Sam felt herself blush a bit, but she knew he was teasing her. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind knowing a few of your secrets.”
“Maybe you’re better off not knowing them,” he replied, to her surprise. She opened her mouth to ask, but Sloane dropped a warm fingertip to her lips. “I’ll call you when I get back,” he promised. “We can pick up right here.” She had no chance to agree because he kissed her more thoroughly.
Sam wound her arms around his neck, wanting to give him something to remember—or a reason to hurry back. Sloane caught her close and deepened his kiss even as Sam knotted her fingers in his hair. She rose to her toes, opening her mouth to him, and Sloane groaned even as he pressed her between himself and the wall. He felt so good that Sam was wondering whether it was possible to convince him to stay.
Then he lifted his head and smiled down at her with satisfaction. “You make a persuasive argument,” he mused and Sam smiled.
“How did someone break into your house without setting off the alarm?”
Sloane’s gaze slid away from hers. “I guess he knew what he was doing.” He eased his fingertip across her cheek, leaving tingles in its wake. His expression was very serious, though. “I’m glad you didn’t decide to go and check. Promise me that you won’t, if it happens again.”
“Will it?”
“Probably not.”
“Was anything taken or damaged?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said with a grimness that indicated it did. “Not now.” He looked worn out again, and Sam wanted to make him smile before he left.
She kissed the corner of his mouth.
But Sloane’s gaze darkened and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I wish I could stay, Sam. Don’t make it harder to leave than it is, please.”
The entreaty tore at her heart. Sam kissed him again to leave him in no doubt of his welcome and stepped back. Sloane turned to walk home, resigned to whatever errand he had to run. “Thanks for checking on me,” she said.
He cast her a smile. “I couldn’t do otherwise.”
She liked that he was protective, but sensed there was a lot he wasn’t telling her. She bit her lip, then dared to ask: “Why a caduceus?”
“Is that a question?”
“You know it is.”
“Are you changing the terms of our agreement?”
“Maybe a little.”
A challenging glint lit Sloane’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll meet you halfway then. It’s because I’m the Apothecary.”
Sam shook her head that he would have confused the two. “But it’s not the Rod of Asclepius…”
“No, it’s not.” Sloane hesitated before leaving her porch and she sensed that he was deciding whether to confide more in her. She was glad when he glanced back, and even more glad when he spoke again. “‘It is said the wand would wake the sleeping and send the awake to sleep.’”
“That sounds like a quote.”
“It is. William Godwin, Lives of the Necromancers.”
Sam took an involuntary step back. “Necromancers? Doesn’t that mean raising the dead?”
Did he believe in that kind of nonsense?
Sloane sighed theatrically, making Sam wonder whether he was just teasing her. “Sometimes it feels that way. Mostly the quote reminds me of my father.” He saluted her with his fingertips, then strode into the night, before she could ask him anything else.
Not that it mattered. His answer had just left Sam with more questions than she’d had before. She folded her arms across her chest and watched Sloane go, even more interested in him than she’d been before. The man had a gift for fascination, that much was clear. Sam had to wonder whether she’d ever figure him out.
She certainly wasn’t going to stop trying.
William Godwin.
Sloane had given her a clue.
* * *
Drake was glad to see that Theo had chosen competent warriors for this mission. Two Slayers had erupted from the burning building, each identical to the other with their ruby and brass scales and trailing red plumes. He recognized his allies by their colors: Theo was carnelian and gold in his dragon form and his scales glittered in the rain. Kristofer was peridot and gold, while Arach was aquamarine and silver. Reed was smoky quartz and silver.
Theo and Reed had engaged one of the Slayers, while Kristofer and Arach fought the other. Drake didn’t mind those odds at all and was convinced that he could defeat Jorge, even with Ronnie in his grasp.
Certainly his reactions were more vehement than they might have been if he had battled alone.
