Rafferty would have bet that Magnus had planned it that way.
It hadn't helped that Rafferty had been distracted by the chaos in the earth. It hadn't helped that he'd felt compelled to halt his hunt and sing to Gaia, to calm her and try to soothe her. Recent months had seen earthquakes, tsunamis, and mudslides mar the surface of the planet. There had been blizzards and droughts, monsoons and tornadoes. The weather had gone wild, and humans were suffering on every continent. Rafferty had tried to help, but he was exhausted from his efforts.
He was beginning to think that it wasn't just Gaia, but that she had been incited to violence by someone else.
Was it Magnus? The old Slayer could sing the songs of the earth, as well. Rafferty wouldn't have believed Magnus to be so strong, but his old adversary had secrets Rafferty hadn't begun to guess.
Rafferty had only one secret, one that had been hidden from Magnus with complete success. Each passing day made Rafferty fear that truth would be revealed.
And that Magnus would turn his eye upon the Sleeper.
It was time to finish their blood challenge, to see Magnus dead. Rafferty had come to do the deed before the eclipse, but had remained in the shadows as Balthasar left the house, started the car.
The big sedan had left, which meant that at least one of Magnus's staff was gone. Probably two. Was Jorge here? Mallory? No one had sensed their presences since Delaney's firestorm almost two years ago. Rafferty didn't like when Slayers were quiet--it usually meant they were scheming something.
Maybe they were terrorized by Chen.
Or controlled by him. That Slayer was a new variable, one impossible to predict or pursue. He was older and stronger than anyone had guessed, and he had drunk the Elixir.
Magnus first.
His was a quiet neighborhood, one with large houses and discrete entrances, beautiful landscaping, high-tech security systems. Rafferty could see the stars overhead and smell a storm coming off the ocean. Snow. It was beginning to fall already.
He felt something else, too--something nameless that resonated deep in his marrow. Was he becoming more sensitive to the eclipses as he grew older? Or was it the influence of the Dragon's Tail, the cycle of karmic retribution and the last chance for the Pyr to defeat the Slayers? Rafferty wasn't sure, but he felt tingly and agitated in a way that wasn't characteristic for him. He was the temperate member of the Pyr, but in this moment he felt audacious. Impulsive.
Edgy.
Maybe that was a trick of Magnus's, intended to set him off guard. Rafferty gritted his teeth and fought the quiver deep inside him. He would be as resolute as ever.
The house was dark, with windows that gleamed squares of impenetrable blackness. Rafferty smelled malice, but couldn't hear a dragonsmoke perimeter mark.
It made sense that Magnus would abandon that tradition, since he could cross it himself. Also the resonance of a dragonsmoke ring might draw the attention of Pyr.
Attention Magnus wouldn't want.
No, he wanted everyone to believe he wasn't at home. The absence of a dragonsmoke ring indicated that the house was unoccupied.
Rafferty wasn't persuaded. He couldn't sense or smell anything that told him Magnus was in the house, but he believed it with every fiber of his being. Tonight was the night.
Rafferty turned the black and white ring on his finger one last time. It would be a fight to the death, and he wouldn't necessarily be victorious. Right didn't always prevail, unfortunately. Rafferty prepared himself for the possibility of his own death, then stepped out of the shadows of the cedar hedge.
The woman stopped him cold.
He stared, but she was no illusion. She marched up the driveway with all the force of a hurricane hurtling toward the shore. She was slender and tall, her features hidden by her scarf, her skirt swinging as she moved. Her hair was short, but as dark as a raven's wing.
Ebony curls.
Her skin was golden, the hue of buckwheat honey. She had terrific legs, lean and muscled, and she walked with a purposeful femininity. Rafferty stared.
And her perfume, so feminine, so faint, snared him with one whiff. His body responded to her presence with such enthusiasm that he was startled--startled enough to ease back into the shadows.
Lust at first sight? That wasn't like Rafferty. Was it the influence of the moon? He didn't know; he only felt his body harden as he watched the sweet sway of her hips.
And wanted.
How long had it been?
He forced himself to think rationally. Could Magnus have a guest? At this hour? Was she a mistress? She didn't appear to be Magnus's type--he favored flashy women, while this one was dressed simply, in dark colors. She was older than the usual jailbait Magnus chose, as well.
A woman, not a girl.
And that perfume. Not sweet so much as seductive. Musk instead of honeysuckle. It was the perfume of a woman who knew her powers, knew her allure, and wasn't afraid of either.
Rafferty's mouth went dry. He was intrigued when she went directly to the back door. Was she visiting someone else in the house? Presumably Magnus had staff. Why so late at night?
It couldn't be a coincidence that she came right after the big sedan's departure. Not at this hour.
Rafferty eased closer to watch her. He narrowed his eyes, his Pyr vision enabling him to see the delicate line of her leather-gloved hand. She raised her hand to the pad of the security system, the movement revealing an increment of skin. Rafferty could see the bone of her wrist, fine and delicate.
When had a glimpse of a woman's skin aroused him so?
She didn't knock or ring the bell. Instead she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, then punched a sequence of codes into the security system. Though she had the codes, her every gesture revealed her conviction that she wouldn't be welcome.
Not staff, then.
Not a mistress.
But she had the codes right. The door opened, revealing a slice of darkness. Rafferty was sure he saw her hesitate for a moment before she slipped into the shadows of the house.
Then he was horrified. He couldn't begin to imagine how Magnus would treat an intruder in his lair.
Well, he could imagine--that was the problem.
The woman was either brave or stupid. Either way, she was a human who would shortly be in need of his protection.
Rafferty was across the property in a heartbeat, refusing to think further than that. He moved quickly enough to catch the lip of the closing door with his fingertips. That perfume taunted him, teased him, led him on.
And he followed the woman into the house, wondering all the while at her audacity.
Instead of thinking about Magnus, Rafferty Powell wanted to see the face of the woman who dared to take such a chance.
No. He wanted more than that.
About the Author
Deborah Cooke has always been fascinated by dragons, although she has never understood why they have to be the bad guys. She has an honors degree in history with a focus on medieval studies, and is an avid reader of medieval vernacular literature, fairy tales, and fantasy novels. Since 1992, Deborah has written more than thirty romance novels under the names Claire Cross and Claire Delacroix.
Deborah makes her home in Canada with her husband. When she isn't writing, she can be found knitting, sewing, or hunting for vintage patterns. To learn more about the Dragonfire series and Deborah, please visit her Web site at www.deborahcooke.com and her blog, Alive & Knitting, at www.delacroix.net/blog.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
/> Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Author's Note
Teaser chapter
About the Author
Deborah Cooke, Whisper Kiss
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