Darkfire Kiss

  He even found an entry that appeared to refer to Jorge killing that man in the market in Baghdad. The timing was roughly right, and Jorge was to meet this man.

  She not only had his name, but she recognized it. Interpol had a huge file on the dead man, who was in the same dirty business as Montmorency.

  Melissa decided to give that incident its own post. As before, she queued them up to appear hourly and was gratified to see the first one gathering hits and links even as she wrote the subsequent ones.

  On the Trail of the Truth—4

  posted 12:23:10 08:00 EST on MelsNewsBlog

  After the shock of seeing Daphne at that fundraising function in DC last September, I hadn’t caught another glimpse of her. I wasn’t sure whether she was in town or not, much less still in the company of the man in question.

  Until this note was delivered to me on December 19.

  Melissa—If you’re reading this, I’m dead, and we both know who is responsible. I’m trying to get the truth, just like you asked me to a long time ago. I refused you then, but not now.

  Now I know too much.

  If everything works as planned, I’ll call you first and we can make a deal. If not, you’ll get this note.

  And then, it’ll be up to you to make it right.

  Daphne

  There was a key with the note, one to a storage locker. I spent all day trying to find the locker that fit the key and finally did. In it was a packed suitcase. At the bottom of the bag was a diary. In the diary were documented the means of gaining the evidence I’d asked her for so long ago.

  Remember that this was a girl who had survived by her wits. I wasn’t positive she was telling the truth, and I knew better than to assume as much.

  I went to the morgue. I thought actually that I’d be proved wrong. I asked whether they had any Jane Does.

  There were two. I was welcome to have a look.

  The first was a woman with a black eye, maybe sixty years old. The tip of her nose had been frostbitten, which made me wonder where and how she had died.

  For a minute, I was relieved.

  Then they showed me the second Jane Doe. It was Daphne. There was a bloody wound on her temple, and one side of her face was burned beyond recognition. I knew her all the same.

  And she was wearing that red T-shirt, that one I’d given her. It had faded and it was a bit worn, but it was a message.

  Even dead, Daphne had something to say to me.

  I knew that I owed her better than this anonymous death. I knew that I owed her justice and dignity. I knew that I was in some way answerable for her demise. She had died trying to get the evidence against the suspected arms dealer that I wanted.

  And she’d left me the information to finish the job.

  I did something I’ve never done before. I broke the law. I used the security codes documented in

  Daphne’s diary, and I entered the home of the man in question. I went to get the book that documented his deeds.

  I did it for Daphne.

  And she didn’t let me down. Here’s the book and here’s what it has to say.

  Melissa uploaded a trio of images—one of the book itself and two of the pages showing dates and times of meetings. She was in the midst of compiling another post explaining those meetings and names when a comment appeared on her blog in caps.

  It was Doug, demanding that she call him.

  Rafferty handed her the phone.

  “But it has your name on the call display,” Melissa protested, well aware of her promise to him.

  “I have no issues with your producer knowing my name,” Rafferty said easily. “I doubt he’s in the habit of telling all he knows, and what is there to tell? That I’m your host here?”

  Melissa smiled and took the phone. She called Doug’s cell phone, and he answered immediately.

  “Whose book is it?” he demanded by way of greeting.

  “His name is Magnus Montmorency….”

  “And where is he now? In custody?”

  “No. Possibly somewhere in England.”

  Doug swore. “Melissa, you’re taking too much of a risk!”

  Before he could launch into a tirade—and really, he couldn’t begin to imagine how much of a danger Montmorency posed—Melissa interrupted him. “No, Doug, I’m giving this story the attention it needs. And I’m not stupid. I can send the full album of the images of the book’s contents to your e-mail account right now.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Not even negotiating for a job in exchange?”

  Melissa glanced at Rafferty, well aware that he was listening. She smiled at him, noting the intensity of his gaze. “Whatever will be, will be. What’s most important to me is the truth, Doug.”

  And the whole truth was a thousand times stranger than Doug imagined. Melissa knew the story wouldn’t be complete without mention of Montmorency’s role as a Slayer, but she had promised not to mention the Pyr. Without a job, she had no commitment to the news team and wouldn’t have a conflict of interest.

  “All right.” Doug gave her an e-mail address. “And you’re in England, right? Can I reach you at this number?”

  Rafferty handed Melissa his cell phone, its number displayed. She met his gaze and he nodded once; then she read the number to Doug as an alternate.

  Then she sent him the album of images.

  “Insurance,” Rafferty said softly as the file loaded.

  “Such as it is,” Melissa agreed, and he took her hand in his.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the transmission was done.

  The file had just been dispatched when they heard footsteps running on the stairs. Eileen charged into the library, her hair loose and her expression concerned. Her black skirt was rumpled and she looked as if she had been crying. She braced her hands on the doorframe and fixed a stern glance on Rafferty. “Okay, that’s it. You have to tell me the story of the Sleeper and you have to tell me now. What’s this about crystals?”

  Rafferty straightened, caution in every line of his body. “Why?” Melissa heard the wariness in his tone.

