Then he wondered.
“Will we even make a son?” he asked.
She smiled. “Isn’t that the point of the firestorm?”
“But you’re a goddess…”
Chandra shook her head. “Not any more. I’m mortal now.”
Her choice still blew Thorolf away. It was epic. “You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have given up your powers.”
Chandra smiled. “The alternative wasn’t acceptable.”
He stared at her, amazed and honored. “No one ever gave up anything that big for me before.”
“Maybe they made the mistake of underestimating you,” she said with a smile.
“You didn’t have to save me.”
“Maybe you saved me.” Chandra rolled so that she was facing him, and punctuated her words with taps of her fingertip on his chest. Each touch launched a spark, and each spark made his desire heat even more. “You said that you were tired of people saying they loved you because they wanted something from you, that love shouldn’t be an exchange. You said you wanted someone to love you for your own self, and that the firestorm was supposed to bring that person to you.”
“I did. So?”
She met his gaze. “I understood exactly what you meant. No one ever loves a goddess for her own self. It’s all about what that goddess can do for you. It had never occurred to me that things could be different.”
“I do love you for your own self,” Thorolf admitted.
Chandra flushed a little again, his innocent seductress. “I know.”
He ran one hand over her hip, savoring the insistent burn of the firestorm and trying to think straight. “Does that mean you can’t shift shape anymore?”
She pursed her lips, considering. “Maybe one last time.” She smiled at him. “Do you have a preference?”
Thorolf claimed her lips in a thorough kiss, one that left them both breathing quickly. “I love you,” he said, his mouth the merest increment from hers. “And that doesn’t change, no matter what you look like. Whatever you choose is good with me.”
Her smile was blinding in its brilliance, and her hands locked around his neck to pull him closer. This kiss was hungry and passionate, a kiss that fed the core heat of the firestorm and took it to a fever pitch. When Thorolf opened his eyes, Chandra was the ebony-haired huntress, her blue eyes filled with sparkles. “Your fave?” he asked against her throat.
“It was how we met,” she answered, her breath teasing his ear. She parted her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist. Thorolf sank into the sweet heat of her, dizzy at the feel of her softness closing around him. The firestorm burned like an inferno in his veins, and his body matched its rhythms to hers in that amazing way. He stared into her eyes as they moved together, then she kissed him, drawing him deeper into her embrace, making their union complete. The pleasure consumed him, even as the firestorm burned hotter and hotter, driving him on to heights he’d never reached before. Chandra was right with him, her wonder and pleasure encouraging him to make it last.
He’d been right before: she just might kill him.
But Thorolf couldn’t think of a better way to go.
* * *
Chandra awakened in Thorolf’s embrace. He was wrapped around her from behind, his arms around her waist and his legs entangled with hers. His breath was warm on the back of her neck. She felt surrounded and protected, and she smiled with pleasure.
They were in a bed in a hotel room, perhaps the same one where the Pyr had gathered earlier. She rolled over and surveyed Thorolf, very pleased that Chen’s tattoo had faded to nothing.
She wasn’t really surprised that they were no longer in Myth.
She doubted she’d ever be there again.
She heard the rumble of conversation from the adjoining room, and guessed that the Pyr were there. She couldn’t discern their words and wondered if they were using old-speak. There was a television turned on, from the sound of it, and she guessed they were watching the news.
She already knew that the mortal world had survived Ragnorak, and that the link between mortal and divine had been severed. She ran a hand over her stomach, liking the thought of Thorolf’s son being the first of a new line of Pyr for a new world.
She slipped out of Thorolf’s embrace and went to the washroom, noticing something in the mirror that tempted her to look closer. Her hair was long and ebony, just as it had been for centuries in this guise, but on her left temple, there was a single silver hair.
That was all the proof she needed. She was mortal, just like Thorolf, and she knew from her study of the Pyr that his body would match its aging process to hers. The Pyr and their mates often passed from the world together, after a long and contented life together.
Chandra was good with that.
She heard the cry of a bird when she returned to the bedroom and was startled to see a silver falcon hovering outside the sliding glass door to the balcony. Chandra knew that peregrine falcons often nested in the towers of skyscrapers, but this wasn’t just any falcon.
It was Snow.
She knew because the falcon was carrying a skull.
She hurried to open the door, but Snow had already put the skull down on the balcony. The falcon landed on the railing, then turned to regard her steadily. The noise of the city rose from the streets far below.
Chandra had a sudden fear for her companion. “Can you get back there? Or did my choice compel you to stay, too?”
The bird cried and took flight again, circling once as if to say farewell before she flew straight toward the sun. Chandra watched and she saw her brother in his chariot, framed in its brilliant light, driving the sun across the sky. He lifted a hand and the falcon flew directly to him, landing on his hand.
He’d said he would be last.
Chandra lifted her hand to wave farewell.
She bent and picked up the skull Snow had left, a memory unfolding in her mind with remarkable speed. Centuries before she’d argued with her brother about her vow. She heard him again say that a vow of chastity was unnatural. She smiled at her own reply that he’d certainly never try it. They’d dared each other, as competitive as ever.
