Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  Quinn had probably just been worrying.

  There was a fluster of activity, then the baby gave a cough and a cry. The attending staff in the delivery room cheered. Sara smiled without opening her eyes.

  “Congratulations. Another perfect boy!” Dr. Mulholland said and Sara almost laughed that her doctor was surprised. Pyr only had sons, but Sara wasn’t going to tell her doctor her partner’s secret. “And just as healthy as the others. Blue eyes like his dad and his brothers. You are going to have a handsome bunch of teenagers one of these days.” Sara opened her eyes to watch the doctor pass the swaddled boy to Quinn and saw Quinn’s proud smile. “Soon you’ll have delivered more babies than me, Sara.”

  Sara laughed despite herself. “No threats like that, please.”

  Dr. Mulholland gave her a twinkling glance, only now pulling down her mask. “You know what causes it. I’ve told you before that it can be managed.”

  “But Quinn was the fifth son in his family.”

  “Ah, so I’ll see you again in the new year.” The older woman smiled and shook her head. “You’ve had no complications and you’re young, Sara. If you want to try for another, I’ll be right here with you.” She shrugged. “It might be nice for you to have daughter to keep all these sons in line.”

  “One more, either way, then we’re done,” Sara said and Quinn nodded. The doctor gave her a thumbs-up and left them to admire their new arrival. The other boys were with their closest neighbors, whose sons were their playmates. That couple had no idea how thick and deep the dragonsmoke barrier was around their home. Quinn had been breathing it for weeks.

  “Are you going to tell me his name now?” Quinn teased in a murmur. “I know you chose it a while ago.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” she replied. “You don’t fool me. Was there a firestorm with this full moon?”

  Quinn sobered. “It was an eclipse. A blood moon.”

  “I suppose if any kind of moon is going to fill the maternity wards, it should be a blood moon,” Sara said, then dropped her voice so low that only Quinn would be able to hear her. The staff were cleaning up and making themselves scarce, obviously intending to give the new parents a little privacy. “Was there a firestorm?”

  Quinn nodded once and whispered in her ear. “It was Drake’s.”

  “Oh good. I like Drake.”

  Quinn’s gaze searched hers. “Have you received a prophecy about it?”

  Sara shook her head. As the seer of the Pyr, she often did receive prophecies about firestorms, but not this time. That was why she hadn’t been sure there had even been a firestorm. “I’ve been a little busy the past day or so.” Quinn’s smile was fleeting. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Quinn flicked a glance at the staff, then whispered in her ear again. “Three Slayers attacked and abducted Drake’s mate.”

  Sara was outraged. “But there are no Slayers left, only Jorge.”

  Quinn shook his head and bent low over their new son. “There are suddenly more, all of whom look exactly like Boris Vassily.”

  Sara caught her breath.

  “Two Slayers also attacked Erik in Chicago.”

  “Five new Slayers,” Sara whispered. “Where did they come from?”

  “No one knows.” Quinn was grim. “Fortunately Donovan and Delaney were there to help. Donovan had a bad feeling and suggested to Delaney that they be in Chicago for the eclipse.”

  “I’m glad he did. Is Erik going to be okay?” Sara was relieved when Quinn nodded, then remembered. “Erik and Boris had a blood feud. He killed Boris years ago.”

  “And somehow that Slayer is back.” Quinn was grim. “I don’t understand it, but something’s happening. We should all be together.”

  Sara felt a moment’s panic. “The boys are okay?”

  “Yes, I just phoned. All is well, but I’d like us to be together, and with the other Pyr.”

  They’d talked about this possibility as the end of the Dragon’s Tail Wars loomed on the calendar and Sara was glad they’d already made a tentative plan. She wasn’t glad that they had to use it. She looked at her new son and her heart squeezed. She’d been so sure that the Pyr were just finishing up the Dragon’s Tail Wars, that Jorge would be killed by one of the others and their futures would be secure. Now she feared anew for Quinn and the boys.

