He should have been concerned about that.
Instead, he pursued her. Maeve made her way up the stairs of the townhouse to the top floor. Jorge was transfixed by the movement of her legs and the flex of her muscles, as well as addled by that perfume. When she reached the summit, he realized he wasn’t even aware of having walked up the stairs.
He frowned. He had assumed there was only an attic below the roof of the house, but Maeve produced a golden key and turned it in the lock of the door there. It was a heavily studded wooden door, as if she admitted him to a fortress. She cast him a playful glance, then flung open the door, gesturing for him to precede her.
Jorge felt his body prickle on the cusp of change. He sensed danger and saw the pale blue halo of light emanating from his body. He was fully alert, but curious, too. What could she do to him? He boldly stepped past Maeve into the attic as she flicked the light switch.
On the far wall was a book case with glass doors, but there were no books within it. The contents of each section were composed. He thought immediately that it was a shrine.
His gaze fell first on a mirror and comb. They looked to be made of silver, and something about their shape reminded him of seaweed. In a jar beside them was secured a green scale, about the size of his thumb, floating in some liquid.
“A scale from the tail of the last mermaid,” Maeve said behind him, her voice reverent. “And her favorite mirror and comb, just because.”
In the section of the case to the right was a long twisted shell with a pearly finish. It was only on closer inspection that Jorge realized it was a horn. A trio of long fair hairs were braided together to make a long cord, one that was twined around the horn with a pair of dried daisies.
“The horn and harness of the last unicorn,” Maeve said. “I wish I could have taken more, but he disintegrated into stardust so quickly at the end.” She sighed.
Jorge realized he was in a trophy room.
The next held a golden harp and the grisly memento of a pair of pointed ears. They looked as if they’d been cut from the victim’s body and had twisted a little as they dried.
“Last elf,” Maeve supplied. Jorge glanced back in time to see her shudder. “Horrific creatures. Always singing and lilting. The world is better without them.”
Jorge turned back to the display of prizes, barely able to identify the meanings of them all in his excitement. “You hunt immortals,” he managed to say.
“No.” Maeve came to stand beside him, and he noticed how resolute her tone was. She folded her arms across her chest, pushing her breasts to fascinating prominence. He almost missed the fury that lit her eyes, he was so distracted. “I eliminate the unnatural creatures from the world. Their end times can’t come soon enough for me. I consider it to be a clean-up operation.”
Jorge had a hard time believing that the beautiful woman beside him was so effective a huntress. He recalled her picking her way across the uneven soil on Easter Island in her high heels, every hair in place, and couldn’t reconcile what he knew of her with this confession. “You hunted mermaids, elves and unicorns to extinction?”
“Of course. And more besides.” She gestured to the cabinet. “Centaurs, giants, dwarves, and so many more.” She winced at a pile of particularly lustrous feathers in one section. “Fallen angels are like cockroaches. Just when you think you’ve found the last one, there’s another.” Maeve smiled, and there was a familiar hunger in her eyes that Jorge found reassuring. “Still it adds to the sport. Call this my hobby.”
Jorge’s pulse quickened. “What about the Pyr?”
“I have a larger section reserved for them down here.” She gestured to the lower right corner of the case, where a section was empty. “I should dust it out and get it ready, don’t you think?”
Jorge couldn’t completely stop his smile. The idea of this woman, who was admittedly delectable, destroying and eliminating dragons was difficult for him to believe. “How do you expect to slay dragons?” he asked, unable to keep a slight edge of scorn from his tone.
“I have you to help,” she said with such confidence that Jorge wondered what he was missing. “Didn’t I say we’d make a great team?”
“But why would I let you take the trophy, when I’ll be doing the work?”
“Because I’ll reward you, of course,” Maeve whispered, her eyes lighting with an amorous intent that made Jorge’s thoughts spin.
“You don’t have anything I need…”
“Not even immortality?”
Jorge fell silent at that.
