Life would have been a lot easier if they had just shut up.
Ginger’s eyes flashed as she turned to Delaney again. “You knew that?”
He felt the back of his neck heat. “Well, yeah. That’s the point—”
Ginger interrupted him. “You intended to get me pregnant without talking to me about it first?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Don’t you think that I might have had other plans for the next twenty years of my life? Don’t you think you ought to have asked?” She threw out her hands. “Oh, no, that’s right—you left this morning without even talking to me!”
“Ginger, I . . .”
She shook a finger at him and he took a step back from her anger. “You planned a one-nighter to knock me up! You planned to leave me pregnant. Just who in the hell do you think you are?”
Delaney didn’t have a good answer for her. He’d thought only of his duty to the Pyr, not of the implications for Ginger, and felt foolish as a result. “It’s my responsibility—,” he began, but she interrupted him again.
“Responsibility? What am I? Just a womb for the taking? I can’t believe I thought you were a gentleman.” She practically growled as she opened one carton of eggs. “I can’t believe I thought you were a keeper.”
“Ginger, I—”
She turned on him again. “You really think it’s that easy for a woman to raise a child alone?” Ginger flung out a hand. “Never mind a child who’s going to be a dragon shape shifter . . .”
“We Pyr don’t come into our abilities until puberty,” Rafferty interjected softly.
“Great!” Ginger said, facing the older Pyr. “That would give me twelve or thirteen years to figure out how to explain that to the school.” She glared at Delaney, her hands on her hips, and he thought again that she was a little spitfire. “What was in your head? Or maybe your planning was being done a bit lower down.”
Delaney shuffled his feet, feeling as he did whenever he’d been called on the carpet by Erik, leader of the Pyr. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. . . .”
“Well, neither was I.” Ginger growled in irritation, then whirled and headed for the stove. She dropped a second cast-iron skillet onto the burner so hard that he feared one or the other would crack.
She was furious and every Pyr in the kitchen knew it.
Delaney didn’t look at his fellows. His firestorm wasn’t going well and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
He wasn’t even sure why it was still burning.
Could Ginger be right? Was the pill working?
It was one thing for Delaney to be a dragon shape shifter.
It was quite another for him to be a dragon shape shifter who had unilaterally decided she should bear his son, had tried to impregnate her without discussing it first, then had planned to disappear forever without telling her the truth.
Men!
Or maybe Pyr!
Ginger cracked eggs so hard that each and every yolk broke. The Pyr would get scrambled eggs for breakfast, which was a damn sight more than they deserved, given the way they’d shown up uninvited with lofty expectations.
Maybe being a dragon shape shifter made a man presumptuous.
Maybe the details didn’t matter.
Delaney was smart enough to keep out of Ginger’s way. In fact, the Pyr all kept a low profile, murmuring quietly to one another at the table. They didn’t use their old-speak, though, and Ginger could hear their words. Niall came to her side and offered to help—she pointed him to dishes and cutlery, preferring not to be close to Delaney just yet.
She had to collect her thoughts first.
A child.
Delaney’s child. The prospect had a dangerous appeal, which just proved she wasn’t thinking clearly, either. As much as Ginger would have liked to have had children, as much as she was attracted to Delaney, a one-night stand with her left alone and pregnant wasn’t her preferred way to begin a family.
She hoped Rafferty was wrong about the pill.
No, she prayed that Rafferty was wrong about the pill.
When the table was set, Ginger put Niall to work making toast. Ginger figured they’d need the better part of a loaf of bread, and the toaster only took two slices at once. Thorolf set the table at her instruction, the Pyr who towered over her leaping to his feet when she asked for help.
At another time, she would have been amused by how they were all spooked by her. In this moment, though, Ginger was too angry to care.
Delaney had planned to leave her pregnant. Ginger was beginning to seriously question the reliability of her intuitive trust of him. Had her instincts led her wrong? There would have been a strange irony in the best regional matchmaker being unable to make a decent match for herself.
