Firestorm Forever
The Final Dragonfire Novel
by
Deborah Cooke
This flame will burn for all time…
Three key firestorms mark the culmination of the Dragon’s Tail Wars, pitting the dragon shifters known as the Pyr against the evil Slayers. The Slayers have struck a blow against mankind, bringing a pestilence from the ancient world, which is spreading like wildfire. Sloane Forbes, the Apothecary of the Pyr, knows it is his duty to find the cure, but the solution is elusive, his beautiful neighbor is distracting, and time is running out.
In moving to a remote farm in the California hills, Samantha Wilcox has left her demanding career behind by choice and on principle. It’s too painful to remember her own failures as both mother and physician, so she’s determined to start fresh. She’s going to live differently, following her instincts and savoring life’s pleasures—like the hot sex with no commitment offered by her mysterious neighbor. Sloane Forbes is no more an herb farmer than she is a tarot card reader, but Samantha is determined to keep their illusions intact—at least until she discovers that Sloane’s one of the Pyr, the dragon shifters responsible for the epidemic that stole her son’s life. As Slayers and Pyr gather for the final battle, can Samantha and Sloane work together to save the world and build themselves—and their respective kinds—a future?
Dear Reader;
And so we come to the final book in the Dragonfire cycle of paranormal romances. Sloane’s story has been a gleam in my eye from the very inception of this series: I always knew his firestorm would be the last one of the Dragon’s Tail Wars, because it had to be the Apothecary of the Pyr who healed the earth. This book is longer than other titles in the series, as there were more details to resolve. Conveniently for me, the end of the Dragon’s Tail node of the moon is marked by three lunar eclipses in relatively quick succession, so there are three firestorms in Firestorm Forever and a slightly different structure to the book to accommodate that. Many of you have written to me to express your wish that the series continue, but all wars must come to an end.
All species, however, do not.
Dragonfire was always intended to be a finite cycle of books, with somewhere between ten and twelve titles in all (Firestorm Forever brings us to eleven books, a short story, and three novellas, as well as the spin-off YA trilogy, the Dragon Diaries) but it was never intended to be the sum of my writing about dragon shape shifter heroes. There are more dragons in my future and in yours! I had been planning to step back in time next, to witness the extermination that left Erik so distrustful of humans, the evolution of Slayers and the discovery of the Dragon’s Egg. This trilogy of paranormal historical romances called DragonKnight have been pushed back in my schedule, though—in writing Firestorm Forever, more Pyr caught my imagination and their stories jumped the queue. You’ll meet a new villain in this book, as well as learn more about Theo, the current leader of the Dragon Legion, who is the reason I’ve been distracted. There’s an excerpt at the end of this book for Hot Blooded, the first book in my upcoming contemporary paranormal series DragonFate.
There also is a companion volume to the Dragonfire series in the works: Here Be Dragons: The Dragonfire Companion will be published in November 2015. Here Be Dragons will be available in both print and digital formats, and there are digital pre-order links available at some portals already. As usual, the book is discounted for pre-orders.
In addition, my alter ego, Claire Delacroix, is beginning a new medieval romance series this summer called the Champions of Saint Euphemia. This is a four-book series following a group of knights on their return from crusade—they’ve been entrusted with a parcel to deliver to Paris but quickly discover that someone wants it badly enough to kill to possess it. They find unexpected adventure on this journey, as well as danger, love, and romance. I hope you’ll join me for their quest. I’ve tucked an excerpt into the back of this book from the first story, The Crusader’s Bride, just in case you like knights as much as you like dragon shifter heroes.
Until next time, I hope you have lots of good books to read.
All my best,
Deborah
Firestorm Forever
by Deborah Cooke
A Dragonfire Novel
Copyright © 2015 by Deborah A. Cooke
All rights reserved.
Cover by Frauke Spanuth of CrocoDesigns.
Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-927477-48-9
Firestorm Forever
The entire Dragonfire series is listed is order on Deborah’s website.
http://deborahcooke.com/dragonfire
Prologue
April 2014—Chen’s lair in the mountains of Tibet
The Slayer Jorge was determined to consume every drop of the best source of the Elixir he’d found in years. Chen had finally fallen, and the lacquer red and gold Slayer was sprawled before Jorge, dead. Chen promised to be a generous feast, and Jorge was glad that Chen had expired in his dragon form.
It would prolong the pleasure of the meal.
Unfortunately, Lorenzo and Thorolf had damaged the cavern beneath the mountains that was Chen’s lair and summoned an earthquake. The ceiling was cracking overhead and rocks were falling all around Jorge. The other pair disappeared in a flash of light, and Jorge knew it was time to move his meal elsewhere.