“Oh yes,” Maeve said with a smile. “Did I forget to mention that I’m an immortal queen?” He might have doubted her claim, but Maeve drew a door on the exterior wall of the attic, using a pen she’d obviously brought with her. Jorge didn’t know what kind of a pen it was, but it left a sparkling trail after it. He saw the outline of the door, then she drew a knob, then a keyhole. She inserted the end of the pen into the keyhole and a bright light emanated from the lock. It swept around the perimeter of the drawn door, then with a sigh, the portal opened.
Instead of a patch of sky, or the neighboring rooftops, another reality was revealed.
Jorge kept his dragon in check only with a great effort. His eyes widened as a great hall was revealed, one that extended far beyond the confines of the attic. It was filled with beautiful courtiers dancing and drinking red liquid from golden cups, wondrous music that made Jorge yearn to dance, and laughter filling the air.
“Queen Mab!” they cried in delighted recognition and fell to their knees in homage.
Jorge glanced at Maeve to see that her appearance had changed. She was dressed in tremendous finery, but all in the same bloody hue of red. There were rubies on her fingers and a sparkling crown on her head with more. The hem of her red velvet gown was sewn with jewels, and her train stretched across the attic floor. She was also radiating sexual allure, her lips red, her breasts spilling forth, her gaze knowing.
Jorge felt that strange disorientation again, that muddying of all he knew to be true. There was only gorgeous Maeve, her beauty, and his desire for her.
“Another dimension?” he asked, unable to keep the wonder from his tone.
“An eternal one.” Maeve watched his reaction with a knowing smile. She caressed his arm possessively and Jorge’s lust only increased. He had a strange sense that only Maeve would satisfy him from this point forward.
Because they were two of a kind.
The thought wasn’t his, but it resonated within him with the power of truth.
“The Elixir is a pale substitute for what I can give my partner, consort and co-regent,” Maeve whispered, her words sparking a greed within Jorge. It burned like a flame in his heart, a complete conviction that they would be stronger together.
As well as more successful.
He knew he could finish the Pyr himself, but there would soon be no more Elixir. What Maeve offered was far simpler than trying to concoct the Elixir’s source again. No Pyr and himself immortal! It sounded like heaven on earth, even without Maeve’s charms to be savored.
“All I have to do is eliminate the Pyr,” Jorge said, wanting the terms to be clear.
“And love me as your queen, of course,” Maeve murmured with a seductive smile.
A heartless, insatiable queen who could give him immortality would be easy for Jorge to love.
“The key to a portal,” Maeve said softly, tapping the pen on her opposite palm. “Wherever when you need it.” She smiled and handed Jorge the pen. “Just in case you ever do.”
Jorge accepted the pen, although it looked like a small wand. It was cold enough to send shivered over him, and so clear that he wondered whether it was made of ice. Then Maeve’s disorienting perfume swirled around him, and she drew his head down for a kiss that lit a fire deep within him. The company cheered their approval. Jorge thought he saw a glimmer of blue-green light at the periphery of his vision just before he closed his eyes. He felt a shudder slide over his skin, but then
Maeve’s mouth was locked on his, her kiss as demanding as if he hadn’t pleasured her repeatedly already this night.
He was lost in her kiss in a heartbeat, so captivated by her spell that he didn’t even feel the scale loose itself from his hide.
He certainly wasn’t aware of the minion who seized that prize and hid it safely away. There was only Maeve, her rapacious need to conquer, her insatiable lust, and the gift of immortality she could bestow upon him.
That was more than enough for Jorge.
* * *
Lee knew the Pyr expected him to heal Drake, because Jorge had learned how to injure other dragon shifters remotely from Chen. The problem was that Lee didn’t have time to put all the pieces in place, as Chen had done in concocting his spell. He had to help Drake quickly.
He felt a kinship with this Pyr, though their backgrounds were vastly different, because both of them had been enchanted and snared for centuries. Both of them had left the times and the souls they knew behind. Both of them had begun again. Lee was encouraged that Drake had been granted a second firestorm and dared to hope for his own future.
