Firestorm Forever

  “After we’ve learned all we can from him,” Quinn agreed, and Erik lifted a finger.

  “I would remind you that Boris Vassily and I have exchanged challenge coins. No matter how many of him there are, the pleasure of exterminating this one will be all mine.”

  * * *

  Ronnie awakened, feeling less sick than she had in the hospital. She touched her own forehead and it was cooler than it had been. She had no idea how long she’d slept and braced herself on her elbows to look around.

  She didn’t remember much of the flight with Drake. She knew he’d rescued her from the hospital but as soon as she’d been safely in his embrace, she’d fallen asleep. She’d awakened when they arrived wherever they were, but her fever had been building. She had a vague recollection of an intense dark-haired man giving her an injection, then of Drake helping her into bed. She remembered telling Timmy that she loved him.

  After that, there was only the blissful oblivion of sleep.

  It turned out she was in a solarium that was lush with plants. The sun was shining through the shades on the glass ceiling and water splashed somewhere close by. She could smell the humid peaty scent of damp earth and the perfume of more than one flower. She was lying on a normal bed in a regular nightgown, which was a welcome change from the hospital. It was as if she’d slept in an enchanted garden. She felt refreshed and a little bit hungry.

  She heard a step and saw Drake coming toward her, carrying a tray. She smelled coffee and her stomach growled in demand.

  “There is a good sign,” Drake said and set down the tray on a table beside the pool and fountain. He came to her and knelt in front of her, sliding sandals on to her bare feet.

  “I can do that,” she protested, but Drake gave her a look.

  “Sloane says you have need of rest and relaxation to recuperate. I am to take your temperature.” He produced a thermometer, and Ronnie slipped the end under her tongue.

  Drake stood with folded arms, watching her, like a guardian angel. “It has been forty-eight hours since he gave you the antidote. Tomorrow, he wishes to take a blood sample to monitor your progress. Sloane has midwifery skills and would like to check on the baby, as well.” Ronnie nodded agreement, relieved to have her concerns about the baby’s arrival so easily addressed. When the thermometer beeped, she gave it to Drake who nodded crisp approval. “Much diminished. And your hunger is, as I said, a good sign.”

  “I had no idea you were a nursemaid,” Ronnie teased.

  “I learn new skills each day,” he replied, and she saw the twinkle in his eye.

  “Is his cure working then? I feel better.”

  “He is optimistic for the first time in a long while. If his antidote does work, Sloane will be glad to share it to ensure that humans are healed, too.”

  “So, I’m the test group?”

  “A volunteer,” Drake said with a smile. “I am glad that you agreed, and that the results are so good already.”

  The way he looked at her made Ronnie feel cherished, which was a wonderful sensation. She gestured to her rounded stomach. “I should have believed you.”

  Drake sobered. “I should not have been so determined to have privacy. I underestimated the power of the Slayers, and you suffered as a result of my error. I am sorry, Veronica.”

  “Should I demand that you make it up to me?” She used a teasing tone because he looked so contrite.

  A gleam of determination lit Drake’s eye. “I intend to do just that.”

  He put his hand beneath her elbow and helped her to rise to her feet. Ronnie was weaker than she’d realized and was glad of Drake’s support as he escorted her to the table. It was pure heaven to feel the skin of another against her own again. Drake’s hand was warm, his touch both gentle and strong, and she leaned on him with gratitude.

  The table was set in a golden sunbeam, and even though the sunlight came through the glass overhead, its warmth was more than welcome. She closed her eyes as she sat down, feeling profoundly grateful to both be in this place and with Drake, then opened her eyes to find him watching her.

  His smile made her heart leap.

  He nodded at the tray. “Your meal grows cold,” he said softly.

  The food smelled delicious. There was a fluffy omelet with spinach and feta tucked inside, sliced tomatoes alongside it and whole wheat toast. One of those pink vitamins sat in a cup alongside her coffee, and Veronica began to eat with pleasure. She had a sense of wellbeing as she sat with Drake in the sunshine eating this meal, and she remembered how she’d enjoyed her third trimester when she was carrying Timmy.

