Thorolf’s mate.
She spared them no more than a glance before striding to Thorolf with purpose. “The fury dims, the closer I am to him,” she said to no one in particular, her voice husky and her tone firm. The Pyr exchanged a glance. The light of the firestorm brightened to brilliant yellow, illuminating the room with its radiance.
Thorolf smiled at her, a predicable gleam in his eyes. “Hey, Chandra. Come to bust me free or to kick my butt again?”
“Still deciding,” she said, a thread of humor in her tone.
“You are going to kill me.”
“I warned you not to tempt me.”
Thorolf looked embarrassed. “I’m guessing maybe I did last time.”
“Maybe.” She gave him a second to worry about that, then stepped right through the dragonsmoke, framed Thorolf’s face in her hands and kissed him.
The firestorm became as blinding as the sun and sparks shot from the point of contact. Thorolf moaned in pleasure, then reached to grab Chandra’s butt and lift her against him as he deepened their kiss. The heat of the firestorm turned incendiary, so white and hot that Niall had to take a step back and shield his eyes.
“If that firestorm is faked, there’s more magic in the world than I’ve ever seen before,” Rafferty said in old-speak.
Niall could only nod agreement.
Which still left the question of what or who this Chandra was.
Chapter Ten
Thorolf had felt Chandra’s approach.
He’d been trapped in a night of deepest darkness, a realm of shadows and death. He’d been more angry than he could ever remember being and wanted only to destroy everything and everyone around him. His skin had burned as if he’d been flayed alive, and he knew that the Pyr were responsible for everything wrong in the world.
He had to slaughter them all.
Then a spark lit in the distance, a spark that burned gold and beckoned him closer. He couldn’t move toward it, not when he was surrounded by the icy burn of dragonsmoke, but he could yearn for it to brighten. He could blame the Pyr for imprisoning him, too.
To his relief, he saw the light grow larger and brighter, felt its heat as it came closer. He felt his anger burn away and breathed deeply of what might have been a new day. The darkness faded, illuminated by the golden spark, and he could clearly see the hotel room around him. He saw Chandra appear in a swirl of snow, the firestorm’s light as brilliant as the sun, and his heart thundered in anticipation.
Had she chosen her huntress form because she thought he liked it? Or was it her favorite guise? Thorolf didn’t know. He didn’t really care.
He was just glad to see her, not just because of the restorative heat of the firestorm. Desire burned within him, instead of rage. Even better, this desire was more than physical. He wanted to satisfy the firestorm, but he also wanted to partner with Chandra. Life with her would be an adventure and a half, and he was ready for it.
He wanted to be cast into her visions and even the world of Myth, to learn what she knew, to see her eyes sparkle with rare humor. He wanted to know everything about her. He knew he could lose himself in this woman, that he could spend centuries with her and never know all of her secrets.
And he was more than intrigued by that. She might have been made for him, except that she’d existed first. He wanted to know why she’d chosen him at birth and was starting to wonder if it was like the firestorm in reverse.
He was even thinking she might be right about his father’s sword, but he wasn’t going to tell her that just yet.
He liked it too much when she tried to convince him to fulfill his destiny.
When she’d appeared in the room, Thorolf had been the only one unsurprised. She’d walked toward him, smiling like that stone carving, looking as if she could read his thoughts. She had to be able to read his body’s reaction as she closed the distance between them, because her hips had started to swing with promise. He didn’t care about the other Pyr being there, didn’t care what they saw.
He’d been born for this firestorm.
He wasn’t entirely kidding when he asked about her plans for him, but he liked how her eyes twinkled when she teased him.
And he felt like the luckiest dragon in the world when she caught his face in her strong hands and kissed him. She tasted like heaven and heat, honey and power. Their heartbeats matched rhythm again, as did their breathing, and Thorolf closed his eyes, surrendering to the perfection of the firestorm. The sensation of his body matching its rhythms to hers left him both dizzy and thrilled. It was better than any high he’d ever had, better than anything he’d ever experienced. He caught Chandra close and deepened his kiss, halfway surprised that she let him.
