Darkfire Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  Of course, there was still red blood running from a small bite mark on his chest. It looked deep, and Melissa could imagine it hurt.

  Rafferty struck at Montmorency, opening the scabs on those wounds with four more deep cuts. Montmorency, a glittering jade green dragon with gold edging on his scales, fell backward in pain. Black blood flowed over the gilded splendor of his stomach.

  Again she wondered why their blood was different colors.

  Melissa thought Montmorency might be faking his pain. Rafferty pursued him hotly, breathing dragonfire until the orange flames completely obscured Montmorency’s form.

  It didn’t hide his screams of pain, though.

  Rafferty snatched at Montmorency, hauling him upward. He bit into the other dragon’s chest, ripping Montmorency open so that his chest was a raw mass of bleeding flesh. He slammed him into one of the cars damaged in the fender bender, denting its roof deeply.

  The people were already out of the car, and they backed away in shock. Rafferty leapt on top of the vehicle, planted one foot on Montmorency’s neck, and shredded the wings from his opponent’s back. He flung them aside, the massive leathery appendages falling close to Melissa. A bystander reached out to touch the tip of one, his amazement clear.

  Montmorency began to beg for mercy. Rafferty spit in his eye. Melissa heard that thunder again and knew they were speaking in their dragon way. Rafferty held the other dragon down, staring into his eyes as he lifted one sharp talon.

  “This is for Maximilian’s son,” he said out loud, his words so resonant that Melissa’s bones vibrated along with the words.

  “His son?” Montmorency echoed, his shock clear. “But Maximilian has no son!”

  Rafferty smiled. It was a cold smile, a dragon smile, a knowing smile. It showed a great many sharp teeth.

  Melissa saw Montmorency’s shock, and enjoyed watching his dismay. She didn’t know who Maximilian was, much less who his son was—never mind what the two of them had witnessed at Montmorency’s hand—but she really liked that Montmorency was discovering a detail left unattended in his last moment.

  It was justice of a most basic kind.

  “Now to ensure that you are gone forevermore.” Rafferty slowly glanced over the fallen dragon, even as Montmorency’s breath heaved. Montmorency tried to move away, but he was too broken to make much progress.

  Melissa saw a little shimmer of gold, like a newt, appearing quickly beside Montmorency. By the time she’d looked again, it was gone and she thought she’d imagined it.

  She watched Rafferty again. Melissa knew when he found what he sought on the other dragon’s body, because his eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Where’s that missing scale?” he mused. “Aha! Although it’s hard to believe there was ever anyone you loved, Magnus.”

  “No!” Montmorency protested as Rafferty lifted his sharp talon high. “No. We can negotiate. We can find a solution. We can…”

  “We will finally end this,” Rafferty said. “Did you love yourself best of all?”

  The jade dragon hissed and breathed a feeble stream of fire. Rafferty decked him, and Montmorency’s head cracked against the ground. His eyes closed and didn’t open again.

  Rafferty raised his claw to strike the telling blow, and she was ready to cheer. This was it! Justice, dragon-style. Melissa found it worked for her in a big way.

  Those in the crowd behind her were silent and trans-fixed. She could feel their tension.

  “And so it ends,” Rafferty whispered, then struck at his opponent with vicious force. The crowd gasped, but Melissa couldn’t look away. She wouldn’t even blink. She didn’t want to miss the killing blow.

  Except there wasn’t one.

  Before Rafferty’s blow could connect, there was a brilliant flash of gold. Melissa saw that salamander reappear, but it quickly became another dragon, a blindingly gold one. This dragon’s scales could have been made with topaz and edged with gold. He was so bright that he could have been the sun touching the earth.

  He appeared suddenly, right between the two opponents.

  Rafferty was clearly shocked, and the new arrival blocked his strike.

  “Sorry to intervene,” he said, his accent Russian, “but this prize is mine.”

  He raged fire at the surprised Rafferty, making him step backward. Then he snatched up the unconscious Montmorency and fled into the sky.

