Especially as he was usually right.
“Then, what is it about?” Donovan asked, then met the older Pyr’s gaze. “I’ll bet you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
Even Rafferty didn’t know this story.
“I know you, and I know that the real issue here is trust.”
“Trust?” Donovan scoffed in his relief. “I don’t have any problems with trust. I trust all of you guys, don’t I?”
Rafferty shook his head, his gaze knowing. “You don’t trust women. You haven’t trusted women since Olivia—”
“Don’t even say her name!”
“Or maybe since your mother threw you out for being what you are.” Rafferty put a hand on Donovan’s shoulder. “Not all women are selfish vipers like Olivia.”
And not all women deserved Olivia’s fate.
Donovan strode toward the house with impatience. “I don’t distrust women. I have sex all the time and—”
“And you always leave before the morning, don’t you?” Rafferty interrupted, following close behind him. “Once the pleasure is over, you’re gone. You never return twice to the same bed.”
That was a bit too close to Keir’s last taunt for Donovan’s comfort. He pivoted and jabbed a finger at Rafferty. “Don’t say that the spark never falls far from the blaze.”
Rafferty was dismissive. “You aren’t like Keir. Anyone can see that.” His eyes narrowed. “But what if your choices lead to the same results?”
Donovan stuck to his cover story. “You’re making too much of this. I like variety. I’m not interested in commitment. So what?”
Rafferty folded his arms across his chest. “So, maybe this firestorm is the means of learning what you really need to know.”
“I learn new stuff all the time.”
“Maybe you’re down to what you really need to know,” Rafferty insisted. “Maybe trusting women, trusting a mate, and making a long-term commitment is your last frontier.”
Donovan met his friend’s gaze. “You’re serious.”
“Maybe it’s what you need to know to become the Warrior.”
Donovan’s heart skipped a beat; then he shook his head. “The Warrior’s powers are legendary. His role is foretold. There’s never been a Warrior—”
“And why wouldn’t there be one now, when we face a challenge to our very survival? A destined challenge?”
Donovan met Rafferty’s knowing gaze. Could there be a purpose to all he was experiencing? Could loving Alex and surrendering to the firestorm be the best thing he could do for the Pyr?
But how would he protect her from himself?
Rafferty cocked a finger at the younger Pyr. “But you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you surrender to the firestorm and it’s the best you ever had, that you’ll go back to Alex. You’re afraid that you’ll go back over and over again, that you’ll get hooked, that you’ll trust her and maybe even fall in love. You’re afraid of making that commitment, that personal commitment to a much more intimate team.”
Donovan’s heart started to pound, but he couldn’t walk away from Rafferty and his intensity.
“And you’re terrified that she’ll do just what Olivia did.” Rafferty nodded. “You’re afraid that she’ll wait until you’re committed and vulnerable, and then she’ll betray you. You’re afraid that another one of us, or maybe even all of us, will pay the price for your misplaced trust.”
The bottom fell out of Donovan’s gut.
Rafferty leaned in close again. “Isn’t it funny how Alex has the same coloring as Olivia? They’re not doppelgangers, but there’s a resemblance. . . .”
“No!” Donovan shouted, and flung himself away from the words he didn’t want to hear.
Rafferty strode right behind him and didn’t let it go. “What if you knew, all those years ago? What if you had a vision of your destined mate, and when you saw Olivia, you thought she was Alex?”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“I don’t think so. You don’t remember, but I do. Olivia was always conniving, always obviously conniving. I could never understand what you saw in her.” Rafferty dropped his voice to a whisper. “You always said the truth was in the way her eyes sparkled before she laughed, in the pure mischief of her expression. I saw only malice. You saw her once and were smitten. Were you seeing the truth, or just what you wanted to see?”
Donovan felt a lump rise in his throat. “That was a long time ago, Rafferty.”
