By the time Delaney was escorted to the sanctuary, Magnus would be ready to preserve his prize and secure the future.
And if Plan A failed, his strength would be rebuilt for the execution of Plan B. He fingered the stone in his pocket and smiled.
Perfect. His plan was perfect.
He was impossibly brilliant, was Magnus Montmorency.
Chapter 10
The nightmare seized Delaney before he had a chance to fight its approach. He tried to force himself awake, to open his eyes, but it already had him in its clutches. He saw the earth being claimed by shadow and then by ice, and knew that everything upon the planet was dying as he watched. The vision moved quickly, destroying Gaia at record speed, then revealing the damage to Delaney’s gaze.
Dead.
Everything and everyone was dead.
Delaney cried out in horror as he had every time he had had this dream. He flew toward the earth in his dream, fearful and agitated, only to find that he was completely alone. He found the Pyr, one at a time, just as he always did, their bodies frozen beneath rivers or trapped within the earth. He broke them free, but there was no breath in their lungs, no fire in their thoughts. Each and every one was dead, but preserved.
This time, he even found Ginger, trapped in the ice that had claimed Brush Creek. Her blue eyes were wide and staring, and no breath fell from her lips. Delaney shattered the ice to break her free, but she was stiff and cold.
Dead.
He heard her accusation that he’d been out of line, and knew she was right. He’d been unfair. He’d tried to force his own objectives upon her, without any concern for her own ideas. He had to explain himself to her. He had to ask her to bear his son, to increase the ranks of the Pyr.
Delaney only hoped that he had the chance. Who knew what fate Magnus had planned for her? The leader of the Slayers would do anything to interfere with a firestorm.
Delaney was devastated by his failure to protect Ginger, by his inability to fulfill the promise of the firestorm, by his betrayal of his fellow Pyr, by his incompetence in following the creed of the Pyr to defend the earth and its treasures.
In his nightmare, he was the last of his kind, the only one cursed to know the fullness of their defeat.
The one who had failed to act, and make a difference. It was Delaney’s fault.
His heart raced, his breath came quickly, and he fought against the nightmare’s clutch.
He awakened suddenly, his heart pounding and sweat running down his back. He was lying in the snow outside Ginger’s barn.
Jorge was gone.
Ginger was gone.
He’d failed her.
Being awake wasn’t much better than his nightmare. Delaney fought the urge to shout in rage again.
“Take it easy,” Niall said irritably, leaning back into Delaney’s field of vision. “You’re a mess and I’m not very good at this, anyway. I wish Sloane were here, but no, you had to send him away.”
Delaney was stunned to see his old friend back to help him. “I thought you left.”
“Just because you told me to?” Niall rolled his eyes at the idea and Delaney fought a smile. “Like I ever listened to you.”
Delaney was relieved not to be alone, yet knew that he couldn’t draw his friends and fellow Pyr into this quest to destroy the Elixir.
It was his responsibility.
“You should have left. It’s my fight.”
“I should have been here,” Niall said flatly. “Then you might not be so badly hurt.” He gave Delaney a hard look, but Delaney dropped his gaze.
He winced as Niall cleaned his wounds, but he tried to remain still. The other Pyr frowned in concentration, his fair hair gathering fresh snow. He tended the cuts on Delaney’s shoulders, the result of Jorge’s attack on Delaney’s wings, grimacing in sympathy as he did so.
“It’s not so bad,” Delaney said.
“Liar,” Niall charged, a familiar twinkle lighting his eyes.
“Well, it’s not.”
“Right. It must hurt like hell.”
“It’s nothing compared to . . .” Delaney bit back his reply, that there was nothing that could do injury to his body that compared to the agony inflicted by the Elixir.
Niall sobered, and he guessed that his friend had read his thoughts.
Thorolf arrived then, his moonstone and silver dragon form almost ethereal in the snow. He shifted shape more smoothly than he had the last time Delaney had watched him do it, but was still clumsy with the unfolding of his clothes. Delaney shut his eyes, keeping Thorolf’s secrets.
