“Nothing like a snack of fresh mate,” the Slayer taunted. “Just when I was feeling a little peckish.”
“She’s all mine,” Marco retorted, feeling a primal urge to claim and possess Jac.
“Not yet she isn’t,” the Slayer retorted. “Oh, there’s nothing like the heat of a firestorm. Give me a bite.”
The Slayer’s eyes flashed as he lunged forward to snap at Marco’s chest.
The firestorm burned brighter and hotter, blazing brilliantly as if echoing Marco’s anger. He was livid that this Slayer meant to threaten Jac, but he had to trust her to seize the moment. They had to work as a team to defeat these foes.
The Slayer’s teeth were enormous and sharp, and Jac had to have a good view of them he opened his mouth wide to bite. She also had to be able to see down his throat. Marco held his position, willing her to hurry before he was injured. The Slayer was completely confident and even chuckled as he began to close his mouth.
Finally, Jac struck the match, lit the flare and flung it into his mouth. It fell end over end and disappeared down his gullet. Marco kicked his opponent in the teeth then and retreated quickly as the Slayer fell back. The Slayer laughed, obviously thinking that Marco was trying to escape the fight and gave chase.
Marco beat his wings hard against the night, although the Slayer was in hot pursuit. Marco knew Jac was watching over his shoulder, and he held her tightly in front of his chest. He knew the Slayer might breathe fire, and he’d be able to take its assault better than Jac.
“I think someone has indigestion,” Jac said softly and Marco looked back. The Slayer’s eyes had widened as he realized something was wrong. He glanced down just as his gut exploded in a very satisfying way. He bellowed with pain and black blood spewed into the air.
“Talk about heartburn,” Jac said and Marco chuckled. He turned in a big arc over Uluru and saw that the moon was coming out of the eclipse.
The injured Slayer fell limply toward the earth, and he was rotating between forms.
To Marco’s surprise, Thorolf ripped himself away from his fight and seized the falling Slayer. He flew off quickly with the injured dragon, leaving Brandon to fight the last two identical Slayers.
They had turned on Brandon, who battled valiantly even though he was outnumbered. Marco had to guess that Chandra and Liz were in the vicinity and knew his fellow Pyr would want to defend their mates. As he raced closer, one Slayer locked all four claws with Brandon. The pair snapped and bit at each other, their tails thrashing with fearsome strength. The other Slayer turned on Marco, his eyes gleaming with malice. When he lunged toward them, Jac lit the flare and threw it.
Marco saw immediately that her enthusiasm had failed her and she’d moved too quickly. The Slayer dodged the flare and it dropped toward Uluru like a shooting star.
The Slayer laughed and lunged at Marco.
His partner shredded Brandon’s gut, who faltered in flight. The Slayer beat at Brandon with his tail, but the Pyr rallied. Marco saw the gleam of purpose in his eyes before he attacked the Slayer with newfound strength.
Meanwhile, the closest Slayer and Marco locked claws and battled with savage force. The blows they gave each other sent first one and then the other plummeting toward the earth. Marco had never fought so hard, but the firestorm made victory imperative. He slashed the Slayer’s face so that black blood dripped, then flung his opponent across the sky. The Slayer flailed, then regained control. He soared back toward Marco, dragonfire blazing and talons extended. He attacked Marco with even greater vigor than before. Marco breathed fire and swung his tail, defending himself and Jac, then took a blow to the head that left him dizzy.
The Slayer ripped Marco’s gut open while he was disoriented, and he felt Jac’s heart skip a beat in fear. Marco’s blood was flowing even before the Slayer snatched at Marco’s wings. The Slayer made the wound bigger and it bled more profusely. He breathed fire at Marco then, and Marco turned, taking the heat of the flame on his injured back to defend Jac.
When he spun in mid-air, Marco discovered that Jorge was hovering in the air behind him. The Slayer must have flown silently in pursuit. His jaw hung by a tendon, blood running from his wound. Marco recoiled slightly, then stiffened at the new assault of dragonfire. He wrapped his claws around Jac, even as he took fire on all sides. His scales burned and the pain was excruciating. He wanted to tip back his head to scream, but that would have exposed Jac, so he bent over her, shaking in agony.
