And they were drinking it.
Donovan felt a trickle of fear. Alex’s hand slid into his and her fingers were cold.
Sloane swore and began to pace. “That ancient treatise talks about the powers of the Dragon’s Blood Elixir and how it can be used to give immortality to anyone who survives the test of drinking it. I thought it was a metaphor. . . .”
Delaney sat down heavily and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Is that what they forced into us at Magnus’s dark academy?” he asked, his words hoarse. “The potion that would either kill us, drive us insane, or make shadow dragons of us?”
Sophie dropped her gaze. “I fear as much.”
Donovan frowned. “You mean that’s what they gave to the dead, to make them into shadow dragons? That’s how they raised Keir and the others?” Sophie nodded, and Donovan shoved his hand through his hair. “What if you give it to the living?”
Delaney looked at him, his eyes filled with shadows that had not been there just a year before. “They either die or they become immortal. Like Magnus. Like Boris.” He looked so pained that Donovan’s heart clenched.
“What about you?”
Delaney grimaced. “Just call me one of the living dead.”
“They couldn’t turn Delaney Slayer because his heart was good and the spark of the Great Wyvern still burned within him,” Sophie said. “You and Alex coaxed that spark to burn brighter, and pulled him back from the darkness.”
“The shadow is still there,” Delaney muttered.
“It’s less impenetrable,” the Wyvern insisted. Delaney didn’t look convinced.
“Well, I sure hope I’m not immortal,” Delaney said.
“You’re not.” Sophie’s smile was fleeting and didn’t seem to reassure him. “Those who become immortal are immune to the forces of nature.” Her disgust was clear. “They become abominations and you, Delaney, are not in their company.”
“Then whose company am I in?” Delaney demanded.
“Ours,” Donovan said, but his brother looked away.
“They’re like Slayers, then,” Quinn said.
“Worse,” Sophie corrected more sternly than Donovan had ever heard her speak. “Their immortality violates the entire impulse of life. Nature is cyclical. Life waxes and wanes, like the phases of the moon, like the roll of the seasons. Destruction is the partner of creation, death that of birth. The cycle constantly regenerates and renews, growing stronger and better over time, refining and rejuvenating. To be immortal is to step out of that cycle, to be fixed in the fluidity of the universe. It is not natural to be static. It is not right.” She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “They must be destroyed.”
The news just kept getting worse. Donovan shoved a hand through his hair and began to pace.
“But how do you kill an immortal?” Alex asked softly.
Silence filled Erik’s lair.
Even though there were no answers forthcoming, Alex shook her head with her usual practicality. “Nothing is impossible,” she said with the determination Donovan admired. “We need a plan. A good one. And for that, we need information. Sloane, please summarize everything you know about the Elixir. Delaney, you need to remember as much as possible about the dark academy.” She put her hands on her hips and considered the broken Dragon’s Egg. “And the rest of us have to figure out how to fix this thing.”
“Fix it?” Sara asked, her doubt clear.
“Isn’t stone formed under pressure and heat?” Alex asked, practical as always in finding solutions. “You Pyr do heat. Maybe you could fuse it back together again.”
Quinn rubbed his forehead and uncertainty echoed in his tone. “We could take it back to my studio. I’ve never repaired stone, but we’d have the best chance of success with my forge.”
“It can’t hurt to try,” Donovan said. “It’s better than sitting around waiting for Erik.”
“Except it won’t work,” Sophie said with conviction. “The Dragon’s Egg was a gift from Gaia, a mark of favor extended from her to the guardians of the four elements. We cannot remake or repair it.”
“Can we get another one?” Donovan asked, and Alex nodded approval of that notion. “I’ll hunt it down if you point me in the right direction.”
“The earth may not be so inclined to show us favor in these times. She may not have the will or the strength to make gifts when she is under assault.”
“It couldn’t hurt to ask,” Alex said.
Sophie took a deep breath, looking frail again. “I will ask, although I cannot anticipate her reply. It may take time.”
“Time is what we don’t have,” Quinn observed.
Sophie bowed her head and her hair fell over her face like a veil. Her next words were so soft that Donovan barely heard them. “Perhaps it is wiser for the Wyvern to remain beyond the concerns of the earth. Perhaps it is easier.”
Before anyone could respond, Sophie’s body began to sparkle. She could have been made of stars. Donovan knew that she was going to disappear again one beat before she started to fade.
“Sophie!” Nikolas roared, and leapt toward her. “You promised!”
Sophie reached out her hand; their fingers touched; then Nikolas’s hand locked over hers. They disappeared in unison.
Both were gone, as surely as if they had never been present.
“She took him with her,” Sara said as they all stared at the space the pair had occupied. Something sparkled on the floor, then faded to nothing. “I wonder why.”
“I wonder where,” Quinn said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Donovan said. “Alex is right. We need a plan against the Elixir. Let’s compile everything we know, whether it seems useful or not. Erik left his laptop—maybe he already has some notes we can use.”
Chapter 12
Something wicked had happened on this bridge.
Eileen was glad that she wasn’t alone. In fact, she would never have come onto this bridge alone, and she certainly wouldn’t have lingered. She had avoided it completely during her earlier visit here, despite many urgings from the locals to appreciate the view.