“Ouch. I hope you got a few good hits in,” Thorolf said, his pale face telling Delaney all he needed to know about his own condition.
“Who was it?” Niall asked. “Jorge?”
Delaney nodded. “I hacked off his back claw.”
“Ha!” Niall’s smile was fleeting. “Bet it hurt until he got some Elixir.”
Thorolf eyed Delaney. “Here’s what I don’t understand. You hacked off Jorge’s claw just now. This morning you spilled Magnus’s guts for him and then thumped Mallory. How did such a primo fighter get taken captive by the Slayers in the first place? Did they team up on you?”
“The fighting is new,” Niall informed Thorolf before Delaney could answer. “Delaney used to get his way with audacity.”
“Charm,” Delaney argued.
Niall grinned. “Balls and bullshit. Donovan used to call him the daredevil.”
Thorolf nodded approval of the concept. “Gotta love that, especially if you’re now primed to fight.”
“In the past year, I’ve taken every class on fighting I could find, and logged more time in the gym even than Niall does.”
“That much?” Niall asked lightly. They all knew Niall spent the better part of each day in the gym.
“That much.”
Thorolf gave a low whistle.
“Good thing, seeing as the Slayers are so determined to take you down.” Niall gave one last wipe to the one shoulder cut, then frowned at something on his fingertip. It glistened silver.
“What’s that?” Thorolf asked, leaning closer.
“Looks like quicksilver.” Niall held it higher. “Mercury.”
“I saw some of that in the sanctuary,” Delaney said, sitting up to take the glistening bead on his finger. His skin immediately flushed on that hand. His nail, right under the bead of mercury, took a crimson tinge at the root. “It was on the outside of the vial of the Elixir.”
“Hey,” Niall said, checking his own hand. “That stuff’s toxic.”
Delaney examined the mercury, noting how quickly his body was responding to it. “Your skin didn’t change, did it?”
Niall shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t enough exposure. I wasn’t in the sanctuary this morning.”
Delaney gave his friend a hard look. “You were never forced to drink the Elixir.”
“Do you think your body is responding to the mercury because of the Elixir?”
“I know its shadow is still within me,” Delaney said with care. “I wonder whether the mercury is an active ingredient in it.”
“And they drink it?” Thorolf shuddered. “How much of that crap has Magnus drunk?”
“It could be a lot,” Niall said. “He’s had the Elixir for centuries, I think.”
Thorolf shrugged. “Why doesn’t it kill him? Mercury poisons people all the time. If he’s drinking it, he ought to be dead by now.”
Niall looked at the mercury bead. “It has to be a coincidence, then,” he said, but didn’t sound any more convinced of it than Delaney was.
“Sloane might know,” Delaney said, wishing for the Apothecary’s presence and knowledge. “But it’s not that important now. We need to find Ginger.” He put the mercury bead on the stone windowsill of Ginger’s kitchen. There were plant pots in the snow on the porch and he turned one overtop of it so they’d be able to find it again.
“You’re not going after her alone,” Niall growled. “So don’
t argue with us.”
“You shouldn’t be heading into a fight at all with those wounds,” Thorolf said.
“At least leave the risky stuff to us,” Niall said.
“They have my mate,” Delaney said firmly. “Don’t imagine you can stop me.” Before they could argue with him, he pulled his shirt collar down, letting them see his rapidly healing skin. “The Elixir is good for something: I heal faster than you two because of it.”
Niall rolled his eyes. “Just don’t assume you can charm your way out of anything.”
“It’s worth a try,” Delaney said, and leapt into the air, shifting shape as he took flight. He took the scent of the wind, not surprised that Jorge’s trail led toward that new house near the entrance to the sanctuary. The scent of Jorge’s blood was impossible to miss, redolent as it was of rotten meat and mold.
“Balls and bullshit,” Thorolf muttered behind him. “Just like you said.”
