Firestorm Forever

  Marco was surprised when she turned to face him, tears on her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up quickly.

  Jac smiled through her tears. “Not wrong but right. Does your darkfire work on humans? Making the improbable happen?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She waved her phone. “My perfect sister is becoming human.” She pointed to the stone. “We have to take her that. The darkfire is right.”

  Marco was glad she agreed about that, but was still waiting for her decision about the firestorm.

  She crossed the room abruptly, untucking her shirt and kicking off her boots. “I want a shower,” she said with resolve, and Marco thought she was going to ask him to leave. To his surprise, she looked him right in the eye. “If the firestorm draws Pyr and Slayers, you need to stay to defend me.” Jac smiled a little. “I understand what you want, but I’m not convinced I should have a son.”

  “What would change your mind?” Marco watched her gaze slide over him and saw her catch her breath. His heart was matching the pace of hers again, and with such close proximity, the firestorm was blazing bright enough to steal his breath away.

  “I’m playing with fire,” Jac said as she flung her shirt aside. “But I might have to get used to that.” She strode toward him, as purposeful as a warrior and as alluring as a princess. “I need to know a lot more before I commit to having your son.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Would you stick around afterward?” she asked, her uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Yes,” Marco said because he knew it was true. “Rafferty taught me that the firestorm is forever.” He raised a hand to her chin and they both inhaled sharply at the firestorm’s power. It was getting stronger. “Although I never really believed it until I met you.”

  “You’re one persuasive dragon,” Jac whispered as she took a step closer. “But I’ll never forgive you if you use the firestorm to argue your case.” She shook herself and stepped back, clearly against her own desire. “Or if you beguile me.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Prove your intentions are good,” Jac said. She reached out, as if unable to stop herself, and brushed her fingertips over his skin. The assault of the firestorm’s sparks made Marco close his eyes against an inferno of desire. “And survive that last eclipse of the moon’s node,” she said softly. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Marco wasn’t sure he could survive this test, but he knew he had to earn his mate’s trust. It would either kill him or make him stronger, and he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

  * * *

  Jorge was broken, burned and bruised. He’d put all the energy of the Elixir into healing his jaw and after the fight with Marco, he was spent. He changed to salamander form in the ruined library and panted. The room was a disaster, the ceiling fallen in, the books in piles everywhere, fire burning at a dozen points other than in the hearth. There was a lot of dust in the air, but the strange thing was that Jorge couldn’t find the half-consumed dead Slayer that he knew had to be there. He sought the corpse in as much of a frenzy as he could manage, feeling his power ebb with the effort.

  His strength would rebuild and his body would heal, thanks to the residue of Elixir within him, but he knew he’d over-extended himself. It would take time, precious time, time he didn’t have.

  What he needed was more Elixir, and he wanted it now.

  He closed his eyes, stifling the urge to moan, and the taunt came. It was low and fast, slithering into his mind to merge with his own thoughts. It was old-speak uttered by a master, and it definitely caught his attention.

  “Thirsty?” The oily voice was familiar in a way that raised Jorge’s hackles. How like Boris Vassily—or one of his clones—to kick a Slayer when he was down. Jorge snarled instead of replying.

  “What you need is some Elixir,” Boris continued with a confidence that made Jorge long to tear him limb from limb. “Lucky for you, I have too much.”

  Jorge’s head snapped up. His prize had been stolen! That was why he couldn’t find the corpse.

  “Okhotny Ryad station,” Boris said. “A couple of hundred meters straight up. Surely you can manage that, if the stakes are survival.” He chuckled. “If not, I’ll eat well today.”

  Jorge wanted to roar but he saved his strength. He latched on to the Pyr scale remaining on his table of hoard, closed his eyes and flung himself in pursuit of Boris.

  And his stolen treasure.

  * * *

  Jorge and the clone who called himself Boris IV met in the middle of the three tunnels in the subway station. Both were in dragon form and both were snarling. The half-devoured dead clone was cast on the checkerboard tile of the station floor, his head resting against the system map in the very middle of the area. A black pool of blood had gathered beneath his body, just the sight of it making Jorge want to lick the floor.

  But between him and the prize was the other Boris.

  Fresh. Uninjured. His eyes glinting with malice and his tail thrashing. His one arm was paler than the other, which revealed his identity to Jorge. It had regrown, though, and healed. Jorge didn’t doubt that it was strong.

  Because this Boris had taken and eaten the other hatchling from Uluru.

  To the left and to the right were the adjacent narrower tunnels, each with a platform for passengers and track for the trains. The entire station was tiled in silvery grey marble, and this central tunnel was illuminated by spherical lights down the middle of the heavily carved ceiling.

  Jorge couldn’t have cared less about the decor. He roared and flung himself at Boris.

  He wanted that corpse.

  He needed that blood.

  He took Boris by surprise with the vigor of his attack and made the most of his advantage. It would probably be fleeting, after all. He slammed the other Slayer hard into the carved ceiling, the force of impact hard enough to break some of the plaster free. The spherical light fixtures swung and the closest one smashed, that light going out.

