“I don’t have it,” Melissa said with a shrug. She wasn’t lying, although she couldn’t see what Mr. Conscience had done with it. There was no sign of the book in her living room. No doubt, he’d moved just as quickly in hiding it as he had in flashing it in the first place.
“Come, let’s not play games,” Montmorency said, his manner oily. “I’m prepared to make its return worth your while.”
Mr. Conscience began to protest, but Melissa held up a hand to silence him. “How so?” she asked, and he snorted disdain. She glanced back to see him settle into her computer chair. He looked disgruntled, irritable, and unpredictable.
Sexy as hell.
She would have loved to have had the time to explain to him that their ethical standards were exactly the same. As it was, she found it irresistible that he had no troubles pointing out her moral infractions, a choice that could interfere with their being intimate again.
That was a different choice than many men made.
Of course, she hadn’t exactly been playing hard to get. Maybe he knew that she found him irresistible.
Montmorency spoke, and Melissa glanced back toward him. “Perhaps it would be better to discuss this on the porch, away from the surly stare of my old friend, Rafferty. He seems to look askance on our discussion, and I wouldn’t want him to dissuade you from accepting very good terms.”
Rafferty.
The name suited him better than Mr. Conscience.
“Don’t,” Rafferty warned. She heard the squeak of the chair as he rose to his feet.
Melissa respected his concern, but she knew what she was doing. She didn’t trust Montmorency any farther than she could throw him, either. But taking two steps onto the porch didn’t put her appreciably out of range—should Rafferty decide again to defend her. She already knew he could move at the speed of light.
Although he had warned her that Montmorency could, as well.
Melissa stepped into the foyer, even so. “What do you offer in exchange for the book?” she asked Montmorency. “Assuming I could lay hands on it again.”
Montmorency smiled, and this time he resembled nothing more than a hungry crocodile. Melissa didn’t flinch or show her fear. She held his gaze, letting him become overconfident. He said something, very quietly, and she couldn’t hear him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Melissa!” Rafferty cried. “Don’t look at him!”
What a ridiculous thing to say. It was critical to hold his gaze to persuade him of her own integrity. She knew a thing or two about making a deal. Melissa looked.
“Pictures,” Montmorency said, just an increment more loudly. His eyes gleamed. “I offer you pictures of Pyr in daylight. Just come closer to see.”
“I don’t have my camera.”
“You don’t need it. You can use mine.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Montmorency held her gaze. “Just come with me.”
There were flames in his eyes. It was so strange. It couldn’t be. Melissa took a step closer to see them better.
“There’s dragonsmoke!” Rafferty roared, but Melissa had already taken the last two steps, over the threshold. She stood on the porch beside her foe, staring into his eyes.
Montmorency began to laugh.
Rafferty lunged after her, and Melissa glanced back. To her shock, he seemed to collide with an invisible barrier right where her door had been. She saw him grimace in pain and throw himself at the invisible barrier once more. It repelled him again, and she smelled flesh burning.
The smell was horrible. She turned back to Montmorency, even clutching his sleeve. “What are you doing to him? Make it stop!”
“Oh, don’t tell me that it’s love,” Montmorency said with a chortle. “Not just a firestorm, but true love, too.” He turned to a very frustrated Rafferty. “My friend, you have waited so very long for such a prize. Too bad I am going to steal it from you.”
“No one is stealing me,” Melissa said hotly. “I’m going right back in there….” She pointed through the doorway, and, when her hand crossed the line that should have been marked by the door, Rafferty seized it.
Green and blue sparks flew, like the light of a sparkler on the Fourth of July, and Melissa had to close her eyes against the brightness. His hand was warm, his touch soothing, and she wanted more than anything to be back at his side.
“Oh yes, I am,” Montmorency said, his voice strangely low. “Darkfire, too. Oh my.”
Melissa glanced his way, intending to argue with him. Those flames were dancing in the depths of his eyes again. Surely she was wrong. No one had flames in their eyes. She looked more closely, and she was snared.
“Melissa!” Rafferty shouted.
She released his hand, pulling her own hand away from him, and stared at Montmorency’s eyes. So strange. So fascinating.
“In fact,” Montmorency said with quiet intensity, “you’re going to come willingly with me.”
“Willingly,” Melissa echoed, unable to look away from the brilliance in his eyes.
“We’ll take a ride, together.”
“A ride together.” Melissa hated how she repeated his words, like some kind of zombie, but she couldn’t stop herself. What was going on?
“See the sights.” His words slipped into her mind, mingling with her thoughts until she couldn’t distinguish the two. She fought against whatever spell he was casting, but he opened his eyes wider and spoke more slowly.
Drawing her into his web.
The flames flickered and danced, and Melissa watched them hungrily.
“Come with me, Melissa,” Montmorency said, then smiled. “Mine is an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Can’t refuse,” she echoed, and put her hand into Montmorency’s elbow.
She vaguely heard Rafferty’s bellow of rage, but it didn’t seem to have much to do with her, not so long as Montmorency kept talking to her. He patted her hand and guided her off the porch.
She heard the steady chop of the blades of a helicopter, guessed that it was on the circle in the center of the cul-desac, but couldn’t look away from Montmorency’s eyes.
