Sloane nodded. “Sigmund tried to kidnap the boy, probably to use him as a hostage to get you to stop the Green Machine.”
Alex was horrified at the thought, but it was more important to find a solution. “Well, won’t they try again? They really don’t seem to give up.”
“That’s why we came here,” Niall said. “So we could work together to defend all of you.”
Donovan spoke with resolve. “You know that we can do it.”
“But being without that scale makes you vulnerable,” Alex said, her hand rising to his chest.
Donovan nodded, his mood turning solemn. “Quinn said something about the firestorm forging each Pyr into something stronger,” he began cautiously.
“You mean I can help to heal you somehow?” Alex said. Sara nodded minutely. Alex spoke decisively. “Then we have to do that and we have to do it first, in case we get attacked again.”
Quinn smiled so slowly that Alex knew she’d said exactly the right thing. Then he nodded at Donovan. “It’s like tempering steel. I can make you a scale that will stay in place, but only with Alex’s assistance.”
“You need all four elements to heal a Pyr, just as you need all four elements to kill a Pyr,” Sara explained. “The firestorm brings a Pyr the elements he lacks, so it’s only with the help of his destined mate that he can truly be healed.”
“How do you know which elements should be supplied by whom?” Alex asked.
Sara smiled. “There’s no should be. Some things just are and you know when they’re right.”
“You know when they’re right,” Quinn corrected.
“It’s my job,” Sara agreed cheerfully.
“I can work with the broken scale,” Quinn said. “But it needs a token to empower it.” He looked between the two of them. “The scale needs to be a representation of the four elements in union.”
“Quinn used wrought iron for his scale,” Sara said, “because it represents his element of earth. He forged it with his dragonfire.”
“Fire,” Alex said, nodding as she thought. The other Pyr lounged around the garage, their casual postures belying their obvious interest in the discussion.
“Then you supplied air and water?” Donovan asked Sara.
She smiled and put her hand in Quinn’s. “A tear and a breathy confession.” Quinn’s hand closed possessively over hers.
Alex was thinking. “You’re obviously fire,” she said to Donovan. “All passion and fury.”
“Thanks a lot,” he teased. “I’ll guess that you’re air, with all those brilliant ideas.”
“I’m feeling smarter all of a sudden,” Niall joked.
“Earth,” Rafferty said, pointing at Alex. “Possibly the most pragmatic and practical person I’ve ever met.”
“And determined.” Donovan nodded. “You’d give Rafferty a run for his money on determination.” The Pyr laughed at that and Sloane nudged Rafferty.
“My grandma taught me that giving up accomplishes nothing,” Alex said with pride. “What about water? Is that always about tears?”
“Intuition,” Sloane said. “Understanding and emotions.”
Sara pointed a finger at Donovan. “That’s you and your gut-level trust of people. You also fight well because you respond instinctively.”
“So what do we do?” Alex asked.
“We need a talisman of earth and air from you,” Quinn said to Alex.
Alex smiled. “I know just the thing.” She returned to the living room and retrieved the tissue-wrapped bundle she’d taken from her apartment. The kitchen was empty. She thought she heard the children on the stairs, so hurried back through the conservatory to the garage.
Her grandmother’s jet brooch was still wrapped in the tissue that smelled faintly of talcum powder. It was circular, about three inches in diameter, and carved to represent a swan in flight. The swan had a red eye, which was a single cabochon stone.
“It’s jet,” she said as she showed it to the others. “With a garnet.”
“Warrior colors,” Sara said softly. “Red and black.”
“Jet is a kind of coal.” Rafferty touched the pin. “It sings deeply of the earth.”
“And the swan is in flight,” Niall said.
“Are you sure you want to give me this?” Donovan asked Alex. “It looks like a family piece.”
“It was my grandmother’s. My grandfather gave it to her.” Alex could still see her grandmother, the dark brooch pinned on her jacket. “She always wore it, and insisted on giving it to me at the end. I’m not much for jewelry, but she told me that one day I’d know why it was meant for me.” She smiled at Donovan. “I guess I do.”