  “Erik thinks he has to die. He thinks he’s going to fight Brandt and lose, and he thinks it’s because the Sleeper is awakening.” She exhaled shakily and spoke with ferocity. “He has to be wrong, but I need to know the story to figure it out.”

  Rafferty moved to her side. “Let me talk to him.”

  “He’s gone,” Eileen said, her tone savage. “Didn’t you hear him leave?”

  Rafferty looked startled. He glanced back at Melissa, and she knew that either her quest or her presence had distracted him. She stood up, not wanting him to blame himself for whatever happened. They needed to focus on the facts and on what they could do to help. “I don’t understand. Who’s Brandt and why would he kill Erik?”

  Eileen sighed. “He’s another Pyr, one who evidently Sloane and Erik promised to leave alone. They took a blood oath with him….”

  “I remember this,” Rafferty said softly. “It was perhaps fifteen years ago.”

  “You know Brandt, too?” Eileen asked. “Do you know where he is? Can you talk to him?”

  Rafferty shook his head and urged her toward a chair. “He is Sloane’s cousin. A most passionate Pyr. Impetuous, and never more so than when his firestorm went awry. It was against Erik’s inclination to leave him alone, but Sloane knew him best and felt that only solitude would allow Brandt to heal. He had a son to raise, as well.”

  “What happened to his mate?” Melissa asked.

  Rafferty winced. “She spurned him, once she knew the truth of what he was. It was a bitter parting. I have wondered often about the son.” He looked careworn.

  “But why would Brandt target Erik?” Melissa asked.

  “Because Erik compelled Sloane to break his blood oath,” Eileen said. “He sent Sloane to warn Brandt and is convinced that Brandt will take vengeance upon Erik.” She frowned. “He had a vision of his own death. No, of himself walking among the dead.”

 
Rafferty inhaled sharply.

  “But why did Erik do that?” Melissa asked. “You guys are all about tradition and protocol. He must have guessed the repercussions.”

  “He thought he would win, at least until he had his vision,” Rafferty guessed, turning to pace.

  “He had to warn Brandt, because Lorenzo had persuaded Erik to reveal Brandt. Erik didn’t know what Lorenzo would do with that information.”

  Rafferty glanced up. “Because Lorenzo has beguiled Erik.”

  Eileen nodded. “He sees that he has failed in every way. I’ve never seen him so defeatist.”

  Silence fell in the library, a silence abruptly broken by a wail from upstairs. “Mamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” Zoë cried.

  “The stairs!” Eileen cried, and ran for her daughter.

  It said something about her state of mind that she had left the toddler sleeping unsupervised. She returned a moment later, carrying the dark-haired girl, who smiled sunnily at them all.

  Then Zoë extended her arms to Melissa in silent demand.

  Melissa hesitated. She didn’t hold children as a rule. She didn’t need the reminder of what she’d never have. Her brother and his wife respected that. Melissa did better with older children, ones she could talk to.

  “She won’t bite,” Eileen said with a smile. “At least she doesn’t very often.”

  Well aware of Rafferty’s watchful gaze, Melissa accepted the weight of the toddler. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that this wasn’t a gesture fraught with meaning. Rafferty knew of her medical history and still hadn’t stepped away from her. She was simply holding a child. No more than that.

  She could do this.

  Zoë nestled against Melissa immediately, clearly right where she wanted to be. She smelled of baby shampoo and baby powder, soft clean smells, and she was warm. She took a fascination with Melissa’s earrings, reaching up to poke one with a chubby finger. “Pretty,” she pronounced, then smiled. Her eyes shone.

  And something thawed within Melissa. She held Eileen’s child, the product of a firestorm, and let herself feel the reactions she’d locked safely away. She hadn’t allowed herself to weep for what she had lost. She had been so focused on remaining strong, on becoming better, on surviving and getting back into the rhythm of life, that she had never mourned her loss.

  Maybe she’d never thought she’d miss it.

  But now, now she stood with a child in her arms, and she wished with all her heart that she could have been the one to give Rafferty the child he so desired.

  She wished she could be the destined mate he wanted her to be.

  Instead of the human who was wreaking havoc in his world.

  A tear slipped from her lashes, and Zoë sobered as she watched. Melissa would have wiped it away, but her arms were full of the toddler she didn’t want to drop.

  It was Rafferty who came to her side and eased that tear away with his thumb. It was Rafferty who kissed her temple and slid his arm around her shoulders. It was Rafferty who brought those blue flames to leap and dance against her skin. Zoë laughed with delight, trying to catch the darkfire with her fingers.

  Melissa glanced up and lost herself in Rafferty’s eyes. His gaze locked on her, and she could see the rim of gold in the deep chocolate of his eyes.

  “Let me tell you a story,” he said softly, his voice low and rich, and Melissa was utterly seduced.

  Erik soared into the sky, Brandt’s scent on the wind drawing him directly to his opponent. He was high above the clouds when he saw the brilliant orange of the younger Pyr. Brandt was just as vividly hued as Erik recalled. All the shades of orange and yellow were echoed in Brandt’s scales, as if he had stepped right out of the fire. Even the sunlight seemed to caress his scales in admiration.