  “What happens to them if you lose?” she whispered, fighting against her urge to seize her new son and hold him tightly. “Will they just be like other boys?” Sara was asking whether they would fail to become dragon shifters at all, since the developed at puberty for the sons of the Pyr. She couldn’t say the alternatives aloud. That her boys might be compelled to become Slayers or that they might die along with Quinn were horrific prospects.

  Quinn bent and put his lips against her ear. “It won’t matter,” he murmured so quietly that no one else can hear. “Garrett is the oldest of the young Pyr and he’s only six.”

  Sara felt sick and panicky. Her boys wouldn’t even grow up if the Pyr lost? Slayers would hunt them down and slaughter them, and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not without Quinn.

  “California?” she mouthed and Quinn nodded.

  “I’ve got a feeling that it’s time,” he said and she knew that the appearance of these new Slayers had changed everything for him.

  “Portents are my department,” Sara teased. She closed her hand over his when he didn’t smile. “You should have told me.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I didn’t want you to worry before the baby was born. I’ve been making preparations for my trip, though.” He forced a smile and raised his voice. “Maybe since the baby came a bit early, you will be able to come along.”

  Fortunately, Quinn was an artisan blacksmith and traveled often to show his work at art shows. They’d first met at one in Ann Arbor. They’d planned to use his business as a cover story if it was necessary to join the Pyr during the last months of the Dragon’s Tail War. They’d agreed to travel to Sloane’s home in California, following Route 66 from Chicago, and stopping to show Quinn’s work at shows along the way. Sloane knew about their plan, and Sara preferred the idea of being at his farm than in a city like Chicago, where Erik had his lair.

  “Of course, I will,” Sara said in a louder voice, assuming that the nurses would overhear. “It’s like this one knew to come a bit early, so we could attend those shows on the west coast as a family. Next year, Garrett will be too busy in school to go to fall art shows and it will be good for the boys to see more of the country.”

  Quinn smiled with obvious relief. “Route 66, here we come.” He stroked his son’s cheek, then gave Sara an intent look. “With Garrett, Ewan, Thierry and…”

  “Michael,” Sara said. She watched Quinn catch his breath, having anticipated that naming their son after his brother would touch him. She worried for a moment that it was too soon, since Michel had returned as a shadow dragon and Quinn had been compelled to kill him.

  But Quinn nodded once, his approval clear, and Sara was relieved about one thing, at least.

  * * *

  Niall Talbot, the Dreamwalker of the Pyr, was seeking Drake’s mate.

  It didn’t help that Drake was pacing the living room of the apartment Niall shared with Rox, which was located over her tattoo shop in Manhattan. Relaxation was key to dreamwalking, after all. Theo, the leader of the Dragon Legion who seemed to have appointed himself as Drake’s second, was standing guard outside the front door of the shop, on the street below, while another of his warriors guarded the back. Two more, whose names Niall hadn’t caught, were on the roof, watching for trouble. They were still and intense, these Pyr, and Niall was glad to have their protection for his own mate and sons. They breathed dragonsmoke, all of them, weaving it together artfully as they kept a vigilant watch. They were accustomed to working together.

  The twins, Kyle and Nolan, were asleep and Rox had stayed with Drake. Niall knew she intended to keep him from being disturbed, as much
as she could, but Niall found it hard to ignore Drake’s agitation.

  The situation made Niall think of possibilities, dire ones. Rox had been snatched during their firestorm, and Niall had been equally agitated, even during those few moments that her safety had been out of his control. Veronica had been abducted by Slayers two days before. There were dozens of possibilities of what could have happened to her—or been done to her—in that time, not a one of which helped Niall relax.

  That Rox was pregnant again made Niall only more protective than he usually was. That didn’t help him relax either. He had to concentrate.

  Niall compelled himself to close his eyes and tried to enter the necessary mental state. He felt the bed beneath him and smelled Rox’s scent on the sheets. He hovered on the cusp of change, knowing it would sharpen his senses even further. He savored the trickle of power in his body, the faint glow of blue light, and let his mind float wider.

