Firestorm Forever

  And succeeded.

  “That’s the elusive Drake,” Sam whispered.

  “Yes, it is. You want something to eat?”

  The question restored Sam’s anger. “Eat? Are you crazy? She’s getting to the end of the progression. We can’t just sit back while she dies right in front of us.”

  “Dies?” Sloane echoed. He arched a dark brow, then looked pointedly toward the greenhouse.

  Wait a minute. “The progression from the first spike of the fever to death takes a week,” Sam murmured. She knew the symptoms by heart. “If she’s alive, she should be in the second phase.”

  “The third one, actually, if you count the latent phase.”

  “She should be confused. There should be red lesions on her body,” Sam murmured, unable to account for her former patient’s apparent good health. She walked closer to the glass barrier, amazed by the evidence before her own eyes. “She should have diarrhea.”

  “But she doesn’t,” Sloane observed.

  “Dr. Wilcox!” Veronica said, obviously noticing her presence. She stood up and Drake supported her elbow as she came to the glass wall. She was clearly weakened by her illness, but recovering. Her color was excellent and her spirits obviously good. Her partner was more somber, and Sam wondered what he knew.

  Probably Sloane had confided in Drake.

  Veronica waved but made no effort to open the barrier. She was still too thin but there was a sparkle in her eye and a slight flush to her cheeks.

  “You look well,” Sam said, astonished by the truth of it. “I’m so glad.”

  “I feel so much better,” Veronica confessed. She laid her hand against the glass. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you. I knew what was going to happen, but I was afraid you wouldn’t agree.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” Sam admitted. “But it’s wonderful to see you recovering.”

  Drake bent to murmur to Veronica and she nodded, holding his elbow as he took her back to sit in the sun.

  Sam watched, then sat down hard in Sloane’s kitchen. “What did you do to her?”

  “I gave her an antidote,” Sloane admitted, putting a cup of hot tea in front of her. Sam hadn’t even realized that he’d brewed it. He poured another cup and sat down beside her at the breakfast bar, his arm almost brushing against hers. She could see the bottom of the caduceus tattoo protruding from beneath the hem of the sleeve of his T-shirt, just the point of the staff and the two coiled dragon tails.

  Sam recoiled from the reminder of that quote about necromancers. On the other hand he effectively had brought Veronica back from the dead. “And you tested it on her? Like she was a guinea pig?”

  “I had a sample and tested it first. She agreed to give it a try,” Sloane replied, a slight edge in his tone. “She volunteered, for the sake of medical research.” He touched his mug to hers and took a sip of tea.

  “How did she volunteer? When?” Sam demanded. “When? I was her primary caregiver. I saw all of her correspondence and her visitors.”

  “I guess you missed one,” Sloane said, his voice hard.

  Sam thought of that little smile of anticipation that had curved Veronica’s lips when she’d been pushing the gurney. She’d known. “But how did you do it?”

  “I guess we have a few resources at our disposal that can’t be easily explained.”

  Sam thought of Jac’s stone and frowned, shaking her head. “How did you find an antidote? We’ve had no real success.”

  “I found it the same way you would have, if you’d had the chance. I identified and isolated a component in Drake’s blood that countered the virus.”

  “Because he didn’t contract it.” Sam drummed her fingers on the counter. “He didn’t respond to my appeal and I thought that was because he didn’t care. The truth, I’ll guess, is that he had a secret to keep, one that we’d uncover with more tests.”

  “He’s Pyr.”

  Sam had already guessed that. He was probably one of the dragons who had abducted Veronica. “And that’s why he didn’t get infected.”

  “No,” Sloane said and Sam looked at him.

  “No?”

  “Drake has been exposed to this virus before.”

  “He had antibodies,” Sam repeated, then shook her head. “But what is the virus? Why can’t we identify it now, if he’s been exposed to it before? Where was he exposed? It should be documented.”

