“You can’t do this. It’s irresponsible. Put your hood back on to protect yourself…”
Sloane seized Sam’s hand and his gaze bored into hers. “It’s my responsibility to defend the treasures of the earth, which include humans. I can do this, and I will.” His intensity made her mouth go dry. “You can help me or I can do it alone.”
Sam wanted to insist on protocol. She wanted to keep Sloane safe.
“My father warned me, Sam, that sometimes the Apothecary has to sacrifice his own welfare to serve the greater good,” he said softly. “My destined role is to heal, regardless of the price.”
She saw a determination in his dark eyes that told her she would lose the argument. And he was right: every moment counted.
His choice made her heart squeeze tight. She tied the tourniquet around his arm and took a syringe, turning his arm to find a vein. There was no denying the raw power of his body or his sheer good health. Sam’s mouth went dry, though, because it was easy to remember how gently he had touched her.
But there wouldn’t be any more of that. He’d have to go into isolation until they knew whether he was infected, if he exposed himself to the virus.
Sam didn’t want to think about it. “Tell me about this treasures-of-the-earth thing that Drake mentioned,” she invited, then eased the needle into his vein to take a blood sample.
“In the beginning, there was the fire,” Sloane said quietly. His voice was low and melodic and it awakened her desire all over again. “And the fire burned hot because it was cradled by the earth. The fire burned bright because it was nurtured by the air. The fire burned lower only when it was quenched by the water. And these were the four elements of divine design, of which all would be built and with which all would be destroyed. And the elements were placed at the cornerstones of the material world and it was good.
“But the elements were alone and undefended, incapable of communicating with each other, snared within the matter that was theirs to control. And so, out of the endless void was created a race of guardians whose appointed task was to protect and defend the integrity of the four sacred elements. They were given powers, the better to fulfill their responsibilities; they were given strength and cunning and longevity to safeguard the treasures surrendered to their stewardship. To them alone would the elements respond. These guardians were—and are—the Pyr.”
Sam set the filled vials aside, withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball into the puncture. “That’s a very powerful verse. Did you just make it up?”
Sloane shook his head. “It’s our story of who we are, of why we are.” He took a clean syringe, then a vial of Ronnie’s infected blood. He loaded the syringe and didn’t hesitate before injecting it into himself. Sam watched, speechless, thinking it was the most heroic thing she’d ever seen.
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.
“But I did,” Sloane said, apparently without regret. “I’ll join Ronnie and Drake in isolation until we’re sure of the results.” He pivoted then and might have left the lab, but suddenly turn back. “By the way, if I do get sick…”
Sam folded her arms around herself and waited.
Sloane pointed to the line of refrigerators. “Those Slayer clones I told you about? There’s one in that fridge. Do not open the door.”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “He’s not dead.”
“He’d disintegrate if he was, and I’d have nothing left to test.”
She turned to look at the fridge in question and couldn’t stifle her shudder. There was a not-dead evil dragon that close? By the time she turned around again, Sloane was saluting her with two fingers and walking away.
What Sam really wanted was a kiss.
But he couldn’t kiss her. Not now.
She spun to face the bench, feeling a bit sick. Sloane could contract the virus. In fact, given everything Sam had seen, chances were pretty good that he would—unless they were right about Pyr blood. In a way, she wished she hadn’t speculated aloud. If Sloane did contract the virus, he might die, unless she managed to create an antidote.
And if she did manage to do that, it would be all because of Sloane and his choices.
He would even let her take all the credit.
But it was the prospect of losing him, even of him not being in the world any longer, was enough to shake the foundations of Sam’s universe. She bit her lip and stared at the bench, filling with the certainty that she loved him.
Then she turned back to her work, knowing that it was up to her to ensure that Sloane survived his heroic choice.
Her gaze rose more than once to that fridge. She thought of the quote that reminded him of his father, of the caduceus and wondered if the Slayer might hold a key to the Pyr’s future.
First she had to work on ensuring that Sloane had a future.
* * *
Jac was excited and frightened. She knew exactly what Marco was intending to do, without him saying a word. She’d seen his devastation at Rafferty’s injury and felt the power of the firestorm. He was Pyr, right to his marrow. There was no way he’d ally with the clone of Boris Vassily, not for any price.
He was going to trick the Slayer.
And she was going to help.
They waited in her apartment for Boris’s instructions, keeping their distance from each other to try to manage the firestorm’s insistence. Jac was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one losing the battle. All she could think about was Marco, the way he’d touched her, the way he kissed, the way his body felt when he was crushed against her. She loved the way he took his time when seducing her and how thoroughly he satisfied her. She was dying of curiosity to know how much better the firestorm might make their lovemaking, and pretty certain she wouldn’t last until September. Every time she glanced his way, it seemed she found his gaze upon her, his eyes dark and his expression sensual.
He looked like he could eat her alive.
She really wanted him to go for it.
“Will it kill us?” Marco asked on the second night that they were sleepless. The apartment seemed to be filled with a simmering heat, even though it was chilly and raining outside. Jac listened to the rain pattering on the window, sure there was no sexier sound on the planet.
