Firestorm Forever

  She wanted to give Drake a son and see that shadow diminish in his eyes.

  She pulled out Drake’s scale from the hiding place beneath her bed and ran her fingers over its dark surface. It seemed to have dulled a little over time, and she worried it was disintegrating. Or did the scale mirror of Drake’s wellbeing? She feared that she might not have any token from him soon. She’d readily surrender the scale, though, if it made a difference to Drake’s survival.

  The air moved suddenly in her prison and Ronnie spun, knowing she wasn’t alone any longer. The two of them were in the cell with her, having appeared out of thin air. Jorge held out a test tube. The Slayer held her down, then did that trick of letting his nail become a talon again, using it to slice the inside of Ronnie’s wrist.

  A dozen drops of her blood fell into the test tube, mingling with some substance that was already within it. Jorge swirled it, then held it up to the light.

  The contents had turned black.

  The malice in his smile told Ronnie what that meant. She was infected. “Bastard!” she cried. “I hope you get it first. I hope I get to see you die!”

  Jorge laughed. “My kind is impervious to this virus,” he said and Ronnie fell silent at the import of his words.

  “Pyr,” she whispered. Dragon shifters couldn’t get it.

  Jorge struck her hard across the face, his eyes glittering even as Ronnie’s face snapped to one side. She feared for a second that he could have snapped her neck, for she had never imagined a man could strike anyone so hard. She saw stars and knew the other was holding her upright.

  Jorge leaned into her face, his hatred making her shiver deep inside. “I am Slayer,” he snarled. “A higher evolution. My kind will be the survivors.”

  He stepped back then and snatched at the scale she’d forgotten she was holding. His smile was cold as he tucked it into his pocket and Ronnie knew there was no point in asking for its return. She wondered whether he’d known all along that she had it. He nodded to the Slayer who then released her arms. Ronnie didn’t know Jorge’s plan but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t make it to the door.

  “Catch,” Jorge said and tossed the test tube at her.

  Ronnie guessed he wanted to know which hand she favored. She snatched with her right hand for the test tube but missed. Had she revealed that she was left-handed? The test tube fell and shattered on the floor of the cell. Jorge seized her right hand, his grip closing over hers as he crushed her fingers within his grip.

  Tears rose at the pain, but Ronnie knew by the look on his face that he wouldn’t respond to any pleas for mercy. In fact, she refused to beg this Slayer for anything. She held his gaze, her own resolute, even as the pain built.

  She heard the bones in her fingers snap, one at a time.

  He smiled as he released her hand. Ronnie regarded its limp state and wondered if it could ever be healed. Thank goodness she had deceived him…

  Jorge seized her other hand and did the same thing to it, but this time Ronnie cried out. “Yes,” he whispered with a chilly smile. “Even your attempts to trick me are pitiful.”

  Jorge closed his hands around her neck then, his eyes only inches from her own. Ronnie swallowed, then felt him begin to squeeze. “You see, Veronica, it’s important that you be unable to communicate the fact that you are infected. You will be released. The Pyr will hasten to collect you.” He squeezed and Ronnie couldn’t take a breath. She struggled, but she couldn’t make any change in her circumstance.

  Jorge tightened his grip, talking all the while in his calm tone. “They will take you to a refuge, where you will be safeguarded, probably with the other mates and children of the Pyr.” He smiled and Ronnie’s view of the room shrank to his face. “Of course they will. While Slayers are impervious to this disease, humans are not. You will be the vehicle to kill all the mates of the Pyr, Veronica. You might even kill the Pyr. We’ll find out about their resistance. Isn’t that a tidy way to end the Dragon’s Tail War?”

  She made an incoherent sound of protest, but he simply tightened his grip even more.

  “I’m not certain whether their children will also sicken and die, but the loss of their mates will destroy their spirits.”

  Ronnie felt faint, her view of the room darkening as she struggled for air.

  “You won’t be able to tell them anything,” Jorge murmured, even as he crushed her throat.

