Kiss of Fate

by Deborah Cooke

  Not this time.

  The snow fell around them steadily, burying the burned foundation stones in the clearing under a white blanket. The fire in the trees was extinguished and the world seemed a thousand miles away. There was only a light breeze, the falling snow, and Sigmund’s soft breathing.

  And thunder.

  Eileen looked up at the overcast sky in confusion. “I never heard so much thunder in my life,” she murmured, then glanced down to find Sigmund smiling.

  “Not thunder,” he whispered, and she had to lean closer to hear him. “Old-speak.”

  “Old-speak? What’s that?”

  “How we talk,” he managed to say, then frowned and licked his lips. His grip tightened on her hand briefly and his eyelids flickered. “Save me,” he whispered.

  Eileen leaned closer. “How? What can I do?”

  Sigmund shook his head slightly, that frown marring his forehead again. “Not you.” He caught his breath and she ran a hand over his cheek, wanting to soothe his agitation. He turned his face toward her hand, seeming to welcome her touch. “Four elements.”

  Eileen didn’t understand. She wanted to help him, though, and wished she could ease his concern. “Fire, earth, water, and air,” she said, hoping to encourage him.

  He nodded, the gesture so minute that she would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him so closely. “Erik,” he said, and his eyes flew open as his voice rose. “Please.”

  Eileen didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand fully what he was asking. As much as she wanted to help, she couldn’t promise to do something without knowing what it was.

  She heard the beat of leathery wings and glanced upward in fear. Sigmund’s grip tightened on her hand, but relief flooded through Eileen when she saw the ebony hue of the descending dragon. A glow settled around her heart, but it wasn’t just from the firestorm.

  Erik had come back.

  And he had returned alone.

  Erik landed in the clearing, shifting shape so quickly that Eileen couldn’t even see the change. He strode toward her as grim as ever and filled with purpose.

  “He wants to be saved, by you, with the four elements,” Eileen said immediately, guessing that there wasn’t much time. Sigmund’s fingers fluttered within her grasp.

  “I would wager that he does,” Erik said, his expression impassive. He seemed more stern, more controlled, and Eileen guessed that he was hiding a tide of emotion. He hesitated only a moment before he crouched beside her.

  Beside his son.

  Beside their son.

  “He intervened to save me, Erik,” she said, her words hoarse.

  “I know,” Erik said, and shoved a hand through his hair. Eileen watched him, knowing that he was struggling with the legacy of the past as well.

  “Can you give him what he wants?”

  “I can,” Erik acknowledged, but she heard his doubt of the wisdom of doing that.

  Sigmund’s eyes opened, his gaze fixing upon his father. “Please.” He shook his head, but made no further sound.

  Erik bowed his head and frowned, his consternation clear. Eileen knew that he wanted to help Sigmund but that something—some doubt—was holding him back.

  “What does he mean?”

  Erik sighed. “Pyr must be exposed to all four elements when they die, in order that their bodies return to the earth and their spark returns to the Great Wyvern. The Slayers have learned to harvest the bodies of those Pyr who have not been exposed to all four elements and turn them into shadow dragons. They become warriors for the Slayers, tireless warriors who do not bleed.”

  Sigmund’s breathing became more shallow, his manner more agitated. “Please.”

  “And you can ensure that this doesn’t happen to him?” Eileen asked. The choice was clear to her and she didn’t understand why Erik hesitated at all. “Then you have to do it.”

  “Except that Sigmund was the one who rediscovered the process and helped to implement the plan.”

  Eileen understood.

  She was horrified.

  Sigmund shook his head slowly, tears falling in his fear.

  “Did you find Magnus?” Erik asked. “Or did he find you?”

  Sigmund closed his eyes and turned his face away.

  “Did you awaken him?”

  Sigmund winced. Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where does it end?” he asked with impatience, as if not expecting anyone to answer him. “When does one have to face the wages of one’s own choices?”

  “That’s not up to us. You have to do this,” Eileen said, touched by Sigmund’s terror. He knew the full horror of what he had done and feared having it done to him. “He tried to help me. He tried to make better choices. Isn’t that the only thing we can do?”

  Erik considered that for a long moment. He was so composed that Eileen couldn’t guess what he was thinking. The fact that he wasn’t saying anything meant that he was torn.

  “Please,” she said.

  Erik cleared his throat and leaned closer to his son. “I shall make you a wager. Tell me how those who have drunk the Dragon’s Blood Elixir can be killed. Give me a chance to save the world and I will do as you ask.”

  Sigmund swallowed and Eileen had the sense that he was trying to gather his strength. He nodded, then licked his lips. He looked directly at Erik. “Only,” he said, the word costing him dearly.

  “Yes.” Erik leaned closer.

  “One.”

  “Yes.”

  “Way.”

  “Yes, I expect there is.” Erik seized Sigmund’s other hand, as if he would give him some of his own strength. Eileen knew that his attitude had changed. It was less the secret that he desired from Sigmund that had softened Erik’s expression, and more the fact that Sigmund was trying to make amends.

  “Destroy,” Sigmund said, his head lolling as his eyes closed.

