Kiss of Fire

by Deborah Cooke

  “You said yourself that you can’t always understand your own prophecies. We’re here and you’re coming with us.”

  “I have not the strength.”

  “You can do something to save yourself.”

  Sophie looked up at Sara and smiled. “Perhaps what I already did was enough to save the world.”

  Sara exhaled with impatience. “The world isn’t going to be saved if Quinn dies trying to get me out of this cabin. Losing the Smith would be pointless and stupid. The Pyr need him, just like they need you.”

  Sophie frowned slightly and moved her shackles. The blast of dragonfire sounded overhead, along with the grunts of battle. Something landed so heavily on the roof that Sara thought it might come right through. The roof bent beneath the weight and she would see daylight around its perimeter.

  “I couldn’t be so lucky as to see him dead,” Sophie muttered with that determination Sara had glimpsed before. She glanced upward as the roof groaned and the weight was removed.

  “We have to get out of here, now,” Sara insisted.

  Sophie opened one bright eye. “How?”

  It was as if she were asking a riddle. Or testing Sara. Sara knew then that her answer was important. She heard a familiar laugh from outside the cabin, then the whisper that she knew would haunt her nightmares.

  “Said your prayers, Sara?” The words came hissing through the cracks of the wood, the sound of that voice making Sara shiver.

  It was Ambrose and she knew what he was going to do a heartbeat before he did it. She heard the flames kindling and felt the heat. Then dragonfire licked the wood of the cabin, flicking between the logs like hungry orange tongues. Ambrose was moving around the perimeter of the cabin, setting the back alight to drive Sara to the door.

  She didn’t need Magda’s cards to know that there was a special surprise waiting for her there. This Slayer had a system for killing those important to Quinn, and Sara could see the pattern.

  She had to break it somehow.

  She felt Sophie’s expectant gaze on her and knew then what she was supposed to remember. “You can change to other shapes,” she said, excitement making her whisper rise. “Become small, so you can slip out of the shackles. I’ll do the rest.”

  Sophie smiled; then she closed her eyes. Sara thought for a minute that the Wyvern might not have the strength to shift, but then the edges of her body began to shimmer. While Quinn seemed to take on a golden glimmer, Sophie had a pearlescent glow that was even harder to look at directly.

  Sara blinked, and when she looked again, a silver salamander with bright clear eyes looked back at her from the midst of the empty shackles. Fortunately Sara had never been afraid of crawly things. She bent down and lifted the salamander, then tucked the creature that was the Wyvern into the pocket of her shorts.

  “You could have done that before and saved everyone a lot of trouble,” Sara felt the need to say.

  She heard the Wyvern chuckle from inside her pocket. “And what would have happened to the union of the Smith and the Seer, had you not had a mission to accomplish together?”

  Sara had to admit that there was truth in that, although it still astounded her. “But you could have been killed.”

  “True, but sometimes, Sara, only self-sacrifice will serve the greater good.”

  Sara was awed that her union with Quinn was considered to be so critical. “Well, it’s not going to help anyone if Quinn or I don’t survive this.”

  She heard Sophie’s knowing chuckle, but didn’t have time to think about what it might mean. The wooden walls were all burning, encasing them in a box of flame. Sara remembered how Elizabeth had died, how Quinn’s mother had died, and knew she wasn’t going to be the next one on that ill-fated list.

  She caught a glimpse of Ambrose through the burned doorway, gave him time to gloat over her lack of choices, then decided to scream.

  Chapter 15

  The green dragon had divided Erik and Quinn, providing relief to Everett. Quinn had thought they still had a chance when he saw the ruby red dragon silently crest the canopy of trees, right near the cabin, Ambrose fast behind him.

  “Boris,” Erik breathed in recognition. He ascended to meet the leader of the Slayers, his claws ready for battle. The green Slayer moved to follow Erik, but Quinn saw he wouldn’t get far.

  There were four Pyr streaking across the sky toward them, and not a moment too soon.

  Quinn confronted Everett, who was so busy laughing at Quinn that he was oblivious to the arriving Pyr. “Four to two, Smith. Want to change to the winning side?”