Donovan’s gaze brightened as he looked down at her. Alex thought for a moment that he was struck speechless, which would have been a feat. Then he bent and kissed her, the passion of his touch warming her right to her toes.
“Thank you,” Donovan said, his voice thick and his gaze bright. “You know I’ll protect you with everything I’ve got.”
“And soon you’ll have more,” Quinn said, taking the pin from Alex. He tossed it into the air and caught it, turning toward the garage. “Let’s get to work.”
Jared and Kirsten came down to breakfast together. Even though the house was full of people, there was no one in the kitchen. Jared had heard their parents talking in the master bedroom suite, and he’d been reassured to hear their mother laughing.
He and Kirsten faced the fridge together. “No one’s here,” Kirtsten said. “We could have something good for breakfast.”
“Froot Loops!” Jared said.
Kirsten gave him the look that older sisters reserve for younger brothers. “Don’t be a stupidhead.”
“Good morning,” Oscar said smoothly.
Kirsten raised her chin. “Oscar, I’d like two cinnamon buns, please. The kind with icing.”
Oooh, that was a better idea.
“I want three of them, please!” Jared said. Kirsten made a snorting pig noise and Jared bumped her arm. “I can eat three. I did it before.”
“I shall check my inventory,” Oscar said, and the children grinned at each other in anticipation.
Their smiles faded when the smart house spoke again.
“I regret that there are only whole-wheat bagels in the freezer,” Oscar said in his usual mild tone.
“He’s lying,” Kirsten hissed.
“He can’t lie. He’s a machine,” Jared replied. “Now who’s being the stupidhead?”
“There are always cinnamon buns in the freezer,” Kirsten insisted. “Because Dad likes them.” She opened the freezer and peered into its depths. There were bagels on the door and a big bag of frozen kernel corn. The other stuff was hard to identify, because it was all in silver packaging, with bar codes for Oscar’s reader. Jared didn’t know the thirteen-digit number for cinnamon buns and he suspected Kirsten didn’t, either.
Jared reached for the bagels. “Must have been the dragons that ate the cinnamon buns.”
Kirsten pulled out the toaster. “What dragons?” The bagels were already sliced—she pried the two frozen halves apart with a butter knife, then put them into the toaster.
“Those guys. They’re dragons.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes. “That’s stupidhead talk.”
“What do you mean? I saw.”
“You’re making stuff up again. I’m not going to believe you.” She slanted him a look he knew meant trouble. “Maybe I should tell Mom that you’re making up stories again.”
“Not fair!”
“Course it’s fair. She’ll probably give me a cinnamon bun.”
Jared considered his sister angrily. He wanted a cinnamon bun, too. “Not if I’m right, she won’t.”
Kirsten sighed. “You’re not right. There’s no such thing as dragons. They’re not real.”
“These ones are.”
“Are not.”
“Are so.”
“Are not.”
The toaster popped as they arg
ued, and Kirsten buttered the bagels. Jared got the peanut butter from the fridge and she spread that on, too, under his close supervision.
“Are so,” Jared said emphatically when he’d had a bite of bagel. His sister was chewing, which was the best time to argue a point with her. “Come on, I’ll prove it to you.”
Donovan was awed that Alex would contribute her grandmother’s pin to repair his scales, but glad of it. He was anxious to have his missing scales replaced. He would wear Alex’s token with pride and take it as a good sign for their future. Everything felt tentative to him, filled with unexpected promise, yet unpredictable.
Sloane was talking to Delaney in the corner, quietly counseling the injured Pyr and planning a course for his full recovery. Niall admired the Green Machine, and Rafferty sat quietly as he watched the others. Quinn surveyed the garage. Donovan knew he would have preferred to have been in his studio with his forge.
“Dragonfire,” he suggested in old-speak.
Quinn nodded and met his gaze. “Dragonfire,” he agreed. “It’s the only way to do it here.”