Jorge raced after him, his stream of dragonfire stinging Drake’s tail. Drake turned sharply over the forest, so that the dragonfire set the trees aflame. He liked having more light for the battle. He spun suddenly and ripped at Jorge again. The topaz and gold Slayer leapt upon Drake and sank his teeth into the side of Drake’s neck. The pain was excruciating, and it only grew when the Slayer gave Drake a mighty shake. He would have torn at the Slayer’s chest, but he cupped his claws over Veronica to protect her instead. He kicked upward and Jorge roared as he released Drake’s neck, breathing fire on the open wound even as Drake fell.
Veronica whispered his name, but reassuring her would have to wait. He raged dragonfire himself, singeing Jorge’s scales so that they blackened. Jorge screamed, then retreated to hover in air facing Drake, his eyes shining with malice.
Drake was immediately wary. What had changed?
“Such a feeble species,” Jorge murmured in old-speak. He gestured to the ground below them and Drake belatedly remembered the urban explorers. There were a good dozen of them, hoodies pulled over their heads as they stood in the rain.
Holding up cell phones and cameras.
Veronica gasped as she evidently saw them as well, and by the time Drake looked back at Jorge, that Slayer had produced a small gleaming vial. It was glass and its contents were red. Liquid. Drake’s eyes narrowed and he inhaled deeply, discerning immediately that this was blood infected with the Seattle virus.
“The perfect sample,” Jorge said, speaking aloud. “The Seattle virus is even concentrated in this blood, thanks to the skills of the Pyr’s own Apothecary. There’s something satisfying about the Pyr having a part in this mayhem.” He cast a glittering glance down at the human spectators. “Shall we watch history repeat itself?”
“No!” Veronica shouted, even as Jorge dove toward the spectators, the vial held aloft, as if he would cast it down and make it shatter in the small crowd.
Drake hesitated for a heartbeat, guessing this was the viper’s trap.
“Drake!” Veronica cried. “You have to stop him!”
Of course, she had compassion for others. Of course, she believed that she could change the world with her choices. That optimism was a trait he admired in Veronica, and he couldn’t find fault with her conviction that he would act out of honor and duty.
If he failed to do her bidding that might ensure the safety of both of them, but his refusal to defend nameless strangers would compromise Veronica’s opinion of him.
It might doom their future.
The situation was the perfect bind, a choice that revealed a viper’s talon.
In fact, there was no choice to be made. Drake spun in the air, feeling Veronica’s grip tighten upon him. He felt a scale loosen on his chest even as he dove after the villain at his mate’s command, fearing the worst and hoping for the best.
* * *
It was a sight Theo had never wished to see.
He admired Drake more than any of the Pyr, for he knew that warrior’s story and recognized that his own life and his command were the result of Drake’s sacrifices. Drake was mentor, comrade and—oddly enough—ancestor. In fact, Theo had been named for Drake’s son, just as the first boy born in every generation of his lineage had been named in tribute to their forebear and his son.
It was an honor to serve with a Pyr that had made such a contribution to the survival of their kind.
Given the blood link,
it didn’t surprise any of the Pyr that Theo was eager to help Drake whenever possible and was always ready to put his forces in Drake’s service. Drake wasn’t much of a talker, and they’d never exchanged confidences, but Theo felt it was his role to try to make up for Drake losing his son.
He didn’t think it could be easily done, and he’d been glad to come to Drake’s second firestorm.
Theo had dared to hope that Drake was mistaken about Jorge’s scheme for this night, especially when he and Reed beat one Slayer so that he fell out of the sky. That dragon hit the ground hard and began to rotate between forms. Some of the kids began to photograph the transition, which made Theo frown.
Erik wouldn’t like that.
Theo dispatched Reed to help Kristofer and Arach against the second Slayer, then looked for Drake. The last time he’d seen the older Pyr, Drake had had his mate firmly in his possession and had been fighting well against Jorge. Now Jorge dove low, like a gold and topaz comet, something sparkling in his grip. Drake gave hot pursuit as his mate urged him on.