Doubtless she’d find that funny another day.
Maybe the day that her next period started, right on time.
“Let me see those wounds again,” Sloane urged from the other side of the room.
“I’m fine,” Delaney said, with obvious impatience. Ginger could feel him watching her, but she pretended to be oblivious to him. She whipped the eggs to a froth, then dumped them into the sizzling butter in the pan.
It was patently unfair for her to still find the man sexy. Her body was on his side and that was just wrong. She jabbed a spatula into the eggs.
“It’s my job to decide that,” Sloane argued, and Ginger heard Delaney make a sigh of concession. She saw him move from the corner of her eye and glimpsed that rugby shirt falling on the kitchen chair she’d abandoned.
If there was eye candy, it only seemed fair for her to have a sample.
Ginger glanced over her shoulder and her heart stopped cold. Delaney was bare chested in her kitchen, as buff as she recalled, and he was staring directly at her. He was tanned and muscular, as magnificent in the daylight as he’d been at night. He looked taut, irritated, and as sexy as any man she’d ever seen.
He had a nasty cut on his chest and Sloane was frowning as he daubed at the wound. That silver cross was even more beautifully detailed than she recalled and it shone against his tanned skin. Delaney seemed to be indifferent to Sloane’s murmuring—although he winced when Sloane got some salve from his satchel and rubbed it into the wound.
Delaney’s attention was so fixed on Ginger that she felt snared by his gaze. She stared back at him, even as she smelled the eggs burning a bit. His expression was grim and she wondered whether he was more annoyed with himself or with her. She was usually less impulsive than she had been the night before.
He raised a hand toward her as if he’d make a plea on his own behalf, and Ginger felt her resolve weaken. She spun to move the eggs around the pan. She told herself not to care that they were too brown on one side, but busied herself with keeping them from burning again.
Delaney had expected her to have his child.
Was there more to the story than she already knew? The look in his eyes made her think she had condemned him without a trial—shouldn’t she learn all of the facts first?
Was she crazy to even think about giving him a chance to explain?
Her imagination began to conjure possibilities. Maybe she was wrong that he’d intended to leave this morning. Maybe he’d meant to come back. How permanent were the Pyr’s relationships with their mates? Ginger knew on some level that she shouldn’t even be curious—curiosity was one step closer to forgiving him—but she was.
That was probably a bad sign, but Ginger couldn’t help it. She was curious and there was no point in denying the truth.
“Red, red, red,” Sloane was saying with approval, which made no sense to Ginger at all. “There’s not a drop of black in your blood anymore.”
Ginger glanced over her shoulder again, seeing Sloane daub at Delaney’s wounds.
“I told you that.” Delaney frowned, his attention fixed on Ginger. She turned her back again before he could catch her eye.
She knew her weaknesses. Listening wasn’t the same as surrendering all reason, but if Delaney touch
ed her, she’d be a goner.
Maybe a pregnant goner. Yikes. Was Gran rolling in her grave because Ginger had been so impetuous?
“Since when?” Sloane demanded.
“I told you.”
“Tell me again.” Sloane sounded impatient as well. “This is big, Delaney. I need to try to understand what’s happening to you.”
Delaney made a sound of frustration. “Okay. Since yesterday.”
“The firestorm,” Rafferty said with undisguised satisfaction. When Ginger peeked, she saw that the other Pyr looked impressed as well, but their admiration was for Delaney.
Or his good fortune.
She supposed that if you waited four hundred years to meet your match, it might be a pretty special moment.
Delaney had given her the credit for his ability to deny Magnus. Did he mean her personally, or the firestorm in general? Ginger much preferred to think that she had had a powerful impact on Delaney—maybe as powerful as the impression he’d made on her—than that a force of nature was responsible for the change.
“So, your firestorm finished what Donovan’s firestorm began,” Sloane mused. “It makes a certain sense, since our own firestorms are said to burn the hottest of all.”
“And are best at cauterizing our wounds,” Rafferty said.