Not until he looked away from her.
And by then, they were five thousand feet above the ground.
She was horrified as she saw her town house far far below. There was no sign of Rafferty.
What had she done?
Rafferty was infuriated. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper—to even have a temper—but the firestorm seethed beneath his skin, feeding the beast and turning his nature more passionate. It was the darkfire, he knew it, but that only made him more furious. It was like the power of the eclipsed moon, but a thousand times more potent.
Inescapable.
Now his mate had been captured by Magnus, his own anger persuading her that that villain’s company was a better choice than his own. Whether Melissa believed as much for the long term or not, she’d believed it long enough to step through the dragonsmoke barrier that Rafferty couldn’t cross, and to be beguiled by that old snake.
The reality of his situation—of her situation—and his own responsibility for it made Rafferty want to shred something.
Magnus would have been the ideal candidate.
“Good choice,” Thorolf said, shoveling back chickpea salad as if he might never have the chance to eat again. “Gotta say, I wouldn’t have expected you to be the one to screw up a firestorm.” He shrugged. “Although it’s not like there’s much we can do about it now.”
“The dragonsmoke perimeter ring is complete,” Rafferty said through gritted teeth.
“Yup,” Thorolf agreed easily. “Even I can hear its resonant ping. Magnus is one sneaky dude and breathes smoke fast. What now? We call Erik in old-speak?”
Rafferty ignored him. He didn’t need any help to consummate his firestorm. He didn’t need any advice to secure the safety of his mate. Magnus had just raised the stakes of their duel. Rafferty would not see his destined mate enda
ngered as a result of his choices—whether he and she successfully negotiated their firestorm or not. She was human. She was one of the treasures of the earth he was charged to defend.
Not only that, but his firestorm was the fabled dark-fire. He had another responsibility, one that Magnus didn’t suspect existed but would be determined to derail if that Slayer learned the truth. The Sleeper would awaken, according to Rafferty’s grandfather’s ancient charm, because the darkfire burned and Rafferty was bound to defend the Sleeper until the darkfire was extinguished.
That he had never believed this day would come was irrelevant. This was not the moment for regrets.
He had to save Melissa.
Yet Rafferty was trapped. He couldn’t cross the dragonsmoke barrier without Magnus’s permission, not without being singed to cinders and surrendering all of his life force to his foe. He couldn’t leave the town house through the door or the windows, or even the roof.
But there was another way out.
Through the earth. He just had to open a path.
Indeed, he had no choice but to do so.
Regardless of the cost.
Rafferty clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and began to sing the song of the earth. Such was the force of his anger that the earth was quick to respond, a ripple running immediately beneath the foundation of the town house.
Rafferty sang louder, and the building began to dance. He felt the earth begin to crack deep beneath its footings, and he sang louder, pouring his heart and his soul into his song. He sang with all the force he could muster; he sang every song with a vehemence he’d never experienced before.
And the earth responded in kind.
There would be an earthquake, and this house would be its epicenter, because Rafferty sang from its foyer. And when the crack in the surface was wide enough, he would walk through the earth to save his mate.
“Oh shit,” Thorolf said, putting the bowl of salad down on the counter. “What are you doing?”
Rafferty ignored him and sang. The floor jumped, a jagged crack opening above the doorway as the house split. Bricks began to fall and plaster crumbled. The dragonsmoke roiled through the gap, unseen but toxic, and Rafferty sang louder. They had to escape before the smoke burned them, before it could create a conduit to Magnus and cheat them of their life force.
Rafferty sang with renewed vigor.
A mighty crack sounded, and the foundation of the town house split like an egg. The earth yawned open, a crevasse bisecting the cul-de-sac. It was wide and deep, opening like a great rift before Rafferty’s eyes.
He sang even louder.
The earth rumbled and the pavement tore, the crack yawning ever wider. Rafferty didn’t know how long it would hold. He jumped down into the gap, singing all the while. Then he ran down the length of the crack toward freedom.
The dragonsmoke gave chase. He could feel its chill seeking him.
“Erik is going to be pissed!” Thorolf shouted, but Rafferty didn’t care. Both Erik and Thorolf could take care of themselves.
His mate could not.
Two hundred yards farther, just before the cul-de-sac connected with the main road, the earthquake ruptured a water main. Water spurted upward like the plume from a whale, and Rafferty took advantage of its cover to leap into the air. He shifted shape in the mist of the spraying water and soared into the clear midday sky.
He heard the crowd of observers behind him, but it was too late to care about that detail.
He had more important things to do in the immediate future.
He had to save his mate.
He had to defend the Sleeper.
He had to destroy Magnus before both were lost forever.
Chapter 6
Erik could have done without Rafferty screwing up, especially at this point. As much as he would have liked to aid his old friend, Erik had too important a mission to just abandon it and go to Rafferty’s side. He’d dispatched only Thorolf to the ancient Pyr’s firestorm. He hoped Rafferty would see that choice as a sign of Erik’s faith that Rafferty didn’t need any help to have a successful firestorm.
Erik wished he felt a little more sure of that outcome himself.