When she placed the flat of her hand on his chest long moments later, his heart was thundering. Her eyes were filled with stars and her cheeks were flushed. Her heart was racing, as well, but she somehow managed to take a deep breath and step back. Thorolf reached for her, then winced and withdrew as the dragonsmoke burned his hand.
“Better,” she said, her gaze watchful.
Thorolf smiled at her and pretended he misunderstood. “Come back here and we’ll try to improve on even that one.”
Her smile was fleeting and she blushed a bit. “I mean you’re better. The firestorm burns away whatever has been done to you.” Thorolf didn’t really understand, but she turned to Rafferty.
“His skin looks better,” Rox said. “And that horrible tattoo is fading. What kind of ink is it?” She gasped, her fingers rising to her mouth as she stared at Thorolf.
“What?” Niall, Rafferty and Sloane asked in unison.
“He’s turning Slayer,” Rox reminded them. Before Thorolf could argue, she continued. “And those are little spirals.”
“Just like Chen’s brand,” Sloane said, rising to his feet to stare at Thorolf, too.
“It’s not ink,” Niall whispered. “It’s Slayer blood.”
“From a Slayer who has drunk the Elixir,” Rafferty concluded. They were all staring at him, even as Thorolf surveyed himself.
“Well, how do we get rid of it?” he demanded, his panic rising. “I don’t want to turn Slayer!”
Chandra spoke to Rafferty. “Can the firestorm completely heal him, and if so, can it do so by burning steadily for a long time or does it have to be consummated?”
“Wait a minute,” Thorolf protested. “Sating the firestorm isn’t optional. We have to consummate it!” Especially now. Especially when he had this crap on his skin.
Chandra spared him a look. “I told you…”
“And what a perfect time to break a vow of chastity,” Thorolf said, trying to convince. “The firestorm is a rare and wonderful thing, a force of nature…”
Rafferty smiled and nodded at that.
“And as a bonus, you might heal me.”
Chandra’s lips tightened. “But I don’t break my vows.”
Thorolf wanted to argue with her, but he could see that she was digging in her heels. This had to be a test. He had to seduce Chandra and win her over, maybe to deserve having her as his mate. He wouldn’t have been given a firestorm that couldn’t be consummated. It didn’t happen. Didn’t Erik say that the Great Wyvern gave no one a challenge that he couldn’t accomplish?
Thorolf was thinking this had to be worth any effort involved.
He eyed Chandra, thinking. “But, it’s not personal?” he said, looking for the bright side. Any bright side would do.
“Personal?”
“I thought maybe I wasn’t your type.”
She smiled quickly, her gaze sliding over him, and blushed more. “No. It’s about keeping my word.”
Thorolf would take progress where he found it.
But why would Chandra make such a vow? Had someone broken her heart? Treated her badly? Hurt her? If so, he’d rip the offender apart. Then he’d show her that it didn’t have to be that way.
But Chandra had no trouble defending herself. She’d have taken care of any vengeanc
e that was due.
Thorolf remembered her assertion that she’d never done it and found himself intrigued all over again. Was that why she blushed so easily? Because this was all new? He quite liked the idea of being his mate’s tutor in the pleasures of the flesh. It could take years to teach her everything he knew.
And she’d chosen him. That had to matter.
Chandra cleared her throat pointedly, reminding the Pyr of her question.
Rafferty indicated Sloane. “Our Apothecary would know better than me.”
Sloane frowned. “I can’t know how to heal him without knowing what exactly has been done to him.”
Chandra frowned. “I was afraid of that.” She eyed Thorolf. “But he doesn’t remember.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you know more about this than we do?” Rafferty asked.
“Maybe because it’s true,” Thorolf said. “You should show them some of your eye candy, bring them up to speed.” He grimaced. “Just maybe not the ghosts.”