Ginger cleared her throat. She kept her tone cool, as if she were less interested than she was. “If you’re talking about Delaney’s firestorm, shouldn’t you include me in the discussion?”
“She’s right,” Niall said quickly, and Ginger was glad to have an ally.
She noted the glances the Pyr exchanged, then put the eggs in a serving dish and carried the dish to the table. Niall got the bacon and pushed down the button on the toaster once more. The Pyr hesitated a minute, then she gave Thorolf the serving spoon.
“Eat while they’re hot,” she said, and he needed no further encouragement to dig in.
“This is really good,” Thorolf said a moment later.
“It’s what I do,” Ginger said, more interested in the Pyr than in her cooking. At Thorolf’s glance, she elaborated. “I’m a chef. I cook. Those are organic eggs from my chickens, and bacon from Smith’s organic pork farm, whole grain bread from the natural-food store in town.”
“The butter is phenomenal,” Sloane said.
“Tanya churns it for me, from my girls’ milk. She runs a small artisan cheese operation and uses milk from me and from the Van Vliets’ goats.”
Rafferty smiled and saluted her with his coffee. “It’s good not to be the only one attuned to the songs of the earth. Thank you for your hospitality, especially as we are uninvited.”
The Pyr joined him in thanking Ginger and she found herself blushing a bit that they were so fulsome in their praise. “It’s just bacon and eggs.”
“I’ve never had bacon and eggs like this,” Thorolf said.
Niall nodded, then eyed Delaney. “I can’t believe you went after the Elixir after feeling your firestorm. You had to know that you might not come back.”
“Or might not come back the same,” Sloane clarified.
Ginger looked to Delaney in alarm. It was one thing to take on a noble quest, quite another to expect to die doing it.
Delaney remained standing with his back against the wall, his arms folded across his bare chest. His eyes were dark and his expression impossible to read. “Don’t you guys have somewhere else to be?”
“I don’t think so,” Niall said with resolve. “Not if you’re so determined to undertake a suicide mission.”
Ginger set down her fork, unable to eat in her dismay.
“Ginger and I need to talk.” Delaney was grim. “Alone.”
Ginger was in complete agreement with that, but the Pyr stayed put.
“We all need to talk,” Sloane said. When Delaney might have argued again, Sloane fixed him with a look. “Destroying the Elixir is too big a task for a single Pyr to take on alone.”
“It’s my responsibility!” Delaney argued.
“Says who?” Rafferty asked softly.
Delaney ignored him. His mouth set into a stubborn line that reminded Ginger of her grandmother.
“Look what happened when you tried,” Sloane countered. “Mallory is probably sipping of the Elixir as we speak.”
“Another Slayer who is tough to defeat,” Thorolf said, rolling his eyes.
Niall shook his head. “Sit down and eat already.”
Delaney kept standing.
“And Magnus at the foot of the Elixir, ready for more,” Thorolf added. “It’s a fuckup, no matter how you look at it.” He picked up the serving spoon in the dish of scrambled eggs. “If you’re not eating, I’m going to finish this.”
“I’m trying to remember why I’m friends with you guys,” Delaney complained. “Why don’t you say what you really think?”
“Don’t shoot,” Sloane said lightly. “But we like you alive.” The others chuckled while Delaney glowered.
“We should have gone in together,” Niall argued. “We should have made a plan. . . .”
“And at least one of you wouldn’t have come back,” Delaney retorted. “I’ll take care of it myself, in my way and on my time. It’s my responsibility.”
“Why?” Rafferty asked again.
“How?” Niall demanded.
Delaney glared at them both in obstinate silence. Ginger had to admit that Delaney’s friends were making more sense than he was.
“Didn’t you just try? Didn’t your plan fail?” Niall continued, his manner adversarial. He stabbed at his eggs with his fork. “And for what? Your chest ripped open and nothing good achieved. You used to be smart enough to admit when you were wrong, never mind when you needed a new plan.”
