Kiss of Fire

by Deborah Cooke

  She couldn’t stop thinking about that boy.

  A woman screamed then, a scream of agony that set Sara’s teeth on edge. She swung her legs out of the bed, meaning to help.

  “It is forbidden—,” the woman began to shout, her sentence ending in a shriek of pain. “Great Wyvern, help me,” she whispered, her voice trembling in terror.

  Then she screamed again.

  It was the Wyvern, but this time Sara felt a knife cutting her own flesh. She arched in agony as pain sliced through the tendon at the back of her arm. She struggled but some dark force held her down and the knife bit deeper.

  She was in a secluded place with no one to aid her. It was dark and damp and dungeonlike. Despair filled her heart. Blood was running from her shoulder; she could feel it spread onto the dirt floor. Her breath came in wrenching sobs as the pain spread down her arm.

  Sara forced her eyes open and her breath caught. Her pulse was beating as if she’d run a race. Her shoulder throbbed.

  She compelled herself to notice that she was in her own bedroom. Safe. She reached around to finger the wound and found her skin perfectly normal.

  There was no cut.

  There should be no pain.

  The voice and the experience of the Wyvern was in her thoughts, not in her vicinity. Sara exhaled in relief, though she still trembled slightly.

  The vision had been so real.

  She got out of bed and went to the window. The curtain ruffled and the street was quiet below. A few birds chirped in the trees and the neighbor’s cat stalked across the lawn. Everything was tranquil, even though Sara’s hair was practically standing on end.

  And there was a black pickup truck parked on the street in front of the house. Sara exhaled in relief as she recognized it.

  The truck had a silver trailer and a dark-haired man in a T-shirt and shorts leaned against the passenger door. He wore a straw fedora that shaded his eyes but didn’t disguise his identity one bit and had thrown a vivid Hawaiian shirt over his T-shirt. He held a cup of take-out coffee in one hand and sipped it as he watched the house. There was a second cup of coffee on the hood of the truck.

  Sara smiled and her knees weakened slightly in relief. Quinn looked about as likely to move as the Rock of Gibraltar.

  There was something sexy about a man who did what he thought was right, and who did what he said he was going to do. She took another long look. Quinn’s arms were folded across his chest and he crossed his legs at the ankle. His legs were muscular and tanned; his shoulders stretched the T-shirt fabric taut.

  There was a lot more that was sexy about Quinn Tyrrell than his sense of purpose. He lifted his gaze to the window she stood at; she was sure she could see the blue glint of his eyes, the intent in his expression. She watched him for a long moment, more reassured by his presence than she might have expected, then headed for the shower.

  She felt lighter. Happier. More in charge of her universe.

  Just because Quinn had brought her a coffee.

  Had she dreamed of Quinn’s past?

  If so, when had that fire occurred?

  What had happened to him after that? If it had been his memory, he had only been a little boy when everyone he knew had been killed. Sara’s heart clenched in compassion. She was thirty years older than he had been, and she had been devastated by the loss of her parents, followed so quickly by Magda’s death. How could a young boy have managed to survive?

  He certainly would get used to taking care of himself.

  Sara showered quickly, trying to scrub away the emotional wreckage of the nightmare with cold water and soap. She noticed the coin on her nightstand as she was dressing and, on instinct, she put it in her purse.

  Quinn didn’t move as she came down the steps, but smiled slowly when she waved at him. She stopped to pick up the newspaper on the walk, well aware of how intently he observed her every move.

  Funny how she’d never felt sexy going to work in the morning before. She thought about what they’d done—what they hadn’t yet done—and tingled right to her toes. Quinn smiled his languid smile and Sara knew that she could get used to having this man in her life.

  In one way, she felt like they were from different worlds. In another way, she was the one who was hearing the Wyvern in distress. Maybe saving the Wyvern was something they could do together. Maybe it was a way that she and Quinn could merge their worlds.

  Sara bit her lip as she remembered something. There was no denying that the dragon she had seen through his eyes, the one flying overhead as the church burned, had looked a lot like Erik.

  Maybe Quinn’s distrust of his fellows was deserved.

  “Good morning,” Sara said when she was crossing the street. She wore a crisp linen dress; this one was a tailored shirtdress in shades of turquoise. It made her tan look more golden and its clean lines suited her. She had her hair knotted up again and Quinn wished he’d met her when the weather was cooler, so he could see it spread over her shoulders.

  Like spun gold.

  “I thought you might like a coffee,” he said, trying to read her expression. He wasn’t sure whether she was glad to see him or not. It was entirely possible that he could cross the line from protective to stalker and Quinn was well aware of that danger. He handed Sara the coffee, and their fingers brushed in the transaction.

  Sara smiled at the brief glimmer of light between their fingertips. She met his gaze, humor dancing in her own eyes, as she took a grateful sip. She closed her eyes, savoring the coffee as he’d expected she would, then smiled at him. “Just coffee? Not a ride to work?”

  “That too, if you’d like.” He opened the passenger door of the truck for her, holding her coffee while she climbed into the cab. When she reached to take it from him, he spoke quietly. “I don’t want to spook you, Sara.”