  “It was.” Sloane crossed the room and picked up a book, cracking it open in front of Sam. It was The Peloponnesian War by Thucydides. “‘The plague originated, so they say, in Ethiopia in upper Egypt and spread from there into Egypt itself and Libya and much of the territory of the King of Persia.’ Thucydides goes on to describe its symptoms and development, and how it killed so many in Athens.”

  Sam stared at the book. “But that was over thousands of years ago.”

  “Drake is thousands of years old.” Sloane held her gaze when she stared at him in astonishment. “This virus is an ancient scourge, but Drake was alive when it struck before. Jorge brought that arm into our time from an infected individual in the past, from roughly the same era as Drake.”

  Sam opened her mouth and closed it again. She deliberately chose to ignore Drake’s age and its apparent impossibility. She’d thought until recently that it was impossible for a man to change shape and become a dragon, too. Her gaze trailed to Sloane’s tattoo as she wondered just what other supposed impossibilities were realities.

  Jac’s stone.

  Sam shook her head. She stuck to the science. “But viruses mutate over time. Even if Drake was exposed several thousand years ago, over that time period, the virus would have mutated. He might not be immune to it any more—just as humans aren’t immune to each new strain of influenza, even if they’ve had flu before.”

  “It didn’t have time to mutate,” Sloane said. “The infected arm and the topaz yellow dragon that is Jorge traveled through time, passing centuries in the blink of an eye.” He spoke with confidence, as if such a feat were completely reasonable. Sam decided to use the descriptor “impossible” less readily. “Drake was enchanted for the better part of those centuries, so he essentially was frozen as time passed. Neither he nor the virus had a chance to mutate.”

  Sam took a gulp of hot tea. “Next you’re going to tell me about the healing power of the Dracontias.”

  Sloane snorted. “That’s a myth,” he said with a disparagement that relieved Sam. “Pyr don’t have healing stones in their foreheads. If they did, my job would be a lot easier.”

  “Why do you help them?” she asked, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “Why do you serve them and tend them, helping them to heal? They’re abominations…”

  “Why do you think I do?” Sloane said, interrupting her with a severity she knew was out of character. His eyes were very dark and he seemed to be glittering right in front of her.

  Sam put her mug down and stood up, suddenly understanding even more.

  The answer was a lot more than she wanted to know—but it explained everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “You’re one of them, aren’t you? It’s not them, it’s we.” Sam wanted Sloane to deny her conclusion, but he held her gaze steadily.

  Daring her to believe another impossible thing in rapid succession.

  Sam had to turn her back on him, she was so agitated. He and the dragon that had infected Nathaniel were two of a kind. It was appalling to think that she’d been having sex with a dragon shape shifter, with one of the species responsible for the loss of her son. Never mind that she’d even been hoping for more from him.

  The realization made Sam want to hurl in the sink.

  Or hurt something.

  Preferably Sloane.

  She spun back to face him, wanting to find some hint that it wasn’t true, but Sloane just looked resolute.

  “Of course I am,” he snapped. “I heal my own kind.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Sam muttered.

  “Is it? What
you don’t seem to understand is that we are divided, into Pyr who defend the treasure that is the human race, and Slayers who would exterminate both Pyr and humans from the face of the earth.”

  “Which are you?” She shivered at the coldness that filled his gaze.

  “You have to ask?” Sloane’s disgust was clear. “I am the Apothecary of the Pyr,” he said with some pride. “I heal my kind. I protect humans and heal them when I can. When I can’t, I ask for help.” His gaze bored into hers and Sam found it very easy to believe in that moment that Sloane could become a fire-breathing dragon. “Why do you think I invited you here?”

  “You didn’t invite me. I had that dream…” Sam’s voice faded to nothing as she gaped at him. “That’s how you communicated with Veronica, too, isn’t it? You infected her dreams!”

  “Her dreams weren’t infected. Dreams can be a good way to communicate with people, without leaving any discernible signs.”

  “This is all about hidden power, isn’t it? It’s all about subversion and conspiracy…”

  Sloane’s eyes flashed and he jabbed a finger toward Veronica. “Does that look like subversion to you? You said yourself that she was healing! How can you look at Ronnie and doubt my intentions?”

