But maybe, just maybe, this time she’d stay. She didn’t want to think about the influence Sloane Forbes could have on that decision.
She also didn’t want to think about the fact that she’d been inspired by her father, driven by him most of the time, but she’d always gone to her mom for solace.
Maybe that was why she’d bought this house.
“That would be great,” Sam said with a smile and meant it.
* * *
In the great room of Sloane’s house, three dragons slumbered side by side. The tourmaline and gold one was on one side, the sapphire and steel dragon on the other. The opal and gold dragon was between them. Sloane was dozing, breathing dragonsmoke and weaving it with Quinn’s, and monitoring the older Pyr’s vital signs. He’d sung the Apothecary’s song until he was too exhausted to sing it again, and he believed that Rafferty’s state was stable. Quinn’s strength was a big help, as was the fact that he shared an affinity with earth with Rafferty. Sloane hoped that Quinn was able to reach Rafferty in different ways than he could. He had to hope that the fact that his house was partly underground, meaning that the influence of the earth was strong, would help Rafferty.
Rafferty wasn’t improving though, and the darkfire still glimmered beneath his scales, like a lightning storm gathering in the distance. Sloane had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t trust it.
Still, he had to restore his own strength.
Sloane was more than aware of Chandra and Thorolf in an upstairs bedroom, and Melissa and Isabelle sleeping in another. Sara was sleeping with the boys in a third bedroom while Eileen had retired to a fourth bedroom with Zoë. Erik had only joined his family at Sloane’s insistence that he rest. It was discouraging that Erik couldn’t see Pwyll’s ghost, and he knew that Erik was disheartened by that as well. It had to just be exhaustion, not the loss of Erik’s abilities. Sloane suspected Erik would have argued with him more if Quinn hadn’t arrived.
Sloane cast his thoughts more broadly and felt Sam’s presence in her house next door. She was talking and he could almost discern her words. There was someone visiting her, someone whose presence clearly made her happy, and Sloane was glad.
He could have used some of her company himself. He sighed and let his eyes close again, trying to will his strength to rebuild.
Rafferty stirred suddenly and Sloane was immediately awake once more.
“She’s here,” the older Pyr murmured in old-speak, his words so low as to be almost indistinct, even to Sloane.
“Melissa is upstairs,” Sloane replied. “I’ll call her.”
“No, no. She’s here,” Rafferty repeated with some agitation. There was an edge in his next words. “I smell her.”
Who did Rafferty mean? He inhaled deeply of the evening air but didn’t smell anyone other than his sleeping guests. He shifted shape and went to look into the night, but there was no movement on the driveway or the road beyond.
He looked at Sam’s house, unable to restrain his curiosity about her guest. The lights were on in her kitchen. He inhaled again, unable to stop himself, and recognized that two human women were in Sam’s house. One was Sam, the other a stranger.
A woman. A girlfriend, a sister, an aunt or a niece.
Not a lover.
Sloane shook his head at the power of his own relief. He wasn’t quite ready to be replaced.
He turned back, only to find that Rafferty had slipped into a deeper sleep again. Quinn’s eyes shone, his lids almost but not quite completely closed.
Who had Rafferty been talking about? Was he just confused? Who had he thought was here?
* * *
Marco went back to Seattle, for lack of a better destination. Time had given him a bit more perspective. He hated that the darkfire had betrayed him, and he despised that he had had any part in Rafferty’s injury. He hoped that Pyr would recover from his injury and wished there was something he could do to fix his miscalculation.
Other than give voice to Pwyll’s song. He just didn’t trust the darkfire. He couldn’t summon it or try to control it, not now.
Marco couldn’t, however, blame Jac for her choice. He’d known she wanted to strike down dragons. He’d known she needed to avenge her nephew’s death. He hadn’t made any effort to explain distinctions between Pyr and Slayer to her. The fault was his, not hers.
He was responsible for her trusting Jorge as much as she did, as well.
He’d followed her to California and been startled that her destination was so close to Sloane’s home. The air was thick with the scent of the Pyr, and he’d quickly departed, knowing that Jorge wouldn’t attempt any attack when there were so many Pyr in the vicinity.
Not alone, anyway.
Instead, he returned to Seattle, wanting to be there when Jac arrived. Maybe they could talk about it. Maybe he could make amends. Maybe he could figure out Jorge’s scheme.
As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, Marco knew something was wrong. First he saw the mark on the hardwood floor in the living room. A spiral had been burned into the floor, the smell of its creation faded but still clear to him. He stepped into the darkened apartment and saw that the wall where he’d written the verse had been scorched. It was black, the words burned to oblivion. His body hovered on the cusp of change and the blue shimmer of his pending shift lit the apartment.
He took another step before he smelled Slayer, and then he froze.
He saw the golden salamander at the middle of the spiral and knew it was Jorge. The salamander was perched on a book, an old book, and Marco knew it was the book he’d given to Jac. The spiral reminded him of the one in Chen’s cavern.
Jorge glimmered blue.
Marco shifted and leapt at the intruder, talon outstretched. Jorge laughed and disappeared, vanishing along with the book as if neither had ever been there. Marco’s claw closed on empty air, but he was too consumed by pain to care that the Slayer had escaped.
