Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  Ronnie closed her eyes and prayed, thankful that Timmy was at his friend’s house.

  Against every expectation, there was another man in the living room, and he looked identical to the one who had become a dragon on the stairs.

  He had both arms, so he had to be a third dragon shifter.

  Ronnie blinked, wondering whether she was losing her mind. Could there really be three dragons who looked exactly the same in her house at the same time?

  Was her life going to be filled with violent dragon shifters if she bore Drake’s son?

  Ronnie couldn’t even think about it. The life she had carefully constructed would be in ruins, and worse, she wasn’t the woman she once had been. She wasn’t prepared to put all of her hopes and dreams aside to be whatever her partner wanted her to be. She wasn’t prepared to be support staff to her partner’s career again.

  And Drake hadn’t mentioned anything like marriage.

  The man in the living room shimmered, then changed shape as well. Ronnie wasn’t surprised that he became not only a dragon, but a red and gold one. How many of them were there? Would they just keep popping up like rabbits until Drake was defeated?

  Instead of leaping into the fray, this one coiled on his haunches, his eyes glittering. He breathed slowly, exhaling in a long slow stream. Ronnie couldn’t figure out his plan, and Drake was busy. He exchanged blows with the second dragon, who bared his teeth to breathe fire directly at Ronnie. Drake twisted to take the brunt of the flame, protecting her with one leathery wing, and she heard him inhale sharply at the pain of the burn. He trashed the other dragon with his tail, but his opponent only laughed.

  Ronnie didn’t know why, but Drake suddenly flinched. He grimaced and shuddered, his grip upon her faltering. What was happening? The third dragon grinned as he continued to breathe slowly and the first one reappeared as he pulled himself on to the balcony outside the living room. That he could do so with one arm only was impressive. There was black blood running from the shoulder where his other arm should have been attached. He kicked open the door and began to breathe in the same rhythmic way.

  Drake twitched. He flinched and shivered convulsively. He roared, and threw himself at the second dragon, thumping him with a flurry of blows that seemed desperate to Ronnie.

  Her dragon was losing.

  This couldn’t be good.

  The second dragon kicked Drake and when he fell backward, Ronnie slipped from his grasp. He opened one eye and regarded her. “Run,” he whispered, his voice as deep and steady as Drake’s in human form. Drake’s economy with words suddenly made much more sense. “Take your car and flee as far as you can.”

  Run? And abandon him to these thugs? She wanted to argue with him, but his gaze turned steely. Ronnie understood that he knew more of dragons than she, even though she wanted to help him.

  Maybe it would help Drake more if he didn’t have to protect her.

  At that thought, she nodded minutely, and Drake rallied with new vigor. She saw him throw himself at the second dragon and heard the walls of her townhouse shake with the force of impact. They roared and fought with ferocity, Drake tearing and slashing his opponent, then breathing fire at the other two. The third arrival had to abandon his slow breathing and join the fight, his gold talons flashing as he slashed at Drake. Red blood flowed from Drake’s wounds, while black came from that of his opponents. Ronnie wanted to linger and help him, especially as he seemed to be turning the tide, but he flicked an intent look her way and she understood.

  He was ensuring that she had the chance to flee.

  Ronnie waited until the red dragons seemed to be ignoring her, then slipped down the stairs and out the front door. She could hear the emergency sirens in the distance and her neighbors were coming out of their townhouses in alarm. Ronnie remembered Drake’s command and ran, trusting his advice above all.

  Her car was in flames.

  She stopped to stare in shock, but it would be a burned-out shell within moments.

  She glanced back at the townhouse but knew what Drake would say.

  She had to flee on foot.

  As far and as fast as possible.

  Even knowing it might not be enough.

  Ronnie ran down the streets she knew, fearful of what was happening behind her. She could smell the smoke from her home and choked back her tears. Her heart was racing. Everything she had worked so hard to build was being destroyed. She prayed for Drake and she thanked God that Timmy was safe. She wasn’t the least bit sure that she could run far enough, but she had to try.

  When she couldn’t run anymore, she halted, her breath heaving.

  She’d only come a dozen blocks.

  She wasn’t truly surprised when a dragon appeared in the sky overhead, or that he was red and gold. She should have known that it would be impossible to evade him, although she tried. He swooped low and snatched her up, almost effortlessly. Ronnie struggled, knowing she couldn’t escape the grip of his talons but needing to try. As he flew high into the sky, she stilled, not wanting to be dropped from such a height. She watched as her town disappeared beneath her, the dragon’s strong wings beating hard as he flew higher.

  She wasn’t surprised when two more dragons joined his flight, but Ronnie was disappointed that they were red and gold. One of them was missing an arm, and black blood dripped from his shoulder. That must be the one Drake had injured first. He flew slightly apart from the others, but Ronnie was looking back, hoping for signs of pursuit.

  There were none, although she could see the black smoke rising from her townhouse.

  Had they killed Drake?

  * * *

  The Slayers left Drake battered but alive, of course. It would have been merciful to have killed him after abducting his mate.

  But it was their nature to cause as much pain as possible to their victims.