“We’ll see how far that combo gets him with Ginger,” Niall said and, just like old times, there was anticipation in his tone. Thorolf snorted with laughter.
Despite his conviction that this mission was his alone, Delaney found himself glad to have their company. Jorge wouldn’t be alone in Magnus’s house, and Delaney might need help. He certainly wanted to ensure that Ginger didn’t pay for him entering her life.
He owed her more than that.
Delaney had every intention of winning on every front. He’d save Ginger, charm her all over again, sate the firestorm, and then figure out how to destroy the Elixir without giving Magnus whatever it was that he wanted.
His to-do list was getting longer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t finish it all before he died.
Gran had taught Ginger to take care of herself, to be independent, and to stand on her own two feet. Gran had insisted that everyone should be self-reliant, and that it was a mark of poor planning to become cornered or left without choices. That philosophy of independence had led Ginger well.
But it showed its limitations in Magnus’s atrium. Gran, Ginger was forced to admit, had never had to deal with dragon shape shifters trying to kill her.
Ginger maybe hadn’t shown a lot of foresight in telling off the Pyr before banishing them.
Ginger, though, wasn’t prepared to surrender.
The air was frigid in Magnus’s central atrium, colder than it had any business being. It couldn’t have been because the courtyard was shaded, as there was no sun during the snowstorm, anyway. It might have been because every surface was faced in stone or glass, but Ginger had never felt stone radiate cold the way this patio did.
She had a suspicion that the cold had to do with the big bowl in the middle of the courtyard. She had a bad feeling about that bowl, about the way it seemed to have a malignant presence, but she tried to ignore it while she checked every door and window again. She pounded on the glass, knowing that neither Magnus nor his employees would let her into the house again.
And really, she didn’t want to go into the house. She wanted to leave the courtyard and the house and go home.
Where it was quite possible that more dragons awaited her.
Ginger had to admit that there were dragons she wouldn’t have minded seeing in this particular moment, but she doubted they’d be inclined to help her, after her dismissal. How fast could dragons fly? They might be halfway to some Florida sunshine already.
Delaney, though, had defended her against Jorge, despite her words and her attitude. There was more to his commitment to her than she had realized.
Maybe more than he had realized.
Not that it mattered now. Ginger rubbed her arms, shivering against the chill, and tried not to think about Delaney lying motionless in her barnyard.
Bleeding.
Was he dead?
Or just badly injured?
The memory made Ginger feel a bit sick. The prospect of being trapped here without any chance of assistance—because she had tossed out the Pyr—made her feel sicker. She tried instead to think of a way out of the atrium.
There wasn’t one. The square was maybe forty feet on a side, open to the sky and falling snow overhead, framed by tinted glass all around. Every wall looked the same. Her tracks went around and around the perimeter, but she could still see which door she’d left.
There were no pillars or means of climbing the walls. Any hinges and hardware were on the inside of the house. Smooth glass began at the patio and stretched high over Ginger’s head. She eyeballed the glass doors and guessed they were at least ten feet tall, with another four feet of smooth glass transom windows overhead. There was no chance she could reach the lip of the roof that began fourteen feet up.
She jumped and tried, even knowing it was futile.
If only she’d been born tall.
Although someone would have to be really tall to leap fourteen feet into the air and grab the edge of that roof.
Dragon-sized, maybe.
Ginger was cold, more chilled than she would have believed possible. The outdoor temperature was never that low when it snowed, always hovering around freezing. Although that still wasn’t a lot of fun, Ginger was becoming too cold too quickly.
Something was radiating frigid air in this space. She glanced over her shoulder and eyed the big dish with trepidation. It had to be six feet across, mounted on a pedestal, both made of pale stone. The liquid that filled it glistened red and there was pink-tinged hoarfrost clinging to the perimeter of the bowl.
Ginger had a pretty good idea what the red liquid was.
The Elixir.
She grimaced at the recollection of Magnus tossing back a swig of it, as if he savored a cocktail before dinner.
A Bloody Dragon.
Ick.