He was snared in a coil of dragonsmoke, his scales burning all over his body with savage fire. He cried out, even as the spiral in the floor seemed to spin around him, drawing him down to its center with inexorable force. He was trapped, snared, and hooked, his struggles only pulling him closer to the eye of the spiral.
Once there, he felt the dragonsmoke slide beneath his burning scales and spear his heart. He felt the strength leaving him, as Jorge’s dragonsmoke sapped his power. He tried to summon the darkfire so he could manifest elsewhere, outside of the trap, but it was too late. He rotated helplessly between forms, then felt consciousness ebb away.
Even then, he knew that if he awakened from this slumber, it would be because Jorge still wanted him alive.
Marco didn’t even want to think about why that might be. He groaned at his own mistake, then closed his eyes in anguish.
How could the darkfire have led him so far astray?
* * *
Sam drove Jac back to the airport at the end of the week. Their relationship was much improved, to her thinking, and was both warmer and more honest. Sam knew it would take many more such visits to remove all the barriers between them, but they hugged at the airport and promised to keep in closer touch, which was a good start.
She was thinking about Sloane as she drove home, wondering how she could drop in on him without being too obvious.
Maybe being too obvious wouldn’t be a problem. It hadn’t been, that first time.
She missed him in a way that had nothing to do with sex. And she missed the sex, too. She smiled at herself, thinking that she was being more honest with herself as well as Jac, and turned onto the road out of town. There was a man walking along the shoulder. He looked tired, because his footsteps were dragging.
There was nowhere he could be walking within easy proximity and the day was getting warm.
On impulse, Sam stopped the car and opened the passenger window. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
To her surprise, he was younger than she’d expected. He looked to be about thirty-fiv
e, a handsome Asian man with weariness in his eyes.
“I’m going to the Apothecary,” he said by way of reply.
So, there were people who called Sloane by that title.
“Sloane Forbes,” she said and he smiled. “I know where he lives. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
“He’s my neighbor,” Sam said with a smile and unlocked the door. “It would be no trouble to give you a ride.”
“Thank you very much.” He got into the car and sighed. “I’ve come a long way.”
“It’s a good hike yet.” Sam pulled out and drove as her companion looked out the window at the passing scenery. “Have you visited Sloane before?”
Her passenger shook his head. “Never. It’s very beautiful here.”
“It is nice,” Sam agreed. They rode in silence the rest of the way, then Sam pulled into the parking lot in front of Sloane’s shop. Her passenger, to her surprise, inhaled deeply, then nodded with satisfaction before getting out of the car. He looked taller and more alert.
He must have been smelling the herbs. Sam could always smell the lavender when she drove down her driveway and she took a deep breath of it, too. She associated it with coming home now.
The shop was open, which was a relief, so Sam seized the excuse of delivering Sloane’s guest and got out of the car, too. They went into the shop, her passenger’s curiosity more than clear. There was a big blond guy behind the counter, and Sam realized he was the one who’d arrived in the Mustang.
He was wearing a blue T-shirt but Sam noticed the large and detailed dragon tattoo on his forearm. The dragon coiled around his arm, its head and open claws on the back of the man’s hand. The tail disappeared beneath the sleeve hem and Sam shivered a little. How weird that there seemed to be so many dragons in Sloane’s vicinity.
“Lee!” The blond guy said with obvious delight. “How great to see you!” He shook the other man’s hand and even gave him a hug, the enthusiasm of his greeting making Lee appear a little discomfited. Then he glanced at Sam. “Can I help you?”
“I was looking for Sloane,” Sam said, feeling herself blush a little.
“Present and accounted for,” Sloane murmured. He stepped out of the small office in the shop, his gaze warm as he smiled at her. Sam’s blush deepened, even as she noticed that he looked exhausted.
“I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said. “But then, I guess you’ve had company, too. My sister just left.”
Sloane nodded. “Nothing like a full house to wear out the host or hostess,” he agreed. “I hope you had a good time with her.” Even though they were making small talk—and both the blond guy and Lee were listening—Sam could detect the questions beneath his words. It was funny that she hadn’t wanted to talk about her life before, but now she was more than ready to do so.
She had a strange sense that all three men were waiting for her to say or do something. It made her feel more self-conscious than she might have been otherwise.
“It was good to catch up.” Sam glanced at that big tattoo again, and the words fell out of her mouth. “Does everyone you know have a dragon tattoo?”
Sloane smiled and shook his head. “Not you.”
“Hey, you don’t know that for sure,” the blond guy said heartily. “She could have a back piece or…”
Sloane silenced him with an intent glance.
The big guy stammered to silence, as if he was used to putting his foot square in it. Lee averted his gaze and seemed to be hiding a smile. “Or, uh, maybe you do know. Look, I’ll take Lee up to the house.”
Sloane held his ground, watching as the other two departed. The shop felt small and empty after the back door slammed, intimate in a way that Sam hadn’t anticipated. Sloane stepped closer, his gaze warm enough to set her on fire. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
“I’ve missed you, too.” Sam put her hand on his arm, liking the solid strength of him. “Maybe you could come for dinner tonight.”