  It wasn’t the most reassuring thought Drake could have had. Veronica was gone. She’d left as he’d commanded, but seeing the wreck of her car, he knew that she’d had to flee on foot. There was no way she could have outrun three Slayers in flight.

  They had taken her. He knew it in his very marrow.

  He hoped she wasn’t dead. If they planned to kill her, though, they would have killed him. No, this was a game, one played at his expense and one intended to grant the greatest torment possible to him.

  Veronica was alive but captive. And Drake had been left alive so he could try to save her. It was the perfect ploy, because even knowing it was suicidal to pursue her, Drake would do it.

  He would do whatever was necessary for his mate.

  He’d awakened in the parking lot outside her townhouse, which was being consumed by flames. He had a vague recollection of crawling out of her house after the Slayers abandoned him there and could still taste his own determination to survive. At least he’d shifted to human form before passing out.

  Neighbors were gathered in little clusters of concern, whispering to each other as firemen tried to contain the raging blaze. Drake was sitting on the curb near the smoking remains of Veronica’s car. He once again refused the assistance of the paramedics, who had nothing in their arsenal that could heal him.

  “Suit yourself,” the more persistent paramedic said with resignation and finally left him alone.

  Drake touched the cut on his temple with tentative fingers and took a shaking breath. He was badly burned from the dragonfire, but it had been the dragonsmoke that had brought him down. He had felt it sapping his strength, cheating his power to fuel that of his opponents. He had known about the ability of some Slayers to use dragonsmoke as a conduit, but he’d never experienced it himself before. The sensation had been like being weakened and being compelled to witness his own demise.

  Drake shuddered, hating that he had made such a terrible mistake. What would they do to Veronica? He didn’t want to think about it, but he knew he had to. He’d vowed to defend her, but he’d erred thoroughly.

  Even though he’d known that Slayers could d
isguise their scent. He’d been too confident, assuming that Jorge was the only Slayer remaining and that he could defeat that dragon if necessary. Drake was disgusted with himself and how the firestorm had addled his wits.

  How could there be three Slayers who looked so similar as to be identical? He’d never seen that before and had a bad feeling about the development. He wondered how many more of those identical Slayers would have gathered, even if he had allowed the Dragon Legion to remain close.

  Could there be enough of these Slayers that they outnumbered the Pyr?

  Drake shuddered again. He had to tell Erik what had happened, and he needed the help of the Pyr to save Veronica. The Dragon Legion would assist him, those Pyr descended from his fellow Dragon’s Tooth Warriors. They always treated him with honor, possibly because they wouldn’t exist if the darkfire hadn’t taken him and his companions back in time to their respective firestorms.

  Drake caught a whiff his fellows and spied three of the Dragon Legion in the shadows beyond the crowd, mingling with the onlookers. It was amazing to him that Theo, who led the Dragon Legion, looked just as Drake had imagined his own son, Theo, would have looked once grown. He supposed it wasn’t that strange, given that this Theo was the descendant of Drake’s own son.

  Theo flicked a glance at Drake and looked annoyed. Drake should have anticipated as much. Theo hadn’t agreed with Drake’s insistence that he be left alone to satisfy the firestorm in privacy, they’d argued and Theo had been proven right.

  Drake was relieved that they were there, but he wasn’t free to leave just yet. He could, of course, have simply departed, using brute force against the human authorities, but it was prudent, in his opinion, not to cause more disruption.

  A police officer had come to stand before him, his expression skeptical. He pulled out a notepad then fixed Drake with a look. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  Drake decided to keep it simple. “I was with Veronica. She offered to make dinner for us.”

  “Uh huh,” the cop said evidently reading between the lines. Drake, after all, still had only a towel tied around his hips.

  “A man came through the sliding glass door in the bedroom, then there were two more in the living room.”

  “Three intruders?” The cop scribbled. “And how did they gain entry?”

  “The first one broke the glass,” he said, then realized his mistake.

  “He shattered an insulated sliding glass door?” The cop lifted a brow. “You sure about that? Did he have a crowbar or something?”

  Drake shook his head and pretended to be confused. “I am not certain. It all happened so quickly,” he murmured. “Suddenly he was in the bedroom and attacked.”

  “Attacked Mrs. Maitland?”

  Drake nodded. “And he set fire to the drapes. I fought with him and Veronica tried to escape, but there was a second one in the doorway. He tried to seize Veronica.” He frowned, not wanting to say too much. “I threw the first out the window and off the balcony to fight the second, but there was a third downstairs. And the house was burning.”

  “You’re lucky you got out of it with that head wound. Sure you don’t want the paramedics to stitch you up?”

  “I will be fine. Where is Veronica?”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  “I told her to run when I knew I would be overwhelmed. They were three and I was injured.” He swallowed, hating the truth of his own failure. She was his mate and he had failed to protect her.

  “Any idea where she might have gone?”

  Drake wished he knew. He shook his head, then had a thought. “She has a son. Timothy. He is with a friend on this night.”

  “When the cat’s away,” the policeman muttered and Drake stifled the urge to do him injury. His reaction must have showed in his expression because the cop took a step backward.

  “I meant that perhaps she went to him.”

  “Maybe. You got a name?”