“It all makes perfect sense. Alex is different from Olivia, Donovan,” Rafferty insisted. “Hers is a different soul. She’s genuine and honest, and she would never take up with a Slayer like Magnus, no matter what prize he offered.”
“You’ve only just met her.”
“I know that you can trust the firestorm. It takes a long time, because it’s not easy to find a perfect match for a dragon. Don’t be afraid to trust, Donovan. . . .”
That was enough. Donovan faced his old friend.
“No, I’m not afraid to trust,” he said, his tone harsh in his honesty. “I’m afraid that I’ll destroy Alex, exactly the way I destroyed Olivia.” Donovan paused as Rafferty stared at him, then admitted the rest. “Or maybe I’ll let her down exactly the way I let down Delaney. Is the difference really important? Maybe I am the shard of Keir’s talon, no matter what I do or say. Maybe my choices don’t really change the result.”
“No.” Rafferty shook his head. “You’re blaming yourself too much for the loss of Delaney.”
“He’s not lost, Rafferty.” Donovan knew that the rest of what he had witnessed had to be shared with the others. “I need to tell this to Erik.” Rafferty’s brow wrinkled in concern as they headed back into the house together.
Donovan was on the threshold when he saw Alex and that predictable fire surged through his body. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman before. Rafferty was right—he’d always been tempted by tall women, women with athletic builds, intelligence, and raven-dark hair.
Had he been seeking Alex all these years without knowing it?
He jumped when Rafferty’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “You’re lucky,” the older Pyr murmured, yearning in his voice as he observed the firestorm’s effects. “So very lucky.”
Donovan glanced back and met Rafferty’s gaze. “It should have been your firestorm. You’ve waited a long time.”
Rafferty’s smile was rueful. “Patience is a virtue I have in abundance.” He heaved a sigh. “You’re too smart to piss into the wind, Donovan. Think twice before you throw this opportunity away.” With that, Rafferty stepped past Donovan and accepted a glass of red wine from Alex.
There was irritation in her expression and she didn’t look at Donovan directly. Her decision to ignore him had the opposite effect upon Donovan: she was the only light in the room for him. He was aware of the softness of her skin and the way the low light played over her cheeks. He remembered the soft heat of her lips and the feel of her curves beneath his hands. He respected her grace under fire, her ability to process and use new information, her determination to face her fears and annihilate them.
It made him think that if he had to pick a mate for himself, she’d be a whole lot like Alex Madison.
Not that it mattered. He’d protect her until February, then they’d go their separate ways.
Would he regret his choice?
Or would he be glad that he’d avoided temptation?
Assuming that he could avoid temptation for four entire months. It wasn’t Donovan’s best trick, that was for sure.
“Donovan has some news for us,” Rafferty said, and every face turned at the urgency in his tone.
“Delaney isn’t dead,” Donovan said. “He’s Slayer.”
After Donovan’s announcement, Alex watched the ripple pass through the group of Pyr. They clearly had believed that Delaney was dead, whoever he was.
Alex knew Quinn and Sara already, and Erik had introduced Sloane. The hearse-driving Pyr had introduced himself as
Rafferty when he accepted a glass of wine.
“Are you opal and gold in dragon form?” she asked, and he nodded, clearly surprised.
He studied her for a moment, then stepped away after Donovan’s announcement, maybe because of it. Rafferty moved quietly, his presence like a low thrum in the room, and his gaze kept flicking back to Alex. It was easy to believe that he could make the earth quake, and that he knew its songs.
“Delaney can’t be alive,” Sloane protested. “He died in Quinn’s firestorm, when he and Erik were defending Sara.”
“He can’t be a Slayer,” Erik said. “He would never make such a choice.”
“Keir did, and Keir was Delaney’s father,” Donovan said. “Our father,” he corrected. “The Wyvern sent me a dream.”
“But Keir’s heart was always dark,” Erik insisted. “Delaney’s was not. A Pyr cannot be made Slayer against his will.”
“What would it take to change your mind?” Sloane murmured, and the Pyr seemed to shudder as one.