It was cold on the bridge, colder than iron in the rain. Instead of seeing the scene before her eyes, Eileen envisioned this valley blackened with industry, saw the sky dark and ominous.
She couldn’t even look down at the churning river far below. She was chilled, colder than she could ever remember being.
The firestorm was a beacon in the darkness. Eileen stayed near Erik and tried to focus on his story. She ignored her own issues by attending closely to his own pain. She was soaked to the skin, but when he confessed the Pyr’s failure in such a harsh tone, she knew he was talking about himself.
Instinctively, she reached out and took his hand. Sparks leapt between them, making a golden glow in the cold light. Erik caught his breath and Eileen felt a welcome heat roll through her.
It was a reassuring heat, one that drove both the chill from her body and the shadows from her thoughts. She met his gaze and saw the wonder there, felt sexy and beautiful all over again. She wanted Erik with such force that it was easy to heed only the summons of the firestorm.
As she held fast to his hand, the heat built. Eileen could feel perspiration on the back of her neck, under her scarf, and under her hair. She could feel the warmth between her thighs, desire making her tingle. She felt a line of fire in her veins, a simmering blaze that attuned her to Erik and Erik alone. She liked his firm grip on her hand, glanced down to admire his long fingers and his gentle strength.
She felt cocooned from the threat that surrounded them, safe in the golden glow of the firestorm.
Maybe it was because Erik was confiding in her. Eileen knew that didn’t come easily to him. She would have bet her last dime that he was telling her the truth. She could sense his urgency and felt her own body rhythms respond. Her pulse picked up. Her breath came more quickly. She felt in tune with Erik in a way she’d never experienced before.
It was almost magical.
It certainly left her dizzy, and her desire compounded that. She reached out with the other hand and gripped the fence that rose above the railing, reassuring herself that she could not fall.
Erik stared down into the river’s depths. Eileen swallowed and, holding fast to him and to the railing, she looked down.
The murky water rolled smoothly below them, slow moving but powerful. Inexorable. Eileen couldn’t see anything in the water, between the darkness of the water and the patter of the rain on its surface. She knew that anything that fell into that water would be carried along, far beyond expectation. She knew that a person lost in that water would be tossed and tumbled, rolled with merciless power.
Until that person breathed no more. Eileen imagined how it would feel to take a mouthful of water, and felt ill. She really didn’t like this place. Maybe it was the river. She’d never liked water, especially dark water, and had never learned to swim.
But this was a stronger response. Eileen thought suddenly of her dream, the one of Erik before she met him, and shivered. It was impossible to imagine herself enjoying the water, swimming through it with the grace and joy she’d felt in that dream.
Erik squeezed her fingers, holding her fast by his side. “This is difficult for you.”
“I don’t like water.” Eileen heard her own nervousness.
“I know.”
The rain fell harder, slanting out of the gray sky. It sizzled on impact with their entwined hands and made Eileen’s coat heavy.
Eileen tried to recall his story, tried to think of something other than her gut response to this place. “You said the Pyr broke his promise to his mate.”
“He did. But he never had a chance to explain himself to her.” Erik flicked a sudden glance at Eileen. His eyes were so pale green that they might have been the same silver hue as the sky.
“What happened?”
“She returned here when she feared herself betrayed, because this was where their tale had begun. She came back to the home she had known. But she found only destruction and violence, not a haven. She witnessed the fullness of his deceit and ran. She knew then that she was utterly alone and always would be.”
“But her sister—”
“The Pyr had never told her of that visit, had never told her of her sister’s fate.” Erik spoke harshly. “He was afraid that she would want to return, that she would break her vow, that she might betray his secret without intending to do so.” His lips twisted. “But in the end, he was the one who could not keep his promise.”
“What happened?”
“She lost all hope,” Erik said, his words low. He tightened his grip on her hand. “She responded with impulsive passion. The river was high and running fast. It was churning, just like this, filled beyond its banks and angry.”
“No.” Eileen whispered, taking a step back from the edge of the bridge. She had a sudden understanding of why there was a fence installed over the railings. “Not that.”
“Yes, that,” Erik said savagely. Eileen spun but he caught her other hand, holding her captive to hear the rest of his story. “She filled her skirts with river rocks before she jumped from this very bridge. It was newly constructed then.” He frowned. “They found her two days later, miles and miles away. Dead, bruised, and battered almost beyond recognition.”
He gave her a hard look. “Stems of water lilies were knotted in her hair.”
Eileen fought her rising horror, telling herself that she was letting Erik compose himself. She refused to see the connection with her own dream, refused to admit that there could be one.
Why would Erik tell her this?
Because it was his story, and the root of his pain. She gave his fingers a minute squeeze. “You knew her,” she guessed. “You knew Shadow.”
He turned to face her again and his eyes were brighter. His expression was so avid that Eileen was reminded of a hawk—or another, much larger predator.
She knew what he would say before he did.
The dragon in Shadow’s painting, after all, had been dark.
Black.
“Her name was Louisa Guthrie,” Erik said, his voice husky. “At least until she wed the Pyr.”