He realized he could die here, before satisfying his firestorm.
Jorge’s eyes narrowed slightly and when he spoke, his words were hard to distinguish. “Let me help,” he offered in old-speak, as oily as ever, and he reached out to pluck Jac from Marco’s grasp. Marco tried to grip her more tightly. Jac kicked and struggled, but the Slayer’s claw closed over her so tightly that she could barely squirm. She spat at him, having no shortage of spirit, and Marco was proud of her. He hung on to her to the best of his abilities, and she gripped his talons as the firestorm burned hot.
Jorge breathed slowly then, sending a stream of dragonsmoke at Marco.
“Dragonsmoke,” Jac whispered and Jorge nodded with satisfaction.
Marco couldn’t make a sound other than gasping at the pain. His scales burned and smoked, and then they curled so that his skin was exposed. He’d never been so pounded before. The dragonsmoke slipped beneath his scales, setting his flesh on fire. He was too injured to use the darkfire to manifest elsewhere, even though he tried.
Jorge reached out and ripped one of Marco’s scales free, and Marco winced at the wrenching pain. He felt his blood flow from that new wound, warm on the skin so suddenly exposed. Jorge exhaled with a vengeance and the skin felt as if it had been burned by acid. Marco couldn’t bear much more.
Only a feint would give him a chance to survive. Otherwise, he’d die here and now, and he owed Jac better than that.
He had to convince Jorge to snatch them both and take them both to his lair.
There was only one way to tempt the Slayer to do that.
Marco groaned, twitched and flailed. He let his body go limp and fall toward the earth, well aware that Jorge watched him with satisfaction. Jac was panicking and Jorge was flying in pursuit, clearly intent on snatching her away as soon as Marco’s grip loosened.
Marco whispered in old-speak, sending the ultimate temptation to Jorge. “The Elixir,” he whispered. “Please give me the Elixir!”
He felt Jorge’s shock.
Then the Slayer’s delight.
A heartbeat later, he was snatched out of the air. He smelled that Jorge had seized the wounded Slayer, then they were all caught in a ferocious windstorm.
Marco sighed with relief, because his ploy had worked.
His firestorm was burning and he wasn’t dead yet.
* * *
Brandon couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
Thorolf had carried off the one newly hatched Boris Vassily, that Slayer seriously wounded and unconscious but not dead. He didn’t doubt that Thorolf would have to thump the Slayer en route a couple of times to keep him in that state, because the Elixir would repair his body quickly. Ideally, Brandon would have gone with Thorolf, but he didn’t dare leave Chandra and Liz undefended.
To his relief, Jorge snatched up the second hatchling, who was also wounded, and disappeared in a flash of light along with Marco and his mate.
The third Slayer hesitated, as if indecisive. Could he follow Jorge? Or did he have doubts about the wisdom of doing so? This Slayer had to be one of the ones who had hatched at Easter Island.
He circled with Brandon, preparing to fight instead of following Jorge. Brandon was ready to thump him, when the Slayer was jumped from behind by a version of Boris Vassily that appeared abruptly. That one had only a stub of an arm, but that didn’t keep him from seizing the uncertain Slayer and ripping his throat open. His prey had time to gasp, then they both disappeared as if they’d never been there.
There was nothing saying
this armless one wouldn’t stash his prize and return. Brandon patrolled the area, then returned to Liz and Chandra, disgruntled. “I wish I could spontaneously manifest elsewhere,” he muttered when he’d shifted back to human form and Liz gave him a hug.
“You have other skills,” she said with a wink. She was clearly in a better mood than he was and gestured to the sky. “Did you see what she did with the flares? I love a mate who thinks quickly.”
“I don’t think the news is as good as that,” Brandon growled.
“What do you mean?” Chandra asked.