Actually, all sounds were sexy to her now. The sound of water running in the bathroom meant that Marco was naked in the shower. The sound of cloth sliding over skin meant that Marco was getting undressed. The sound of a bare foot on the hardwood floor meant that Marco was close, maybe behind her, definitely watching. All or any of them were enough to make Jac tingle.
The sleepy sound of his voice made her catch her breath.
She rolled over to find him sitting on the floor in the doorway of her bedroom, keeping watch over her. The light from the firestorm’s glow burnished his features, making him look both enigmatic and alluring.
“It might,” she whispered. “Any Pyr reports of death by firestorm?”
Marco shook his head, a smile curving his lips slowly. Jac wanted to trace its path with her fingertip. “Not one.”
“How about by spontaneous combustion?”
His smile flashed. “I think that only happens when a mate throws a road flare down a Slayer’s throat.”
Jac rested her chin on her hands. “It was pretty satisfying.”
“You’re probably single-handedly responsible for how quiet it is.”
“How so?”
“Fewer Slayers and Jorge has got to be hurting.”
“Won’t he recover?”
“The more serious the injury, the longer it takes, from what I understand.”
“What about Boris?”
Marco flicked a glance her way in warning, and Jac remembered about the sharp senses of dragon shifters. “He’ll be back,” he said casually. “Once he figures out the best place to attack.”
“Which just leaves us with time on our hands.”
Marco shrugged. “He probably wouldn’t mind if we satisfied the firestorm. We
’d be less likely to draw the attention of the Pyr then.”
“We should wait until after the fight, at least,” Jac said and Marco arched a brow. “It says in the book that the firestorm can heal a Pyr’s injury.”
His smile was slow and warm. “Sounds like you’re thinking of keeping me around.”
“Sounds like I am.”
They eyed each other for a long hot moment, one that seemed to stretch through forever. The rain pattered on the windows, and Jac fought the urge to wriggle on the bed. She was burning with desire for Marco and couldn’t resist him. Something about being alone together on a rainy night did it for her, and the firestorm was working with it. She swung her legs around and got out of bed. She peeled off her nightgown and cast it aside, seeing how he caught his breath as he watched. He seemed to have frozen in place, neither blinking nor breathing.
Just watching.
“There you go, playing with fire again,” he murmured.
Jac laughed a little, then took measured steps toward him. It was amazing to watch the firestorm’s sparks grow in power with every step and to see its glow brighten from orange to yellow to blinding white. Jac got hotter with every step, and she licked the salt from her own lip. She felt her nipples bead and let her hips sway, feeling like she was the hottest seductress on the planet.
When she had almost reached him, Marco eased to his feet. He had the effortless grace of an athlete and the body to match. He was wearing only his jeans, his T-shirt already discarded. He waited for her, that dragon confidence in his smile, and Jac took another step, bringing them toe to toe. They inhaled as one as a flurry of white sparks erupted between them, the flames dancing between them in a frenzy.
“It’s like being struck by lightning,” she whispered, then placed her hand on his shoulder.
“And wanting to have it happen again,” Marco agreed. “There is an upside to not satisfying the firestorm, that’s for sure.”
“Have you ever been so hot?”
“Never. You?”
“Never.” Jac eased closer. “Could it possibly be good enough to make it worth giving this up?”
“Only one way to find out,” Marco murmured and slid his arm around her waist. He pulled Jac hard against him and the resulting flash nearly gave her heart failure. Then his mouth locked over hers, his kiss as demanding as she wanted it to be, and Jac drew him even closer. She dug her nails into his shoulders, wanting all he had, so snared in the firestorm in this moment that she couldn’t have cared less about the future. Marco slanted his mouth over hers and deepened his kiss, turning around so that he had her pinned against the wall. Jac ran one foot up his leg, then locked her leg around his thigh. Marco speared his fingers into her hair, then rocked his hips against hers, giving her a teasing sample of his response to her.
“And you had to be a dragon shifter,” Jac muttered when he lifted his head. “You couldn’t just be a hot guy meant for me.”
Marco grinned. “I am meant for you, and being a dragon shifter is what makes this so hot.”
Jac couldn’t argue with that. She wouldn’t have argued, at least, if she’d had a chance to say anything.
In that moment, Boris manifested in the living room in a shimmer of blue.
“You could call ahead,” Marco growled, even as he hid Jac’s nudity from the Slayer’s view.
“I like surprises,” Boris said mildly, though Jac peeked and didn’t like the way his whole body seemed to glitter. Marco carried her back into the bedroom, his gaze locked with hers and she knew without a doubt that he intended to give Boris a surprise that Slayer wouldn’t forget.
“Bring the crystal,” he murmured in her ear. “We might need it.” Marco then turned back to their guest, who surely had overheard his whispered words.
He meant, Jac knew, that she might need it to defend herself.
She was frightened then, frightened that Marco might not survive Boris’s plan and that she wouldn’t even have a chance to conceive Marco’s son. As she dressed quickly, Jac acknowledged the truth. Marco was unlike any man she’d ever met, but in ways that were more important than his being a dragon shifter. He was honorable and noble. He kept his word and stood by his friends. He defended her and gave her the means to defend herself. If he died without their satisfying the firestorm, without an echo of him left in the world, it would be a tragedy.