“No one but no one is going to go through what I went through,” Delaney said, his tone harsh. “You have no idea what hell the Elixir plays with your mind. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” Niall asked again.
“Somehow,” Delaney said with force.
The Pyr fell silent then, their expressions grim as they ate. As much as Ginger could respect Delaney’s determination to protect his friends, she didn’t like the idea of his dying in their defense.
“Sit. Eat.” At Rafferty’s gruff command, Delaney finally pulled on his T-shirt again and joined the group. Rafferty commandeered the spoon from Thorolf. Niall gave Delaney a playful punch in the shoulder, but Delaney didn’t acknowledge the gesture.
The silence was oppressive. Ginger ate but didn’t taste her food, her thoughts swirling with all she had learned.
“Why you?” Rafferty asked again, his quiet words unattended while Delaney finished his meal.
“Why not me?” Delaney asked with annoyance.
“I can think of a lot of reasons,” Niall began, but Delaney glared at him.
He pushed aside his plate. “Look. Whoever destroys the Elixir won’t come back. That’s a given.” He spoke with a conviction that made Ginger glance up at him, horrified. Those shadows were back in his eyes again. “It has to be me.”
“Why?” Rafferty asked again, his tone still mild.
“You’re going to tell me you’ve got nothing to live for?” Niall asked. Ginger felt the Pyr looking at her. “I tried to believe that six months ago, but I won’t buy it now.”
Delaney ignored that comment, too, although Ginger’s heart skipped a beat. “The vial should have shattered,” he said with force. “I hit it with everything I had.”
“What vial?” Sloane asked, his eyes lighting with curiosity.
“The Elixir is stored in a massive vial, one that looks like it’s been carved out of rock crystal,” Delaney said. He grabbed a napkin and drew the layout of the sanctuary on it, plus a sketch of the vial. The Pyr leaned close to study it as he worked. “There are stairs winding around the vial to the summit. It’s in the third and last cavern after you enter the sanctuary.” He started to say something else but frowned and fell silent. “It should have shattered.”
“So, it can’t be destroyed with force,” Rafferty said.
“Interesting.” He began to twist an unusual ring that he wore on his left hand. It could have been made of black and white glass wound together. The Pyr watched his gesture and she noticed that they became disconcerted.
What was the deal with the ring?
Was Rafferty sending them some other message she couldn’t hear?
“That’s just more proof that we have to work together.” Sloane pushed his empty plate aside and templed his fingers together as he regarded Ginger. “And that means all of us.” The Pyr nodded and looked at Ginger again. She felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. “The firestorm has brought you into this, but you must find some of it confusing.” His expression was serious and his manner thoughtful. “Did Delaney tell you about the Elixir?”
Ginger nodded. “That he was forced to consume it and it almost made him go nuts.”
“Right.” Sloane nodded. “Because he wasn’t Slayer in the first place, it didn’t make him immortal as it does for those Slayers who drink it by choice. Because he wasn’t dead, it didn’t make him into a shadow dragon. As near as I can figure, he’s been caught between the living and the dead.” Sloane indicated Delaney’s wound. “Slayers have black blood. It’s said that the darkness of their blood is a reflection of the darkness in their hearts, and a sign of the withdrawal of the Great Wyvern’s favor.”
“Why?” Ginger asked. She felt the tension between the Pyr lessen, as they turned their attention to explaining the situation to her. She could feel the bedrock of their familiarity with one another, the root of their old friendship, and knew they were angry only because Delaney was putting himself at risk.
She could respect that.
Rafferty, meanwhile, took Delaney’s sketch and turned it over. He began to write across the back of the sheet of paper and Ginger assumed he was making notes. The other Pyr ignored him, so maybe it was a habit of his.
She liked that they knew one another well and had some tolerance for their friends’ quirks. That was what made friendship work, in Ginger’s opinion.
She also liked that they had come to help Delaney’s firestorm, even if it meant arguing with him to do so.