  It was a good indication of Brandt’s nature, for he was fiery, passionate, and quick to anger. He could be vengeful and hold a grudge for longer than might be expected.

  That was the root of the dissent between the two of them.

  Erik hovered and waited, seeing no point to rush to his demise. He gathered his strength, intent upon giving Brandt a good fight.

  Sloane flew behind Brandt, his scales the color of tourmaline. He shaded from green to purple and back again over his length, his scales accented with gold. Erik could sense the Apothecary’s disapproval, even from a distance, and guessed that Sloane had argued with his cousin over this choice.

  Brandt roared as he came closer, exhaling a plume of dragonfire in Erik’s direction. “You have broken your word to me again!” he said in old-speak. “There will not be a third time.”

  “I have done what had to be done, for your own welfare,” Erik retorted, convinced of his own choice.

  “And how exactly is that served by fighting?” Sloane demanded, although the pair of adversaries ignored him. They locked talons, the force of their collision sending them rolling through the sky, and the fight began in earnest.

  Erik Sorensson fought with all his might. He was determined that he would not leave this world quietly.

  If he left it at all.

  Chapter 15

  Rafferty looked at his destined mate, respected her resilience, humor, and curiosity, and believed that all could come right. He felt that she had locked away her emotions in order to deal with her illness and recovery, and in order to not be drawn down by the weight of betrayal. But she was a giving person, one filled with compassion, and he sensed the importance of that first tear.

  She was healing, under the effect of the darkfire. He made the effort to meet her halfway. He chose the firestorm over the safety of the Sleeper.

  It was clear that Melissa was someone who craved information. It was also apparent that no one could become fond of another in ignorance—she had to know what and who he was, just as he had to learn about her.

  He liked her conviction that they could defeat Magnus together. That dovetailed perfectly with his own notion that a firestorm made a new whole of two halves. Plus, Melissa had promised to keep her silence about the Pyr. Rafferty believed her—and he believed that pledge to be indicative of her desire to see Magnus destroyed.

  They had a goal in common, and she was prepared to take risks. Rafferty would figure out some way for Melissa to have her heart’s desire, as well. It was only fair.

  But first things first.

  “Let me tell you a story,” he said, leaning closer. The darkfire’s flames leapt and danced as the distance between them was diminished. “Once upon a time, there was a young Pyr who had been taught all he needed to know by his grandfather,” he said. “And that young Pyr, like so many young men, left the home he had known to seek his fortune.”

  “Would we know this Pyr?” Eileen asked.

  Rafferty smiled. “You might. He traveled steadily south, crossing large bodies of water and scaling mountains. Every experience was an adventure to him, and he savored the sights and sounds of the world. Over time, though, he realized that he was seeking something, something he hadn’t realized he wanted to find. He was seeking more of his and his grandfather’s kind, more Pyr, although he didn’t recognize as much until he found one. The Pyr stranger appeared to be a successful merchant, perhaps in his forties, but the young Pyr knew better. He was excited and fascinated by his discovery.”

  “How did he know?” Melissa asked. “How do you recognize one another?”

  “By scent,” Rafferty said. “He knew the stranger was of his own kind by his scent, familiar and yet exotic. Our senses are sharper than human senses: we can recognize not only our own kind by scent but often can identify specific individuals that way.”

  “Okay.” Melissa reached for her book and made a note.”

  “But it cuts both ways,” Rafferty continued. “The stranger recognized the young Pyr as what he was in the same way, and befriended him. He took him into his household, taught him his business, helped him to gain financial success. They became great friends and allies and partners. They even shared hoard.”
br />   “A very close bond,” Eileen murmured.

  Rafferty nodded. “That stranger’s name was Magnus Montmorency.”

  “When was this?” Melissa asked. “And where?”

  He recognized that she needed the facts, the root of the story to make it real. “It was in Venice. Magnus traded in oil and wine. It would have been about a thousand years ago.”

  “So, he had already made the Elixir?” Eileen said.

  “Yes, but I knew nothing of it. He traveled frequently, often leaving me in charge of his home and business. He confessed to distrusting his brother, and I took him at his word. I was young, and too ready to believe. He was good to me, and it never occurred to me that he might have his own agenda. I had never known anyone who was deceitful. It also never occurred to me that his wealth wasn’t commensurate with his official business. It turned out that Magnus also traded in mercenaries, slaves, and information.”

  “Started that arms trader stuff early,” Melissa murmured. “No wonder he’s so good at it.”

  “More than that,” Rafferty said. “I learned inadvertently during one of his absences that he did a brisk trade in medicinal supplies.” Eileen caught her breath, and Rafferty knew she anticipated his next words. “A customer came into the shop asking after his order for ground dragon hide.”

  “But it wasn’t…,” Melissa began to protest.

  “It was.” Rafferty was firm. “Magnus brought it with him on his return. I knew from the scent in the vial that it was precisely what the customer had requested.”