  Boris roared and dug his talons into one of Jorge’s eyes. Jorge’s grip loosened as he screamed, and Boris kicked him hard in the gut. Jorge felt his strength fading fast. He breathed smoke, desperately trying to latch it onto Boris in time. The Slayer slashed through it, ignoring the way the dragonsmoke left his claw smoking, then exhaled a plume of fire on Jorge.

  He’d be killed in this subway station, killed like common vermin. Jorge should never have accepted the taunt. He should have let his strength rebuild.

  But he wasn’t going to die over a miscalculation.

  Jorge fell back, pretending to be more hurt than he was, and stumbled into the side tunnel with its empty platform. Once out of the view of his opponent, he made a remarkable recovery. He flew down the length of track and ducked back into the central corridor behind Boris.

  Jorge leapt on the dead Slayer and managed three greedy bites before the live Boris spun to attack. Boris’s claws were raised, but Jorge was sufficiently restored to escape. He couldn’t take his prize, unfortunately, but he could get away.

  He blew fire at Boris, then launched a serpent of dragonsmoke when the other Slayer fell back, his feathers scorched. The dragonsmoke latched on to Boris’s tail and Jorge drew deeply on it, needing all the power he could get.

  Where would he go? He had no lair, not any more, and there were no other Slayers he could trust. The Pyr were probably watching all the lairs he’d used recently, so he couldn’t risk a return to any of those places.

  Not when he had to lie low and recover for a while. Regenerate. He needed a sanctuary and a cover story, a safe haven.

  He sucked deeply on the dragonsmoke, savored the surge of stolen power, and eyed its glittering length. It looked like a serpent of frost.

  It reminded him of cigarette smoke, in a pizzeria on Easter Island.

  Jorge smiled at the inspiration. Boris roared and tore free of the dragonsmoke, then lunged at Jorge. He let himself shimmer blue, changed form to a salamander so
he could get as far as possible, and filled his mind with the scent of French cigarettes, Chanel Number Five, and one particular woman.

  * * *

  Sam was packing up her gear. She was just finishing up, and planned to move to Atlanta the next day. There was no reason for her to remain in Virginia now that her patient was gone. The infected nurse remained in the latent phase and had been moved to Atlanta. There wasn’t much for Sam to do here, but she didn’t look forward to returning to Atlanta.

  It would be like the past two years of her life hadn’t even happened.

  By four, she’d run out of things to do and decided to treat herself to an early dinner. Once she got back to the main labs, she’d probably return to her routine of working all the time. People were still dying. It was up to her to find a cure.

  Even if she was infuriated by the intervention of dragons. She really hoped that Veronica Maitland was okay, but wasn’t particularly optimistic. A characteristic trajectory would have that woman quite seriously ill by this point. How many more had been infected by now?

  Sam was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice the woman leaning against her car until she was reaching for the door handle. “Jac!” she said, jumping a little in her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Jac said, her eyes twinkling.

  Jac looked good. Happy. Radiant.

  In fact, she seemed to be glowing.

  “Are you pregnant?” Sam asked, unable to think of another explanation.

  Jac laughed as if surprised. “Not yet.”

  Sam hugged her sister, guessing what had made her sister so happy. Another guy. More great sex. Whether it was a fling or something more permanent, Sam felt an unwelcome stab of jealousy.

  It made Sam feel even more alone.

  “I called you,” she said.

  “I know. Awesome message. I thought an alien had stolen my sister again.”

  “Where were you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Sam surveyed her sister and Jac blushed a bit. “Does he have a name?”

  “Marco.”

  “Just Marco?”

  “Just Marco. Marcus, actually, but he prefers to be called Marco.”

  “Okay. Is he treating you well?”

  “Slaying all my dragons,” Jac said and Sam froze.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not supposed to be. It’s true.”

  “Don’t even go there…”

  “Don’t worry about Marco, Sam. I just had to bring you something.”

  To Sam’s surprise, her sister pressed something cold into her hand. It looked almost like an olive and was pretty much the same color. It was stone, though, and had red lines on its surface. Jac’s manner was so expectant that Sam was confused. “Should I know what it is?”

  “It’s a Dracontias,” Jac said, as if that was perfectly obvious. “A stone harvested from the brow of a dying dragon.”

  Sam had to wonder whether her sister had lost touch with reality. “Be serious.”

  Jac nodded. “A Dracontias is a stone that medieval people believed would cure anything.”

  “Okay,” Sam said slowly, turning the stone in her hand as she chose a place to begin. “Where’d you get it?”

  “From the lost library of Ivan the Terrible. It really is below the Kremlin and I was there and this stone was in the treasury.”

  Sam blinked. Her sister had been in Russia? Jac looked completely confident of her story, though, and she was a lousy liar. “And they just gave it to you?”

  Jac shook her head and dropped her voice. “I stole it.” The way her eyes were sparkling made Sam wonder whether her sister was putting her on.

  Sam fingered the stone, at a complete loss for words.

  Jac didn’t seem to have the same problem. “It’s referenced in old manuscripts. It was harvested in the fourteenth century and kept as a treasure by an aristocratic family,” she enthused. “There are a couple of ways to use it, but I like this one: you just put it in a glass of any poison and it will turn the liquid into an antidote.”

