“Amen,” Eileen said.
Melissa stared at Rafferty in shock, the heat of desire pulsing through her body from their entwined hands. She could lose herself in his eyes, in his conviction, and in his faith that the world was a good place.
Or that he could make it better.
She could love this man.
That was perhaps the most terrifying prospect of all.
Rafferty watched her, seeming to read every single one of her thoughts, then turned back to Eileen without releasing Melissa’s hand. “I know where to begin,” he said with conviction. “I will begin with the firestorm. With a story of destiny and love that endured long after that firestorm was sated.”
“Goody,” Eileen said, settling into her chair.
Melissa understood that Rafferty was going to try to persuade her to his view. With his hand locked around hers, and his attention bent upon her, she had a feeling he might just manage the deed. The darkfire danced around their locked hands, its blue light leaping high, apparently echoing Rafferty’s intensity. It also warmed her right to her core and made her want him all over again.
And yes, for the duration.
Melissa and her protective barriers were in deep trouble.
“Once upon a time,” Rafferty began in that melodic voice.
What he had to do was perfectly clear to Rafferty. Melissa had been wounded, and that wound shaped her view. Rafferty knew it as well as he knew his own name, just as he knew that he was the one to persuade her to believe in forever again.
Her healing would be the gift of the darkfire.
Giving her hope in the future, helping her to dare to believe in forever, might extinguish those flames of chaos. It might be the whole point. He would begin by entrusting his story to her, by baring his own truth to this woman who would pursue truth anywhere.
It felt absolutely right.
“Once upon a time, there was a land populated by both dragons and men. While beautiful, it was a hard location for any creature to live, given the meager wealth of the soil and the length of the winter. Those who lived there loved their homeland beyond all expectation. They fought brutal wars in its defense, they survived the reigns of all conquerors, and they created marvelous epic poetry. That part of the world eventually became known as Wales, and it is my birthplace.”
“Big source of dragon stories,” Eileen said with approval.
“You were one of the dragons?” Melissa asked.
“My entire family hailed from Wales. But by the time I was born some twelve hundred years ago, our numbers were vastly diminished.”
“Twelve hundred years?”
Rafferty smiled and nodded.
Melissa frowned at her notes. “How many firestorms have you had in that time?”
“The Pyr get only one,” Eileen said. “Usually.”
“This is the first.” Rafferty spoke with conviction, for it was the truth, and saw that Melissa believed him. “By the time I was born, the exploits of my family had become legends. But they were real, as real as I am, though perhaps not so fortunate.” He glanced into the darkfire, watching the blue flames leap and seeing another fire, one fed by peat, in a lost place and time. He recalled his grandfather’s voice, his stories, and his poetic gift, and Rafferty smiled at the memory.
“My grandfather was named Pwyll. I never knew any other name for him, and I didn’t realize as a child that he was as powerful as he was. I met him when I was eight summers of age. We Pyr come into our abilities at puberty—until that point, I was indistinguishable from any other child. I didn’t know I was anything but a human child. I had been raised by my mother, who did not speak of my father. It was my understanding that he was dead, although no one ever said as much.”
Rafferty paused, and he appreciated that Melissa watched him with care. “You might imagine my surprise when a spry older man came to me. I was sowing seeds in our garden. He knelt down beside me, told me he was my grandfather, and said he had come to teach me of my truth. I thought he was crazy, but I do remember how wonderful his eyes were. They glittered like jewels and were unlike the eyes of any person I’d ever seen. Like a dutiful child, though truly I was frightened, I insisted upon asking my mother. She took one look at him, and even I saw her relief.”
“She knew what you were, then.”
“She knew. And with one look, she recognized him. When he told her his name, she said, ‘Owen hoped you would come.’ Then she kissed me, made me put on my best coat and boots, and gave me a bundle with bread and cheese and apples. She looked into my face and told me to be good, to listen to my grandfather, and to let her know once in a while that I was well. She did not cry, not until we were gone. I heard her weep when we left the village. I would have gone back, but Pwyll put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Men cannot hear women’s tears at such a distance,’ he said. ‘Here is proof that you are different, that you are Pyr, and that you have need of what I can teach you. Trust your mother’s wisdom in this.’ And so I did.”
“It must have been hard for her.”
Rafferty nodded. “Yes and no. It was hard for her to lose me, but on the other hand, she had less burden without me.”
“One fewer mouth to feed,” Eileen said.
Rafferty nodded. “She worried less about the future, and that brightened her countenance. She stopped thinking of what she had lost—for she saw Owen each time she looked at me. The first time I went back, I was as astonished by the change in her as she was in the change in me. I had grown up, while she had fallen in love again and married.”
“She was happy,” Melissa said.
“She was. Pwyll knew the gift he was giving her.”
“Could he see the future?” Eileen asked.
“Not exactly. He understood people, almost as well as he understood Pyr, and he was better than most at seeing the shadow cast by choices made. At any rate, he became my mentor and my guardian. He lived in a cave high in the hills, hidden from the sight of men. It extended far down into the earth. I never did travel the whole length of it. He liked to light a peat fire near the mouth of the cave each evening and talk. He told stories, wonderful stories about the Pyr and our kin and the past, and I wish I could remember them all.”