  “I’m on the winning side,” Quinn said. He moved as if he’d lock claws with the Slayer, but struck him hard against the head instead. At the same time, he grasped one of Everett’s back claws, then hit him again so that he turned. One more strike and Everett was spinning from Quinn’s claw. Quinn flung him at the cabin’s metal roof, using the Slayer’s weight against him.

  Everett hit the metal with a loud bang, shook his head, and took flight again. The roof had bent from the impact and the smoke inside began to filter through the gap at the eaves.

  The malachite Slayer jumped Quinn from behind, but Quinn had been ready for him. He spun and exhaled dragonfire at the smaller dragon, who yelped and flew toward his leader. The other Pyr swooped down on the battle then. Erik flung off Boris’s grip, the two snarling at each other as they returned to their respective team mates. The five hovered together, considering their foes.

  “Five to four, Everett,” Quinn taunted. “But we don’t want you to change sides.”

  Everett looked down at the cabin and smiled coldly. “Maybe I’ll just wait for supper to be sautéed to perfection.”

  The walls of the cabin blazed with fire. Quinn knew that Sara was trapped inside. He lunged toward the ground, glancing to either side before he did so. Rafferty was slightly behind him and to his right, Donovan slightly behind and to his left.

  The Slayers obviously understood the Pyr intentions, because they sprang into action, as well. Boris and Everett intercepted the Pyr before they could reach the cabin door. Quinn could hear Ambrose laughing as Everett moved to block their path and Boris retreated.

  “Leaving the others to do the dirty work, as usual,” Rafferty muttered. “No wonder Boris has lived so long.” Boris snarled but didn’t hover out of reach. Quinn heard Erik battling behind them.

  “Oh, look out,” Donovan said in old-speak. “It’s Fat Everett. Or should I say Dumb Everett? I never could decide which was your defining trait.”

  Everett snarled, a puff of smoke rising from his nostril as his gaze flicked between the three of them. “I can take all of you. That’s my defining trait.”

  “Might doesn’t always make right, kiddo,” Donovan taunted. “Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  “Don’t make him angry,” Rafferty advised and Quinn knew that the Pyr were working together.

  Donovan laughed. “Why not? What’s he going to do? Breathe fire?” He laughed harder. “We all know that Everett failed Fire 101.”

  “I did not!” Everett roared. He belched an enormous stream of dragonfire. Quinn leapt forward to take the brunt of it. While Everett concentrated on showing off his prowess, the other two Pyr circled behind him.

  Then they breathed fire on his back.

  Everett screamed and his fire stopped. He pivoted to face Donovan and Rafferty, and Quinn seized the moment. He locked his claws around Everett’s neck, heard the Slayer’s gasp of surprise, then used the extra strength from the dragonfire to squeeze the breath out of Everett.

  When Everett began to lose consciousness and sag against him, Rafferty and Donovan seized the Slayer’s legs.

  “You’re heavier than ever,” Rafferty told the stunned Slayer.

  “Maybe you should lay off consuming entire villages for a while,” Donovan advised. “Cut back on the size of the herds you devour in one go, you know?”

  “Just until you’re fighting trim again,” Rafferty added, as
if to console him.

  The breath left Everett in a long slow hiss as Quinn squeezed. Everett’s eyes closed and he went limp. Quinn hit him on the side of the head with his tail, just to be sure. Then Rafferty and Donovan lifted the Slayer high, swinging his weight between them.

  “One,” they shouted in unison. “Two!” Quinn added his voice as they swung Everett’s considerable bulk even higher. “Three!” And they flung the Slayer through the sky, over the forest to the far fields. The ground shuddered when he fell and a boom echoed through the air.

  “Some farmer is going to be really confused tomorrow morning,” Donovan mused, then winked at Quinn.

  Quinn had more immediate concerns. It had been a long time since Sara had gone into the cabin, to his thinking. What could be taking so long? Had she been overwhelmed by the flames?

  Sloane looked at the ground and frowned. “There’s new smoke gathering. Someone’s breathing more.”

  Rafferty narrowed his eyes as if listening. “The one who sleeps not far from here. He’s awake enough to breathe smoke.”