  “Yes, yes, they must be destroyed,” Erik whispered, his urgency clear. “But how? How?”

  Sigmund made a choking sound. There was a gurgle deep within his chest and then his hand went limp within Eileen’s grip.

  She and Erik waited. Eileen knew she wasn’t the only one holding her breath. Sigmund’s chest fell and didn’t rise again, and she couldn’t feel the slow throb of his pulse anymore.

  Erik bowed his head.

  Sigmund was dead, and the secret of the Dragon’s Blood Elixir was lost with him.

  Erik sighed and frowned, then put Sigmund’s hand back on his chest. He pushed to his feet and strode across the clearing, so obviously disappointed that Eileen ached for him.

  And for Sigmund.

  For all of them. Her tears fell as she stared at Sigmund’s still features. She kissed his knuckles, regretting what had been done, past and present, and laid his other hand on his chest.

  Maybe he was at peace.

  She glanced toward Erik, who had bowed his head in grief. That one gesture revealed that he hadn’t fully hardened his heart against his son.

  Eileen rose slowly and went to Erik. She put one hand on his shoulder, and the spark that leapt beneath her fingers dispelled the chill that had taken hold of her heart.

  “He tried,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” Erik nodded. “He tried.” He offered his hand to her, and she slid her fingers into his. They stood together in the snow, and the heat of the firestorm thrummed through Eileen’s veins. She drew strength from its power and hoped Erik did, too.

  “I guess children don’t always bring joy,” she said.

  Erik cast her a sidelong smile. “There was joy, too. Do you remember?”

  “No. Just bits and ends. Impressions.”

  “Maybe it’s easier that way.”

  Eileen frowned at their interlocked hands and asked the question she needed to ask. “Did you come to me because I was Louisa?”

  Erik raised her knuckles to his lips and, at his kiss, the spark between them settled into a vivid glow. “I came because of the firestorm. I was taught that
the firestorm should never be denied.”

  “Destined sex,” Eileen said, trying to keep her tone light.

  Erik didn’t smile. His grip tightened on her hand. “If there is a future for us, it’s because you are not Louisa anymore.”

  The light painted his features with gold, making him look powerful and mysterious. Eileen’s heart clenched as she stared into the conviction in his eyes. She liked the strength of his grip and the power of his convictions. She admired that he strove to make the right choices. And he explained things to her, even though it was obviously his nature to be reticent.

  She felt lucky that he let her glimpse his hidden passion.

  “If there’s a future?” she asked, her words hoarse. “Don’t you want there to be?”

  Erik frowned. “I’m not sure the choice is mine to make,” was all he said; then he kissed her knuckles once more. Before she could ask more, Erik retrieved her coat and put it around her shoulders. He looked tired, and there was a bleeding wound on his forehead.

  Still he tried to smile for her.

  Eileen decided to save her questions.

  “Look away,” he murmured. “You will not like to witness what must be done.” Then he brushed his lips across her forehead, sending a frisson of heat to her toes.

  Eileen turned away. She was aware that Erik changed shape. She felt his strength and his power close behind her but she respected his judgment.

  She didn’t look. Instead she counted elements. There was air everywhere, so that took care of one. Sigmund was lying on the earth, which provided the second element. She supposed that the falling snow, which was melting against her own skin, would provide the third element, water.

  Which left only fire.

  Erik would cremate his son, at Sigmund’s own request. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to do. Eileen shuddered.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and walked to the perimeter of the clearing, her sorrow rising with such force that it nearly choked her. She looked up into the swirling dance of the falling snow. She heard dragonfire. She smelled flesh burning. She tightened her grip on her own elbows and prayed that Sigmund would find peace.

  And when Erik caught her shoulders in his hands long moments later, Eileen reveled in his strength. She felt herself tremble and let him gather her into his embrace. She leaned against his chest and welcomed the heat of the firestorm as it sparked through her veins.

  The firestorm reminded her that she was alive.

  That she could make different choices.

  That she could learn from the past.

  That she could trust a man and create a future.

  She tipped her head back, raising one hand to Erik’s cheek. His face was wet, wet with tears, and she saw the pain in his eyes at what he had had to do.

  But he had kept his promise. He had shown mercy to his son.

  And she knew that was a change for him, too.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, his voice husky.

  Eileen nodded agreement. She didn’t care where he called home, or what his destination might be. She wanted to be with Erik, and wherever he was was right where she wanted to be.

  She was going to trust her instincts on that.

  He nodded once, crisply, then caught her close. The next thing she knew, he had shifted shape and leapt into the sky. He flew high as the snow spiraled around them, leaving Ironbridge and their tangled past behind, holding her fast against his chest.

  Eileen closed her eyes and laid her cheek against the silver splendor of his scaled chest. It was like armor, but warm. There was nothing demonic about what he was, what he could become, and Louisa had been wrong to deny Erik his truth.

  When Eileen pressed her cheek against Erik’s chest, she not only felt the glow of the firestorm, but she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

  Strong.

  Stalwart.

  Exactly what she wanted to hear.

  Chapter 18

  Boris fell.

  He tumbled through the sky, impotent, hating that his wings were useless. The ground came closer with astonishing speed, and he forced himself to think instead of panic.