“Find me a man who’s worth the trouble,” she heard herself taunt once again.
She saw her brother’s smug grin, then turned to survey Thorolf. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking tousled and sleepy. When he smiled, that dimple appeared and her mouth went dry.
Incredibly enough, Apollo had done just that.
“What’s up?” he asked, coming to her. His arms encircled her waist and he kissed the side of her neck. Chandra smiled, avoiding the obvious answer.
She gestured to the skull. “A last gift. I thought it was for you but now I’m not sure.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you were the only one with unfinished business.”
Thorolf winced. “Not my father.”
“I’ll guess so.”
“I have to tell him he was right?”
“Maybe he wants to say something to you.”
“Give me another job probably,” Thorolf said with a grimace. He tugged on his jeans and reached for the skull. “You coming?”
“I’m not sure.”
Then his hand closed over the skull and she knew the answer. He shimmered before her eyes, the sight of him rippling like the surface of a lake in the wind.
Thorolf was suddenly gone.
Something fell from the skull to the concrete patio. Chandra saw that it was an arrow head. It looked like one of hers. She picked it up, turning it in her hand, and smiled in recognition of the rune etched into it.
Berkana. New beginnings and regeneration.
It was the one she’d put in Thorolf’s mouth. She looked up at the sun, knowing her brother had sent it back to her.
She blew the sun a kiss. It seemed to become brighter and she had to close her eyes against it.
And then it was just the sun.
She suspected it al
ways would be now.
* * *
Thorolf could have done without a visit to his father, but he supposed there wasn’t any way to duck it. He was feeling good about things, about Chandra, his firestorm and his partnership with the Pyr. He was feeling as if the future held promise in a new and exciting way, and he didn’t want to listen to his father explain that he was wrong.
Much less a disappointing loser of a son.
Thorolf figured he might as well get it over with.
Maybe that was the change Chandra had made in him. He couldn’t see the point of avoiding the inevitable anymore. It made more sense to just shoulder through a challenge and get it behind him.
Thorolf supposed he should have anticipated that the skull would take him back to Astrid’s village, but it shocked him to be deposited there. He was flying down the valley in his dragon form, but there was no scent of Astrid. There was no fire or ash either, no smell of burning timber.
Although he knew where he was, he had no idea when he was.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
He found the spot without even trying. The massive boulder was still there, but the grass was green all around it. The smaller stones were gone and there was no sign of the village. He landed there and shifted shape, his mind full of that last parting.
He jumped at the weight of a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He took a breath of his father’s scent, wood smoke, Pyr and virility all mingled into one.
“I’m sorry,” his father said gruffly. Of course, he spoke the old language, but it was the first one Thorolf had ever learned.
He turned slightly, halfway expecting the old man to deny his words.
Instead, Thorvald looked as if he doubted his son’s response. “I was wrong,” he said, his words thick. “She was a treasure, even though she wasn’t your mate.”
“My mate is the gem in my hoard,” Thorolf said.
His father smiled. “It’s impossible to know the difference until you feel it. I’m sorry, too, that you had to wait so long for your firestorm.”
“I’m sorry you were alone again so quickly after you had yours.” The words came quickly, impulsively, without thought, but they were exactly right.
Thorvald’s eyes brightened suspiciously, then he offered his hand. “I hope you will tell your son about me,” he said, a strange uncertainty in his tone.
That his father could doubt the merit of his legacy was humbling. This was a breach Thorolf had to mend and a mistake he had to fix. He’d been too stubborn for too long.
Thorolf took his father’s hand, shook it, then pulled his father into an embrace. He found his own eyes pricking with tears as he held the old man tight. It had been so long.
“I’ll teach him everything,” he promised, his voice husky. “Just as you taught me.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Thorvald whispered with heat. “I always told them all that my son would be the one to change the world. And then she picked you to do it.” He pulled back and smiled at Thorolf. “I never thought you’d do it so well, though.”
They grinned at each other, and all too soon, the scene faded to mist.
Thorolf took a shaking breath, then smiled. He should have listened to Chandra. She’d been totally right, and he couldn’t wait to tell her so. He strode into the mist, confident that he’d soon arrive in a familiar place.
He was going to miss Myth and the ghosts.
The bonus was that he had Chandra.
And a son on the way.
It was enough to make a Pyr want to celebrate.
Repeatedly and with enthusiasm.
He was pretty sure he knew what Chandra would say about that and quickened his pace. When the fog cleared, he was standing just inside the balcony of the room and the shower was running.
It was a perfect place to start.
He’d no sooner stepped into the steam that filled the bathroom than there was a loud growl from the shower stall. Thorolf could see Chandra standing under the shower spray, poking at her stomach with a fingertip.
“What was that?” Chandra demanded, looking from her body to him in confusion.
Thorolf laughed as he kicked off his clothes. He stepped into the shower, closing the door and drawing her into his arms. “Kismet,” he said firmly. “I didn’t know it had a sound until just now, but it does.”
She laughed with him, but he could see that she didn’t entirely understand.
“You’re hungry. I’m starving.” He kissed her quickly. “It’s perfect.”