  Maybe the challenges were behind them.

  Maybe it was time to make sure.

  If nothing else, Drake was direct. Ronnie fully expected him to explain his plans in short order. She had no issues with asking for clarification if necessary.

  Drake gestured to the solarium when she glanced up at him. “Although this looks quite different, it is much like the hospital isolation ward. Sloane prepared it for your arrival, and only he and I will enter it.”

  “Because you can’t catch the virus.”

  Drake nodded and she noticed again how haggard he looked.

  “That’s why you stayed away from the hospital,” she guessed and he nodded again.

  Drake leaned closer. “If they had looked more closely at my blood, they would have found many anomalies that indicate what I am. Because I hope to remain with you, my mate, and because you have made a home in that city, I did not wish to compromise our future so simply as that. I let them take the sample, but beguiled them into destroying it. I let them keep me in isolation, too, but then I had to disappear to ensure our future.”

  Ronnie watched him, liking the implication of his words. “So you came here instead.”

  “This is the home of Sloane, the Apothecary of our kind. He found an antibody in my blood and managed to isolate it. I understand little of this science, but he created a means of sharing that antibody with you. His hope was that your body, equipped with this tool, would multiply it and dispatch it in battle against the virus.”

  “I guess it is like a war,” Ronnie said, then sipped her coffee. It tasted heavenly, hot and rich, just the way she liked it.

  “Or perhaps I can only understand it that way,” Drake acknowledged. He was watching her closely, and Ronnie smiled for him.

  “You look tired.”

  “I have feared for you, every day and every night.” He ran a hand over his cropped hair, his expression so concerned that Ronnie’s heart clenched. “I erred and you paid the price. It was irresponsible and unforgiveable…”

  She reached out and caught his hand beneath hers. “I made a mistake, too.”

  “I erred first.”

  “And I forgive you.”

  His gaze lifted to hers and he smiled, his expression rueful. He turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers. “You give me more than I deserve.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do, and I mean to earn the faith you grant so readily.” Drake frowned as she watched and he moved his other hand to caress her captive one. “I have made mistakes in my time, Veronica. One of those errors has been confessing little of my truth, my past or my feelings to others.” He nodded toward the door that connected the solarium to the rest of the house. “I watch these modern Pyr and I see the partnerships they make with their mates and I am envious of that bond. I would build such a partnership with you, if you will have me, even though it means I must break my habit of silence.”

  This sounded like the reassurance she had wanted from him. Ronnie swallowed and dared to speak her mind. “I’ve been a warrior’s wife before, Drake. I’ve been the anchor and the homemaker, the one who kept hearth and home, the one who sacrificed needs and opportunities for my husband’s career and its demands. I don’t want to do that again. I don’t think I can.”

  “I would not ask it of you. I expected it of Cassandra, it is true, but times were different. I’m not sure she
would have expected otherwise.”

  “You talk about her as if she lived a thousand years ago!” Ronnie protested.

  Drake studied her hand and lifted a brow. “It was more like three thousand years,” he admitted softly, then lifted his gaze to hers. “And this is where my confession must begin.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “And I will begin to explain, though I have little talent with such tasks.”

  “You might improve with practice.”

  “Indeed, I might.” Drake’s smile was banished. “The firestorm is a gift,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words with care. He sat down opposite her, watchful but not hovering. Ronnie poured him a cup of coffee from the carafe, then one for herself, and smiled at him.

  “A wonderful gift in the view of the Pyr, at least from what I’ve read.”

  Drake nodded. “And to be given a second one is no small thing. I was honored and almost overwhelmed to have the opportunity. That it should be with you…” He shook his head and Ronnie was surprised to see that he didn’t appear to know what to say. When he continued, his voice was husky. “It was good fortune unexpected.”

  Ronnie was flattered, but she needed to hear more. “Why?”

