Kiss of Fire

by Deborah Cooke

  Again.

  But Sara was fine, if surprised to see him. Quinn was composing a plausible explanation for his sudden appearance when he stepped right into the scent of another Pyr.

  In close proximity to his destined mate.

  Who had already survived an attempt on her life.

  Quinn had no chance to stop his body’s reaction. He had shifted in a heartbeat and he was shocked by his own body’s determination to defend what was his own. Usually it took a few moments for him to shift: apparently the presence of his mate changed the time line.

  He’d have to remember that.

  Sara retreated behind the cash desk to watch him. Her expression was wary and he could almost feel her pulse leaping, but at least she hadn’t fainted in terror.

  He verified that the other Pyr was indeed gone from the shop, not just hiding in a back corner. Then he exhaled, composed his thoughts, and changed back to his human form.

  Sara watched him, her eyes wide.

  “You want to run for the door?” he asked, trying to lighten the moment.

  “You did that last night,” she said, pointing at him. “I did see a dragon and it was you. It really happened and I’m not losing my mind.”

  Quinn nodded and held his ground, letting her set the pace of their discussion.

  She sat down hard, then gestured to the door knocker. “And it called you, by heating up when that guy came into the shop.”

  The air-conditioning unit was blasting out frigid air, but this wasn’t the time to suggest to Sara that she conserve electricity.

  Quinn nodded agreement again. “What guy?”

  Sara took a steadying breath and looked around her shop as if seeking something that made sense. She took a couple of breaths before she answered and Quinn was impressed by her resilience.

  “It was the same guy who was in your booth this morning. The one with the leather jacket.” She gave Quinn a hard glance. “He said he was the leader of the Pyr. He said some prophecy foretells the mating of the Smith and the Seer and that I should read these books—especially this one—before someone kills me. Does that mean anything to you?”

  It was all happening too fast. Quinn folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame. He’d keep his distance for the moment.

  “Leader?” he mused, a bit surprised by this news. Quinn had his doubts about the practicalities of formal organization among shape shifters. “If nothing else, it means that my suspicions were right.”

  Sara braced her hands on the counter and exhaled. “Okay.” She ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside a couple of strands of hair. “Maybe we could start off simple. How did you make the mermaid call you?”

  Quinn winced. “Well, that’s hard to explain.”

  Sara’s smile was impish. “That’s a cheating answer. I thought I was asking the easy question.”

  Quinn smiled back at her in relief. “It’s not simple. In fact, it’s impossible to explain. It’s something I learned to do by following my instincts, and I’m not sure how I’ll teach anyone else to do it.”

  “Why would you have to?”

  “Because it’s my responsibility to pass my skills to another.”

  “Like an apprentice?”

  “Yes,” Quinn agreed, thinking it a bit soon to talk about hereditary powers of the son he and Sara hadn’t conceived yet. She seemed to be waiting for more, so he continued. “You see, the art of the smith has been considered mystical for a long time, maybe because things are transformed in the forge.”

  “Metal is reshaped,” Sara agreed.

  “Sometimes other attributes change as well as shape. Steel becomes stronger. So, maybe it makes sense that people believed there was magic involved in transforming iron into weapons with gleaming blades, and that smiths had mystical powers.”

  Sara flicked a glance at the door knocker.

  Quinn kept talking. It seemed to be his best chance. “The idea is old, and goes back at least to the Greeks. Hephaestus was the smith of the Greek gods. He was supposed to have been lame, but he must have had either charm or magic on his side.”

  “How so?”

  “He was married to Aphrodite.”

  Sara blushed. “The goddess of love. Even I remember that.”

  “The goddess of love and beauty.” Quinn paused. “I’ve heard that magical power was given to smiths by the goddess, in return for faithful worship of the eternal feminine, and that Amazons deliberately lamed smiths because they were so useful. There’s an old link between smiths and strong women.”

  Sara’s cheeks were red, but she held his gaze. “If you believe that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t you?” Quinn glanced pointedly around him. She had to believe in the mystical to run a shop like this.

  But Sara laughed lightly. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. I’m Sara Keegan, ace accountant, and The Scrying Glass, well, it’s come along a bit early to be my midlife crisis, but maybe it still counts.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sara’s tone became more definite. “I believe in math. I believe in charts and ledgers and books that balance and spreadsheets that tally. I believe in the right answer at the right time.”

  Quinn had a heartbeat to realize that his mate was the least likely person on the planet to believe in what he was before Sara spared a glance to the store. “My aunt Magda, though, believed in everything else.”

  Quinn was relieved by this. Psychic abilities ran in families, particularly in the female line. Maybe Sara didn’t know what she could do.

  “When Aunt Magda died and left me everything, I had the crazy thought that I could ditch my frequent flier cards and have a quiet life instead. It was just a whim, but it sounded too good to ignore.” She shrugged. “I decided to make a change and here I am.”

  “So what makes you a great accountant?”