“It’s all ghosts.” Chandra reminded him, pretending to be stern. “Ghosts make everything possible. But you’re right. You need proof of what I was trying to tell you earlier.” She turned her hand in the air. Thorolf braced himself when he saw snow spinning like a small maelstrom, snow lit by the gold of the firestorm. He could have been looking into one of those souvenir snowballs, one that captured a snowy day.
But the scene that appeared inside the spinning snow wasn’t of Santa’s wonderland or a modern city with its name written below. He saw a black dragon and a pregnant woman standing before what looked like an ancient king.
The figures moved.
Chandra threw the spinning vision into the middle of the hotel room, as if it were a strange snowball. It struck the floor with a flash of lightning, and then they were in the scene that had been in the snowball.
“Welcome to the Underworld,” Chandra said, sounding like a bored tour guide reciting a warning for legal purposes. “Our first stop. This is a record of past events. No one can see you and you cannot influence what happens.” Her tone hardened. “Don’t try. I can’t be responsible for whatever happens if you do.”
One more time, Thorolf wasn’t just witnessing the scene; he was part of it.
Damn. Chandra was some kind of awesome.
The king before them was dressed in long dark robes. If this was the Underworld, he had to be Hades. His beard and brow were silvered and his expression was grim. His courtiers were arrayed behind him and there was a corpse at his feet.
It was some kind of ugly creature that had died. It could have been an old woman, if not for the leathery bat wings sprouting from her shoulders. She was naked, her breasts wrinkled and stretched low. Thorolf stifled a shudder.
“Who dares to slaughter one of my own?” Hades cried.
Two similar creatures came screaming out of the sky. They could have been sisters of the one on the ground, but were even more horrible alive. Blood ran from their eyes, like streams of red tears, and their hair looked like it was made of writhing black snakes. Thorolf couldn’t have blamed anyone who killed a creature like this.
The two landed on either side of a warrior who Thorolf recognized to be Pyr. He looked more closely at the woman beside that Pyr, guessing it to be his mate. She was very pregnant. There was something familiar about the Pyr, and Thorolf realized that he was one of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors. They had that stillness about them and an air of mystery. They were also hard for him to tell apart. He took a deep breath, and sure enough, Chandra’s vision was a full sensory experience: he could smell the scent common to the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors.
When had this happened? He was out of touch when it came to news about the Pyr.
The two hags seized the Pyr’s arms and shoved him forward, so that he fell on his knees before the ruler of the underworld. Okay, he’d killed the dead one.
“Did you do this deed?” the king demanded.
“She attacked me,” the Pyr said, his tone bold and unapologetic. “I had no choice.”
“No choice but to die,” Hades said. “And you were already in the realm of the dead.” He bent to touch the face of the horrible creature. “She was always a loyal servant.”
The other two winged hags began to wail, and the blood flowed from their eyes more copiously. They really were creepy old babes.
Hades glared at the Pyr standing before him. “You will pay a price for this.”
The Pyr spoke formally, as Drake’s men tended to do. “I apologize for killing one of your own.”
The god of the Underworld smiled. “The price will be higher than that.” He reached out one hand and was given a chalice brimming with some dark liquid. He sniffed it, nodded approval, then poured it over the corpse. “Tisiphone, the face of retaliation and the avenger of murder, take life again and exact your own vengeance upon your murderer and his kind. Pursue them through all eternity, until your thirst for revenge is sated.”
Whoa. Wait. She was allowed to avenge herself on the Pyr? When had this happened? Thorolf couldn’t imagine that her thirst for revenge would be easily satisfied.
To Thorolf’s horror, the corpse began to change. It shifted shape from a winged harridan to a large green snake. Thorolf looked away from the snake, more agitated than he knew he should be. His entire body seemed to itch and those two fang holes burned.
Meanwhile, the snake became a harridan again, then the scene began to dim before them. A violent swirl of snow hid it completely from view.
In the hotel room, Chandra snapped her fingers.
