Whisper Kiss

  "You sure?" Niall arched a brow. "Funny how your dream led right there, then."

  Rox's mouth opened and closed. "Not that dream."

  "The very one."

  The buzzer rang again. Rox hurried to the intercom and pressed the button, her gaze locked on Niall. "Yes?"

  "Rox?" a woman asked. "Roxie, is that you?"

  Rox's eyes went round and her voice rose high. "Suzie!"

  "Well, yes!" the woman said, and Niall couldn't tell whether she was laughing or crying. "Do we have to do this over a crummy intercom?"

  "Come in, come in!" Rox hit the button to open the door, holding it down with her fist.

  "We're in!" called the woman, and it was only then that Rox launched herself at Niall. He caught her close and kissed her. Then he wiped the tears from her cheeks, framing her face in his hands to kiss her again.

  "I can't believe it. You found her," she said, her words falling fast. She was almost dancing in front of him, her excitement all the reward he needed. "You found her! You found her after all these years!"

  "All part of the deal," Niall said, wiping away her tears. "She changed her name. That's why you couldn't find her."

  "But you did!"

  "I had a few advantages on my side," he admitted, and she eyed him with wonder.

  "DreamWalker," she whispered.

  "Yeah. It's pretty cool." He smiled down at her. "I thought the first time should be for you."

  "You already did it the first time for me."

  Niall opened his eyes wide. "Should we send Suzie home, then?"

  Rox laughed, hugged him tightly, then looked down at the tickets again. "But we can't just go. They might not even live there anymore. . . ."

  "Suzie phoned. Your mom is eager to see you." Niall brushed a fingertip across Rox's nose, knowing what she wanted to ask. "And she threw him out a decade ago. Something about both her girls leaving made her reconsider the evidence." He let his voice drop. "She's been looking for you two."

  Rox exhaled. She shook. And then a wonderful light filled her eyes. Niall was ready to enjoy her pleasure in what he'd done, but there was an untimely rap at the door.

  Rox squealed as she never did, pivoted, and flung open the door. The two sisters stared at each other in astonishment for a long moment. Suzie was a beautiful woman, finely boned with long hair the same ebony hue as Rox's. Her eyes were green instead of blue, and she was--incredibly--even more outspoken and blunt than Rox. She was elegantly and expensively dressed, but Niall could see the similarities between them.

  He would have argued who was the pretty one, though.

  Suzie smiled and lifted her left hand. The silver promise ring shone on her pinkie. Rox caught her breath and echoed the gesture, the two rings identical. "I'm sorry," Suzie said. "I thought you'd be fine. I thought you'd be okay, but Niall told us. . . ."

  "You couldn't have known," Rox said with her usual ferocity for those she loved. "You had to take care of yourself first."

  Suzie shook her head. "I never imagined he would . . ."

  "He didn't," Rox interrupted firmly. "He tried once, and then I was out of there."

  "Just like me."

  Rox wiggled her hand and smiled. "Sometimes living by example is the best you can do."

  "Roxie!" Suzie's tears spilled and she opened her arms. Rox flung herself into her sister's tight embrace, and Niall knew he'd done exactly the right thing.

  They were both fighters, one dressed in velvet and one in steel. They had survived and become stronger for it. He stepped back to watch their reunion, glad he had been able to give this gift to his mate.

  His Phoenix.

  His love.

  Thorolf came to Niall's side, straightening his T-shirt and swallowing his last bite of burrito. He was staring at Suzie as if he'd never seen a woman before.

  "I could, like, come with you," Thorolf offered in old-speak.

  "You could, like, stay home and practice," Niall retorted, no sting in his words.

  Thorolf might have argued, but Suzie's husband appeared in the doorway then. He nodded at Niall, then smiled at the two sisters. He, too, was elegantly and expensively dressed; a man at ease with money.

  Thorolf made an almost undetectable growl of dissatisfaction.

  Niall heard it.

  "Successful," Niall said. "I think he has more money than God."