And their union was, but for many more reasons than that.
* * *
The Pyr gathered at Angkor at the new moon.
Rox couldn’t have chosen a better site for a scale repair ceremony.
Thorolf and Chandra were already there, having spent a week exploring the ruins—and the local cuisine—on their own. The Pyr who were on the right side of the world flew in from Bangkok in their dragon forms, carrying mates and children over the mountains and jungles.
Rox was sure it was the most romantic dragon flight of her life, and she’d had more than a few. Niall carried her and the boys, and she rubbernecked something fierce, looking ahead at Rafferty and back to Sloane, Erik, and Delaney behind them.
She took careful note of the details, knowing that she’d paint this scene when she got home. She loved these rituals of the Pyr. They always felt sacred and powerful to her, and she was honored to be allowed to witness them. Kyle and Nolan, her twin sons from her firestorm with Niall, would be three years old in a week. Although they’d attended scale repairs before, she hugged them tightly and hoped they might remember this one.
It promised to be magical. There was no mist over the mountains, which were covered in thick and dark vegetation, because at this time of year, the days were very hot. The earth seemed to radiate heat even now, long after the sun had set, and the ground looked dry and dusty.
Rox might leave that bit out.
The wind was warm and caressed her skin, blowing through her hair as Niall carried her and the boys to the temple. No one talked, not even in old-speak, making her wonder if everyone else felt this moment was as special as she did.
Rafferty led the way with Melissa in his careful grasp, his opal and gold scales glinting in the darkness. Niall was next—in Rox’s biased opinion his hide was the most magnificent, his scales the color of amethyst and silver. Sloane’s scales were the hue of tourmalines edged with gold in his dragon form, and his coat shaded over his length from green to purple then gold. Rox could never look at the Apothecary without thinking of the tattoo she’d done for him, of two dragons wrapped around a staff, a twist so to speak on a the caduceus favored by humans.
Delaney was next, carrying Ginger. Delaney’s scales were emerald with copper. Rox was glad he’d returned to Australia to get Ginger, but she knew it hadn’t been easy for Ginger to leave their boys at Erik’s lair in Chicago. Liam was five and becoming independent, but Sean wasn’t quite two.
She doubted she’d be ready any time soon to leave her boys behind when she and Niall came to a firestorm, even for their own safety. Rox thought young Pyr were safest with their fathers.
Behind Delaney was Brandt, carrying his mate Kay, flying beside his son Brandon. Kay carried her newest grandson, while Brandon’s mate Liz carried the older boy, who was the result of their firestorm. Brandt’s scales were amber, golden amber lit by the sun, and Brandon’s were dark as jet, with fiery edges. His scales always made Rox think of lava simmering beneath a dark crust.
Erik, who flew alone, was last, his scales an onyx as dark as the night sky with pewter edges. The Pyr flew silently, circling the ancient site before landing in order.
Rox heard a rumble of old-speak before Kyle pointed to the couple standing on the lip of a large rectangular reflecting pool. It was Thorolf and Chandra, waiting hand in hand. Rox smiled at the sight, knowing that T was finally happy and grounded.
Because of his firestorm, of course
. As much as she adored dragons and as fond as she was of T, a firestorm was one thing she couldn’t have given him.
The two of them looked like characters from an old saga, both tall and muscular, both majestic and beautiful. They wouldn’t just stand taller than most in the crowd, they’d draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity. There was an energy between them, too, a force of attraction that hadn’t been extinguished with the firestorm’s spark.
She watched Thorolf kiss Chandra’s hand and decided that love was good for her old friend. Thorolf then cast out his hands and a shimmering blue light surrounded him. He shifted shape, taking his dragon form, and his scales were more brilliant than the moonlight. She’d always thought his scales looked like moonstones set in silver, but now they shone like diamonds lit from within. He looked bigger and stronger now, too, although he’d always been magnificent.
He looked like a dragon bred of a long line of champions.
The Pyr landed one at a time, flanking the new couple, folding back their wings and remaining in their dragon forms.
“First,” Rafferty said solemnly. “A small matter of business.”
Only Erik appeared to be confused about this, which gave Rox a clue as to what was going on. Rafferty bowed deeply, then took flight over the pool, pausing before Erik.
“We took that vote,” he said and Erik remained watchful but impassive. “You won the leadership again.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Erik protested.
“We do,” Thorolf insisted. “Because it’s right.”
Rafferty and Erik eyed each other for a moment, then embraced, opal scales against ebony ones. Rox blinked back tears, the sight reminding her of Rafferty’s ring, then the pair parted and Rafferty took his place with Melissa again.
Erik took a low turn over the still reflecting pond, his wings stirring a ripple on its surface. Rox thought he’d done a triumphant lap, but after the ripple on the surface, the reflections weren’t what she expected to see.
She saw Quinn, the Smith of the Pyr, where Thorolf’s reflection should have been. His scales were sapphire and steel, and his mate, Sara, the Seer of the Pyr, stood beside him. Their sons were with her, Garrett who had just turned six, Ewan at three and the baby, Thierry, in Sara’s arms.