  Ronnie made a gurgle of pain and the room went black around her.

  “Such a feeble species,” she heard her tormentor say, then click his tongue in disgust.

  * * *

  Ronnie awakened in a park.

  She sat up too abruptly and her surroundings spun around her, but she blinked and forced herself to her feet. It hadn’t been a bad dream. Her hands were shattered, covered in blood and useless, her throat burned with pain and her belly was still round. She was starving and filthy…

  But she knew this park. It was the little creek beside the hospital parking lot in the town where she lived with Timmy. Her heart leapt with hope and tears sprang to her eyes. She stumbled into the parking lot, hailing a passing car for help.

  The woman squealed the tires as she brought the car to a halt, and she leapt out of the car to come to Ronnie. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been hurt.”

  Ronnie tried to explain, but no sound came out of her throat.

  The woman swore and waved at an ambulance parked at the entrance to the Emergency. “Help! This woman is injured!”

  The paramedics leapt into the ambulance and raced toward them, lights flashing. It was only then, when help was so close at hand, that Ronnie realized how diabolical her captor had been. She was infected with the Seattle virus, and Jorge had left her outside a hospital.

  She’d pass the infection along, but wouldn’t be able to tell anyone the truth. She saw her own blood on the sleeve of the woman who was trying to help her and despair welled inside her. Ronnie tried to shout, she tried to warn the woman, but she couldn’t make a coherent sound. She rubbed at the blood on the woman’s cuff, her tears falling in her consternation.

  “She’s panicking,” one paramedic said and opened his bag. Ronnie saw the syringes and tried to run, but the other paramedic held on to her shoulders.

  “Poor thing,” the woman who had stopped her car said, her sympathy clear. “God only knows what she’s endured. She’s filthy and look at her hands!”

  “It’s all right, we’ve got you now,” the second paramedic said, his tone soothing. He held her so tightly that she couldn’t get away. He was trim and strong, just her luck.

  At least they were both wearing latex gloves.

  Ronnie struggled and tried to kick him in her efforts to escape. She couldn’t be the vehicle for Jorge’s plan of destruction. She just couldn’t help him win.

  “Hurry up!” the paramedic said to his partner, who turned with a loaded syringe.

  Ronnie moaned in protest, but it made no difference. The needle slid under her flesh and once again, she lost consciousness.

  “Poor dear,” the woman whispered, patting her shoulder.

  * * *

  Something rippled in the air, a taunt in old-speak that was at such a distance that Drake barely discerned it. He was on his way to soccer practice, where he coached the boy’s team, when he felt it. His whole body tingled with sudden awareness and he was immediately alert. He caught a whiff of Slayer, the same whiff of Slayer that he’d smelled on the night that Veronica had been taken, and leapt into action.

  He knew it was a lure, that the Slayer in question had deliberately revealed his presence.

  On the other hand, Drake smelled a familiar woman—as well as her fear—and couldn’t turn aside from the hint of Veronica’s presence. He summoned three of the best of the Dragon Legion with a mere word of old-speak, and they appeared beside him immediately. They’d obviously been waiting for any summons from him.

  The four of them honed in on the location of the scent, and Drake wasn’t sur
prised that there was no sign of the Slayer. The four Pyr spread out, their senses attuned to any hint of an enemy’s presence.

  They were near the hospital, in the town in Virginia where Veronica had made her home and Drake had begun to create his own. He had rented an apartment, and he had a large television mounted on the wall—much to the delight of Dashiell and Timothy, who came now to watch movies with the Pattersons’ approval. He had taken a cooking class, where he had become the darling of both teacher and students when he had admitted that he wanted to better share the tasks of running a home with his mate. He had taken Timothy shopping and they had collected new copies of both the boy’s favorite books and the ones that Veronica relied upon in her research. He had learned much about his mate from the boy, and he felt his bond with her grow stronger each day.

  All that was missing was Veronica herself.

  The teasing scent was greatest in the parking lot of the hospital.