He was currently without a lair himself, but there wasn’t a lot of time to think about it. He seized his prize and willed himself to manifest elsewhere. He gripped Chen’s body tightly as that familiar wind swirled around him and wished to be somewhere safe.
He was flung down hard, as was so often the case, and opened his eyes to find that he still had hold of his trophy.
But Jorge had no idea where he was. The tranquility was a startling contrast to the collapse of Chen’s lair and it took Jorge a moment to realize that he was safe.
The chamber appeared to be a library. The walls were covered with bookcases, all of which had locked glass doors, and the shelves rose to the very tall ceiling. The decor was ornate, with no expense spared, which suited Jorge well even if it was a bit old-fashioned. There was a massive stone fireplace on one wall and he breathed dragonfire to light a blaze there, since the room was damp enough to make him shiver. Carpets were piled underfoot and there appeared to be no electricity—the chandelier contained candles.
That made him wonder when he was as well as where.
Jorge lit the candles easily, and the room filled with a golden glow. It was warming up and was much cozier.
That was when he realized that the room had no door.
Was he imprisoned? Or was the door hidden?
There was a rumble and a distant clatter, the walls vibrating ever so slightly until the sound faded.
It could have been a train, which only encoura
ged his curiosity. He listened intently and heard the murmur of distant conversation, discernible only because of his keen senses. People. Jorge’s eyes widened. Speaking Russian. Could he be close to home again?
He prowled the perimeter of the room, his excitement rising when he realized that one wall contained books in Russian, at least according to the gilded letters on their leather spines. The other books were in a variety of languages—Hebrew, Latin, and some he didn’t recognize. One glass-doored case held curiosities instead of books, all of them lovingly displayed.
A collection. How quaint. Jorge peered through the glass, wiping the dust from its surface to see better. The glass was rippled and contained bubbles, and he knew it was float glass. In the middle of the case, in the position of pride, was what looked like a stone egg. No, it was closer to an olive in size, green with red veins across its surface. Jorge forced open the locked door and sniffed the stone, knowing immediately what it was. He replaced it with care.
He looked around then and guessed his location. There was no better or safer lair than a place that had been lost for centuries, yet was still rumored to exist, like the library of Ivan the Terrible. There was no better item to have at his disposal than a legendary cure for all ills, such as the Dracontias.
And there was no better feast than the corpse of his most deadly opponent, Chen. The Elixir in Chen’s body would only fortify the Elixir that coursed through Jorge’s own veins.
It might be prophesied that only Pyr or Slayers would survive the Dragon’s Tail Wars, and he might be the last surviving Slayer of note, but Jorge had a definite sense that the tide had just turned in his favor.
Perhaps he would be the only survivor.
He loved the sound of that.
Jorge crossed the floor, chose his first bite, and bent to devour his prey. He had plenty of time to enjoy the meal—and to plot the destruction of the Pyr.
Chapter One
Wednesday, October 8, 2014—California
Sloane Forbes, the Apothecary of the Pyr, was frustrated.
He was exhausted by his efforts to find a cure for the plague ravaging the Pacific Northwest and knew he’d spent more hours in his lab than were healthy. He was discouraged, though, because he’d made so little progress. Every time he thought he had a good lead, it came to a dead end, and he had to start over again.
Yet another one was in the petri dish in front of him. This vaccine had showed promise, killing the virus as he watched through the microscope. Within minutes, though, the tables had turned and the ridiculously efficient virus was encircling and destroying the antidote that should have finished it. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. There had to be dozens of scientists working on this, with better equipment and better training.
They didn’t have his sense of responsibility, though, or his conviction that a plague begun by dragon shifters should be halted by dragon shifters.
By the Apothecary of the Pyr.
Sloane grimaced and shut down the lights. He sealed up the lab, ensuring that the virus was contained. He had a smaller version of a lab designed for working with Level 4 biohazards, buried into the hill under and behind his house. He followed all the protocols in locking up and cleansing himself, then wearily climbed the stairs to his house. He was nude, but it didn’t matter. The house was sealed from human eyes, and the dragonsmoke barriers were piled thick against curious dragon shifters.
The fact was that while Sloane searched for a cure, people were dying. That knowledge burned. It was the responsibility of the Pyr to defend the treasures of the earth, which included humans, so he felt like a failure. That this malady had been brought from the ancient world by one of his own—well, by Jorge, a Slayer but still a dragon shifter—only multiplied his sense of duty.
Tempted by the sparkle of water in his pool and the option of a way to work off his frustration, Sloane strode into the yard. He dove into the pool and began to swim laps, working his body furiously.