“And we have to do it now,” Donovan agreed. He was on the cusp of the greatest test of his life and he wanted everything in his favor. He knew the Slayers would be back and he knew they would hurl everything they had at the Pyr in order to stop Alex. It would happen in the next twenty-four hours, which didn’t leave time to go to Quinn’s studio and return.
“What are you talking about?” Sara demanded.
“We have to shift to do this,” Donovan told Alex, not wanting to startle her. “All of us.” Alex nodded her understanding, swallowed, and held her ground.
He was proud of her again.
Quinn, meanwhile, shimmered around his edges. He inhaled and grew larger, his eyes glittering. In the blink of an eye, Quinn had shifted to a massive sapphire and steel dragon.
Niall followed suit, his amethyst and platinum scales gleaming in the dim light of the garage. Rafferty shifted immediately afterward, his opal and gold scales shining. Donovan felt the power of their collective presence and was glad to have such loyal friends. They would beat the Slayers and save the world, together.
Alex swallowed and took a small step back.
Sloane changed shape then, showing the splendor of his tourmaline scales. They shaded from green to gold to purple and were edged with gold. Delaney shifted next, and Donovanwas glad to see that his copper and emerald scales were already regaining some of their luster.
Alex seemed to be struggling to keep her breathing even. Donovan offered his hand to her. “None of us will hurt you,” he murmured, and she swallowed. She put her hand in his and he could feel her trembling through the heat of the firestorm. “There will be dragonfire, but it’ll be directed at me and at Quinn.”
“Okay,” she said, lifting her chin. “Let’s do it.”
Holding her hand and her gaze, Donovan shifted shape.
No one heard the small boy taunt his sister in the shadows. “See?” Jared whispered. “Now who’s the stupidhead?”
There was no reply. To Jared’s disappointment, his sister had gone, leaving him alone.
She probably knew where the cinnamon buns were.
Jared didn’t care. He hunkered down and watched.
Quinn put out his claw, inviting Alex to give him the jet brooch. She eyed his massive talons for a moment and Donovan felt her fear rise again.
Then she very deliberately put the pin in Quinn’s claw. She forced her hand to linger, letting her thumb graze one of his talons. Once again, she compelled herself to act despite her fear.
Donovan was impressed.
Quinn held the pin with the tips of his talons and exhaled dragonfire at it. Alex jumped, even as Donovan moved to protect her from the flames.
The other Pyr turned their attention upon Quinn, all of them breathing dragonfire upon the Smith to give him strength. Quinn began to glitter like a faceted stone, the blue of his scales becoming brighter and more vivid. He arched his back and reared high, filling the garage with his power. His talons were fierce, glittering silver, as he held the jet pin before himself. He inhaled, then breathed flames so hot that they were white.
Donovan schooled himself to remember what Quinn had taught him about taking dragonfire, knowing that he’d soon be exposed to another assault of it. What Quinn managed on instinct, Donovan had to prepare himself to endure.
Maybe it would become intuitive in time.
Donovan had given the two scales to Sara—the one that had held the Dragon’s Tooth and the one of his own—she offered them to Quinn. He heated them with his white-hot dragonfire, fusing them together in the right configuration. He worked like a jeweler to join the silver setting of the brooch with the gold of the scale. He was hampered without his tools, but he made deft use of his talons. Quinn’s dexterity and skill impressed Donovan, as always.
Alex watched with equal fascination, sheltered by Donovan from the heat. He offered his talon to her when Quinn was done, coaxing her closer.
She came, her eyes shining with her trust.
And maybe something else.
Quinn lifted the new scale, the jet shining brightly in its new setting. He tested the fit, then heated the back of the makeshift scale with a fiery blast of dragonfire. Donovan barely had time to catch his breath before Quinn pressed the glowing scale against his chest.
“Alex!” Quinn commanded, and she understood. She put the palm of her hand on the jet, replacing Quinn’s claw, and pushed the scale hard against Donovan’s flesh.
The pain was searing. Firestorm and dragonfire burned together to repair his armor. The new scale could have been a brand. It burned deep, sending a stab of pain through Donovan.