  Could he die if he fell from this height?

  Could he be healed again?

  It would be better to avoid the possibility. But how? He dropped helplessly through the clouds and saw individual figures on the ground below. One pointed at him, but he couldn’t hear whatever was said.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He had drunk the Elixir and survived. He could cut smoke and pass through it undamaged—just like the Wyvern.

  Boris pondered that. What were the Wyvern’s other skills? She could move through dragonsmoke, and he could do that. She could shift shape to a salamander, but if he could do that, it wouldn’t help him much in this circumstance.

  She could spontaneously manifest in any location.

  Which meant that she could move between locations by force of will.

  Could he do that?

  Boris closed his eyes. He ignored the wind streaming past him. He ignored his sense of impending doom. He focused on where he’d rather be, knowing that a specific location would work best. The perfect answer came to him in a heartbeat.

  Wherever Sophie was.

  Yes! He’d kill the Wyvern, lull Erik into complacency by his absence, then return to finish the blood duel.

  The wind rushed past him and he heard a human shout.

  Boris filled his thoughts with Sophie. He recalled how she looked in both forms, how she smelled, how she moved, how her eyes shone.

  He remembered the feel of her throat beneath his talon, of the vivid red of her blood sliding over his brass claw. He thought of her and only her and he turned his considerable force of will upon being in her presence.

  Boris had a second to fear failure; then the rush of the wind stopped.

  Sophie was lying in the desert as the sun rose in the east. Normally, she loved watching the rosy hues steal across the sand, loved feeling the grains heat beneath her cheek. She loved watching the flowers open beneath the caress of the sun and seeing the brilliance of the stars retreat.

  There was no pleasure in this occasion, though. She had spread herself across the sand all night. She’d asked Gaia to reveal the location of another Dragon’s Egg, another orb of stone with the power to reveal the future to the Pyr.

  It felt rude to Sophie to ask for another gift, especially as the first had been destroyed, but she hoped that Gaia would make allowances.

  Gaia, however, was caught in her own rumblings and mumblings. She stirred at deep levels, seething with her inability to achieve balance. She was uninterested in Sophie’s low song.

  Sophie had eventually stopped her chant and simply listened. All she heard was doom and portents of destruction, the cruel sound of mortality. Perhaps her attention would appease Gaia.

  Her choice certainly didn’t affect Nikolas, who hovered a dozen steps away. He was more motionless than the shadows, darker than the night sky, more intense than the midday sun. Sophie doubted she would ever become accustomed to his vigilance.

  She knew she would never become accustomed to being so aware of herself, of her own femininity, in his presence. She knew she would never be able to completely ignore the unspoken offer in his eyes, or forget the fervor of his promise to defend her at any cost.

  Nikolas stole her breath away just with his proximity. She’d banished him to a distance, but it made little difference. She could feel him watching her, could almost taste his admiration, and the power of firestorm was much easier for her to understand.

  But she would never touch Nikolas.

  It was forbidden.

  Gaia moaned on a distant coast, hurling water from the ocean’s depths to a rocky shore. Sophie stretched herself to intervene, to persuade Gaia to be more gentle, and forgot her surroundings.

  In that moment, a dragon landed atop her.

  Boris laughed with glee, even as his talons locked around Sophie’s neck. Sophie was sh
ocked.

  “This time we finish what was begun,” he said as he squeezed. His claws cut deeply.

  Sophie struggled but he was on her back, holding her down, and his weight was considerable. She shifted shape, rotating rapidly between her three favored forms. Boris was ready for her, though, and held fast, squeezing more relentlessly when she became a white salamander.

  Sophie heard a bone snap and knew it was one of her own. She struggled for survival. But she was no fighter—it was not her destiny to fight—and despite her efforts, Sophie’s world faded to black.

  Nikolas was outraged.

  If Sophie hadn’t made him keep his distance, he would have been on top of her assailant more quickly. She had called him a distraction. He had trusted her judgment.

  She had been wrong and he was terrified that she would pay the price. He moved as soon as he saw Boris, but it took precious seconds to reach her.

  She was limp when he ripped Boris from her back.

  If she survived, he’d never heed her command again.

  “Too late,” Boris murmured in old-speak, his eyes glinting with triumph. He released Sophie with a flick of his talons. She fell to the sand and didn’t move again.

  Boris laughed.

  Nikolas bellowed with fury and slashed the Slayer across the face with all five talons. Boris stopped laughing as he fell back, then raised his claws to defend himself. Nikolas saw that the Slayer’s wings were damaged so badly that he couldn’t fly. He had a heartbeat to conclude that the battle would be his; then Boris was gone.

  Nikolas spun, seeking his opponent. He had disappeared without a trace.

  Or shifted shape.

  Nikolas spied movement across the sand and glimpsed a red salamander. He snatched up the salamander, knowing instinctively that it was Boris, and crushed him in one hand. Boris screamed and squirmed and shouted, but he could not get away. His bones crunched in a very satisfying way.

  Nikolas opened his hand to find it empty; then Boris manifested in dragon form on Nikolas’s back. Nikolas leapt backward into a cactus.

  Boris shrieked, then disappeared again.