  “But they’re out there. I know.” She held up her arm, which had a rosy glow like sunburn, and Quinn didn’t need the reminder of his failure to protect her. “I’m glad to see you. Don’t imagine otherwise.”

  “Fair enough.” Quinn handed her the coffee, then shut her door. When he got into the driver’s seat, Sara cleared her throat.

  He suspected she wouldn’t say anything he’d like and he was right.

  “I heard the Wyvern again this morning.”

  Quinn stopped in the act of turning the key in the ignition. He didn’t like these visions that Sara was having of the Wyvern, because he knew her well enough already to sense where this was going. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. They’re hurting her.” Sara shook her head and Quinn sensed her agitation. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m the one who has to hear her….”

  Quinn pulled away from the curb. “Maybe you’re psychic.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  “It’s fine for other people. I’m not psychic and I’m not going to make decisions based on voices from nowhere.” Quinn didn’t want to argue with her but he had a feeling it was going to happen, anyway.

  “I can’t just listen and not do anything. We have to save her.”

  At least she had said we. Quinn shook his head all the same. “I don’t think so.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He kept his voice calm, hiding his impatience with the very idea. “Well, do you have any idea where she is?”

  “No.”

  “There aren’t any clues in what you hear?”

  “No. I just hear her calling for help.” Sara shrugged, then shuddered. “And begging someone to stop hurting her. It’s awful. I can’t listen to this forever.”

  “I’m sure it is. But that doesn’t mean that we can save her.”

  Sara turned to face him and Quinn didn’t have to look to feel her disapproval of what he’d said. “Don’t you think it’s important to try?”

  “How are you going to try?” His fear for her safety flared into impatience. “You don’t know where she is. You don’t know who is holding her captive. You s
aid yourself that you’ve never had visions before.”

  “Don’t tell me that these dreams are just my imagination.”

  Quinn tried to quell his irritation and was pretty sure he failed. “Where would you go? What would you do? How would you start?”

  Sara folded her arms across her chest. “Every problem has a solution. We just have to work it out.” She fired a glance across the cab. “We just have to work together.”

  Quinn gritted his teeth. “So, let’s walk through it. Who would be holding the Wyvern captive?”

  “It must be Slayers.”

  “Exactly. And those would be the same Slayers who are determined to kill you.” He looked at her, knowing he hadn’t changed her mind. “I’m thinking that your going to them to try to free the Wyvern isn’t a really great plan.”

  “Well, I can’t just ignore her call for help.”

  “Then you tell someone else what you know and you let them solve it, if it’s important enough to them. You take care of yourself first.”

  “I’m telling you. Why doesn’t it seem as though you’re going to do something about it?”

  “I’m taking care of you first. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll tell someone else about your visions.”

  “But you won’t agree to try to save the Wyvern ourselves.”

  Quinn ground the gears in his frustration. “Sara, the most important thing to me right now is this firestorm. The only person I want to see safe is you. Understood?”

  “But what about your responsibility to your kind?”

  “My kind has not really done a great deal for me over the course of my life. I think they do all right without me.”

  “You don’t trust Erik because you saw him when your parents were killed. You think he killed them, too.”

  Quinn stalled the truck and didn’t care. He turned to stare at Sara, and saw conviction in her gaze. “How do you know that?”

  “I dreamed last night about a four-year-old boy,” she said so firmly that he couldn’t doubt her. “He was hiding in a mill when an invading army came. They killed the miller and raped his wife before they killed her, then they burned the villagers in the church. The boy had four older brothers and I think he was the only one who survived.”

  Quinn swore. There was no way she could have known about his past. There was no record of his parents or their death or his brothers. He’d looked it up a thousand times and always found the assertion that everyone had been killed. He looked at Sara again. “That’s impossible.”

  “Apparently not.” Sara smiled slightly. “Maybe you’re the one with ten impossible things to believe before breakfast today.”

  He started the truck roughly. “That’s not funny, Sara.”

  “You were the one who told me I was the Seer.”

  “I told you about some prophecy. I didn’t say I believed it.”

  “Maybe you should. Maybe we should.”

  Quinn was not persuaded. “It’s impossible for you to have dreamed of what I’ve experienced. That’s in the past. It’s a memory. It’s over.”

  “It’s not over if you still feel passionate about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Quinn roared. “What matters is that you’re my destined mate and it’s my responsibility to protect you.”

  “Which you’ll do, regardless of the cost to yourself.”

  “Pretty much.” He glared at her but she didn’t appear to be frightened.

  They drove in silence until Sara sighed. “It’s kind of weird, this effect you have on me.”

  Quinn had to agree with that. “Maybe it’s Magda doing it to you, not me.”

  “Sure, blame somebody else,” Sara said, but there was humor in her tone. Quinn glanced up to find that her eyes were green again, dancing with laughter. He loved how she used humor to deal with challenges and found himself smiling in response.

  She arched a brow. “So what exactly would be my responsibility, as your destined mate?”