But it would be wrong for Drake to be sacrificed when all gifts came to his talons.
Lee had to make this right.
He shifted shape beside Drake, savoring the power of the transition and the way it made him feel invincible. His scales were brilliant gold again, his nails and horns a vivid scarlet. Each scale was touched with red on its tip and his belly shone metallic red. Just as he was the opposite in nature to his younger brother, Chen, he was the opposite in color, too. He leaned over Drake, listening to his breath, which was too shallow. He could feel the tremor of pain deep within Drake, even when the Pyr was in his human form.
Chen had twisted their father’s ancient magic, perverting it into a force of ill will and injury. He had used the mystical spiral and placed his victim’s scales at the compass points, considering also the power of the elements. His spell had taken a long time to bring to fruition, and Lee sensed that Jorge had managed to harness that wickedness before its fury was spent.
The trick would be invoking a similar spell, without drawing that foul power.
Lee thought of the healing powers of the earth, remembered his impulse and that Zoë had helped him with the work, and knew what he had to do.
“Can you help him?” Ronnie whispered.
He nodded and lifted Drake with new purpose. When his wings began to flap, Sloane pointed to a glass panel in the far corner of the solarium. Lee took flight and burst through the ceiling, then carried the injured Pyr to the spiral he’d planted with Zoë. The plants were about a foot tall, but only the calendula in the middle had bloomed. The flowers made a brilliant cluster of yellow and orange, much like the heart of the sun. Lee landed in the very center and knew immediately that it was the right choice. He could feel the spiral as a protective force.
But what spell to sing? He recalled all the ones Chen could have invoked to do injury and feared to even think their words, lest he make Drake’s condition worse. He thought of Chandra’s dream of twin brothers, one who had snakes leap from his mouth when he spoke and the other who loosed pearls when he spoke. Good and bad. White and black. He and Chen had been such opposites, yet like two sides of the same coin, derived from the same source but each distinct from the other.
Lee thought of his father, so wise and ancient, the father of them both. He looked up at the clouds gathering overhead and wondered whether it was his father’s claw at work. His father had been a storm-gatherer of remarkable power, much venerated by the people who relied upon his skills to bring rain. In the rumble of distant thunder, Lee heard his father’s voice.
It matters less what words are spoken than the intent of the one who utters them.
Of course.
Lee spread his wings high, creating a protective canopy over Drake, and began his father’s favorite chant. He felt the wind blow and the first drops of rain fall on his wings, but he chanted on. He kept his gaze fixed on his patient, though he heard the other Pyr gather around the perimeter of the spiral. Sloane’s voice was the first to take up the chant, the first Pyr to lend his power to the ancient song. Lee smiled at the Apothecary’s power, feeling that the tremor of pain within Drake was diminishing. Erik and Quinn lent their voices, as well, and Lee heard a fifth voice, one he couldn’t identify. Who else aided their quest? It didn’t matter—they would all help Rafferty.
The Pyr sang together and time became difficult to measure. Lee’s father’s chant blurred the minutes and seconds, even the hours. It was only when Drake stirred and opened his eyes that Lee realized pearls had been falling from his lips all the while.
Drake looked about himself with wonder, scooping up a handful of the lustrous gems, and they shimmered as they slipped through his fingers. They turned to drops of rain and rolled into the garden around them, disappearing into the soil to nourish the plants.
Lee smiled at this gift.
The other Pyr shifted back to their human forms and Sloane applauded Lee’s efforts. “Wow,” he said. “I’d love to learn more of that chant.”
“It’ll be my honor to teach you,” Lee said.
“Thank you,” Drake said, then exhaled in a shuddering breath. “I have to tell Veronica that all is well.” He shook Lee’s claw and held his gaze. “Thank you,” he said again, his words heartfelt, then strode back toward the house. Lee smiled to note that Drake stepped over the young plants with care.
He considered the spiral of flowers, pleased with what he had done. That was when Lee saw the opal and gold salamander, watching from between the plants. If a salamander could smile, this one did.