  But where the Slayer scent was just a drop, the scent of Veronica was strong and sure. Drake landed in the darkened parking lot and shifted shape, discerning that the trail led to the entrance to the Emergency ward.

  Did he dare to hope that she had been released?

  He left the others with a nod, knowing they would defend his back, and strode into the hospital. He walked right past the receptionist, following Veronica’s scent with greater urgency once he smelled her blood.

  No! She could not be injured!

  She could not be defiled!

  Drake began to run, terror driving his steps.

  “Sir. Sir!” A nurse ran after him. “Sir, you can’t just walk in here!”

  But they couldn’t stop him. Drake lunged into the room that seemed to be the source of Veronica’s scent. There was a woman in the hospital bed, her hands bandaged and her throat bruised. She was pale and emaciated and—he inhaled deeply—pregnant with his son.

  Veronica. Alive!

  Relief nearly took Drake to his knees.

  * * *

  Drake!

  Ronnie wanted to cry out with joy when she saw him on the threshold of the room, both familiar and changed. If anything, he was a leaner and tauter version of the man she had known. He had lost some weight, and there was more silver at his temples than before. While once he had been resolute, or even grim, he looked haggard.

  Because he had feared for her. Ronnie hoped that was the case, but when she saw the relief surge into his eyes, she had no doubt.

  Drake had come. Suddenly the obstacles seemed less insurmountable.

  “Hey!” the doctor said, turning from the nurse he’d been consulting to address Drake. “You can’t just march in here…”

  But Veronica made a sound of joy that didn’t need any translation. She reached for Drake and he hastened to her side, seizing her damaged hands in his. He kissed the back of her hands reverently, obviously relieved to have found her, and she exhaled shakily as she wept silent tears.

  “I do not die so readily as that,” he murmured to her and she smiled that he had read her innermost fear. She clutched at his hand as well as she was able and wished he would stay by her side forever.

  He smiled slightly, then bent and brushed his lips across hers gently. “Timothy is teaching me how to make a home,” he murmured and with that small confession, Ronnie knew the truth.

  Drake had protected her son.

  And better, he meant to stay.

  “I take it you know each other then,” the doctor said drily. “Perhaps you could tell us who she is.”

  “Her name is Veronica Maitland,” Drake said crisply. “She was kidnapped on the 8th of October and has been missing ever since. She has a son, Timothy, who is staying with his friend, Dashiell Patterson.”

  It was wonderful to know that he had resolved details in her absence, and Ronnie felt a new sense of sharing the burden of parenting. A weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying slipped away.

  Drake’s voice dropped lower, and he shook his head. “Her condition is my fault.”

  “How so?” the doctor asked, suspicion in his tone.

  Drake turned on the other man. “I failed to defend my mate from assailants.” He shook his head. “I failed to protect her from harm.”

  The doctor tapped his pencil on the chart, his gaze considering. “You wouldn’t know anything about her state, then?”

  Drake’s eyes narrowed. “Veronica is pregnant with my son. She conceived on October 8th.” Anxiety touched his tone as he evidently thought of Jorge again. “Is the boy well?”

  The doctor was visibly surprised. “But if she was kidnapped on the 8th, how could you know that she conceived, and that it’s a boy? We haven’t done any tests other than confirming the pregnancy…”

  “It’s my son.” Drake spoke flatly, even as Ronnie’s hand shook within his.

  The doctor noted her trembling as well and gestured to the hall. “She is very tired. Would you like to confer about her condition in private?”

  “I see no reason why Veronica should not know the details of her own condition.”

  Ronnie nodded vehemently.

  The doctor sighed and exchanged a glance with the nurse, then spoke in a monotone. “As you apparently know, or at least suspect, she is about four months’ pregnant. She’s not eaten particularly well lately and her hemoglobin count is lower than I’d like. She’s also not been exposed to any sunlight. She’s had all four fingers broken on each hand and her throat is so badly bruised that she can’t talk. Other than that, she’s doing reasonably well, considering, and can be expected to make a full recovery.”