That’s when Jac knew exactly what she’d do if Marco survived. She’d accept the firestorm’s challenge and face the future fearlessly, whatever it might bring.
* * *
“I have a bad feeling,” Erik murmured for the umpteenth time.
“You’re not alone in that. We should have left earlier,” Eileen said.
It was late morning and they were driving across the desert. Their departure had been delayed and Eileen had a bad feeling of her own. Even though the air conditioning in the car was on full blast, it was getting hot. The sky was clear blue and the sunlight was blindingly bright. They still had a long drive to the next potential rest stop, and she didn’t like that they’d be in a rental car under the midday sun.
“I had to speak to Lorenzo again,” Erik said.
They’d circled this argument a dozen times already and Eileen’s temper was fraying. Her only child was in this car and looked as if she were wilting. Eileen wasn’t feeling so great herself. “We should have stayed another day,” she said tersely.
“You’re the one who wanted to get home.”
“You’re the one who forgets that not everyone has the longevity and strength of a dragon,” Eileen snapped.
Erik turned to give her a look. “I don’t forget. I never forget. I’m trying to balance a hundred concerns, including your desire to get home, but nothing is going right…”
“Just because Lorenzo isn’t doing what you want him to do, you shouldn’t take it out on us.”
“I’m not!”
“Lorenzo never does what you want. Lorenzo never does what anyone wants.” Eileen wiped her brow. “Except maybe Cassie, but we don’t all have the power of the firestorm on our side.”
To her surprise, that made Erik smile and relax a little. “You do,” he said quietly, then reached to close his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I want everything to end well.”
“And you think I don’t?”
“I know you do.”
“I think you worry too much. You think there’s only one Slayer left from those eggs, not counting the one in Sloane’s lab, and that’s assuming they really did die. Then there’s Jorge, who is quiet…”
“And her card smelled like him,” Erik admitted in a terse undertone.
Eileen turned to stare at him. “That journalist? The one who was going to interview Lorenzo?” She watched in horror as Erik nodded. “You’re seriously telling me that Maeve O’Neill knows Jorge?”
“His scent was on her card. It was subtle, but it was there. That’s why I lingered. I wanted to try to convince Lorenzo that he was being too confident.”
That wasn’t a stretch, to Eileen’s thinking. Although none of the Pyr were insecure, Lorenzo had enough confidence for all of the Pyr together, with at least as much left over. “So, why did we leave at all, then?”
Erik frowned. “Lorenzo told me to.”
“Since when do you do what he tells you to do?”
“Since he told me that he’s going to beguile her and doesn’t want any distractions.” Erik scowled at the road. “He made it clear that he wanted to handle the interview alone, and I was frustrated enough to leave him to it.”
“But now you have a bad feeling.”
Erik inhaled slowly and his eyes narrowed, but not before Eileen saw how they were glittering. “Well, well,” he murmured. “My foresight isn’t gone.” He pulled over the car and reached for the door. “Time for you to drive,” he said softly, his gaze intent. “Just keep on toward our destination.”
“What’s going on?” Eileen asked as she slid behind the wheel.
“I feel a firestorm,
and it’s approaching fast.”
How could that be? Whose firestorm was it? Eileen had no time to ask questions because Erik got out of the car. There was a shimmer of blue light around his body, and she knew he was hovering on the cusp of change.
“Mom?” Zoë asked from the backseat.
“Crawl over the seat and buckle up,” Eileen said as she put the car into gear. She didn’t like leaving Erik behind but she knew that their presence might only impede his ability to fight. Her heart was hammering and her mouth went dry. Zoë looked back as dust swirled behind them, and Eileen realized her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
That was even before the woman dropped on the hood of the car. She seemed to have appeared out of thin air. She fell against the windshield, blocking the view. Eileen hit the brakes and the woman slid forward, then leapt to land on her feet in front of the car. She’d come around the car and was trying the passenger side door before Eileen could blink.
It was locked, of course.
“Open up!” the dark-haired woman demanded. “I’m a mate!”
She gestured to the road behind them, and Eileen saw the brilliant gold spark of a firestorm jump from the woman’s hand. She still might have declined, but Zoë unlocked the door and slid across the bench seat to press against her mother. The woman threw herself into the car and leaned over the seat, watching whatever was happening behind them.
She held the darkfire crystal in her right hand and the spark within the stone was burning vigorously.
“I’m Jacelyn,” she said. “You’d better hit it so I don’t have to use this. I think it only carries one shot and we might need it later.”
Eileen looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Erik was no longer alone. He was in his dragon form, his pewter and ebony scales gleaming under the midday sun. A familiar Slayer of ruby and gold was fighting him and another dragon of darkest anthracite was hovering in the air alongside the battling pair.
“That’s Boris Vassily!” Eileen said, unable to believe her eyes.
“The third clone of him, actually.” Jac said. “He calls himself Boris IV. There are six more hatching at the next eclipse, by the way, bringing the total to a tidy thirteen.”