  “I am Drake.”

  “Drake what?”

  “Simply Drake.”

  “Let me guess: your identification is in the burning house.” The cop grimaced.

  Drake let him believe what he chose. He inhaled, trying to disguise it, and caught only a faint residue of Veronica’s scent. Would he be able to follow it after this police officer released him?

  Time was of the essence. All scents dispersed in time, and the Slayers might have managed to disguise Veronica’s trail. Impatience rose in Drake and he got to his feet with purpose.

  “Easy there,” the cop said, clearly discomfited that Drake was a good bit taller than him. His gaze swept over Drake’s muscled torso and he scribbled some more. “How long have you been seeing Mrs. Maitland?”

  “Veronica and I have not seen each other for several years.” Drake averted his gaze, letting the cop make his own conclusions about that. “We met four years ago.”

  A second cop joined them. “The neighbor says the kid is often with a friend, Dashiell Patterson. I’ve got a number.”

  Drake closed his eyes, glad that Veronica was so organized. “I would speak to the boy,” he said, no question in his tone.

  “You know him, too?”

  “We all met four years ago.” Drake held the skeptical officer’s gaze. “I believe Timothy will recall.”

  The cop snapped his notebook shut. “It’s up to the kid. And even if he does know you, you’re not going to speak to him alone.” He met Drake’s gaze. “We’re going to need an address for you, Mr. Drake, and I’d suggest you don’t leave town.”

  Drake inclined his head in agreement, knowing it would be futile to argue. Even if the police officer refused to let him speak to Veronica’s son, Drake would find him. He had to give Timothy his assurance that he would do his utmost to find Veronica. If he had to beguile the family taking care of the boy, he would do it.

  He had to speak to Timmy.

  He’d fabricate an address, because there was no choice. By the time the police realized it was no good, Drake would be hunting Slayers.

  He’d begin by following Veronica’s trail as far as it led.

  Theo stepped forward with purpose, gesturing to Arach and Kristofer, and Drake was glad he would have their help.

  Chapter Five

  Why wasn’t Sloane older?

  His age made no sense.

  Sam had discovered that Sloane had bought his property over twenty years before. But he didn’t look like he was much older than Sam, and she was thirty-three. People didn’t buy extensive property in California in their teens or twenties, after all.

  She’d checked three times, thinking there had to be a title transfer from father to son, or from some other relative he’d been named after, but there wasn’t.

  Was he older than she thought?

  Sam had a hard time believing there was ten years between them. In fact, his physical condition was so prime that she had wondered whether he might be younger than her.

  It was a mystery.

  Which only made her more curious.

  She’d casually asked about him, trying to slide her question into conversations as she ran her errands at the post office, the bank and the grocery story. The only thing she’d been able to discover was that everyone in the area liked Sloane. He was considered to be charming and reliable, but details about his life—let alone where he had come from—were sketchy.

  In fact, people didn’t seem to much care.

  Mr. Privacy, all right.

  He’d served on the Chamber of Commerce a few years before and had been active in local business organizations, as well as a charity or two. He was courteous and reliable, and she heard many endorsements of the plants he sold, and his business practices. She was told repeatedly that she was lucky to have such a good neighbor.

  Which didn’t explain his age. Had she found another puzzle she couldn’t solve? On principle alone, Sam was determined to work this out. How complicated could one man’s life be? She returned home late in the evening, having
consoled herself over her lack of progress with a delicious meal at a new restaurant in town. She stopped in the driveway beside her parked car, admired the stars, then opened the trunk to get the one bag of groceries she’d picked up.

  The lights suddenly flicked on at Sloane’s house. Sam frowned, because there was no sign of Sloane’s truck. His shop hadn’t been open when she’d left in the morning either.

  Had Sloane just gotten home, from wherever he’d been?

  Should she walk over now and apologize? Even though she knew it was the right thing to do, she was nervous about it. It was a bit late.

  Although that hadn’t stopped her the night before.

  The thing was, she didn’t recall his house ever lighting up like this, all at once.

  Suddenly, the lights went out again. They’d only been on for a minute or two, and the house was completely dark once more.

  Had someone broken into Sloane’s house? Sam could call the police, but she hadn’t actually seen anything or anyone. It might be Sloane, after all, having arrived home exhausted and headed right to bed. If so, he wouldn’t appreciate her—or the police—knocking on the door now.

  She decided that if there was any sign of life, she’d walk right over.

  The house remained dark and silent.

  Maybe the lights were on timers. Maybe they’d malfunctioned. Maybe there had been a power outage.

  Maybe she should mind her business and get some sleep.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt to be a good neighbor. Sam would go for a walk in the morning, just to see if there were any signs of forced entry.

  If Sloane turned out to be home, that would be a bonus.

  * * *

  Timmy couldn’t believe it. He sat between Dashiell and Dashiell’s mom on the couch in their living room while the cop gave him the news. Dashiell’s dad paced behind the couch.

  “My mom disappeared?” Timmy repeated, still trying to make sense of it. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “She might not have had a choice, dear,” Mrs. Patterson said quietly. The cop and Dashiell’s father gave her a look and she bit her lip.