  Sara laughed. Her eyes sparkled and he knew she had loved her job. “I was on the deal team for an information technology company. We did outsourcing deals and I was Ms. Math. There were seven of us and we convened in various locations every week to work out proposals. It was my job to make the numbers work, so that we made money and the client got the pricing they needed to save money. It was fascinating and challenging and some of the best work I’ve ever done.” She spun a pencil. “We were the rainmakers, the dream team who brought home the deals to support the company’s growth. It was good work and it paid really well.”

  “But you gave it up.”

  Sara frowned. “We traveled all the time. Out Sunday, home late Friday night. I can tell you the layout and the shortcuts between gates in every major airport hub in the continental U.S. I had a wad of frequent flier cards and hotel favored-guest cards, but no time to take vacation and use any of them.” She spared him a glance. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

  Quinn smiled. “Because I’m a good listener?” He arched a brow. “Because it was tangible and real?” She sobered at that. Quinn shrugged. “Or maybe because you already know something pretty personal about me.”

  “I didn’t imagine it, did I?”

  “Do accountants hallucinate?”

  She laughed and shook her head, then tapped her pencil on the counter. She was self-conscious now, but Quinn wanted to know more.

  “Why did you give it up?”

  Sara sighed. “My mother had always wanted to go to Machu Picchu but they never had the money. When my father retired from the service this year, I gave them the trip with my points. I was supposed to go with them, but at the last minute, a new deal opportunity came up and I went to Des Moines with the deal team instead.” She swallowed, her brows tightening as she watched the pencil spin.

  “What happened?”

  “They were killed on that trip.” Sara blinked back tears and straightened. “That made everything seem so pointless, the money and the fancy restaurants and the high-power toys. Then Magda died and my coworker Brian had his marriage go south and my boyfriend b
ailed and you know, I’d just had it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You think so? Most of my friends thought I was crazy.” She looked at him, her gaze clear. He admired her strength, not only in making a major change in her life but recovering from such a loss.

  “Sometimes it takes a lot to challenge our idea of how our lives should be.”

  She poked at a shoe box on the counter. “To finally audit the books, you mean?”

  “Something like that.” Quinn smiled. “No other family?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then we have something else in common, besides preferring a simple life,” he said lightly. “We’re both alone.”

  Sara looked up and her gaze locked with his. It was warm in the shop and got warmer as Quinn stared back at her. The sounds of activity in the arcade sounded distant and irrelevant.

  The woman before him was the focus of his attention. As their gazes held, Quinn felt their breathing match rhythms. He was aware of the beat of her heart, thanks to his keen senses, and he heard his own pulse synchronize with hers.

  The firestorm was as magical and potent as he’d believed.

  Quinn could smell the heat on Sara’s skin, the mingling of her perfume and her own scent, and it fed the heat simmering in his own veins. She licked her lips and inhaled slowly, a move that made her breasts rise and Quinn’s desire burn.

  She was his mate, his destiny, his prize.

  His princess.

  The weight of Sara’s ponytail fell over her shoulder, making him want to push it back from her neck. Her hair was brushed to a smooth gleam of burnished gold, no less attractive than it had been all disheveled the night before. Her skin was tanned to honey and looked so soft and precious that he wanted to brush his fingertips across her.

  Right under her ear. He’d kiss her there and find out if she was as delicate as she looked.

  Or maybe as strong as she appeared. He wanted to unknot that scarf and caress her neck, smoothing away the bruise there.

  And then, he’d kiss the rest of her.

  Slowly.

  Thoroughly.

  Sara caught her breath and looked down at the books on the counter, her cheeks still flushed. Quinn wondered whether she had heard his thoughts or simply sensed them. “Do you know this prophecy about smiths and seers?”

  “Nobody says it’s true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That I’m skeptical about some things, too.”

  She looked up in surprise and Quinn shrugged. “I believe in the fire and the forge. I believe in what I see and what I feel. I believe in the firestorm; I believe in duty and loyalty. Prophecies are another thing altogether.”

  Sara seemed to find this persuasive. “Sounds like we have even more things in common,” she said quietly, then tore her gaze away. “So, what’s the prophecy?”

  “The union of one Smith and one Seer is supposed to herald a big change for the Pyr,” Quinn corrected softly. “If you believe that sort of thing.”

  “The Pyr being…?”

  “What I am.” He didn’t blink when she glanced at him. Quinn decided to say it aloud. “Dragon shape shifters.”

  Sara thought about this, which was better than her running, screaming, or tossing him out. “Pyr as in pyromaniac?”

  Quinn smiled in his surprise. “Not the good guys, anyway. Pyr is the Greek word for fire or heat. We control the elements, including fire, hence the name. As in pyrotechnics.”

  “Pyrex,” Sara said thoughtfully. “Because the glass is resistant to heat.”

  “Pyre, because it burns.”

  Her eyes sparkled suddenly and Quinn was intrigued by the unexpected glimpse of humor. The green in her hazel eyes was more predominant when she laughed. “Pyramid power?” she asked, her tone playful.

  Quinn laughed. “Different section of your bookstore.” He shook a finger at her when her smile broadened. “And no Pyrrhic victories, please.”

  “Oh, anything but that,” she agreed with mock horror.

  Quinn glanced around the store. “You know, the answer to every question you have about me is probably in here.”