  "The guys with the bucks snag the best babes every time," Thorolf complained.

  "Just think--he's maybe forty-five. You're, what? Eight hundred years old, give or take?" Niall gave Thorolf a look. "What have you been doing with your time?"

  Thorolf stared at Niall and swallowed. "You know, I'm thinking I'll practice this weekend. Cultivate a little success. Breathe some smoke."

  "No," Niall said. "You've nailed the smoke. Great boundary mark here." He smiled at his student, not missing how Thorolf smiled with pride.

  "What, then?"

  "Work on shifting faster. You have to hide your clothes in less than half the time it takes you now."

  "Why?"

  "If someone sees where they are, you're dead meat."

  "I'm on it." Thorolf gave Niall a high five, then headed back to the kitchen.

  Suzie's husband glanced toward the window and grimaced, sparing a glance for his Italian leather shoes. "Anyone else hear thunder?"

  "No," Niall said, well aware that Rox was sparkling like a galaxy of stars. "But we should hurry so we don't miss that reservation."

  It was late when Rox and Niall retired to her old room in the house she had thought she'd never see again. Her mom had redecorated, turning this room into a sewing room and Suzie's room into a guest room. There was still a sofa bed, though, and a big mirror.

  Aware that it wasn't just the Pyr who had keen hearing, Rox beckoned silently to Niall. He'd fulfilled her every dream, and she was feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.

  "Let me see how your tattoo is healing," she whispered. "Did you take care of it while you were gone?"

  "Are you kidding?" Niall asked good-naturedly. "I wasn't going to sign up for the infection as a result of careless maintenance lecture."

  "Prove it," Rox said, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

  "You just want me naked," Niall complained, and Rox smiled.

  "You got a problem with that?"

  Niall grinned. "Actually, no." He peeled off his shirt and turned, glancing over his shoulder at the reflection of his tattoo in the mirror.

  The yin and yang symbol was at the lower edge of his right shoulder blade, covering the place where he had lost a scale. It looked to be held in the talons of the phoenix. The phoenix looked as if it would take flight over Niall's left shoulder. The tail feathers swept over his back, spilling around his waist and over his ribs on the front. There were clouds behind the phoenix, stylized silhouettes in shades of blue and green.

  The phoenix represented the elements of air and fire.

  "I still think it's the best piece you've ever done," he said with an admiration that warmed Rox like the firestorm.

  The tattoo had healed beautifully, but then she'd known Niall would follow her instructions. She gave it a thorough check, then took off her own shirt. She nestled at his left side, holding up a hand mirror to see their tattoos together. She knew she'd never tire of seeing the two halves make a complete whole.

  "Perfect," Niall murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair.

  Rox's dragon was now colored in hues of amethyst and blue, accented in white to mimic platinum. The dragon curved like a letter C, his tail rising high on her left shoulder and his head curving up from below. Those orange stylized flames flowed behind him, but they looked more brilliant now that he was colored.

  The dragon represented earth and water.

  Rox liked that they each had the two elements of their own affinity represented on their backs, along with a symbol of the other's role in their partnership. She was earth and water to Niall's air and fire, but she was his Phoenix and he was her Dragon
. The yin and yang symbol on his back represented the balance of their union, while the pearl on hers indicated--to Rox's thinking--the richness of the life they were making together.

  Maybe even the precious gem of their son.

  When Niall drew Rox more tightly against his side, she felt the thunder of her heart. She also knew that their tattoos fit together, forming the traditional circle across both of their backs. Rox's dragon looked directly into the eyes of Niall's phoenix. It was how they were meant to be, encircled and entwined, balancing each other, the whole greater than the sum of the parts.

  And their tattoos stood testimony to their bond in a way that words never would.

  "Happy?" he asked softly.

  Rox nodded, knowing he had no doubt. "Thank you."

  Niall smiled, then bent his head as if to kiss Rox. He froze before his lips touched hers, his gaze dancing over her cheek. "Hey, what happened to that broken heart?" he murmured.