  Drake impaled her with a glance. “Because you were the one who gave me hope. You were the one who restored my reason to continue when I saw no point in life. You were the one who showed me the merit of what we could do.” He raised his fist to his heart. “I have treasured the memory of my short time with you. I have called upon my recollection of your strength to feed my own.” He smiled a little. “To be given a firestorm with a woman I so admired already was beyond belief.”

  Ronnie basked in his admiration, unable to doubt his sincerity. She forgot all about her breakfast when her gaze locked with his, the heat in his eyes making her think only of how they had satisfied the firestorm that night.

  Before she could speak, Drake continued in a more grim tone. “But I failed the promise of the firestorm. I failed to give my all to you from the outset.”

  “There wasn’t much time to give more than you did, not before the Slayers attacked,” Ronnie protested, wanting to defend him from his own criticism.

  Drake shook his head. “I take the blame. You cannot change that, Veronica. I believe that the Great Wyvern judged my commitment to the firestorm and found me lacking.” He heaved a sigh. “And so I resolved to change.”

  Ronnie blinked. “How?”

  “I have been rootless all these years. I have made no home and no firm associations with human society. I have remained a warrior, always traveling to the next battle. I do not confide readily in others, and I rely only upon the men sworn to my command. This is the way of a solitary Pyr, not that of one committed to his mate.”

  “I’m glad you spent time with Timmy. I really appreciate it.”

  “He will be a fine man. I like him a great deal, and it was no burden to share some of my experience with him.”

  “He’s missed Mark terribly.”

  “He told me of his father.” Drake glanced up. “And of his nightmares. I am told that he has not had them this year, but then, he is older than he was.”

  “And he had you,” Ronnie pointed out. She had heard the difference in her son even over the phone. He was more confident and outgoing, and Joy had said that both boys had done better at their sports with Drake coaching.

  “He did.” Drake nodded. “I resolved that I must put time to good use. When you were hidden from me, I determined to learn more so that I might make a better partner to you. Timmy taught me much of making a home and of expectations of men in these times. I strove to better myself.”

  Ronnie couldn’t help but tease him. “Joy said you took a cooking class.”

  Drake glanced up at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “In my day, a man would not have survived an attempt to invade the vicinity of the hearth, but I enjoyed it.”

  In his day? Just how old was Drake? Nothing she had read online mentioned the life span of the Pyr. She recalled his claim that Cassandra had lived three thousand years before? Were the Pyr immortal?

  Drake raised a finger. “But the true challenge for me lies ahead, and I must address it while we can.”

  Ronnie chilled. “What’s that?”

  “I must confide in you, Veronica.” Drake ran a hand over his brow with such obvious consternation at the prospect that Ronnie almost smiled. “I must tell you of my past, of my feelings, of my thoughts.” He gritted his teeth and visibly shuddered. “I must prove myself to be a worthy partner so that the Great Wyvern does not deprive us of the blessing She has granted.” He spared her a wry glance. “You will heal and I will talk. We both shall find our challenges in this path ahead.”

  “And maybe our reward?” Ronnie dared to suggest and Drake smiled.

  His eyes glowed as he watched her. “I like to think our shared future more probable than that.”

  * * *

  Marco flung himself at Jorge, trying to use the firestorm to buttress his own strength. The pain when Jorge shattered his scale had been white hot, but he had to save Jac from this Slayer. His need to protect her was almost overwhelming, his passion for the firestorm giving him a power beyond any he’d had before. He was keenly aware of the scent of her skin and the tinge of her fear.

  There was something strange about this compulsion to save a dragon hunter, never mind the one who had injured the only Pyr he cared about, but the firestorm allowed no argument. Marco’s need for Jac was so powerful that it blotted every other thought from his mind.

  She was his mate.

  She could bear his child.

  The darkfire had brought him the most unlikely mate possible, and theirs would be a union to change the world. Marco felt the darkfire crackle and knew that Jorge was the obstacle to his destiny.

  He refused to accept defeat.