Sloane closed his hand over hers. “I’d like that. And I think I can leave my guests to their own devices for one meal.”
“I actually have a devious plan,” Sam admitted and Sloane lifted a brow. “My sister says my tarot card reading still needs work. You seem to have such a knack for it. Maybe you could help me study this evening.”
“Maybe I could. It would take a long time to get through all seventy-eight cards, though.”
“I think I’m ready for an intense session,” Sam whispered, her gaze locked with his.
Sloane leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “It might take all night.”
“God, I hope so.” Sam closed her eyes as his lips touched her cheek and she leaned against him, needing to feel his heat against her. She ran her hand over his chest, savoring his strength. “Your guests been here long enough to fix their own breakfast, I think,” she said and Sloane’s smile flashed.
“I think you might be right,” he murmured. “After all, it would be for a good cause.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, until Sam’s heart was racing and her mouth was dry with anticipation. Then Sloane slowly bent his head to capture her lips beneath his own. Sam wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, more than ready for all he could give.
Chapter Fifteen
February, 2015
It was pathetic, really, that the Pyr had to mate with such an inferior species. Jorge watched Veronica Maitland fight against the drugs in her system, apparently too stupid to know that she couldn’t succeed.
She’d become more troublesome since her stomach had started to round.
But the changing shape of her body had told Jorge all he needed to know. The firestorm had been consummated, just as Jorge had hoped, and this woman would bear Drake’s son. He had one final touch to make before releasing her, one flourish that would ensure his success.
Ronnie was conjured out of her prison only when she was drowsy. A sedative had been put in her last meal and she was already under its influence. Though she had started to eat more since she realized she was with child, she still did not eat much. The drugs were so much more effective this way. Jorge manifested in the crude operating theater he had arranged in yet another abandoned hospital facility. Jorge’s last minion strapped her to a gurney. Ronnie struggled beneath the bright lights, as if anticipating her fate. Jorge could have given her more sedative, ensuring that she was completely under, but it was more amusing to let her be aware of what he did.
He leaned over her, smiled when her eyes widened, then ripped open the neck of her sweatshirt. It wasn’t particularly clean after all these months and he grimaced at the scent of her body. She shivered convulsively when her skin was revealed to his view, but there was little else she could do.
“We have a little job to take care of, before you’re released,” he said, his tone silky as he chose a spot.
“You’re not going to release me.” Ronnie’s words were slurred.
“Actually, I am.” Jorge smiled. “You’ll be my gift to the Pyr.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, then she gasped when the Slayer assisting Jorge allowed his right index finger to change to a golden dragon talon. He hovered between forms with impressive ease. Ronnie eyed the talon and swallowed, writhing against the strap once more.
“There,” Jorge said in old-speak, and this version of Boris Vassily sliced open Ronnie’s skin. She blanched as her blood flowed from the wound right over her heart. Jorge thought the location of the cut a poetic touch.
He unstopped the test tube, taking his time.
Ronnie’s shock was clear and he knew she had guessed what it contained.
“Blood from a victim of the Seattle virus,” Jorge confessed. “It’s highly infectious.”
She gasped when Jorge held open her cut, then poured a measure of the infected blood into it. He liked that the cut was good and deep, and ensured the blood was mixed with her own.
“Sew her up,” he instr
ucted this Boris, who had already changed his talon back to a finger. He smiled at Veronica. “We’ll give it a week, then test you to see if you’re infected.”
Mutiny lit her eyes. “And if I’m not, you’ll do it again,” she guessed.
Jorge turned to leave.
“What about my child?” Ronnie cried, her agitation clear.
“Mothers share blood across the placenta,” Jorge said. “I’m sure he’ll be infected as well, sooner or later.” He could, of course, have injected the infected blood into the womb itself, but he didn’t want to threaten the pregnancy. No, Veronica Maitland had to return to the Pyr both pregnant and contagious for his plan to succeed.
He’d have to rely upon the biology of humans to infect the boy. Such a ridiculously weak species. The world would be far better without them.
* * *
Ronnie anticipated they would come for her a week after she’d been cut. She didn’t know whether Jorge had told her the truth about the blood or whether he was just trying to undermine her confidence. It seemed unlikely to be something he’d lie about, even to play mind games.
She developed no outward signs of illness during that week and paced her cell, wondering whether she should fake some. She sure didn’t want to be tied down and cut again. If she’d been lucky enough to not contract the Seattle virus from infected blood, she couldn’t count on being that lucky again.
When her lunch was delivered, Veronica didn’t eat it. Last time, she’d become sleepy. They must have put a sedative in her meal, and she was determined to be able to fight. She hadn’t eaten breakfast either and her stomach was growling. It was hard to decide what was the best choice for her son, when all of the options were such bad ones.
Her son. Ronnie’s hand slid over the roundness of her belly. Drake had been right about her conceiving. Had he been right that it would be a boy? For the umpteenth time, Ronnie hoped that he was alive, even if he wasn’t hunting for her. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being dead, that he could have paid such a price for following her impulse.