“How old was he?” Melissa asked.
“I never knew. In human form, he looked like an older man. His hair was silver, but he was still strong and agile. Dates were not in such common use then as now. He said he was an infant when the Romans invaded.”
“But he had a firestorm?” Melissa asked. Rafferty liked that she needed to clarify all the details and that she kept making notes in that shorthand of hers. He doubted anyone could interpret it other than his mate.
“He did. That was why his hair had turned silver. We age very slowly until our firestorms, until we create an heir. It has always been thus. Even so, we can long outlive our mates. My grandfather found purpose in passing his knowledge to the young, although I know he missed my grandmother a great deal. He had a lock of her hair that he treasured beyond any other prize in his hoard.”
“Where did they meet?” Eileen asked while Melissa scribbled.
“They met because of the firestorm. He followed its heat, only to find that she had retreated from the world to a community of women. We would call such a place a convent, although it was not quite the same as our convents.”
“Why not?” Melissa asked.
Eileen spoke up, sounding like the academic she was. “Most of the women would have been illiterate. No study of the scriptures. As aristocrats, they brought wealth to the establishment. In the early medieval era, cloistered women lived much as secular women, involved in needlework and music and contemplation, but in the absence of men other than a visiting priest.”
Melissa nodded, then frowned. “But how could she have been your grandmother if she was in a convent? Did she leave?”
Rafferty smiled. “No. My grandfather slipped into the convent at night, went to her, and introduced himself. He said they talked that
first night, as well as the second and the third. I expect he told her some of his stories, but it doesn’t matter—she surrendered to him on the fourth night and conceived his son.”
“Did anyone know he was there?” Eileen asked.
“Apparently not, for there was a great uproar when her pregnancy was revealed. It was deemed miraculous, or the work of a demon.”
The women laughed together. “Was she tossed out?” Melissa asked.
“I’ll bet not,” Eileen said. “If she’d left, whatever wealth she’d brought would have left with her.”
“Exactly,” Rafferty agreed. “She stayed, and her son was raised within the walls.”
“And your grandfather?”
“Went back. Repeatedly, from what he admitted to me. He had fallen in love with his mate and could not stay away. No wall could keep him from her; that was his claim, for his love was too potent to be denied.”
“So you come by your romantic inclinations honestly,” Eileen said with satisfaction.
“My grandmother conceived again, but on that occasion, the priests tried to exorcise the demon that haunted her. My grandfather wasn’t so easily deterred, my father remained resolute in her womb, and so she was evicted. The convent wanted nothing to do with a woman so attractive to demons.”
“Even with her money.” Eileen raised her eyebrows.
“Where did she go?” Melissa asked.
“She did not want to live with my grandfather, in his cave in the hills. I think he was surprised by her independence. She remained in town, in Carmarthen, and he regularly visited, taking gifts to her from his hoard. She never married another man, and her neighbors claimed her sons were fatherless.”
“Then they never saw your grandfather, either,” Melissa said.
Rafferty frowned, never having considered this. “Apparently not. At any rate, my grandfather was quite taken with his sons and visited them often. He told them the stories he later told to me.”
“But he didn’t follow that same course with you,” Melissa noted. “Why not?”
“Because it all went awry. I never knew my uncle, but he was said to have special gifts. My grandfather was the Cantor of the Pyr—he could cast spells with his songs—and his firstborn had the same gifts but multiplied a hundred times. My uncle had a phenomenal memory, he was a poet, and he had foresight. He also had talent with spells. He was the one conceived during the firestorm, the glint in my grandfather’s eye, a bright light that burned out fast.”
“What happened?” Melissa asked.
“There was much war in that time, and there came a party of men to the town. My uncle was playing with his friends while my father was on some errand. There was a dispute in the game between my uncle and another boy, and that boy became scornful, insisting that no one could take the cause of a fatherless boy. The visiting men overheard this. It turned out that they were on a quest, in search of a fatherless boy, and had feared they would never succeed.”
Eileen sat straighter. “I recognize this story,” she murmured, but Rafferty ignored her.
“The men took my uncle and my mother to Dinas Emrys. Here, a man named Vortigern was having a stronghold built, but the foundation was destroyed each night. His masons had instructed him to mingle the blood of a fatherless boy in the mortar to ensure that the foundation stones remained.”
“And so the quest.” Melissa’s lips twisted. “They probably didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t think this solution could ever be found.”
Eileen’s eyes were shining, her expression rapt.
Rafferty kept his gaze fixed upon his mate. “Quite likely. My uncle knew exactly what was wrong, because he recognized the hill from my grandfather’s stories. He knew Dinas Emrys was the hill under which two fighting dragons had been secured, in order to spare the world their violence.”
“And the scream they made, each May Day, which echoed through the world and was reported by Llud to Llefelys,” Eileen said.
“What?” Melissa asked.