Donovan tipped back his head and bellowed as the heat cut straight to his marrow. The fire incinerated his old pains and injuries, even those that had left scars upon his heart. It cauterized the wound of Olivia’s deception. It knit his flesh and burned away the detritus and left the image of Alex seared onto his very soul.
Donovan ached for the mistakes he had made and the grudges he had nursed. He regretted the fate of Delaney and he mourned his own error in trusting Olivia. He had erred but he had learned.
He felt Alex take a tear from his face with a gentle fingertip. It glimmered on her fingertip. It sizzled as she placed it at the root of the new scale. The heat within him burned brighter as the tear ran around the lip of the scale. He felt Alex lean close. She brushed her lips across the jet.
“Be invulnerable, Warrior,” she whispered, the fan of her breath cooling his injury. He looked down and saw her smiling up at him. “We’ve got to kick some Slayer butt.”
Donovan wanted to feel more than the brush of her lips against his skin. He shifted shape again and caught her close, thrilled that she had chosen to help him. The Pyr shifted in unison and applauded. Rafferty shook Quinn’s hand as Donovan kissed Alex, and the others hooted at Quinn’s success.
The white radiance that had shot through his veins had clarified his vision and made obvious to him what he had to do. Donovan was going to win the heart of his mate, no matter what the price.
The first step was to get the Green Machine running.
Chapter 19
The black Lamborghini slipped through the rain-soaked streets of Chicago like a panther on the prowl. The low thrum of its engine echoed the night pulse of the city. Its windshield wipers struck a rhythmic beat, as insistent as the raindrops beading on the hood.
It was more than the rain that gave the driver chills. There was a portent in the wind, the scent of trouble. He wasn’t entirely certain whom he’d meet before morning’s light.
Or what result the night’s adventures would bring.
Nevertheless, it was time.
Erik followed his opponent’s scent to a part of the downtown that was being re-gentrified. He parked in front of a chic new bistro, ignoring the valet and the NO PARKING signs. He got out of the car, leaving its engine idling, just as two men stepped out of the re
staurant. The rain fell on the shoulders of his black leather jacket but he stood silent, watching.
The men chatted as they paused under the bistro’s red awning, taking shelter from the onslaught of rain. They fastened their coats and turned up their collars, reviewing the meal they’d enjoyed. The one Erik didn’t know frowned at the Lamborghini, then lifted his gaze in search of a cab. He lit a cigar with care.
The other met Erik’s gaze without surprise. His pale eyes lit with anticipation and he seemed to almost smile.
Erik tossed his challenge coin. The Olaf Tryggvason penny glinted as it flew through the falling rain. Boris snatched it out of the air, stepping out from beneath the awning into the rain to do so. His smile flashed as his hand closed over the coin.
“Took you long enough,” he gloated in old-speak.
“Now,” Erik replied.
He had no interest in small talk, no inclination to be delayed. He pivoted and got back into his car, revving the engine before he pulled away from the bistro. Boris made his excuses to his companion—who looked bewildered by his departure—then hauled open the passenger door.
He got in, smelling of cologne and brandy and wet cashmere, and slammed the door. He stared straight out the windshield, still using old-speak. “The docks,” he said, as if giving directions.
It was his choice and he’d made a good one.
“The docks,” Erik agreed, and squealed the tires as he pulled away from the curb.
It was midnight when Donovan watched Alex turn the key in the ignition of the Green Machine. The engine sputtered, then started. It idled beautifully and when she touched the accelerator with more force, the engine purred like a kitten.
“It works!” she cried, her eyes alight.
The Pyr shouted as one. They cheered and laughed, highfiving each other, triumphant in their success. Donovan was so exhausted that he thought he’d sleep for a week. Quinn looked worn-out and Donovan knew he should summon some more dragonfire for his friend.
Maybe in a few minutes.
“I love stealing the moment,” a man said from the driveway.
Donovan spun to find a stranger standing just beyond the Pyr perimeter mark of smoke. He knew he wasn’t the only one to take the new arrival’s scent and to smell the darkness emanating from him. He was slick and expensively dressed, confident and smooth.