  There was that. He had helped her. Sam bit her lip, sat down, and forced herself to take a soothing sip of tea. That gold dragon wouldn’t have helped, which implied that maybe there were two kinds of dragon shifters. “Why did you invite me? You said Veronica had your antidote.”

  “It didn’t heal her.” Sloane showed a frustration that again Sam could understand. “It pushed the disease back into its latent phase, but didn’t eradicate it. That’s why I’m asking for your help, so that together, we can ensure she survives.”

  “Why? Because she’s bearing the son of a dragon?” Sam couldn’t hide her disgust at the thought. “You need her to breed more of your kind, like some kind of surrogate…”

  Sloane seized her wrist and pulled her closer. There was a shimmering blue light around his body and his eyes were glittering. For the first time, she feared him. “Because no one else needs to die, that’s why,” he said, his voice hard.

  “Why should I help you?”

  “I thought healing was what you did.” There was a challenge in his tone. “I thought we had that in common. I thought you wanted to find a cure.”

  Sam swallowed and couldn’t avert her gaze. She felt pinned to the spot, and her pulse was racing. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I do. I’m just not sure that you do.”

  Sloane granted her a look so skeptical that she was chastened. “Look at my house. Look at how much money has been expended to create a refuge for her. No expense has been spared, because this ancient scourge has to be eliminated and anything I can do, I will.”

  She couldn’t argue with that evidence. What he had done to his house defied belief.

  Sam squared her shoulders. “Okay. What can I do?”

  “I missed something,” Sloane confessed and she again felt a commonality with him. “I must have overlooked some detail.” Partial victories were the worst, although they always brought the solution closer. “Maybe I don’t know enough about human physiology to see the nuance.” He met her gaze again. “You do.”

  Sam was keenly aware of the heat of Sloane’s body, of his muscled strength so close to her own. It was easy to remember how good it had been with him…

  She frowned, trying to force herself to think of practicalities instead of the appeal of more sex with Sloane. “Have I been infected already by coming into your house?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The greenhouse was converted to an isolation chamber with airlocks and negative pressure before Veronica arrived. Only Drake goes in there without a suit, and frankly, I don’t think anyone could keep him out.”

  Sam blinked. “But you can’t just isolate a virus or an antivirus in the kitchen. We’ll need equipment and…”

  Sloane stepped back and gestured with impatience. Sam preceded him to the far side of the kitchen. The airlock was there, and she saw that a whole section of the house was sealed off, along with the greenhouse. Once again, she’d underestimated him. Or once again, he’d gone so far beyond expectation that his choices couldn’t have been anticipated. “There’s a full lab behind that door. It’s down a few steps then built into the hill behind the house. You’ll have to suit up to check it out.”

  Sam was awed. “This is why you wouldn’t let me into your house.”

  “You’re the one person who might have guessed the truth.”

  Sam nodded as she took it all in. “I’m sorry. I made assumptions again.”

  “You did,” Sloane said, his voice tight. “But they weren’t unreasonable ones.”

  She studied him once more, guessing that he’d been pushing himself hard in this quest for a cure, and her heart squeezed. “You realize that if you have found a cure, it would be a huge discovery.”

  “I only found the first part of the puzzle. I need your help to solve the rest.” Sloane eyed her. “I don’t want credit for this, or really, even to be named as being involved. It can be your discovery.”

  Sam was astonished. “Sloane! This is the kind of thing that puts scientists in history books. Everyone dreams of it. You can’t just give it away.”

  “I can and I will.” When he spoke with such determination, she couldn’t doubt that he was telling her the truth. “If that’s the price of your help, it’s an easy one for me to pay. Fame isn’t in my cards.”

  “You work in secret,” Sam guessed.

  “To protect my kind.”

  Sam held his gaze, understanding what a huge sacrifice he was prepared to make. A discovery like this, and the chance to refine it, was everything she’d always told herself that she wanted. The funny thing was now that it was within her grasp, it felt inadequate.