“It’s in the Mabinogion,” Eileen said. “An old dragon story.”
Melissa shrugged and Rafferty continued. “So he told Vortigern to excavate the hill, that the masons would find a pool beneath it that was undermining the foundation. In that pond would be two large stones, and in each of those stones would be a dragon. Each night, a red dragon would emerge from one stone and a white dragon from the other, and they would fight until the dawn. This battle destroyed the tower each night. Each day, they retreated to their stones and healed, in order to fight again. Each day, the men rebuilt the tower, only to find it destroyed the subsequent morning.
“My uncle said more though, his foresight giving him a clearer view of the situation. Vortigern had usurped the power of his king, who had been one of three sons of a deceased king. My uncle compared the white dragon to one of the king’s surviving two sons and Vortigern to the red one. He prophesied that they would fight until only the white dragon survived.”
“So what happened?” Melissa asked.
“Vortigern commanded the hill to be excavated. They found the pond, they found the stones, and that night, they saw the dragons fight. It was a vicious battle, but at dawn, the dragons crawled back into their stones to heal. The men rolled the stones away while the dragons slept, drained the pond, and built the foundation. It held this time.” Rafferty smiled. “But Vortigern was burned to death within it when the king’s sons came to take their vengeance upon him for his treachery.”
“What happened to your uncle?” Melissa asked.
“One of the king’s sons heard the story and took my uncle as his adviser. My uncle repeated his warning that only one brother would survive, and he was ignored. The third brother killed my uncle’s patron, seized the crown that was no longer contested, and then he took my uncle as his adviser.”
“And his name was Uther Pendragon,” Eileen said with a smile.
Melissa looked between the two of them. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that part of the Arthurian legend?”
“All old stories have their toes in a truth,” Rafferty said, and Eileen chuckled, toasting him with her empty mug.
“What was your uncle’s name?” Melissa asked.
“Myrddin.” Rafferty let his smile broaden. “And yes, it was modified to ‘Merlin’ in the old French stories. Can you guess why?”
She shook her head.
Eileen laughed out loud. “Because otherwise it would have been Merdinus in Latin, which has an unfortunate connotation in French.”
Melissa laughed in her turn. “Merde means ‘shit’ in French. I remember the French crews swearing in Baghdad.”
“And so it does,” Rafferty confirmed.
He loved how she looked when she smiled, as if a flame had lit within her. She seemed younger and softer, more approachable.
He sobered then, thinking of the toll life could take on an individual and remembering his grandfather’s stories. “My grandfather believed his son had been found only because he had remained in human society. He believed that interaction had led to Myrddin’s downfall, and to his comparatively short life. He took Owen away then, to teach him, even though Owen never had Myrddin’s natural gifts.”
“Which was why he’d warned Owen that he would do as much for Owen’s son, and how your mother knew to expect him,” Melissa concluded.
Rafferty nodded. He watched her review her notes, looking for loose ends in his story.
“What happened to your father?” she asked.
“He was killed, within days of my conception. I never knew him, save through Pwyll’s tales.” Rafferty looked at the fire again. “Those were dark times for us, when the hunting began.”
The silence stretched between them.
But this time, it was Melissa who placed her hand on Rafferty’s. “I know what it’s like to have something else running your show,” she said softly. There was compassion in her eyes and, seeing it, he knew he had made the right choice.
He also believed they coul
d make a partnership for the duration.
Even if Melissa wasn’t yet persuaded.
Chapter 13
It was tempting to confide in Rafferty, to share her own story with this intense and romantic man, but Melissa knew better.
It didn’t help that she couldn’t think straight with the darkfire dancing over her skin and through her body. Could she ever get enough of him?
Melissa had to focus on the facts, on her main objective, and not get distracted by emotional dreams that couldn’t come true. She frowned as she reviewed her notes, sensing that she was missing something.
She found it, just as Eileen yawned again.
“Wait a minute,” Melissa said to Rafferty. “You said that you can’t do the spontaneous manifestation thing that Montmorency can do.”
“That’s right.” Rafferty’s tone was grim.
“What about the newt bit?”
Eileen froze in the act of leaving the kitchen. “Salamander,” she corrected as she watched them.
Melissa nodded. “Okay. Montmorency became a salamander in the helicopter. At least I think it was him. The salamander was the same jade green color.”
“It was Magnus.” Rafferty spoke with resolve.
“And the other one…” She fanned her notes, looking for the name of the topaz Slayer, but Rafferty answered her first.
“Jorge.”
“He was a salamander when he first appeared. Can you take lots of different forms?”
Rafferty leaned closer. “All of us can take two forms, man and dragon. Traditionally, the Wyvern has had some ability to assume different forms, but no others among us. That seems to have been changing.”
“How so?” One thing Melissa was good at was asking questions. It was wonderful that Rafferty was answering her.
What had changed in his view?
His attention was certainly fixed on her, leaving her all warm and tingly, even if she didn’t look at him. And that voice… “Some Slayers who have drunk the Elixir appear to have the ability to take the salamander form.”