  He heard the breathing of his sons, so deep in slumber, and sensed their awareness of each other. He and his twin Phelan had shared that bond once. He listened to Rox, as she offered Drake something to eat or drink, her presence in his lair both familiar and exciting. He heard the low rumble of Drake’s voice, then his query to his fellows in old-speak, followed by Theo’s low response.

  All clear.

  Niall felt the sparkle of the dragonsmoke they breathed, seeing it as frost in his current state and hearing it chime as another circuit was closed around the apartment. He returned to Drake’s presence and inhaled deeply of the other Pyr’s scent. It was faint, more faint than that of modern Pyr and less distinctive. When the remainder of the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors had been in these times, it had been hard to distinguish their scents. Now that only Drake remained of that company, his scent was still more elusive than Niall would have preferred.

  But Drake had been the last to see Veronica.

  Niall released his awareness of the physical realm, for it wouldn’t help him at this task. He had to be intuitive and impulsive. He had to trust his instincts and follow scents and dreams wherever they led. They might take him to real places, or to imagined ones, but mapping the path of the dreamwalk to the real world was impossible. He might recognize locations, but he was more likely to find truths, to provoke change, to spark reactions, any of which might be more readily pursued in the real world than dreams.

  He hoped for clues more than answers, but they were better than nothing at all.

  In search of a dream, Niall followed Drake’s scent, out into the world and far beyond the island of Manhattan. He felt as he did when he was flying, but it was effortless. There was no wind, although the stars shone high overhead. There was only the conduit of scent, glinting like a moonlit river, guiding him over Drake’s recent path.

  The scent crossed the streets of a small town in Virginia, over and over again, detailing Drake’s obsessive search for some sign of his missing mate. Niall felt his anguish and sympathized, compelling himself to focus on the goal rather than wasting time in empathy. Finding Veronica as quickly as possible would be the best solution.

  He concentrated on the location that Drake returned to time and again, the place that ultimately Theo had visited repeatedly. Beneath the scents of the Pyr tracking Veronica, there was a faint whiff of Slayer, a residue that smelled just like Boris Vassily. He’d been dead for years, but Niall remembered his scent. The scent of Boris was incredibly strong, too, as if had been emitted in triplicate. Three Slayers had attacked Veronica’s home who looked just like Boris. That they smelled just like him no matter how deeply Niall explored the scent meant that they were Boris, which made no sense at all. Still the evidence couldn’t be denied.

  Nor could Niall deny that the scent led nowhere. It just stopped cold right at that intersection, about fifty feet above the ground. Niall didn’t like the only possible explanation for that. Veronica had been seized by Slayers with the power to spontaneously manifest elsewhere.

  Slayers who had drunk the Elixir and were identical to Boris, but returned to life. Niall thought of his own battles during his firestorm with the shadow dragons that had been brought back to life with the Elixir—including his dead twin brother—and shuddered inwardly at this development.

  The Pyr had learned how to ensure that these Slayers and shadow dragons stayed dead. Boris’s body had been dismembered, incinerated and exposed to all four elements. He should have stayed dead forever. Niall didn’t understand how Boris could be returned, never mind multiple times, but he knew enough to dread the implications of this change.

  And to fear it. His awareness of the alternate realm slipped, shaken loose by his emotional reaction, and he had to concentrate again, breathing deeply and retracing his path.

  Niall followed Drake’s trail back to Veronica’s home, identifying that trail by the scent of smoke and fire. The townhouse was burned to the ground, as was so often the case with a building exposed to dragonfire, and the burned-out wreckage of a vehicle parked in front of it revealed that her car had also been destroyed by the Slayers.

  Niall fought a sense that they had wanted to take her alive and was revolted by the possibilities that created.

  Drake’s scent came out of the townhouse and Niall smelled the Pyr’s blood on the pavement. Again, he marveled that Drake hadn’t been killed. Was Drake that powerful of a foe, or did the Slayers have a more complicated plan? Boris’s scent erupted from three different points of the wreckage, meaning that the versions of him had departed the building in different ways.