Thorolf, though, was more inclined to empty refrigerators than be of real help. He was a good fighter, but charming a mate was a different kind of battle.
But if Erik had sent all the Pyr, Rafferty would have taken that as a sign that Erik expected him to fail. Sloane would have been a good choice, but Erik needed him right where he was.
He kissed Eileen and Zoë farewell without another word. So much had been said already. He met Sloane’s gaze and shook his hand, knowing the other Pyr would do whatever was necessary to protect Erik’s mate and child, should it come to that.
“With my life,” Sloane vowed in old-speak.
A Pyr couldn’t ask more than that.
“Be careful,” Eileen said, and Erik cast her a rueful smile.
If he’d been careful, Erik wouldn’t have been beguiled in the first place. And he wouldn’t be heading out to confront the wily Pyr who had managed to beguile him. He had no idea what to expect from Lorenzo.
But times demanded that he had to ask this powerful Pyr for his aid in the battle against the Slayers.
Even if he expected to be denied.
Even if he feared for his own health.
He glanced to his daughter, Zoë, wondering whether she would cast some useful old-speak into his thoughts. She held his gaze unblinkingly, her eyes wide, her lashes thick and dark. He could feel nothing from her and it frightened him. Was he simply expecting too much too soon? The evidence that she would be the next Wyvern was thin. He’d been convinced of it, as was Rafferty, but several of the other Pyr had their doubts.
There was nothing he could do to hasten her development.
Erik left the hotel suite, welcoming the heat of the Nevada sun. It was early, but the air was hot already, unseasonably hot for this time of year. His sunglasses only slightly diminished the sun’s glare. He got into his Maserati sedan and wished yet again for his Lamborghini, which was safely back in Chicago. As much as he liked this car—and the room it had to carry his family—the Lamborghini was closer to his heart. The throb of its engine would have soothed him in a way this car never could.
But that was just a detail. He started the Maserati’s engine and let it idle until the air-conditioning started to work. Erik had no reason to hesitate. He knew the way to Lorenzo’s private compound in the desert, he had a full tank of gas, and he knew he was expected.
Still…
He put the car into gear with some impatience and backed out of the parking spot. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
He wouldn’t think about jumping from the fat into the fire.
Not an hour later, Erik stood in a large room in the house within Lorenzo’s gated estate and awaited the other Pyr’s presence.
Actually, he wasn’t sure of the dimensions of the room. It seemed large, but that could have been an illusion. Its walls were covered with faceted mirrors, reflecting images from one another. Those reflections should have stayed at the perimeter of the room, but they didn’t.
There was something odd about the mirrors, or their positioning, something Erik couldn’t quite figure out. In this hall of mirrors, he could have been standing in the middle of a crowd of men who looked exactly like him. They were on his every side, some appearing to be close enough to touch, others a hundred yards away.
The visual effect disoriented him, even though he knew it was a trick. It made him doubt his perceptions. It was a telling reminder of Lorenzo’s current occupation as a stage magician, and it irritated Erik that the illusion worked so well, even on him.
One instant, he was alone in the midst of a crowd of his own reflections.
The next, there were two kinds of men in the room—he and Lorenzo, replicated over and over again.
How had Lorenzo entered the room?
“Good morning,” Lorenzo said,
his voice as smooth and rich as ever. He smiled and stepped closer with leisurely confidence.
At least, Erik thought he stepped closer. Which was the real Lorenzo?
Erik chose an image of Lorenzo and spoke to it. “Good morning. You’re looking well.”
Lorenzo did look well. He was as tall and lithe as Erik recalled, his hair dark and curly. His eyes were hazel, a brownish green with a flick of gold, just as they had always been. The smile Erik remembered so well still curved Lorenzo’s lips. He’d never been able to decide whether Lorenzo was on the verge of laughter or not, much less what exactly was the source of his amusement. Lorenzo had his mother’s irreverence, as well as her lust for life and her fondness for luxury.
“This life suits me,” Lorenzo said easily. “I like the desert and the heat, especially after all those years in damp chill. I suppose it’s less congenial to you.”
His old friend’s easy manner made Erik more wary of his intent. He found himself standing stiffly, answering more curtly than had been his intention. “I like the turn of the seasons.”
“Ah yes. Traditional as always.” Lorenzo’s smile broadened. “Some things never do change.”
They eyed each other, the fact of Lorenzo’s beguiling of Erik hanging between them. It had been wrong—a violation of every rule or expectation of the Pyr—yet if Erik made an issue of it, he might not be able to persuade Lorenzo to aid him in the battle against the Slayers. He tried to assess the other Pyr’s mood, but Lorenzo only smiled, his thoughts hidden.
He seemed to enjoy Erik’s indecision.
“I came to ask for your help,” Erik said finally, but Lorenzo swept aside his words.
“I know why you came, what you will say, and what you want to say. We can cut this whole matter short. I won’t help you. I won’t join you. I won’t follow you.”
“But why not? This battle against the Slayers is key….”
“If so, it’s not important in the way that you think,” Lorenzo argued.
“What are you talking about? They want to destroy humans to save the earth. We need to defend the humans and stop the Slayers.”
Darkfire Kiss Page 10