I still thought it was funny that they hadn’t been impressed.
I, in contrast, was awed by Nick in dragon form.
The trick is that the dragon business is all theoretical when it comes to me. I’m the daughter of a dragon shapeshifter, so I should also be a dragon shape shifter. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Except it’s not happening. Nothing special has happened to me. I can’t do it and I don’t know why—much less what I can do to hurry things along.
Dragons are by nature patient. That’s what my dad says. He should know, seeing as he is about twelve hundred years old. That’s supposed to reassure me, but it doesn’t.
Because dragons are also passionate and inclined to anger. I know that from spending my life around all those dragon shape shifters who are my extended family. And the fact that my dragon abilities were AWOL—despite my patience—was seriously pissing me off.
The Pyr are all guys—men and their sons—except for me. The story is that there’s only one female dragon at a time, that she’s the Wyvern and has special powers.
Yours truly—I’m supposed to be the Wyvern.
The issue with there only being one female dragon shape shifter at a time is that the last one died before I was born. And it’s not like anyone has her diary. Zero references for me. Zero advice.
Zero anything.
Just an expectation from my family and friends that I’ll become the font of all dragonesque knowledge and lead the next generation to wherever the heck we’re going.
Sooner would be better.
No pressure, right?
My dad says that I was a prodigy, that I was already showing special powers before I could walk. Then I started to talk and all the Wyvern goodness went away. Poof. Instead of being special and a prodigy, I was just a normal kid.
It’s been fourteen years, and I’m still waiting for the good stuff to come back.
No sign of it yet.
Some incremental progress would be encouraging. It’s one thing to be a disappointment to everyone you care about, and quite another to just sit back and accept that inadequacy. In fact, I was starting to think that those dragons who believed I wasn’t really the Wyvern might have it right.
Thus Meagan’s session.
An act of desperation.
Because the one thing I did know was that the other dragon teenagers like Nick had come into their powers with puberty. Their voices cracked and bingo, they were shifting shape like old pros. So, being a late bloomer has bigger repercussions for me. Meagan thought we were doing the ritual for my period to start. She didn’t need to know I was after a little bit more than that.
Instead I got a guy mocking me in my own bedroom at the crack of dawn.
Like I said, it wasn’t the best way to start the day.
The dissolving guy was at my school.
Still shirtless.
Still mightily amused by me.
He was leaning against the brick wall, away from groups of other kids, gaze locked on me as I walked up to the school. I could still almost see through him. I felt a blush rising from my toes. Would he talk to me here? Would he tell me what the deal was?
What exactly would be the best opening question to get him talking?
Meagan caught my shoulder and I jumped. “Well?” She pushed her new glasses up her nose, almost bouncing in excitement. “Did it work?”
I glanced over at the smug, half-naked dude. “Who is that? Do you know?”
“Who? Mark Smith?” Meagan rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Zoë.”
“No, the other guy. The one leaning on the wall.”
She gave me a stern look. “There is no other guy, Zoë.” She nudged me. “Come on, tell me. Any results?”
“Nothing.”
The guy waved at me, smirked for a minute, then sauntered away. He had to be freezing without a shirt on. It was even starting to snow lightly. I watched Meagan follow my gaze, scanning the school yard.
She couldn’t see him.
Neither apparently could anyone else.
Bonus. I was delusional as well as a failure and a disappointment. I’d lost my powers at the ripe age of two and, some fourteen years later, was losing my mind.
“Nothing?” She wrinkled her nose. “No change?”
“None.”
She exhaled heavily and fell into step beside me. “Not even a cramp?”
“New pimples. Does that count?”
“It could.” Meagan bumped my arm and whispered, “Did you have any dreams, at least?”
It was on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell her about the guy, and I would have, if she hadn’t been unable to see him. When you’re going crazy, I think it’s better to keep the news to yourself for as long as possible.
“Nope.” I shrugged and smiled.
I felt like seven kinds of a rat for lying to my best friend.
“I really thought it would work,” Meagan said, so disappointed that the whole session might have been for her benefit. “Maybe we should try again.”
I could do without more strangers showing up in my bedroom while I was asleep. “Maybe it just takes time.” I smiled. “See you in gym?”
Meagan groaned. “Highlight of my day.” She rummaged in her backpack and nearly spilled textbooks all over the floor. “Hey, draw me a dragon on my new notebook?”
Now she was trying to cheer me up. “Sure. Any preferences?”
“Whatever you want. Surprise me.”
I took the book and tucked it in with mine. “Don’t scare them with your brilliance in math class.”
Meagan laughed, flashing a mouthful of hardware. She was good at math. Truly genius. Meagan’s destiny was in the realm of the brainiacs.
Mine? Apparently in the land of liars and losers.
I was thinking that my day couldn’t get any worse.
About the Author
Deborah Cooke has always been fascinated by dragons, although she has never understood why they have to be the bad guys. She has an honors degree in history with a focus on medieval studies, and is an avid reader of medieval vernacular literature, fairy tales, and fantasy novels. Since 1992, Deborah has written more than thirty romance novels under the names Claire Cross and Claire Delacroix.
Deborah makes her home in Canada with her husband. When she isn’t writing, she can be found knitting, sewing, or hunting for vintage patterns. To learn more about the Dragonfire series and Deborah, please visit her Web site at www.deborahcooke.com and her blog, Alive & Knitting, at www.delacroix.net/blog.
Deborah Cooke, Darkfire Kiss
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