“I heard their old-speak at the end,” he admitted, sparing another glance at the sky. He couldn’t smell Pyr or Slayer but he didn’t trust any of the Slayers to stay wherever they had gone. It would be sweet to see the end of the Dragon’s Tail Wars and be rid of Slayers for good.
Even if this night’s events meant there would be one more.
“Weren’t they just exchanging taunts?” Liz asked.
“It always just sounds like thunder,” Chandra agreed.
The two women faced him expectantly, both of them so pleased that Marco had had his firestorm that Brandon didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. “I’m afraid Erik is right,” he said. “I don’t think we can count on Marco anymore.”
“I don’t believe it,” Liz said. “He loaned me the darkfire crystal during our firestorm, and that was the only reason I was able to defend myself against Chen.”
“And he helped Lee during our firestorm,” Chandra said. “Just because he’s mysterious doesn’t mean he’s bad.”
Brandon sighed, knowing he had to tell them the worst and destroy their optimism. “After he was injured, Marco asked Jorge for the Elixir. That can only mean one thing.”
Liz caught her breath.
“He’s turning Slayer after his firestorm,” Brandon said, knowing it had to be stated aloud.
“I don’t believe it,” Liz said. “He could have been trying to trick Jorge.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m going to need more proof than that.”
“Where did they come from?” Chandra said. “They must have been staying in the vicinity to arrive so close to the eclipse.”
“There’s really only Yulara,” Brandon said. “Let me see if I can find their scent.”
* * *
Jac wished she could understand old-speak. Marco and Jorge had clearly communicated that way before Jorge had snatched them, and she wished she knew what Marco had said. He was folded protectively around her in his dragon form and she could smell the damage to his scales. His thigh was bleeding where Jorge had ripped that scale free and the skin there was blistered with a burn. He was also out cold, which meant she couldn’t ask him what was going on.
It was a little bit disconcerting to discover that her dragon was vulnerable.
They landed hard. Jac felt as if she’d been plucked out of a maelstrom and flung down by an invisible hand. That wind swirled around her for a moment and she kept her eyes closed against the assault.
When the air stilled, she looked.
She was in a room that looked like a great library, with Marco lying on the carpeted floor beside her. His scales were still smoking and his blood flowed onto the rug. His tail stretched almost the full width of the room, and he was clearly unconscious.
At least he wasn’t dead.
The weird thing was that they were alone together. Where had Jorge and the Slayer gone?
Jac looked around, searching for an escape. The room was lined with built-in book cases that had glass doors, so she could see that the books inside had gilt on their spines. They appeared to be leather-bound volumes, and Jac could see a couple with gems mounted on the spines. Each pair of doors locked, and even the locks were incredibly beautiful and intricate in their design.
The doors on the cabinets were ornate, elaborately carved and adorned with gold as if they’d been transported from Versailles. Candles were lit in sconces mounted on the walls, which were placed at regular intervals between the bookshelves.
The ceiling was fancy, as well, with detailed moldings at the tops of the walls and a large plaster medallion in the middle of the ceiling. A glittering gold chandelier thick with crystals and aflame with lit candles hung from it, but the ceiling was so high that it seemed too far away. There was a massive carved stone fireplace on one wall and a fire blazed on its hearth, heating the room. The carpets were thick underfoot, but there were no windows.
And there wasn’t a door.
A pair of chairs upholstered in red leather were placed before the fire, the brass studs gleaming in the upholstery. The wooden legs of the chairs were carved, and each one had four feet. Jac supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that each one was a claw holding a ball, like a griffin’s claw.
Or a dragon’s.
Despite all the candles and the fire, the air seemed damp, and Jac shivered in the chill. She eyed the chandelier and wondered how the candles had been lit. There wasn’t a ladder in sight. Then she considered the dimensions of the room and guessed.
This was Jorge’s lair. In his absence, she should seize the opportunity to learn a little bit more about him. The treasures in his hoard should offer some insight, if she could find them.
