass or crystal and it shone in the light.
It wasn’t a tower—it was a massive vial, carved from rock crystal. There were stairs carved into its surface, a spiral of stairs that wound to the summit.
But there was no light in the cavern. The light emanated from the massive cylinder.
No, it radiated from its contents. They swirled like ruddy fog, opaque and mysterious, cloudy and red. Erik realized that the cylinder was filled with liquid just as its contents began to pulse.
The Elixir!
The clouds of its contents shifted and moved, and Erik had the horrible sense that something was trapped inside the massive vial. Then he saw a talon hanging limply from a claw scaled in red.
“Cinnabar,” Sigmund said as Erik recoiled.
Someone had preserved a dead Pyr. Erik understood why the Dragon’s Blood Elixir was red, why it possessed the name that it did, and was revolted by the thought of anyone drinking such a liquid.
Sigmund straightened, then looked steadily at Erik. He looked as he had when he was younger, not burned and broken, not bitter. He was less substantial, though, perhaps ghostlike. “I didn’t let you down this time.”
“No.”
“You kept your promise to me. Did you know I would return to keep mine?”
“No.” Erik smiled. “I only hoped. It was time for one of us to trust.”
Sigmund inclined his head once at the truth of that. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
And in the dream, Erik’s son offered his father his hand. Erik wished it weren’t a dream, as he would have liked to have felt that last handshake with his own son.
“How did you do this? How did you come to me?” Erik asked, wondering what other secrets Sigmund had unearthed.