Alex thought of Mark’s final moments.
“Delaney hadn’t been exposed to all four elements,” Sara noted. “Maybe they didn’t take his body to ensure that he stayed dead.”
“Well, what else would they do?” Quinn demanded with impatience. “Keep him alive as a slave?”
Sloane looked grim. “It’s not out of the question.” Another ripple of alarm passed through the group. “When Niall and I took down Xavier at the cabin last summer, he taunted us with the prospect of being turned Slayer. He said if we were injured, then Boris would have us on his side.”
“Is that possible?” Rafferty asked. “Isn’t the true heart of a Pyr enough to protect him from such evil?”
“It is taught that Pyr are born and Slayers are made,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “The lesson doesn’t say how Slayers are made.”
“Delaney fights like an animal,” Donovan said, and Alex saw how much the truth troubled him. “He never could fight well, but now he’s fearless and ferocious. He’s oblivious to his own pain, just keeps coming back for more.”
“Did he know you?” Erik asked quietly.
Donovan shook his head. “I couldn’t tell.”
The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire.
“The thing is that he’s not really Slayer.” Donovan threw back half a glass of wine. “He doesn’t bleed.”
“Neither did Keir,” Quinn observed.
“What’s darker than Slayer?” Sara asked.
Sloane cleared his throat. “I think I know. That manuscript I was translating, the old one—”
“The one that felt bad to you,” Rafferty said.
Sloane nodded. “I found the key to the cipher. It’s a mystical treatise, about the divine spark of the Great Wyvern. That spark is what gives us life; it’s what animates our bodies.”
“The spark never falls far from the blaze,” Donovan said grimly. “And the Great Wyvern is the biggest blaze of all.”
“Yes.” Sloane nodded. “And there’s a spark of Her divinity in each of us. The firestorm, according to this document, is a mark of Her favor. It burns because She’s more emphatically present. She’s indicating Her choice.”
“What about free will?” Donovan asked, and Alex didn’t miss his implication. She filled up her wineglass.
“There’s a debate for another day,” Erik said, then beckoned to Sloane. “What else does the document say?”
“That to become Slayer is to choose the darkness over the light, to choose the cold rather than the heat. It is to step away from the fire of divinity, so to speak, and to deny the eternal spark within each of us. To become Slayer is to deny the will of the Great Wyvern, to extinguish Her spark and become self-motivated instead of concerned with the fate of the collective.”
“One instead of all,” Erik mused. “Selfish.”
“And it says that the truth of any individual’s choice lies in his heart. That with free will, any of us can choose the shadows, but that the manifestation of that choice can’t be stopped.”
“It’s a one-way street,” Rafferty said with a nod.
Sloane heaved a sigh. “It also says that the Great Wyvern rescinds Her sign from those who deny Her, that their blood reflects the truth of their choice.”
“It’s black because they’ve chosen darkness,” Quinn said with a nod of approval. “Instead of red for the fire.”
“But what if they don’t have any blood?” Sara asked.
“Then they have no souls,” Alex guessed, following the logic. “They’re not alive.” The Pyr all stared at her in shock.
“Great Wyvern, what did I do?” Donovan whispered, and drank. He was pale and she knew he blamed himself for the fate of Delaney.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Erik said sharply. “I made the choice. If any carry the burden of Delaney’s loss, it’s me.”
Donovan didn’t look reassured. “He was my brother.”
“I thought you were cousins,” Rafferty said.
“I always said that, because we looked similar. And we were both cast out because we were Pyr. It was a kind of a joke.” Donovan shoved a hand through his hair. “But the Wyvern sent me a dream, showing me that we were both Keir’s sons.”
“But not shards of his talon,” Rafferty said quietly.
Alex could see that Donovan wasn’t sure of that.
“Then how did Delaney become Slayer?” Donovan demanded.