In the blink of an eye, they were on a dusty mountain road, one with little vegetation on either side. The sky seemed larger here, and the sweep of the land almost endless. A man lay in the road, like he’d fallen there, and a woman knelt beside him. Thorolf guessed that she wanted to help, but couldn’t do much for the man. Maybe he was sick, or maybe just old. The pair were cloaked and bent over, and they moved as if they were tired.
But then, the location was pretty brutal. A ribbon of road wound up the side of the mountain to this point, and it was the only path. Thorolf couldn’t see any shelter anywhere on its length before it disappeared. They must have walked up it, and he could feel that it was hot as well as dry. One tree with strange shimmering bark cast a thread of shade upon the ground. Thorolf felt thirsty, and he wasn’t even really there.
“The road outside the Garden of the Hesperides,” Chandra announced and Thorolf was awed again by her abilities. How could she do this vision thing?
He hoped she never stopped. It was awesome eye candy, and an amazing way to experience stories. He’d never been much of a reader.
This must be another glimpse into Myth. The Garden of the Hesperides sounded like it should be in Myth.
Best of all, they’d arrived in time for a dragon fight. A Pyr in his dragon form fought with one of those winged hags. The Pyr’s scales were so dark that Thorolf knew he was one of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors. He looked closely at the dragon and decided it wasn’t the same warrior. The woman with the bleeding eyes was battling against him with surprising strength, clearly prepared to fight to the death.
She was one creepy chick.
Thorolf took a step forward to help his fellow Pyr before he remembered that he couldn’t make any difference. Then the dragonsmoke stung him all over again. The hag ripped at the Pyr and Thorolf willed the other dragon to win. The Pyr cast aside the harridan with sudden force, backhanding her so that she fell away, then his eyes glittered as he scanned the ground.
Seeking something.
“What does he smell?” Niall demanded of no one in particular.
Thorolf caught the scent of Slayer just before the Pyr in the vision did.
“Slayer,” muttered the dark Pyr, then snatched for a yellow salamander that abruptly appeared.
“Jorge!” Rafferty and Sloane cried in unison.
“Shh!” Chandra advised.
Thorolf hoped the Pyr smashed that old Slayer to oblivio
n. It wouldn’t be all bad to be rid of Jorge. The salamander shimmered blue, then shifted shape to become a yellow dragon. Oh yeah, it was Jorge all right.
Slayer and Pyr locked talons as they began to fight. They spun end over end in a bid for supremacy, biting and slashing at each other, their tails entangled. They exhaled brilliant dragonfire at each other, then the Pyr sank his teeth deep into his opponent’s flesh. The Slayer cried out as his blood ran black from the wound. It dripped to the ground and hissed on impact, emitting a plume of steam.
Jorge tore himself free, slashing at the Pyr in retaliation. The Pyr’s blood ran brilliant red from his cut shoulder and wing. Jorge laughed, then began to breathe dragonsmoke. The plume of dragonsmoke glittered like a snake of frost as it wound toward the Pyr, then it stabbed into his open wound.
Thorolf winced in sympathy.
The Pyr fell toward the ground, fighting against the dragonsmoke but losing steadily. He was weakening by the time Jorge grabbed the hag and tossed her at the Pyr. She landed on his chest, and Jorge touched the tip of his talon to a spot on the fallen Pyr’s chest.
“He’s missing a scale,” Rafferty whispered. “He loves his mate.”
“No!” a woman screamed, appearing out of nothing beside the fallen dragon. Thorolf blinked. Where had she come from?
“Ah, the mate,” Jorge said with satisfaction.
But there were no sparks. The firestorm must be satisfied. It wasn’t right that the mate could be left to raise a young Pyr alone!
“Take me instead.” She offered her bared arm to the snakes that twined around the hag’s head. “It’s my fault he’s vulnerable.”
“Take them both,” Jorge suggested.
The hag took one snake in her hand and offered its hissing head to the mate. “Kiss this one,” she commanded, and her voice was somehow familiar. Thorolf felt sick at her suggestion. “Show me that you mean what you say.”
“And you’ll let him go,” the mate tried to negotiate.