  Their trails led toward the point of abduction, just as Niall anticipated, and one was redolent with the scent of Slayer blood. Niall remembered that Drake had wounded one badly, by ripping off his arm.

  He wished he knew where Slayers had gone.

  Niall floated around the site again, dissatisfied with what he’d learned. Fearing that he had failed and Veronica would be lost, he sought some hint he’d missed. That was when he caught it.

  The tendril of a dream. It was faint, almost faded to nothing, so insubstantial that he’d nearly overlooked it.

  Niall snatched the end of dream and climbed onto it, like a magical carpet that would take him to another realm. He followed the dream, pulling himself along it as if he hauled his mind up a rope of glittering silver. He felt the anxiety of the dreamer, and guessed his identity before the dream unraveled in the upstairs bedroom of a nearby house.

  He had no idea where it was, much less how close or far it was from the townhouse. Two boys slept there, each in one of the twin beds. One was dreamless and at ease. The other frowned as he fretted over the fate of someone else.

  His mother.

  Niall felt a surge of triumph that he’d located Veronica’s son, Timmy. He hovered nearby, waiting and watching, listening to the course of the boy’s subsequent dreams. Timmy dreamed of Drake and recalled his conversation with that Pyr. Niall was aware of the relief Timmy had felt in Drake’s presence, and how his fears had grown once Drake had left him. He might have tried to ease the boy’s fears, more out of kindness than anything else, but suddenly he saw a flicker of the dream of another.

  It was like a tongue of silver flame in the darkness, a dream wrought of worry but a tentative one, as if the dreamer feared to put a loved one in jeopardy.

  Niall made an intuitive leap that it was Veronica, fearing for her son.

  Then he made a Dreamwalker leap and seized the flicking tendril of that dream before it disappeared.

  * * *

  Ronnie had the strangest dream.

  She was sleeping fitfully, worried about Drake and Timmy. She’d concluded that Timmy must still be with Dashiell. The Pattersons were responsible people and good friends. They’d take care of her son, she was sure of it.

  But what was Timmy thinking? Was he afraid? What had he been told? She could easily imagine how shaken he would have been to have come home to find the townhouse burned, the car trashed and her gone. She knew how Mark’s disappearance had given her son nightmares and made
him fear that the world was an uncertain place.

  She didn’t want to make any of that worse.

  Her conviction of Timmy’s bond with Drake wavered then. If Drake was dead, he wouldn’t be able to defend Timmy. Even if Drake wasn’t dead, what would the Pattersons make of a stranger showing up to talk to Timmy? What if her son was tormented by nightmares again?

  It was infuriating to be unable to do anything to protect Timmy or reassure him. Ronnie was sure she’d never sleep, but eventually she did.

  Given her thoughts before she fell asleep, she wasn’t surprised that she was restless.

  She was surprised that she dreamed of a man she’d never seen before. He was a little taller than her but not as tall as Drake. He was muscular, like the boys she’d known in high school who wrestled, and he seemed to be looking directly at her. It was weird to have a dream like this, and Ronnie frowned, wondering whether her captors had given her some kind of drug.

  “I’m a friend of Drake’s,” the man said, his voice low and pleasant.

  Ronnie had heard claims like that before. She rolled over and tried to push him out of her mind without success. She felt as if she’d turned her back on a conversation, but that he was still waiting for her to answer him.

  There was a blue shimmer at the periphery of her thoughts that was becoming increasingly familiar and Ronnie realized he had to be a dragon shifter. If he was Slayer, it would be stupid to ignore whatever he was doing. She granted her attention to him again, only to discover that in his place there was a large amethyst and platinum dragon.

  Now that she’d seen a few dragon shifters, she studied him with care. He watched her with the same serene patience as the blond man, and she could see that he was muscled in a similar way.

  “Cut yourself,” she demanded in her dream and saw his shock. “Pyr bleed red.”

  He bared his dragon teeth in what must have been a smile, then drew the edge of his talon across his own belly. A thin crimson line appeared, then a few drops of red blood seeped from the wound.