  He flew so quickly that Melissa was astounded. Then suddenly, fifty feet above the ground, both the gold and the jade dragons disappeared.

  As if they had never been.

  “No!” Melissa shouted.

  “Yes!” one of the onlookers roared. “He was saved from murder!” Those in the crowd began to mutter in agreement, their mood turning hostile.

  “Vicious beast,” a woman cried, then spat at Rafferty. “You are wicked. No creature should kill its own so violently.”

  Someone threw a soda can at Rafferty. It bounced off his back, presumably not hurting him in the least, but he looked up in surprise.

  “No!” Melissa argued. “The other one was the bad one.”

  “And what would you know about it?” bellowed the woman.

  “A lot more than you do, clearly.”

  “So, was the gold one good or bad?” taunted the woman. Melissa didn’t know, and her lack of reply made the woman smile.

  Rafferty surveyed the crowd, clearly perplexed by the reaction. But when his jewel-bright gaze landed upon her, Melissa smiled at him. He was pumped and gorgeous, virile—and he would have been a triumphant champion if the gold dragon hadn’t cheated him of victory. She liked that he had pursued justice against Montmorency. The weight of his glance made her heart leap, made her desire burn, made her think of celebrating victory in a most basic way. She didn’t care what anybody else thought.

  She lifted her arms toward him, in the same instant that he bounded toward her. Eyes flashing and wings beating, he scooped her up from the boulevard and soared into the sky. The crowd shouted in consternation, but Melissa didn’t care. She was right where she wanted to be.

  The snow began to fall in earnest, icy pellets slashing against her face as they ascended, but Melissa savored the moment. She was flying and free—well, so long as Rafferty held her tightly. She felt the wind on her body, the strength of Rafferty at her back, and knew he’d never drop her. That flickering flame of blue danced over her skin, seemingly invigorated by Rafferty’s battle.

  It certainly invigorated Melissa. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of flying, not knowing whether she’d ever feel it again.

  She was alive.

  Montmorency was seriously wounded.

  And she was leaving the scene with the sexiest man she’d ever known. Melissa had a good idea what would happen next.

  It didn’t get much better than this.

  Rafferty was appalled by his own behavior.

  He had become a monster. He had forgotten every single thing he had ever been taught about coexisting quietly in human society. He had abandoned the core principles of his kind and had endangered humans with his deeds. He had done so carelessly and recklessly, without regard for the consequences. He had been violent and vicious with Magnus, but had failed to complete their challenge.

  Again.

  The realization made him feel sick.

  Plus, he had revealed the survival of Maximilian’s son to Magnus, thereby putting the Sleeper in peril. He had gloated, a choice as out of character as possible. Rafferty could not have been any more irresponsible to everyone who relied upon him.

  The darkfire was changing him, making him into something he didn’t want to be. It was driving him farther and farther from his grandfather’s ideal of how a Pyr should live.

  Had he erred all those centuries ago, in refusing to learn the songs of the Cantor from his grandfather? He had been sure that spell casting was wrong in its very essence, and that had been the only argument he’d ever had with Pwyll.

  That argument had also been the last time
he’d seen his grandfather alive.

  Had that denial been the decision that had driven Rafferty from the true path? His grandfather would have said so. Was the darkfire feeding upon his mistake, or was it simply creating its own disorder?

  It was terrifying to acknowledge how much he had enjoyed doing injury to Magnus. It had been more than a wager to be won, or justice to be meted out. He had reveled in the violence of it. The dragon within him had been ascendant as never before, deaf to any notion of temperance or fair play. He had wanted Magnus dead—wanted him dead at any price. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted to be vicious, regardless of who witnessed his deed.

  Even his mate.

  How much difference was there between him and his old adversary? Less than Rafferty would have liked.