  Sam looked at her sister, incredulous.

  “It cures, Sam! I’ve seen it.”

  “Really.”

  “Really. It healed Marco.”

  “From?”

  “Extensive burns. We were fighting a dragon and he took the brunt of the dragonfire to defend me.” She winced. “He was a mess.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “How did you put this stone in a burn?”

  Jac grinned. “I put it in Marco. Don’t worry, we sterilized it afterward.”

  Sam tried to give the stone back, but Jac closed her fingers over it insistently.

  “No, you have to keep it,” her sister said. “You have to use it to find an antidote to the Seattle virus.” Jac squeezed Sam’s hand, her enthusiasm clear. “That’s the whole point. The Dracontias is the key to your dreams, Sam, and the magical thing is that it came to me, so I could give it to you. Use it to become the great Dr. Wilcox who cured the Seattle virus. Make your mark, just like Dad wanted. The third time will be the charm!”

  Sam averted her gaze and composed her argument. As much as she didn’t want to hurt Jac’s feelings, this was nonsense and she had to say so.

  She took a deep breath, then looked her sister in the eye. “You’re kidding me, right? There’s no magic, Jac. There are no stones that cure all poisons or create antidotes to everything. There is no alakazam or abracadabra in the real world. We don’t do mumbo-jumbo or voodoo at the CDC. We’re scientists.”

  “But…”

  “The Seattle virus is a biological organism, Jac. It kills people. It’s insidious, infectious and constantly mutating. It’s also—so far—impossible to stop. It’s relentless and it’s merciless and I just lost another patient to it this week, which is just about the worst news possible.” She thunked the stone back in Jac’s hand. “If this is a joke, it’s a badly timed one. This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s not a joke. Sam! I’m serious.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be,” Sam replied. Her sister took a step back, the spark in her eyes fading away.

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” Jac asked softly. “But there are lots of things in this world that you don’t understand, that none of us understand.”

  “And there are things I don’t want to know.”

  “You could try!”

  “To believe in a magic stone? I don’t need to become a joke in my workplace!”

  “You’re supposed to think outside the box.”

  Sam nodded at the stone. “This is so far outside the box that it’s in another universe.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

  To Sam’s amazement, she was almost tempted.

  Was she losing her mind?

  Or just tired?

  “It’s time to heal, Sam. We agreed on that. It’s time to move forward,” Jac insisted. “If not now, then when? We’re not going to live forever.” She grabbed Sam’s hand and pushed the stone into her palm again. “If nothing else, Nathaniel’s death should have taught you that there are no guarantees that tomorrow will come.”

  Sam held up the stone between her finger and thumb. “And you’re saying I’d be moving forward by indulging your idea about this stone.” She couldn’t keep her tone from being tart, even though she knew there was truth in Jac’s words.

  Just not in this stone.

  Jac’s eyes narrowed. “You’d do that by taking a chance on being wrong once in a while.”

  Sam winced at the accuracy of that barb, but Jac had already turned away. “We were getting along okay until you decided to talk about dragons and their magic stones,” she said, suddenly feeling even more exhausted than she had before.

  “You mean we were getting along okay until I challenged your assumptions,” Jac replied. “The problem is that I think it’s healthy for everyone to have their world shaken up once in a while, even
you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam demanded, but her sister was marching away. Jac didn’t even glance back.

  No, she was off to Marco, superman lover and dragon fighter.

  Sam flung herself into the car, her guts in turmoil, then started the engine. It was only when she fastened her seatbelt that she realized she still had the stone in one hand.

  The Dracontias. Sam shook her head. Honestly, the nonsense that Jac came up with. She sounded like a little kid.

  Maybe that was what falling in love did to you.

  Still, it might be nice to fall in love again, to believe that tomorrow would come and that it would be worth the wait. It had been good to see Jac so happy and excited.

  Sam closed her eyes and saw Sloane Forbes, his chest bare, that stupid dragon tattoo on his arm, a smile curving his lips and sensual promise in his eyes. Her mouth went dry. She felt a little hum inside, but she needed more than sexual satisfaction.

  She wasn’t likely to get either anytime soon.

  She eyed the stone. She turned it in her hand.

  She wondered what it would hurt to give it a try, to risk being wrong.

  Then she shook her head and shoved the stone into her purse, impatient with the very idea. No, there was unconventional thinking and there was insanity, and Sam Wilcox still knew the difference.

  * * *

  Ronnie awakened as the sun was rising, painting the windows in shades of pink and pale orange. It was humid in the greenhouse and lush, several new flowers opening on the red hibiscus bush beside her bed. She was wearing only her pearls. She was entangled with Drake, his body warm and solid against her own, and she felt better than she had in months.

  Well, since they’d satisfied the firestorm. They’d loved sweetly and slowly the night before, and though they hadn’t had intercourse, Drake had taken care to pleasure her without disturbing the baby. Ronnie had to think that the boy would believe he’d been in an earthquake, and that made her smile

  She ran her hand over Drake’s bare chest and smiled at him, then traced the dragon on his arm with a fingertip. “And how is the Dragon Legion different from the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors?” she asked.