  "I wondered when you'd notice." Rox grinned. "Chynna colored it in solid for me when you were away," she whispered. "I don't figure it's ever going to be broken again."

  "You've got that right," Niall said with vigor, then gave Rox a kiss so hot and sweet that it made up for every minute he'd been away. She happily kissed him back.

  Ink, as it turned out, wasn't the only thing that was forever.

  Rox had been wrong about that, but she didn't mind finding out the truth.

  Not one bit.

  Author's Note

  If you are intrigued by what is hidden beneath the streets of New York City, I recommend New York Underground: The Anatomy of a City by Julia Solis. Not only are there many eerie and wonderful photographs, but she provides a terrific history of the city's underground.

  Read on for a sneak peek of the next thrilling

  romance in the Dragonfire series by

  Deborah Cooke,

  Darkfire Kiss

  Available in May 2011

  from Signet Eclipse

  Ethics were so inconvenient.

  Melissa Smith had worked with many people who either had no ethics or could easily ignore them. She'd never been that way, even in pursuit of a story.

  No matter how much was at stake.

  She parked her car on the street, not too close to the house she'd driven past a hundred times, and took a deep breath. It didn't help. She was still freaked-out. She closed her eyes and saw the wreckage of Daphne's body--still a vivid memory she couldn't escape--and wondered whether it was time for a change.

  In a real sense, her principles were all she had left. Melissa had lost her fiance, her house, her dream job, and her future. All that she had left was the chance of restarting her career.

  And maybe those ethics were the only thing standing in her way.

  Did she want success enough to bend her own rules?

  Daphne, Melissa knew, would have told her to make her own luck.

  Melissa frowned, unhappy with the available options. She pulled out the note from Daphne one more time. It was terse, just as Daphne had always been, and just reading it made her feel an obligation to the girl.

  It was her fault. . . .

  The note had come in the mail two days before as if it were no more important than a credit card bill. Enclosed with the note had been a key--a key to a storage locker.

  Melissa had spent the whole day trying to guess where that storage locker might be. She hadn't really believed that Daphne was dead. The girl was a consummate liar, albeit one with a good heart. She'd had to deceive to survive on the streets of Baghdad, which was where Melissa had first met the engaging, pretty, opportunistic girl. Daphne had had a charm about her, and she'd been reliable in unexpected moments.

  Melissa had lost track of Daphne when her health had brought her home. She'd thought of the beggar girl often, worried about her even when she should have been worrying about herself.

  No one had been more surprised than Melissa to encounter Daphne again three years later in the most unlikely of places--right in D.C., dressed to the nines and on the arm of an affluent older man.

  Magnus Montmorency.

  It couldn't have been a coincidence; Melissa had known that immediately. Montmorency had been the rumored power behind illicit arms deals in Baghdad--every trail led to his vicinity and stopped cold. Melissa had wanted to get that story more than anything, had wanted to reveal Montmorency for the villain that he was, but she'd run out of time.

  In more ways than one.

  Still, she would have known him anywhere. Seeing Daphne with Montmorency hadn't reassured Melissa at all. She didn't like that Daphne had become his mistress, that she had used Montmorency as her ticket to the future.

  And it really didn't help that in Baghdad Melissa had once asked Daphne to find out more about Montmorency's connections. That had been before she'd realized how brutal he was.

  She had a responsibility. . . .

  The memory of Daphne's burned body flicked through her thoughts again, as if the dead girl would taunt Melissa with her obligation. Montmorency must have killed Daphne. Melissa suspected it but couldn't prove a thing. It was the past all over again--the trail led to Montmorency's vicinity and stopped cold.

  But Daphne had provided the inside intelligence that Melissa needed.

  Melissa could have taken the easy path, but she'd done her homework. She had gone to the morgue, and was astonished when she found Daphne there, labeled as a Jane Doe.

  She'd never forget that sight.