  His heightened reaction had probably been because of the presence of his mate and because she had been threatened by Magnus, but still…

  Rafferty wasn’t proud of himself. He had spent his entire existence honoring others, particularly humans, safeguarding the secrets of the Pyr, facilitating firestorms, being the voice of reason and temperance.

  In a day, he had utterly lost himself in the darkfire.

  In a day, he had seen the shadow within himself, and the sight of his own truth appalled him.

  Rafferty’s bloodlust had overwhelmed him, blinding him to simple practicalities. He should have anticipated that Jorge would be drawn to the firestorm, that the Slayers who had been given the Elixir from Magnus’s own hand might rally to that villain’s defense.

  Worse, he had retaliated against Magnus in daylight, beside a busy thoroughfare. There would be another human record of the Pyr. Worse again, it would show his kind in an act of savagery. In his savagery. It was another mistake for which he would have to atone with Erik. He couldn’t blame Erik for being angry, but at the same time, the firestorm’s erratic burn convoluted his thinking, twisting his impulses in unexpected ways.

  Rafferty had to retreat.

  He had to seek out a refuge.

  And he knew the only one that would do.

  Maybe secured in his London lair, he could recover his senses.

  Maybe secured in his London lair, he could seduce his mate and end the chaotic influence of this darkfire firestorm. It was the only way to regain his equilibrium. He’d already told Melissa far too much.

  At least Rafferty knew that Donovan was keeping his old pledge and traveling to the hoard where the Sleeper was secured. Something had gone right. Was the Sleeper fully awake yet? Rafferty hoped it took time for him to return to consciousness, at least long enough for Donovan to arrive. He didn’t need another mistake to his credit. Rafferty did not dare to go to the Sleeper himself, not with Magnus still alive, lest he lead the old snake to a prize beyond all expectation.

  “Where are we going?” Melissa asked as he flew over the ocean. Rafferty wasn’t fooled by the casual tone of her question.

  “Home.”

  As anticipated, she had no quibble setting him straight. “No. My home isn’t this way. It’s back down there.”

  Rafferty was feeling somewhat less than his usual diplomatic self. He saw no reason to gloss the truth. “No. Your home is gone.”

  “What?” She eyed him with consternation. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

  “It is destroyed,” Rafferty said flatly, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. That had been another failure on his part. He would add it to the ever-growing list. He would atone for her loss before all was done between them.

  Melissa faltered for a moment. It was something for her to be even momentarily speechless. “But, but, how?”

  “I summoned an earthquake, in order to pass beneath the dragonsmoke and rescue you.” Rafferty knew he sounded stern, but he was irritated that he hadn’t thought beyond that moment to the consequences. “Your house was the epicenter. It was the only way out.”

  “You trashed my house? On purpose?”

  “It was a casualty of my actions, yes.” He spared himself any comment about flimsy new construction. He also refrained from noting that her home’s decor had less character than that of his hotel room. He had sensed that the town house was no more than a placeholder, an address to which she had mail sent, but he had no business accusing her of not having a true home.

  He could imagine where that discussion would lead. Still, he wondered. Was Melissa as rootless as that? Was she disinterested in having a refuge or a home? He could barely imagine being without the comfort of his lair, even when he wasn’t in it.

  Melissa looked away, then back to him. “You could say you were sorry.” Her tone was accusatory, and rightly so.

  Whether her home had been decorated to his taste or not, it had been her property. He looked down at her, knowing his appearance was formidable. She didn’t flinch.

  “I am sorry for the destruction of your home,” he said tightly. She sniffed, unimpressed. Rafferty continued, because he couldn’t regret his choice. “Are you sorry I pursued you?”

  She swallowed and blinked. “Okay, I’m not. It was good that you came after the helicopter, and I didn’t thank you for that. Thanks.”

  “You need not thank me. It was my duty.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are my mate, and I am pledged to your defense.” Rafferty concentrated on charting his course.

  “I’d like to know more about this mate business, and what it entails,” she said, her tone making it clear that she had already made up her mind.