  “It must be Xavier,” Sloane said.

  “But he was fried with dragonfire the other night,” Niall protested.

  “Then they’ve learned some new healing secrets,” Sloane said darkly, then nodded to Niall. “Come on!”

  The pair flew off together, leaving the four Pyr to face the three remaining Slayers. Erik was locked in combat with the malachite green Slayer and Boris eyed the three Pyr with amusement. He was murmuring something, chanting an old song that prompted a reverberation in Quinn’s bones.

  “Why doesn’t he get to it?” Donovan muttered, eager as always to fight.

  Rafferty followed Boris’s gaze and looked west. “He’s conjuring a storm instead.” He was right: thunderclouds were gathering on the horizon with astonishing speed. They were dark and ominous and moving quickly toward the dragon battle. They weren’t just coming from the west, but from all sides, looking as if they’d converge over the dragon battle.

  “Anyone who falls won’t fight again,” Quinn said and the other two Pyr agreed grimly. It was a fight to the death, then.

  That was the moment Quinn realized that he’d lost track of Ambrose.

  “Sara!” he whispered, knowing that she must be inside the cabin. He would have descended, but Donovan snagged his tail.

  “The cabin’s full of smoke,” Donovan said, sparing Quinn a glare. “Don’t even think about going in there, Quinn.”

  “We need you,” Rafferty asserted.

  “I need Sara.”

  Rafferty nodded and considered the dent Everett’s body had made in the steel roof. “Did you two have your Wheaties this morning?”

  “What does that mean?” Donovan demanded.

  “It means I have an idea. Let’s move, while Boris is busy.” Rafferty dove toward the cabin, Quinn and Donovan right beside him.

  Erik pummeled the green Slayer that was keeping him from engaging Boris. It was typical of Boris to let his minions do the dirty work, but Erik sensed that they were playing a game with him.

  He didn’t much care. They had to get the Seer and the Wyvern out of this cabin soon.

  He struck the smaller Slayer hard and the green dragon lost his flying rhythm. He hovered just out of range of Erik’s fire and smiled.

  There was something familiar about him.

  “What’s your name?” Erik demanded.

  “Is that just a formality before you kill me?” the Slayer asked, evidently having no fear of dying soon. “How quaint to insist on introductions.”

  Erik scanned the sky around himself quickly but there were no other Slayers in range.

  Why was this one so confident? He was smaller, he was younger, he was bleeding. He would die. There was no doubt about it.

  Except that Erik couldn’t foresee the Slayer’s death, the way he foresaw most things moments before they happened. What was he missing?

  “I’m a little offended that you don’t recognize me,” the Slayer said. “Because I recognize you, Erik Sorensson.” He paused for a moment, just long enough to let Erik see the clear blue of his eyes. “Father.”

  “Sigmund,” Erik breathed, shocked to his core to find his only son alive. But then he’d learned a bit in recent days about ensuring that dragons stayed dead.

  “Sigmund Guthrie, now,” the younger dragon sneered. “I shed your name when I shed your alliances.”

  “Sigmund Guthrie was human.”

  “No. Sigmund Guthrie has always been me.”

  Erik stared at his son in shock. “You wrote that book, the one that makes us vulnerable.”

  “How better to exterminate the Pyr? Once the Pyr are gone, it will be easy to eliminate humans. Then we can have the entire planet to ourselves.”

  It sickened Erik that this was the result of his own firestorm.

  It would have sickened Louisa to see their child now.

  Erik couldn’t say that it would have broken her heart, because he had done that himself.

  “So, how exactly does the leader of the Pyr rationalize the murder of his own blood?” Sigmund bobbed in the air, tempting Erik to take that last hit. “Especially when he believes his kind should breed, whenever possible.”

  “How could you become a Slayer?” Erik demanded. “I taught you everything I knew. Your mother raised you with such love and care. You knew right from wrong.”

  “I knew that the only way to get what I wanted was to take it,” Sigmund replied. “And I learned from my father that everything has to be sacrificed to ambition. You taught me that nothing else matters.”