On the wall opposite the hearth, there was a reading table, high enough that a person could stand to examine a book. It wasn’t empty, so Jac went to look at what her host was reading.
She gasped when she saw that Sigmund’s book, the volume that had been hidden in her closet, was open on the table. So, Marco hadn’t retrieved it, after all. She should have known it would have been Jorge—on the other hand, she hadn’t understood his true nature then.
The book was open to a page on darkfire.
Darkfire. Was that what was governing her firestorm with Marco? He’d had the crystal, which had contained the darkfire. She’d seen its blue-green spark a couple of times in his presence, and the verse had mentioned it. Darkfire was supposed to cause inversions, to challenge expectation, and to make unpredictable events happen. She ran her finger over the entry and recalled the verse.
Three blood moons mark the debt come due
Will the Pyr triumph or be hunted anew?
Three eclipses will awaken the spark
In thirteen monsters breeding in dark.
Three times the firestorm will spark
Before darkfire fades into the dark.
Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice
None or all can be the darkfire’s price.
When the Dragon’s Tail has turned its bore
And darkfire dies forevermore
Will the Pyr be left to rule with might
Or disappear into past’s twilight?
Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice. She didn’t like the idea of the darkfire having a price like that, particularly not now that she was a mate. She glanced at Marco and didn’t like the idea of him being a blood sacrifice much better.
Beside the book was a stoppered glass vial, like something from a laboratory. It was empty but Jac could see a tiny bit of dried red residue in it. Blood. She grimaced, not wanting to touch it.
Alongside that was a scale that had to have come from a dragon. It was larger than her outspread hand, closer to the size of a dinner plate. The scale was hard, like a seashell, but it was many hues of charcoal grey, like a dark pearl. It tapered to a point, which had a number of protrusions, like thorns. It looked like a magical thing and Jac couldn’t resist the urge to run her fingertips over it.
She eyed Marco and recalled how his scales had seemed to be lit with inner fire before he’d been injured. His scales didn’t have these protrusions and were a different hue of grey. There was a glow between them of faint golden light and she wasn’t sure whether the firestorm would help him or hinder him.
Jorge didn’t seem to have any ointment for burns, unfortunately.
There was also a stone displayed on the table. It was about the size of an olive and similar in shape. It was green with red line
s on its surface that almost looked like veins. It was set in pewter, in a setting that looked like a tiny egg cup—except that it was sculpted to look like dragon talons. What was it? Jac reached out a finger to touch it, but the air shifted suddenly in the room and the pressure changed.
Her ears plugged then popped, and she spun around, recognizing that she had company, or soon would.
A ruby and brass dragon with bleeding wounds was flung down on the carpet under the chandelier, landing heavily beside Marco. Neither of them stirred or opened their eyes. Jac thought maybe the Slayer emitted a low moan. Black blood was running from his open wounds and she could see it burning the rug. It had to be the Slayer she’d injured with the third flare.
But now he had a chunk torn out of his gut. Had he revived enough to fight Jorge? Jac had to think so. He seemed to be hanging to life by a thread now. That worked for Jac in a big way.
The Slayer shimmered, then changed shape to a man. He looked like a gentleman you’d pass on the street somewhere in Europe, his hair fair and his figure trim. It was the shoes that made him look European, Jac decided. They were dress shoes, worn on the soles from extensive walking but polished to a gleam. He was also dressed more formally, and she guessed he often wore trousers and a tweed jacket like this.
In the blink of an eye, he changed back to a ruby and brass dragon, flicking between the forms until he abruptly remained in his dragon form.
There was a flash of light, then a golden salamander appeared on the floor of the cavern, not twenty feet away. Its body glinted like it was made of gems, and it ran around the fallen Slayer as if checking on him.
Or confirming that he had arrived in one piece. The salamander then shimmered in that familiar pale blue hue. Jac narrowed her eyes against the light and just barely discerned the silhouette as the salamander became a dragon of topaz and gold. His bottom jaw was gone, and his black blood flowed from the mess of torn flesh that remained.