  Once he could have seized Jac and manifested elsewhere, but his injuries were such that he feared he didn’t have the strength. It cost him mightily to manifest elsewhere, and he knew Jorge would simply follow him. Although his state wasn’t the best, it would only be worse after manifesting. His best chance to eliminate the Slayer was here and now.

  Marco roared and slammed Jorge into a wall of bookcases, and the doors broke in unison. Glass fell to the carpet and books tumbled forth only to be trampled beneath the battling dragons. The entire room shook and not from a train. Marco squeezed the Slayer, letting his talons dig deep into his opponent’s flesh. Black blood spurted beneath the points of Marco’s claws but he ignored both it and its corrosive burn. He was burned from nose to tail already. Jorge had to die. Marco slammed him into the wall again, bashing Jorge’s head hard against the cabinetry and breaking a lot of it.

  Jorge bellowed and swung his tail. Marco moved and Jorge’s tail crashed into the broken bookcases. Dozens of slashes appeared on his tail where the glass cut him. Jorge breathed fire, setting the carpets alight, and swept a pile of books across the room. A number of them were flung into the fireplace and the fire began to burn with greater vigor.

  He fell on Marco then, snatching and biting. Marco found himself on his back, but he abruptly pushed himself off the floor and hauled Jorge upward. He slammed Jorge’s head into the ceiling, then forced his face into the chandelier. The candles burned Jorge’s face, making the Slayer writhe in pain and bellow. The grappling pair fell to the floor again, and tripped over the carcass of the dead Slayer. The scent of his corpse was enough to sicken Marco, and he rammed Jorge into a corner, then bashed the Slayer’s head against the wall.

  He saw Jorge inhale and guessed that the Slayer would breathe smoke.

  Marco kicked Jorge in the chest, making him choke on his own smoke. His eyes glinting with malice, Jorge rolled beneath Marco. The room was filling with smoke as the carpets burned. Jorge twisted and snatched for Jac. She kicked him in the snout in one of her best kickboxer moves, and Jorge flinched. She then ran toward Marco. He snatched her up, hoping he could man
ifest elsewhere, and she seized a candle from a sconce.

  Jorge snapped at them, but Jac shoved the burning candle into his eye. He roared with pain and fell back, even as Marco tried to summon the strength to manifest elsewhere. He had to get Jac out of the burning library before it was too late.

  He shimmered but the shimmer faded too soon. Jorge was getting up, his eyes red with rage, and Marco tried again to manifest in another place.

  Any other place.

  The blue glimmer of light was far less than it needed to be, and he feared his exhaustion would condemn them both. Jorge guessed his trouble and laughed, then reared back to leap toward him.

  “Open wide,” Jac whispered and Marco stared at her. She held up the green Dracontias stone between finger and thumb. “An antidote to every ill,” she reminded him.

  Would it really heal him?

  It couldn’t hurt to try—and it might foil Jorge’s plans to take the stone. Marco opened his mouth and Jac cast the small stone down his throat. It was cold, and he felt its passage as if he’d swallowed an ice cube.

  To his amazement, Marco felt the difference immediately. The stone seemed to radiate from deep inside him and he could feel the burns on his skin becoming less angry.

  “It’s working,” Jac said, running her hands over his scales. The firestorm’s caress didn’t hurt either, her touch sending vigor through his body.

  Marco needed more, and he needed it fast. Now that he could think clearly, he knew where to get it. As the haze of pain faded, he knew what to do.

  Marco summoned his own dragonsmoke and breathed it at Jorge in savage fury. The Slayer was clearly caught off guard by the speed with which Marco breathed the smoke, and he fell back, flinching as it pursued him.

  Jorge backed into a corner, but there was no escaping Marco’s wrath. He breathed a thick cord of smoke and tightened it around Jorge’s neck like a noose, then drew on it. It was like sucking a straw and he felt the jolt of Jorge’s energy passed to him through the dragonsmoke conduit. He felt bright and bigger, stronger and more radiant. He inhaled as Jorge screamed, but didn’t stop, pulling every morsel of strength from the Slayer without remorse.