Eileen waited. He never broke his gaze from hers, never so much as blinked. Eileen knew this was the truth.
“Her married surname was Sorensson.”
Sorensson.
Eileen understood why Erik had been troubled that she had chosen this story, why it had startled him, why her recounting of it had made him so reticent. She understood that he was sharing his personal truth with her, that he was giving her what she wanted in exchange for the wooden chest that he wanted.
This was their barter made.
Erik was delivering, and at considerable cost to himself. She could see how hard it was for him to share the tragedy of his past and admit his own culpability.
She refused to consider that there was more to it than that.
His words were hoarse when he continued. “She took her last breath on this very spot.”
Eileen understood that Erik blamed himself for his wife’s suicide. But it couldn’t really be his fault. She was sure there was more to the story than he had told her, because she already guessed that he was honest and principled.
Erik had loved. Erik had lost.
Eileen knew that he was wrong about his responsibility for his wife’s death. So she did the only thing that a compassionate, impulsive woman could do under the circumstances.
She trusted her instincts.
Eileen reached through the silvery rain, framed Erik’s wet face in her hands, and kissed him deeply.
Erik was shocked by Eileen’s kiss.
Seared by it.
Of all the responses he might have expected, tenderness didn’t even make the list. He had expected her to condemn him, the way he condemned himself, but she offered solace instead.
It wasn’t just because of the surprise that her kiss struck a chord within him. It could have been a ray of sunlight sliding through a chink to light a room that had been dark too long. He felt the golden heat of the firestorm spread through him, launching from the insistence of Eileen’s kiss.
She would forgive him for his crime.
She didn’t know the whole story, didn’t know the extent of his betrayal, but for the moment Erik didn’t care. He was willing to take the pleasure she offered, to savor it, and not risk it with more truth than she asked from him.
She was too tempting to deny.
Her fingers slid over his face and she cupped his head in her hands, pulling him closer in silent demand. He felt her silver thumb ring against his ear, found his own hands in the endless softness of her hair. Her mouth was wet and hot and hungry; her tongue dove between his teeth and she nipped at his bottom lip. She might have eaten him alive with her demanding kiss.
And Erik had no desire to stop her. She pressed herself against him, the fullness of her breasts colliding with his chest and awakening a flurry of sparks between them. She was tall and strong, but feminine. He imagined again the softness of her skin—he was sure that naked she would look like an ivory sculpture.
Except her nipples. They would be as rosy as the blush on her cheeks. He wanted to unknot her hair and shove his hands through it. He wanted to lose himself in the sweetness and the scent of her. He wanted to push the firestorm to its limits and revel in the pleasure it offered. Erik was hard and ready, and a teasing waft of Eileen’s perfume nearly drove him wild.
He couldn’t evade Eileen or the brilliant light she shone on his shadows. He was seduced by her touch, by her impetuousness, by her caring. He had never known such kindness from a virtual stranger, and her ability to give warmed him in places the firestorm could never have reached. He had a feeling that she would never leave secrets buried, and a part of him yearned to have that kind of honesty with a partner. A part of him wanted to open the vault.
The other part of him knew better.
He reminded himself that the
firestorm was about sex.
Erik could have taken Eileen right there, right on the bridge, but she deserved better. He wanted to give her the romance she yearned for, even if it wasn’t for long.
He wanted to leave Eileen with a memory that would make her smile.
Besides, it wasn’t safe to surrender to the firestorm without a protective barrier of dragonsmoke around them. Erik forced himself to think of realities. He had to remember Magnus and his animosity. The Slayer could be close by now, and Erik had to ensure Eileen’s safety.
He broke their kiss with reluctance and smiled down at Eileen. He couldn’t stop his fingertips from caressing the softness of her cheek. “Not here,” he murmured, and brushed his mouth across hers once more. He found himself fascinated by the sparkle of her eyes and the flush on her cheeks.
“We need a hotel room,” he said with heat. “So I can breathe a territory mark to protect you.”
“One room,” Eileen stipulated with a quick smile. “Not two.”
“Lady’s choice,” he agreed, and they headed back to the car with purpose. Erik knew just the way to spend this rainy afternoon.
He could head back to Chicago by evening, with the Dragon’s Teeth in his possession. It was a perfect solution.
But that wasn’t the reason he strode so quickly to the car.
The little hotel was as elegant and romantic as Eileen remembered.
It was also virtually empty. They booked the largest room, the one Eileen had only glimpsed before. It was gorgeous, decorated in apple green and pale pink. The four-poster bed was mahogany and richly carved, the mattress laden with pillows and skirted with a deep ruffle. There was a step stool on one side, because of the height of the mattress, and the canopy overhead was made of lace.
There was a fireplace with an old mantel and a pair of armchairs in front of it. The owner lit a fire in the grate and turned on the lamps on either side of the bed. She checked the hot water in the bathroom and the number of towels there, chattering all the while about how rare it was to have customers at this time of the year. She embarked on a long story about needing to go to the store to get ingredients for a proper breakfast for them for the next morning, and Eileen didn’t mention that she was starving.
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