  Melissa had found the lock that fit the key at the airport, Reagan International. There'd been a duffel bag in it filled with Daphne's apparent necessities. It confirmed that Daphne had been poised to run, that she'd known she was taking a big risk.

  The stuffed puppy Melissa had first given Daphne in Baghdad was in the bag, now well loved. The sight nearly stopped Melissa's heart.

  Deeper in the bag, she found Daphne's diary.

  It was a riveting read. The girl was a good reporter, thorough and detailed. If she'd survived, though, her story would have created questions. She was, after all, a beggar girl who had been saved from the streets by Montmorency.

  But in her diary Daphne had documented where correlating evidence could be found against him--in a small leather-bound blue book, one that was always in a certain place in the top- right drawer of a desk in Montmorency's fortified D.C. residence. Everything--everything--was documented there, according to Daphne.

  It was the evidence Melissa needed.

  She was parked across the street from the house.

  Daphne had also provided the security codes to the house.

  But Melissa hesitated. It was a crime to break and enter. It was wrong. Even though Montmorency was suspected of being an arms dealer, even though he made sure nothing ever stuck to him and nothing could be traced to him, even though bringing him to justice would tip the balance in favor of good guys everywhere and would fulfill a personal goal of Melissa's, it was still wrong to break into his home.

  Dangerous, too.

  Melissa swallowed, and eyed the house. She could almost hear Daphne calling her bluff. That girl would never have worried about a relatively minor infraction, especially one in the pursuit of a greater good.

  Melissa had taught Daphne to record the evidence. Maybe Daphne was teaching her to take a chance, to reach for what she wanted.

  Headlights swept over Melissa's car, and she instinctively hunched down in the seat. A large, black armored Mercedes sedan pulled out of Montmorency's driveway, the engine gunning as it headed downtown. Where was it going at this hour? It had to be midnight.

  Melissa checked her watch. Ten past.

  Maybe the car was going to pick up Montmorency. Melissa could see only the silhouette of a driver when it passed, as the windows were tinted dark, but she was sure its departure was a sign.

  If not an invitation. If the house was empty, this was her chance. Who knew how soon the car would return?

  Daphne deserved justice. . . .

&nbsp
; Melissa knew that a person couldn't always count on getting a second chance. She wouldn't damage anything, wouldn't take much, would just get that little blue book from Montmorency's desk. It wouldn't take five minutes.

  It would be easy.

  It wouldn't matter in the greater scheme of things.

  Melissa didn't believe that for a minute, but she got out of her car anyway. It was snowing slightly, the snow melting on contact with the pavement. There would be no mark of her footsteps--another sign.

  She pulled on her leather gloves and turned up her collar. She wrapped her scarf across her face as if she were cold, even though she was strangely warm. She reasoned it was adrenaline--after all, she wasn't in the habit of breaking the law. She reminded herself of the power of the greater good.

  Then Melissa marched across the street toward Montmorency's house, as if she had every right to be there.

  In a way, she did.

  Daphne would have insisted as much.

  Rafferty's pursuit of Magnus had led the Pyr through dark passages and hollows, deep into the earth and under the ocean. That the old Slayer was wounded hadn't slowed his passage that much, apparently. That Magnus had the ability to disguise his scent, at least at intervals, meant that Rafferty had taken many wrong turns.

  In the end, he had followed the trail to the most obvious location of all--Magnus's home in Washington.

  Rafferty hadn't expected his enemy to be so brazen. Maybe he should have known better. Maybe it was a trap. Either way, he was tired of the unfinished business that lingered between the two of them. He and Magnus had exchanged challenge coins, which meant a fight to the death--until one was dead, the challenge continued. Rafferty had thought Magnus dead several times.

  This time he would be certain.

  He'd guessed that Magnus had restored his own strength from Niall's firestorm--with Chen's assistance and maybe a last hidden dose of the Dragon's Blood Elixir. He'd wanted to corner his old foe before the lunar eclipse that would occur in the wee hours of the morning, but hadn't been sure of Magnus's location until this day.