She remembered the big vial in the sanctuary with the dragon inside and thought about the story Magnus had told of Cinnabar. She wondered how much of the story was true—or how much of the truth Magnus had surrendered to her. She would have bet that he had arranged his slave’s arrest and condemnation—it was something a swell guy like Magnus would have done.
She recalled the last thing he had told her and shuddered again. Cinnabar was outliving his usefulness, and Magnus needed another Pyr—whose blood ran red—to take Cinnabar’s place, to become the source of the Elixir. She considered her situation and the fact that she was Delaney’s mate—which all of these dragon dudes seemed to know—and understood Magnus’s plan.
Delaney was his candidate of choice.
And she was trapped here as bait.
The very idea infuriated Ginger. She’d played a lot of roles in her life, but being the sacrificial victim destined to lure a hero to his death had never been one of her choices.
She wasn’t going to play that part now. If Delaney wasn’t dead, she had to warn him of Magnus’s plan. Even if he was dead, she had to tell the Pyr, because Magnus would probably choose another candidate from the company of red-blooded dragon shape shifters.
Which meant she had to get out of this courtyard. Somehow, she was going to outsmart Magnus, and do it before she froze to death.
The trick was figuring out how. Ginger considered the broad, shallow dish of Elixir and had an idea.
The dragonsmoke was thick around the house, the one Delaney was convinced belonged to Magnus. Niall and Thorolf hung back from the smoke’s biting sting, but Delaney gritted his teeth and flew closer. The pain of the dragonsmoke was nothing compared to the anguish he’d feel if Ginger was hurt because of his choices.
He caught the scent of Ginger, and was surprised that it was as strong as it was. Could she have escaped already? He would have expected the scent to be muffled by the house.
He narrowed his eyes as he flew closer, fighting his urge to flee from the smoke’s dangerous bite. It was sliding beneath his scales, burning every increment of flesh it could find. The sensation was pure torment, but Delaney had to learn more.
He saw that the house was built around a central courtyard, a large square open to the sk
y. He saw a broad basin filled with red liquid in the middle of that atrium, and knew instantly what it was.
He also saw a small red-headed woman circling the basin. His heart leapt in recognition of Ginger as relief flooded through him. She didn’t have a coat on, though, never mind a hat or mitts. She must be freezing.
In the same moment, Delaney felt the sizzle of the firestorm. Ginger looked to be unharmed, if cold and irritated. He couldn’t blame her for that. Ginger was pacing quickly, as if she meant to dispel the cold, but she looked up suddenly at him.
Delaney realized she had felt the firestorm, too. She took a step toward him, but Delaney couldn’t dive all the way down to the ground. The smoke got thicker and more ferocious with every beat of his wings. If he descended to the house, he wouldn’t manage to leave alive. The dragonsmoke was stealing his life force, creating a conduit between his body and the Slayer who had breathed it.
The longer he stayed, the more of his strength the Slayers would steal for their own.
He had to help Ginger, though. He circled the house three times, gritting his teeth against the burn of the dragonsmoke. He hoped that she was warmed, but couldn’t endure much more.
He heard the Slayers stirring within the house and knew they would have sensed the firestorm as well. He couldn’t linger.
He turned and wheeled out of the thick ring of dragonsmoke, racing back to Niall and Thorolf. All the way, he berated himself for not telling Ginger more. He hadn’t explained dragonsmoke to her, so she would believe he was abandoning her.
He really did have some ’splainin’ to do.
First he had to ensure her safety.
Ginger approached the Elixir cautiously. She would never have believed that a bowl of liquid, however nasty, could exude such a malignant presence. This bowl, though, gave her the creeps.
She felt colder as she moved closer to it and a knot tightened in her stomach. Ginger kept going, kept forcing herself to take one more step. The scent of the Elixir teased her nostrils, a scent evocative of exactly what the Elixir was. She would have expected the juice of a dragon that had been rotting away for a millennium or two to smell just as bad as this. The knot in her gut tightened and she put her hand over her mouth.