“You see, that’s just it,” Sloane said. “This treatise lists the way to steal a soul. Obviously, it can be done only when the Pyr in question is unable to defend himself.”
“Exposed to only three elements, but not quite dead,” Sara said.
Donovan sat down and drained his glass.
“What happens to the soul?” Rafferty asked.
“The spark is released and it returns to the Great Wyvern, just as it does when we die,” Sloane said. “But there’s a complex process of implanting a shadow in its stead, of embedding darkness where the light should be, and thus turning the Pyr into a Slayer.” He swallowed and looked around the room. “Into a slave who does not bleed.”
“Impossible,” Erik said, but his tone hinted at his doubt.
“It’s risky, but not impossible,” Sloane corrected. “Because the personality of the Pyr in question is still resident. A noble or good character will balk at the intrusion and fight it. The manuscript warns about madness and about uncontrollable results. The problem is that a slave with a heart of darkness is hard to kill. It suggests imprisonment for the duration of the process.”
“How do you kill them?” Quinn asked.
Sloane frowned. “It recommends dismemberment and incineration for the ones who go insane.”
“At least we got that right,” Quinn said heavily.
“But Keir was dead and buried,” Sara said.
“For a month,” Rafferty agreed.
Erik began to pace the room. “Imagine if they can harvest all dead Pyr from the duration of our history.” The notion made everyone in the room shudder. “Imagine if they can find all of those corpses and revive the ones who had not been exposed to all four elements immediately after their death.”
“They’d have an army of ghouls,” Sloane said. “Fighters who didn’t bleed and were hard to kill.”
Even Alex was shocked by this notion.
“That’s what they do at that dark academy,” Donovan guessed.
“And someone has to stop them,” Erik said with resolve.
“None of you,” the Wyvern agreed.
They all jumped, Alex included, and Sophie waved her fingertips from the doorway to the conservatory. “Surprise.” She walked into the room then. “I can’t see who will throw open the doors of the academy and release the Pyr trapped there. I can see though that it’s none of you.”
“There are other younger Pyr whom I watch and mentor—,” Erik began, but Sophie interrupted him.
“No. It will be an older Pyr. Older than any of you. Someone
who was born before the notion of Pyr and Slayer was so well articulated, someone whose heart holds both shadow and light.”
“But who?” Sloane asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But Rafferty is the oldest of our kind,” Erik argued.
“Is he,” Sophie replied, no question in her tone.
“What do you know that we do not?” Erik demanded.
Sophie smiled. She waved her fingertips and, right before the eyes of all of them, disappeared.
“I hate when she does that,” Rafferty muttered.
Alex had had enough. She had to think about her invention. She had to sleep. She had to rid herself of the distraction of dragons and Donovan and the promise of great sex.
Which meant she had to leave.
If the firestorm was going to last through February, then she could deal with it—and him—next week, after her investor meeting was over.
Alex took her bottle and her glass and headed for the door. “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I just ask that you don’t burn the place down. I’m in enough trouble with Peter as it is, and Diane is going to lose it over those tiles.”
“But where are you going?” Sara asked with alarm.
“Down to the boathouse. I’ve got some work to do.”
“But it’s two in the morning!” Sara called as Alex marched through the conservatory. Alex didn’t stop and she certainly didn’t look at Tyson’s body. The memory of his malice was enough to make her walk quickly past him.
“I do my best work in the middle of the night,” Alex lied. The truth was that she didn’t want to have a dragon nightmare in the company of dragons.
It seemed rude.
She opened the front door and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. The stars were out by the thousands overhead and there was no sign of any dragons on the horizon.
It could have been a normal night.
Alex turned her steps toward the boathouse, and heard Erik’s voice just before the door closed behind her.
“Your firestorm, I believe,” he said, and Alex knew whom he had addressed.
Alex was glad she couldn’t hear Donovan’s response. She could guess that it wasn’t polite. He wasn’t happy with her, that much was clear, but she wasn’t ready to establish his fan club, either.