  “No!” Erik roared and lunged after his son. They locked claws and grappled.

  “I notice that you didn’t lose a scale over Mother,” Sigmund growled. “But then, why would that surprise me? You abandoned her.”

  “I did not,” Erik argued, but he knew the charge held truth.

  “Was I the only one who really loved her?” Sigmund hissed, then displayed the torn scale on his own breast with pride. There was knowingness in his eyes. “You are so much stronger than I am, Father. Go ahead, take advantage of my vulnerability.”

  He was daring Erik to make the kill.

  But Erik looked into Sigmund’s blue eyes and saw Louisa, the woman he had wronged. He couldn’t kill Sigmund, couldn’t kill the child she had borne him, no matter what his son had done. He flung Sigmund away from him, not caring where the Slayer fell, and rocketed toward Boris.

  Erik knew who had led his son astray. His argument was with Boris.

  Erik knew that Boris’s whispers wouldn’t have found fertile soil if he had taught his son right.

  Louisa had expected better of him.

  Erik didn’t want to know how badly his blow had injured his son, so he didn’t listen to his own voice of foresight. That was why he never anticipated that Sigmund would recover in midair, change course, and come after him. He was so focused on Boris—who smiled at his approach—that he didn’t hear the Slayer’s pursuit.

  After Sigmund struck him hard from behind, Erik had a moment to realize why Boris had been amused.

  Then Sigmund hit him twice more, Boris breathed fire on him, and Erik lost consciousness as he fell toward the earth.

  Ambrose stepped into the cabin when Sara didn’t take his dare. “It’s getting hot out there,” he said with a smile that seemed hungry. He eased farther into the cabin, ensuring that his tail didn’t touch the flames, then glanced around. He seemed to glow in the firelight. “Don’t tell me that the Wyvern left without you?”

  Sara wasn’t inclined to give him more information than she had to. The Wyvern shivered in her pocket. “What if she did?”

  Ambrose laughed, taking Sara’s words at face value. “It would serve you right for risking your life for nothing. Not that it bothers me.”

  He breathed fire, almost idly enclosing Sara in a circle of flames. Sara jumped and tried to escape the closing circle, but Ambrose moved too fast and the flames were too high t
o jump. The circle was about ten feet in diameter and the flames burned against the hardpack of the dirt floor. Sara was sure they’d extinguish themselves for lack of fuel, but they continued to burn, the tips of the flames as high as her shoulders.

  It was impossible, but it was happening all the same.

  She turned in place, looking for an escape, as the heat made her perspire.

  “No exit clause,” Ambrose said idly. “Sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry at all.”

  “No. I’m not.” He sauntered closer, sending a stream of flame to make Sara’s space smaller. The circle was only six feet in diameter when he was done and the flames just seemed to burn higher with every passing moment.

  Sara was trying not to panic. The Wyvern had gone completely still.

  “Dragonfire doesn’t need fuel,” Ambrose informed her, then examined his talons with indifference. “Life is power enough.”

  “There’s no life in dirt.”

  “There’s life in anything. Too bad you’re not sensitive enough to recognize it.” He granted her a cold smile. “Such an ignorant species.”

  A tongue of fire licked at Sara’s leg and she smacked at it with her hand.

  “If fuel for the fire…” Ambrose mused. Sara understood then that the fire would exhaust her before it consumed her.

  Ambrose cut the circle in half with an exhalation of flame. Sara danced to one side and the flames caught the hem of her shorts. She beat out the fire with her hands on one side, only to find the hem on the other side burning. When she had the flames out and was breathing quickly in fear, she glanced up to find Ambrose smiling.

  “You’ve been a more worthy opponent than most,” he acknowledged, “but then, as Boris says, the ending is always the same. How dull.” He yawned magnificently and Sara saw the flame gathering in his throat. She couldn’t jump up. She couldn’t burrow down. She couldn’t move from the spot he’d chosen for her.

  And sadly, she couldn’t take dragonfire the way Quinn could.

  Ambrose’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. Sara glared at him, refusing to surrender to the inevitable, at least in spirit. He took a deep breath and she braced herself for the inferno he’d unleash.