If nothing else, he’d make sure he slept.
The worst of the worst was that there would be another full moon on this night, and another lunar eclipse. That meant there probably would be another firestorm, and another Pyr would feel the spark light that identified his destined mate. Sloane had always been patient about the firestorm, trusting that his time would come, but his patience was disappearing fast. He realized that he’d always assumed he’d have his firestorm before the end of the Dragon’s Tail cycle of eclipses.
Once it had seemed as if the Great Wyvern were steadily working her way through the ranks of the remaining Pyr, and that his own firestorm had to be soon. Now, there were dozens of new Pyr, thanks to the darkfire crystal and Drake’s adventures in the past. The odds were skewed decidedly against any of them having a firestorm next.
Thorolf had had his firestorm in April. There would be an eclipse tonight, another in April 2015 and the final eclipse of the cycle next September. Only three left, before the fate of the Pyr was decided forever.
Sloane was beginning to feel as if he were being punished for his failure to solve the riddle of the plague.
In addition to that, the presence of his new neighbor made him resent the fact that he couldn’t choose his own mate. He turned underwater and roared through another pair of laps. Samantha was exactly the kind of woman he’d have chosen for himself. She was blond and delicately built, but clever and sensitive. He suspected that she was stronger than even she knew. She was feminine but pragmatic, too, which had to be the most enticing combination.
He’d met her when she’d moved in and talked to her again when she’d come to buy herbs from his greenhouse. She was a tarot card reader who said she sometimes cast spells with herbs for her clients. She had a secret, though—Sloane could smell it on her—and a vulnerability that got him right where he lived. Something had hurt her badly and she’d made a big change in order to deal with that injury. Sloane wanted to help more than he knew was sensible.
The thing was that until he had his firestorm, he couldn’t promise anything more than a short fling to any woman. He sensed that Sam needed more than that and plowed through another half dozen laps disliking that he didn’t have more to offer.
The moon moved, the first shadow of the eclipse touching its radiant glow.
Sloane swam harder.
He closed his eyes as a firestorm sparked, his heart sinking with the realization that it wasn’t his. He reached the end of the pool with a growl, pulled himself out of the water, then caught a whiff of jasmine and musk.
Sam’s perfume.
She was standing at the gate, watching him in silence.
Sloane froze, braced on the side of the pool, and stared, transfixed. It was as if he had conjured her out of nothing, willing her to appear. He halfway thought she was a vision, but he could sense her uncertainty. He saw her swallow and wanted to reassure her.
No, he wanted to protect her forever from whatever she feared.
And he wanted to spend the night making love to her first.
Sam evidently took his silence as an invitation, because she opened the gate and stepped into the paved yard. She slipped out of her flip-flops and eased the linen shirt from her shoulders. She was wearing a bikini so small that Sloane’s mouth went dry. She flicked a glance at him, then smiled as she unfastened the clasp in the middle of the top. She bared her breasts to the moonlight, then slipped out of the bikini bottom. Sloane could have been turned to stone.
She walked toward him, and he told himself he had to be dreaming. The moonlight made her skin look silver and her eyes luminous. She sat down on the lip of the pool beside him and put her feet into the water. She smiled, licked her lips, then touched his shoulder.
“I was so hot,” she whispered, her gaze clinging to his. He didn’t dare survey her again, because he didn’t want to spook her, but he could see the patina of perspiration on her upper lip. He wanted to kiss it off. “It made me think of you,” she admitted, and her words astonished him.
 
; She wasn’t lying.
So, he wasn’t going to.
“I was just thinking of you,” Sloane admitted, and she smiled with pleasure.
“But you’re too much of a gentleman to have done anything about it,” she charged, then shook her head.
Sloane might have defended himself, but she was right. He wouldn’t have gone knocking at her door on a moonlit night, no matter how much he wanted to do so.
“Is that why you were swimming laps so hard?”
Sloane dipped his head and grinned that she’d guessed at least part of the reason for his frustration. “Caught,” he murmured, daring to look into her eyes once more.
She was pleased by that and her eyes started to sparkle. She looked good enough to eat, but whatever happened had to be her choice. Sloane was keenly aware of her vulnerability, an indication of an emotional wound, and instinctively wanted to help her to heal. He sensed she was trying to make a change, to move past something, and it was in his nature to facilitate that.
Which meant he had to wait.
He wasn’t sure how long they stared into each other’s eyes before Sam reached out and touched his mouth with her fingertip. “I’m hoping you’re not too much of a gentleman to do something about this,” she whispered, then bent closer and replaced her fingertip with her mouth.