The third Slayer came out of nowhere. One moment, the sky was clear. The next, there was a third ruby and brass Slayer in the air behind Drake, out of his field of vision. Theo roared in old-speak, but the Slayer was fast. He fell upon Drake from behind and ripped his wings, practically tearing them from his back.
Theo bellowed and raced toward his mentor, fearing he couldn’t get there in time.
Drake roared in pain, his blood flowing like water. His wings fluttered, then collapsed, too damaged to be of aid in keeping him aloft. The mate screamed as Drake fell.
Jorge proved that he was a viper after all, because he pivoted in mid-air and launched a conduit of dragonsmoke at Drake. Theo could see its icy glitter in the air and he knew the moment that it latched onto Drake. The older Pyr twitched convulsively, then shuddered.
That his grip loosened on his mate said it all. Mate and Pyr fell separately toward the ground. The second Slayer continued to fight hard against Kristofer, Reed and Arach. Kristofer might have abandoned their battle to help Drake, but the Slayer who had attacked Drake descended to join their fight. Their battle became vigorous as the two Slayers fought against three Pyr. The humans began to shout encouragement to one group of dragons or the other and Theo heard them making bets. He flew straight for Drake.
Theo heard Reed shout in pain, but he had to get to Drake. He eyed the falling mate and guessed that she would break a leg when she fell but no more than that. Jorge wasn’t pursuing her: he was too focused on draining Drake’s life force.
And he was succeeding brilliantly. Theo could see Drake’s vigor fading fast.
Theo had to choose between mate and Pyr.
It wasn’t much of a choice.
He raged into battle, wincing as he flew through Jorge’s dragonsmoke. He heard his scales sizzle as they burned and felt his own energy dip as Jorge stole power from him as well. But he broke the tendril of dragonsmoke, scorching his tail painfully. He then snatched at Drake, carrying him aloft and away from the villains. Drake’s breath was shallow and his wounds were deep.
When Theo looked down, he saw that Reed had fallen to the ground and shifted to his human form. All of the Slayers were gone.
Worse, there was no sign of the mate. Kristofer and Arach snatched up Reed and flew away with him, lifting him away from the curious humans.
The crowd of onlookers was filled with excitement. The sirens grew louder and dogs could be heard barking. Searchlights were shone into the forest and the humans scattered into the darkness like mice into tall grass. Theo saw a fire truck making its way along an overgrown access road toward the burning building, but guessed the rain would extinguish most of the fire.
Drake stirred, his eyelids flickering. “Veronica?” he whispered in old-speak.
“They took her,” Theo replied, fearing that the other Pyr would be angry at his choice but not seeing what else he could have done. “But I couldn’t let you die.”
Drake shook his head, his disappointment evident to the younger Pyr. To Theo’s surprise, though, Drake didn’t blame him.
“Of course not,” he murmured. “It is the way of the viper to use our own natures against us.” His eyes opened then, and Theo was surprised to find them filled with more resolve than he could have expected. “Fear not, Theo. This battle has only begun.”
* * *
Ronnie found herself in a cave, with burning torches on the walls. Unfortunately, her companions were Jorge and the triplets. One of them was dripping black blood and Ronnie hoped he died a painful death.
Maybe he could take the others with him.
It was dark enough when they arrived that Ronnie had a moment to hide her prize from view. She’d examine it later. The flames in the torches flickered at their arrival, then settled to burn brightly again. By then, whatever she’d taken from Drake was safely tucked beneath her sweatshirt.
That Jorge released her from his grip was a clear sign that there was no way to escape, but Ronnie studied her surroundings with care all the same. There was a lot of rubble underfoot and the ceiling of the one cavern was cracked. Ronnie thought that someone had cleared this space after some kind of collapse.
The wounded dragon was flung down hard by his fellows. The injured Slayer was shimmering blue, shifting from human to dragon repeatedly, and his breathing was shallow.
No wonder, given how torn up his body was.
“A sign of distress,” Jorge said, noting the direction of Ronnie’s gaze. “And an indication that he is near death. He could still heal, though, if given the chance.”