  “I haven’t read all the stock yet.” Sara’s lips twisted. “And I don’t believe a lot of what I have read. My aunt Magda, who started this shop, she was psychic. Also a bit of a flake, but a loveable one.”

  Sara sighed and smiled, running her fingertips across the counter. She frowned slightly, and Quinn was touched that she couldn’t hide her affection for her aunt so easily. They must have been close. Quinn remained silent, knowing how such a loss could hurt.

  “I don’t know anything about this stuff,” Sara said after a moment. “And what I read, well, let’s say that I’m skeptical. And what you just did, well—” She met his gaze, a wary twinkle in her own. “I’m long past thinking that there are perfect men out there, but what you can do is really odd.”

  She hadn’t seen anything yet.

  But she was open to him.

  Quinn walked toward Sara and felt the heat increase between them. Her eyes widened slightly and he knew she felt the firestorm, too.

  There was a trickle of perspiration on her neck and several tendrils of hair clung damply to her skin. Her lips parted when there was only the counter between them, and she looked both soft and welcoming. In this light, he could see that the hazel of her eyes was composed of a thousand shades of green and gold and brown, and that the gold was becoming dominant. He could also see the faint freckles on her nose and scattered across her chest. He wanted her, and knew he would have wanted her even without destiny on his side.

  She was his destined mate.

  They would be stronger together than apart, transformed by the firestorm the way that the forge transformed iron into steel.

  But first he had to win her trust.

  And with Sara, Quinn guessed that the truth would be the key.

  “This is the firestorm.” Quinn held up his hand, his palm toward her, his fingers splayed. She raised her own hand, understanding his expectation so intuitively that he knew she was wrong about her psychic abilities. She slowly touched her hand to his, matching her fingertips to his own, and he liked that she wasn’t fearful. She was a warrior princess, exactly the kind of mate he would have chosen for himself.

  Destiny had gotten it in one.

  Their hands were an inch apart when sparks flew. He saw Sara gasp when the fire leapt back and forth between their hands; then he caught her hand within his own.

  He locked their fingers together as his blood simmered from the contact. When he felt her trembling, he put her hand upon his chest, trapping her hand against the thunder of his heart. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, but she didn’t pull away.

  “You can’t evade the firestorm, Sara,” he said with quiet force. “And neither can I.”

  Sara felt as if the world had stopped.

  And then erupted into flames. She stared into the endless blue of Quinn’s eyes, feeling his heartbeat beneath her hand. She was hot, hotter than she could ever remember being, but it felt exactly right.

  The warmth between them made her want to curl up against Quinn, step into his arms, draw close to his fire. It made her want to go with him. Anywhere. Everywhere. Maybe it was what made her intuitively trust him, the way she didn’t usually trust people she’d just met. It made her want to learn everything he knew. There was a shimmer under her skin and a sizzle in her veins.

  Logically, she was sure it had to be plain old lust she was feeling, and that would be trouble enough. But she had a sense that Quinn was another order of magnitude of trouble.

  Sara was thinking she was past due for this kind of trouble. Magda had told her a thousand times that she worked too hard to enjoy life’s pleasures. Her mother’s last words to Sara had been that Sara had to stop working and start living.

  Maybe it was time Sara balanced her deficit.

  With Quinn. The air-conditioning unit whirred with sudden vigor.

  Th
e breath of glacial air seemed to clarify Sara’s thoughts. Quinn was a dragon shape shifter who made sparks dance between their hands.

  Maybe she should start off a little slower. Keep it simple.

  Date a normal man, for example. She pulled her hand from Quinn’s grip and took a step back.

  There was a mighty rattle from overhead, a wheeze from something mechanical, and then the air conditioner died. The shop seemed suddenly very silent as the pair of them looked up.

  “What was that?” Quinn asked.

  Sara glared at the ceiling. “That stupid air-conditioning unit has broken again.” She shook a finger at him. “Now, this is irrational. I’ll call Malone’s, and as soon as the repairman crosses that threshold, I guarantee that thing will start up again. It’ll purr as contentedly as a kitten the whole time he’s here and he won’t be able to find anything wrong with it. That’s happened four times already this week.”

  “Maybe there isn’t anything wrong with it.”

  “Did that sound to you as if there was nothing wrong with it?”

  Quinn leaned against the counter. “Maybe it didn’t like you pulling away from me.”

  Sara laughed even though Quinn was serious. “Right. Next you’ll be telling me that Magda is haunting the place.”

  “Does she?”

  “Of course not! There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  He smiled ever so slightly, as if she was the whimsical one. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Sara said firmly.

  “Then how do you explain your air conditioner?”

  “Maybe I just need a better repairman. There has to be a broken part or some rational reason why it breaks down.”

  Quinn looked up, apparently thoughtful. Sara took advantage of the moment to study him. Maybe it said something about her lack of a social life that she thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, even knowing what she knew.

  Or maybe that said more about just how sexy Quinn was.

  He looked at her so suddenly that he caught her staring, and Sara flushed. “You have to know that seers inherit their gift,” he said. The air conditioner sputtered to life, prompting him to smile the slow smile that melted Sara’s bones.