  Ronnie shook her head. That wasn’t half of it. She tried to clutch Drake’s hand but the casts on her fingers made it impossible. He eyed her, and she knew he realized she was trying to tell him something.

  He looked down at her hands, then at her throat, his eyes glittering. “Someone wanted to ensure that she could not confide a key detail to us,” he mused and Ronnie nodded.

  “Probably whoever did this to her didn’t want to be identified,” the doctor said. “Kidnappers can be brutal.”

  Ronnie shook her head and Drake caressed her hand. “If that were the case, her injuries would be permanent,” he argued softly. “She was released for a reason, and the fact that her injuries will heal is an indication that time is of the essence.”

  Ronnie held his gaze and nodded again.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, the police will figure that out. We should send for her son. He must be worried about her.”

  Not Timmy! Not here! He couldn’t be exposed like that kid in Seattle! Veronica nearly came out of the bed at the suggestion, because her agitation was so great.

  “Nurse! It looks as if she needs sedation again.”

  “She needs no sedation,” Drake said flatly, placing himself between the nurse and Ronnie. She heaved a sigh that he was so protective of her.

  “You don’t know what she needs…”

  But Drake ignored him, pivoting to face Ronnie again. “Why don’t you want to see Timothy?” he murmured. “What is your fear?”

  She tugged at the neckline of her hospital gown, so clumsy with the casts that she wasn’t sure he’d understand.

  “She has a cut there, but it’s healed,” the nurse said. “It’s the least of her injuries, but she keeps picking at it.”

  “There must be a reason why. Veronica is trying to tell us something.” Drake reached behind her, unfastening the gown with gentle fingers. She knew when he exposed the scar to view because his lips tightened and his nostrils flared. She knew he was thinking about Jorge, and how he’d like to retaliate for this injury.

  Then Drake leaned closer as if to kiss her skin. Ronnie heard him inhale deeply and her eyes widened. What would he be able to smell?

  He straightened abruptly and she saw a quick flick of pale blue light around his body. It was there for the blink of an eye, no longer, but was an accurate reflection of his angry reaction.

  He knew!


  “What if she had been infected with the Seattle virus before release?” Drake demanded of the doctor, who looked astonished.

  He could smell it. Ronnie nodded emphatically, tears leaking from her eyes again.

  “The Seattle virus?” The doctor stepped forward in consternation. “But that’s crazy. That would be an act of terrorism. No one would do that…” He fell silent at Ronnie’s fervent nodding.

  “Yet she believes this is what has been done to her,” Drake said with his usual resolve. “Would it not be prudent to be certain?

  The nurse swore and ran from the room.

  The doctor suddenly looked less confident. “I’ll get a test kit from the CDC. We’ll have to move her into isolation, and get the staff into HazMat suits…” He glanced up at Drake. “You, too. Everyone who has been in contact with her has to go into isolation. I’ll have to check with the CDC about the timing.”

  “I will first have a moment of privacy with my mate,” Drake said, and Ronnie bit back a smile. They wouldn’t blast him out of here without dynamite, not before he wanted to go.

  She could get used to having a dragon shifter in her life.

  “But you can’t… You shouldn’t…”

  Drake turned his back on the doctor, who fled the room, shouting orders.

  He slid an arm beneath Ronnie’s shoulders and drew her into his arms, the reverence in his touch making her feel treasured and precious.

  She touched him, though, fearing that he would become infected, but Drake only drew her closer. “I do not care,” he whispered. “I must be close to you in this moment.”

  Ronnie nodded understanding, her tears flowing as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She had so much to tell him, but it would have to wait.

  He whispered into her ear. “I am sorry that I failed you, Veronica, but I will not let this insult pass. I will find them.”

  She nodded once, unsurprised.

  “I promised Timothy as much, after all,” he added, knowing it would make her smile. When she did, he bent and kissed her gently, feeling her relief. “You have been strong and you are safe. Sleep now, knowing that you are defended, not just by me but by more of my fellows.” He held her gaze until she nodded again. “I will speak with Timothy.”