  And not in Rafferty’s favor.

  He didn’t have it in him to battle verbally at the moment, so he changed the subject—even if it did feel like a trick. “Actually, I am committed to the defense of the entire human species. We all are.”

  “Be serious. How did summoning an earthquake do that?” Melissa certainly wasn’t one to avoid the tough questions. At least she’d accepted his redirection of the conversation. “I mean, somebody must have gotten hurt. There are a lot of people living around there.”

  Rafferty felt his anger rise. The firestorm tickled at him, and he had a long flight ahead of him. He could have done without a challenge from his mate. “I made a choice, one in your favor. I would not expect you to be the one to question its merit.”

  “There you go, talking like a history book again. You sound as if you’re a thousand years old or something.”

  “Somewhat more than that.”

  “What?”

  But Rafferty had had enough. “I would appreciate your cooperation at this time. We have a long flight, and I must be wary of human observance.”

  Melissa laughed. “I think that one’s out of the bag.”

  Rafferty declined to answer, his entire gut tightening at his responsibility for that.

  And hers. As much as he didn’t want to argue with her, he resented that she had posted those pictures. What would it mean for the Pyr to be revealed?

  Nothing good.

  Just as nothing good would come of a discussion on that subject in this moment. He was tired and would likely lose his temper.

  Rafferty gritted his teeth and said nothing. They were over the Atlantic now, the coast fading behind them. The snow had settled into a pounding icy rhythm, one that didn’t please Rafferty; he would be more sore for flying in its chill. On the other hand, the weather did diminish visibility, and he could do without needing to perform any beguiling of observers.

  He hated beguiling anyone.

  “So, who was the gold dragon? And how did he turn up so fast?” Melissa’s voice was slightly higher than it had been, and Rafferty wondered whether she was afraid of heights. Or water.

  “His name is Jorge. He’s a Slayer—”

  “A what?”

  Rafferty saw no reason to be coy about such basics. And, maybe, his talking to Melissa would distract her from her fears. “We are of two kinds,” he said, and felt her relax slightly at his calm tone. “The true Pyr, of which I am one, are the guardians of the earth. We defend the treasure th
at is the planet, and we include humans among those treasures. Slayers, in contrast, declare that they would defend the earth and that humans must be eradicated in order to protect the planet.”

  “I’m sensing some skepticism with the official explanation.”

  “In reality, Slayers act in their own interests, with indifference to anything else.”

  “So, they’re the ones who bleed black?”

  “Because of this selfishness, the Great Wyvern extinguishes Her spark within each of them. Their blood runs black, indicative of their turning away from the light, and they do not have firestorms.”

  “Seems you wouldn’t mind being without one yourself.”

  “I don’t see much to be gained in discussing the matter right now.” Rafferty felt her expectant gaze upon him but continued with his original point. “Magnus is a Slayer and has led them at times. Jorge is one of his more loyal followers.”

  “So, that’s why he saved him? Honor among thieves?”

  “Maybe. It’s also possible that Jorge sees something to his own advantage in saving Magnus.”

  “Like what?”

  “Magnus had control of something called the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. It conferred immortality but was addictive, like a drug, requiring a constant supply. He shared it with his favored Slayers, omitting the detail that they would have to come to him for more.”

  “A prince among dragons,” Melissa said, her opinion of that strategy clear. “It’s the classic ploy used by drug pushers to build their customer base. Free samples.”

  Rafferty nodded, relieved to find them in agreement in their disgust. “The source of the Elixir is destroyed, and most of those who drank of it have been destroyed, as well. I wasn’t sure what had happened to Jorge—he disappeared quite suddenly and has been quiet for a long time.”

  “Maybe he was looking for a hit.” Melissa snapped her fingers. “Hey, maybe he thinks Montmorency has a stash. Capturing him in a weak moment might let him persuade Montmorency to part with it.”

  “Maybe. At any rate, Magnus will be harder to hunt while he’s in Jorge’s company.”