  She would have been a lot happier if Sloane had been glad to see her.

  And happier yet if he wasn’t what he said he was.

  Sam shook her head. She just needed more sleep to have a better perspective, but it didn’t seem likely that she’d get it soon. The fact was that the virus was still spreading, people were still falling ill and dying. She’d be crazy to decline this opportunity to make a difference.

  She had to make sure she didn’t make a mistake, though.

  “I’ll do it for my kind,” she said. “Not to help dragons in any way.”

  “Understood,” Sloane said tersely.

  “And this is purely a working relationship,” she added, not knowing how she’d keep her thoughts straight if he touched her.

  Anger flashed in Sloane’s eyes. “Right. No cross-species contact.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s exactly what you meant.” Sloane lifted five huge binders off the shelf and offered them to her. “All my notes. You can find me in the lab when you’re up to speed.”

  * * *

  It was outrageous.

  Sam was determined to think the worst of him. Sloane didn’t have to be a tarot card reader to pick up on her impressions. Her eyes showed her thoughts so clearly.

  It had been weird initially that she’d wanted him for one thing only—or insisted as much—but he hadn’t been able to really hold that against her.

  After all, he had little to offer her in the long term.

  Besides, Sloane knew that touch and pleasure could heal. He’d known that Sam was making progress.

  The fact that she could think so little of him now, that after all the lovemaking they’d experienced, the dinners they’d shared and the conversations they’d had, that she could assume that he was some evil Slayer like Jorge infuriated him as little else could have done.

  That he needed her help was salt in the proverbial wound.

  Sloane wanted more, much more, but without being able to promise Sam a future, without being sure when his own firestorm would spark, he knew it would be wrong to return even to their earlier relationship. They’d be
co-workers.

  That Sam apparently didn’t even want simple sex—or him—now that she knew his truth only made him more infuriated with the injustice of it all. He could have loved her with all his heart, but he didn’t have the right to do so, and she didn’t want him.

  Once they solved this mystery and ensured Ronnie’s welfare, they’d part forever.

  Sloane realized that the price of healing the world might be higher for him personally than he’d ever dreamed. His father had warned him that it might be this way, but Sloane couldn’t turn away from the search for an antidote.

  Whatever the price to himself, he would pay it willingly.

  * * *

  “He’s expecting you,” Cassie said when she answered the door to Erik.

  The words gave Erik a bad feeling. The last time he’d visited and Lorenzo had been expecting him, he’d walked into an illusion. He forced a smile, dismissed his foreboding and ushered Eileen and Zoë into the foyer ahead of him. The women greeted each other and kissed cheeks, then Cassie exclaimed over Zoë.

  Erik took the opportunity to look around. The house was like Lorenzo’s previous abode in Nevada in that it was luxuriously appointed, defended on all sides and remote from the city. It was unlike the previous house in that everything was an order of magnitude bigger, shinier and more expensive.

  Plus Cassie and the boys were there.

  Erik was aware of the prickle of dragonsmoke as he entered the palatial foyer and understood that Lorenzo was determined to defend the prizes of his hoard. He couldn’t have missed Zoë’s awe at her surroundings, mostly because his daughter was silent. He looked back to see how wide her eyes were. Eileen held fast to Zoë’s hand, not hiding her own astonishment much better.

  “Is he at the theatre?” Erik asked, guessing that Lorenzo was making preparations for his new show.

  “No. He’s by the pool with the boys.” Cassie invited them down a corridor that led to the right and toward the back of the house. There was an indoor pool there, one long glassed wall giving a view of the property and an adjoining pool that sparkled outside in the sunshine. The landscaping ensured that the area was completely private and hidden from casual view. Lorenzo was on the phone, insisting to a contractor that he did want the more expensive seats in the theatre, despite the contractor’s opinion that the extra cost was unnecessary. A young boy with Lorenzo’s dark coloring played on the marble floor with building blocks, while a younger boy with more fair coloring slept in a cradle.