“You are not alone tonight, Ms. Madison,” Oscar said quietly. “There is one unidentified guest in the house.”
Alex pivoted and peered at the speaker, her mouth opening in shock. How could there be anyone in the house? How could someone have gotten into the house without providing identification? It made absolutely no sense.
Oscar had to have a glitch.
“Are you sure, Oscar? Or are you joking?”
“It is not in my programming to err or to make jokes, Ms. Madison.”
It had to be a mistake. That didn’t stop Alex’s heart from hammering. She half thought any intruder would hear her coming, just from the thunder of her heart.
Better safe than sorry. Before she entered the house, Alex pulled her gun. She checked that it was loaded, then took a deep breath. Years of watching cop movies gave her some ideas.
The Mission Impossible theme song echoed in her thoughts.
Alex flicked the door open with her wrist, then leaned back against the outside wall. She let the door swing all the way open before she moved.
There wasn’t a sound from inside.
She strained her ears, but was unable to hear any sound of life. Mosquitoes were gathering, doubtless intending to take advantage of the buffet she offered, and Alex wasn’t going to stay outside.
She slid through the door, trying to be one with the shadows. Alex let her eyes adjust to the dim light as she held the gun high and the door closed. She could smell the chlorine in the lap pool and hear the low thrum of the filtering pump. The lights were on a low setting that she might have called romantic at another time.
Between the front door and the great room was the conservatory, a space that housed the sauna and lap pool. There was a long planter of ferns that was suspended from the ceiling and ran the length of the conservatory. With the shutters closed, there was no external light. Alex could see the gas fireplace in the main room, a long way ahead, because it was on. Low flames flicked on the simulated coals.
She paused to consider this. She knew that Peter would never have left it on. Could Oscar have turned it on for her? Or had the smart house put the fire on for the guest who wasn’t here?
Or was there really a second guest here?
Had somebody turned the fire on, to beckon her forward? Alex couldn’t see many other choices. There was in or out, forward or back. She took a deep breath and started to walk down the length of the conservatory, one careful step at a time.
All she could hear was the low hum of the house around her, the familiar sound of it managing and monitoring itself.
Beyond the conservatory, there was one enormous room. Once over that threshold, the walls to Alex’s left and straight ahead would be made of glass, the left one providing that view and the one ahead facing the lake. Again, they were shuttered down and dark.
To her right would be the original farmhouse, which now was a three-story tower containing the bedrooms. The stone fireplace was in the common wall between old and new, and Peter had had that huge hearth built on this side. The open-concept kitchen was to Alex’s immediate right. She knew the layout perfectly.
Her mouth was dry and her heart was racing when she got to the end of the conservatory. The fire flickered as if to welcome her. Alex surveyed the familiar shadows for a long time before she was sufficiently confident to take a step farther into the room.
That was when she heard the faint whisper of someone breathing.
There was someone in the house! She hit one light switch abruptly with her left hand, aiming the gun in the direction of the sound.
Alex saw the man lying in front of the fireplace and nearly had heart failure.
Donovan.
And he was alone.
Alex turned away and took a shaking breath. She ran a hand over her forehead and sat down before her knees gave out. Her heart skipped, then lodged right in her throat. She checked the room to be sure that it wasn’t a trap, but there was only Donovan.
He was still out cold. His face was pale and the blood had dried on his wounds. Did he look better? Alex couldn’t say.
She lit a smaller light, then went through the entire house like a cop looking for a felon, leading with her gun. She knew what she’d find and she was right. All doors and windows were still locked and the house was undisturbed.
Except for Donovan. Apparently high-tech security systems didn’t stop the Wyvern. Oscar had been outfoxed, but not by human intruders.
What did that mean about Slayers? Alex didn’t want to think about that, but she knew she had to. She put her gun on the coffee table, not wanting it to be too far away, and took off her jacket. She went to Donovan’s side and knelt beside him, uncertain what to do to help him.