  “To bear my child, of course. You heard that yesterday.”

  “Why am I thinking that delivering a dragon baby would hurt even more than delivering the usual kind?”

  Quinn frowned. “The Pyr don’t come into their abilities until puberty. Our young are indistinguishable from human young until then.”

  “Why do you want a child, Quinn?”

  He chose to tell her half of the truth. “Because it’s my responsibility to the Pyr to ensure that my legacy continues. Erik’s right: we all have a duty to breed, and the firestorm means that my time has come.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He flicked a glance her way. “If my mate doesn’t insist on entering the lairs of Slayers.”

  Sara’s lips set. “Saving the Wyvern doesn’t necessarily mean that I have to go into the lairs of Slayers.”

  “Someone is going to have to physically retrieve the Wyvern.” Quinn turned down State Street. “The Slayers aren’t going to hand her over just because you ask.”

  “Saving the Wyvern doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll be in danger.”

  “Sara, you’re already in danger.” Quinn knew he was fighting a losing battle but he couldn’t let it go. The idea of Sara going voluntarily to the Slayers who were determined to destroy her made his guts clench. What if she were the one being tortured? “I shouldn’t have to tell you that. I don’t think we should go looking for more trouble.”

  “Well, I don’t think we have a choice. I can’t listen to her screams every day for the rest of my life.”

  “Nothing says it will last that long,” Quinn argued, irritated with the entire discussion.

  “No, that’s true. They might kill her.”

  He looked at Sara and saw the challenge in her gaze. She thought less of him, he could see that, but he couldn’t see a way to save the Wyvern without putting Sara herself at risk.

  And ensuring her safety was his primary concern.

  He would protect her above all else.

  “Every problem has a solution,” Sara said flatly. “My father used to tell me that. He even had a system.”

  Quinn kept a grim silence. Sara could scheme and plan all she wanted—he couldn’t stop her from doing that—but he would not allow her to go into a Slayer’s den, not for any price.

  All he had to figure out was how to persuade her that he was right.

  Even if that was looking like a long shot.

  “I need to know more about what the Wyvern does,” Sara said, looking at Quinn expectantly.

  He was not going to encourage this. “I don’t know.”

  “You just don’t want to tell me.”

  Quinn hated that he was that transparent. “I’m not really sure. She’s supposed to provide prophecies and advice, but it never makes a lot of sense.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “I remember only one.”

  Sara smiled. “Let me guess which one it is.”

  Quinn pulled into his assigned parking spot, backing the truck and trailer into the space beside his booth with practiced ease. He then turned to face Sara, and recited the old verse again.

  When the Dragon’s Tail demands its price,

  And the moon is devoured once, not twice,

  Seer and Smith will again unite.

  Water and air, with fire and earth

  This sacred union will give birth

  To the Pyr’s sole chance to save the Earth.

  “What does all of that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not sure it matters, either.”

  Sara frowned. “Maybe it means that the Wyvern is your destined mate.”

  Quinn chuckled. “No.”

  “Why is that funny?”

  “It takes a Pyr and a human to make more Pyr. I’m Pyr; she’s Pyr: there’s no mating potential there.” He stretched one finger toward Sara, because there was one truth neither of them could avoid. She raised a finger herself and the spark lit between their fingertips.


  “Sparks fly,” she teased. “Signs don’t get much clearer than that.”

  “The firestorm is the only sign that matters,” Quinn murmured, feeling its increasingly familiar heat. The air in the cab seemed to crackle with electricity and he found himself noticing the ripe curve of Sara’s lips.

  But Sara frowned and pulled her hand away from his. She snatched her coffee from the cup holder and took a quick drink. “I think there’s more to this than you’d like to believe. I need to know more about the Wyvern. Can you send Erik to me, and let him pass through your smoke into the bookstore?”

  Quinn sat back, dissatisfied that she was so insistent about this. “I could.”

  “But you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “He saved me yesterday,” Sara continued.

  “Sort of. You’re forgetting the bit about him tossing you out of the tower.”

  “I think you’re too suspicious of him.” Sara couldn’t stop herself from challenging Quinn. “Is it because you saw him kill Ambrose, or because you saw him when your parents died?”

  Quinn wasn’t going to tell her that the third time was the charm. It was too close for comfort. “Does it matter?”

  “I think it does. Erik said last night he killed Ambrose to protect you.”

  “There’s no one to verify that,” Quinn said grimly.

  “But what if he did?” Sara demanded. “What if he’s been looking out for you? They said Ambrose was a Slayer—what if Erik was protecting you?”

  “Now, you’re making stuff up.” Quinn got out of the truck with impatience, but when he got to Sara’s door, he saw that she wasn’t ready to let it go.

  “If Erik had wanted to kill me, he could have done it yesterday morning in my shop,” she said when Quinn opened her door. “There was no one to stop him. Instead he gave me books to read. Does that sound like something a Slayer would do?”

  “Just because he’s sneaky doesn’t mean I should trust him,” Quinn insisted, even as he realized she was right.