Then he shifted shape in a shimmer of pale blue, and Rafferty appeared in his human form. Lee shifted, as well, so the two of them stood in the middle of the floral spiral as fat drops of rain fell around them.
“Well done,” Rafferty said with satisfaction and shook Lee’s hand heartily.
While the other Pyr welcomed Rafferty’s return and expressed their relief, Lee looked down and saw the strange ring that Rafferty wore. It looked like it was made of spun glass, of black and white swirled together, and it seemed to spin on the other Pyr’s finger as he eyed it. He lifted his gaze to find Rafferty watching him and felt a commonality with the Pyr beyond anything he’d felt before.
He’d lost his blood kin, but Lee had found a new family with the Pyr.
His father would have advised him to do whatever was necessary to defend this unexpected prize, and Lee would do just that.
* * *
The Pyr conferred quickly, for Erik and Quinn were both determined to leave as soon as possible. Erik had doubts about Lorenzo’s intentions and seemed to think he could stop that Pyr from doing something foolish.
Sloane doubted that anyone could stop Lorenzo from doing anything once that dragon made up his mind, except maybe Cassie.
He didn’t want to argue with Erik again, though.
Rafferty insisted that Marco wasn’t turning Slayer, although Erik was unconvinced. Quinn suggested that the Sleeper might simply want to savor his firestorm in private, a notion that Erik didn’t find compelling but one that made Sloane recall that Quinn had once felt the same way.
The mood was far from harmonious between them all when they parted ways, but Sloane was simply glad they were finally leaving. Maybe they’d been in close quarters too long.
Besides, he had work to do. He had to get his conservatory repaired, and he still hadn’t had five minutes to himself to examine that Slayer. He’d been working too hard and sleeping too little, and he was unhappy about his lack of triumph. Lee suggested he’d take care of the broken glass, and Sloane dispatched Drake to sleep in Veronica’s company, then headed back to his lab.
He didn’t even wave farewell to all of his departing guests.
Sam couldn’t arrive soon enough.
* * *
Samantha Wilcox returned to California with all the fury of a tropical storm. She raged through
the airport and seized the keys from the car rental clerk. She squealed the tires as she backed the rental out of its spot, then made at least six traffic violations in her haste to get to Sloane’s residence. She turned into his driveway and gunned the engine, zooming up the driveway far too quickly. She braked to a halt so hard that plumes of dust rose behind her.
The car was parked crooked and blocking the drive, but Sam didn’t care. She flung herself out of it, left the door open and marched up to Sloane’s front door. She was going to lean on the bell, but didn’t have a chance.
The door was hauled open, as if someone had been watching for her. Sloane stood there, looking haggard and sexy as hell. “What took you so long?” he demanded before she could say anything, then pivoted and strode into the house, leaving the door open behind him.
If she’d been in a less murderous mood, Sam might have laughed. All those times she’d wanted to see into his home and he’d avoided the situation. Now he left the door standing open for anyone who cared to come in.
Even her.
“Where’s Veronica Maitland?” she demanded, even as she followed him. “What did they do with her?” Her gaze flew over the comfortable interior, then she caught her breath at the light spilling into the space beyond the kitchen. There was a greenhouse back there, and Sloane gestured to it with one hand.
Veronica was there. She was dressed in street clothes, a casual dress and sandals, and sitting on the rocks that edged a pool and fountain. A man with salt-and-pepper hair cut very short sat with her, and they were deep in conversation.
Sam turned on Sloane with outrage. “What the hell are you doing? This is a violation of every possible safety protocol, not to mention a public health hazard…”
“I don’t see a lot of public around here,” Sloane said tightly.
“But him! He’s with her without any protection. She’s infectious!”
Sloane shook his head with resolve. “Not to him.”
Sam felt her mouth drop open, then she understood. She looked at the couple again and noted Veronica’s smile. The other woman’s hand curved over her belly as the man clearly tried to make her laugh.