The dying dragon’s eyes opened for a moment, his lids flickering and his claw lifting as if he would appeal to Jorge for mercy. Ronnie had to think that was a long shot, and Jorge turned away, as if he hadn’t even seen the gesture.
Jorge was clearly indifferent to the fate of his minion and more interested in the other dragons for the moment. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were scratched up, but not shifting compulsively in the same way. They dropped their gazes when Jorge approached them. Ronnie assumed it was a submissive gesture, but then wondered when Jorge seized one Slayer’s chin and compelled him to meet his gaze.
Ronnie heard rumbling as if there was an earthquake. She scanned the cavern again, fearing she’d be buried alive, but the dragons showed no similar concern. As she watched, Jorge bent his attention upon the Slayer whose chin he held. His grip was tight enough that the tips of his claws pricked the Slayer’s chin—Ronnie could see black blood leaking from those points. The Slayer thrashed a little in Jorge’s grip, struggling to keep from looking up at Jorge, but Jorge was relentless.
And he triumphed. Once the ruby and brass dragon stared up at him, it seemed he couldn’t look away. He was apparently transfixed, his eyes wide. Ronnie wondered what was happening. After a lot of low murmuring, Jorge released that dragon and seized the third. This Slayer twitched and struggled, but went limp when he looked into Jorge’s eyes.
What was Jorge doing?
It wasn’t anything good. Ronnie could see that. She didn’t trust how Jorge relinquished his grip then stood back to watch, his anticipation clear.
The first Slayer he’d spoken to was fumbling beneath his scales and Ronnie saw him flicker quickly between forms. When he was in dragon form again, there was something small and gold in his talons.
A coin.
“We call it a challenge coin,” Jorge said, his manner unctuous.
The Slayer clumsily tossed the gold coin at the second Slayer, as if he would have rather not but was compelled to do so. With shaking talons and some resignation, the second Slayer picked up the coin from the floor of the cavern. He stood then, unsteady on his claws. The pair eyed each other, then there was a rumble of thunder again. They leaped at each other with talons bared. They locked claws and struggled for ascendancy, then took flight in the cavern. In a heartbeat, the dragonfight was on, as they bit and breathed fire at each other with increasing fury.
Jorge tu
rned away from the erupting battle with satisfaction. His gold and topaz form seemed to slither as he returned to Ronnie.
“A blood duel,” Jorge informed her amiably. “It’s traditional that with the exchange of challenge coin, we dragons will fight to the death.” He shrugged as he settled beside her, clearly indifferent to the result of the fight behind him. Jorge smiled. “Not their idea, of course, but I only need one of them now. It might as well be the stronger one.”
He considered the injured Slayer for only a moment, before he bent and bit into his guts, tearing the flesh from the bones and consuming it. Ronnie knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, much less disgusted, but she was both.
She averted her gaze.
Jorge chuckled. “One can’t be too particular about new sources of the Elixir,” he murmured. He watched the fight almost absently, gnawing the fallen Slayer’s flesh with such vigor that the black blood dripped from his chin and down his scales. He chewed with gusto.
The stench was disgusting.
Ronnie supposed her revulsion showed.
“Care for a bite?”
She shook her head and backed up, finding only the stone wall behind her.
“Probably wise on your part. There’s no telling what the Elixir might do to a human, let alone to the child.”
“What if I’m not pregnant?” Ronnie had to ask.
“You are,” Jorge said with confidence. “I can smell it on you.”
“That’s impossible!”
Jorge shook his head as he chewed. “Not for a dragon shifter. Our senses are keener than those of humans. We discern more of the physical world, which is a sign of our superiority.”
“I don’t think it’s superior to cannibalize your dead,” Ronnie said.
Jorge laughed. “We don’t usually. This is a necessary adjustment.” He grimaced. “And really, there’s little to recommend a meal of fallen Slayer. Dragon meat is tough and sinewy, by and large. I had hoped that this one might be more tender, given his age, but alas, that’s not the case.” He took another bite, his manner philosophical. “It must be our nature to make poor eating.”