At least he was still breathing. She could see the slow and steady flicker of his pulse at his throat. The burn on his face might have been a little less angry, or it could have been the lack of light. That gouge in his chest was still ugly. His breathing was deep and she wondered whether he was dreaming. The firelight played over his features, casting them in golden light, making him look like a romantic hero.
Alex thought about checking Donovan’s pulse. She reached out a hand, remembered what he could become and how he had killed his father, then pulled her hand back.
She could see his pulse, moving the tanned skin of his throat in a regular rhythm.
Alex didn’t like that she was rationalizing out of fear. She reached to touch Donovan again, then noticed that something was wrong with the glass front on the fireplace. A pattern was forming there and she leaned closer, wondering what had happened to it. The pattern shaped suddenly into letters, as if someone had written on the glass in flame.
“You know in your heart what to do.”
The letters burned brightly just long enough for Alex to read them, then disappeared as if they had never been.
If only Alex shared the Wyvern’s confidence. A little more instruction would have been welcome. Did the Pyr self-heal? Did Donovan just need some sleep? Alex didn’t know and it annoyed her. She unzipped her boots and kicked them off, stretching her toes and flexing her feet. That made her feel better, unaccustomed as she was to foxy boots, but she was still irritated.
Alex liked to fix things. She liked to accomplish things. She liked to be part of the solution, not just a passive bystander.
But she had a wounded dragon on her hands, one who had been attacked because he had been defending her. She was responsible for Donovan and his condition, whether she liked it or not. And somehow, she had to help him.
Too bad she didn’t know how.
She wasn’t going to do anything to make his condition worse, that was for sure.
To Alex’s surprise, the big flat-screen television on the opposite wall suddenly flickered to life. She eyed it warily. There was an outside chance that Oscar had been programmed to play a movie when someone arrived at night.
“There are other justifications than that.”
Alex spun at the sound of the Wyvern’s voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. She ran to check Oscar’s control panel but no one had entered the house.
Of course not. It had been the Wyvern’s voice and she was claiming responsibility for the television coming on. Alex was smart enough to know when to pay attention, even if a movie was the lesson.
Especially if a movie was the lesson.
The image on the wide screen was vivid in the darkness of the house. Alex could have walked right into the movie. She didn’t recognize the movie or any of the cast and that was pretty strange, given how many movies she watched. It looked like a period piece.
The opening scene was a crowded party. Music lilted and a fire blazed on a huge hearth. The actors’ clothing was lavish: richly embroidered, embellished with jewels, cut of velvet and brocade; it gleamed in the golden light. They all wore high, lace-edged white collars.
They looked like actors in a Shakespearean play. Alex didn’t know the lines, though, and it wasn’t iambic penta
meter. The camera moved through the crowd like a person crossing the room, capturing furtive expressions, smiles and winks and flirtatious glances. The audio was overheard snippets, gossip about a famous duelist and scandalous affairs.
The camera paused to focus on a beautiful woman who stood at one side of the room. Her hair was dark and she wore a long necklace of pearls. Her collar was higher than most, and the white of it framed her lovely face. Her lips were red and her eyes were blue.
The woman turned to look steadily into the camera as it drew nearer. She smiled as if she and the camera were on intimate terms. Alex had never seen this actress before, which surprised her. With a face like that, she should have gotten a ton of roles.
“It is done,” she murmured as the camera sidled up to her. She took a sip of her wine and glanced across the room, failing to disguise her satisfaction. “He is determined to get the Dragon’s Tooth.” There was greed in the depths of her eyes and a hard line to her lips. “You have your prey—now bring me my prize.”
“Do you not care that he will die?” a man’s voice asked brusquely. Alex realized that his was the view the camera shared.
She was looking through his eyes.
The woman sneered. “Men are all useful, but in the end I have only myself to rely upon.” She made to sip from her pewter cup, but a man’s hand seized it and cast the wine against the wall. His sleeve was red velvet.
“A foolish admission, Olivia,” he said, his voice filled with menace. “For now I have proof of the truth of your heart.”
The woman was afraid. “I spoke of him!”
“You spoke of men, and I did not miss the detail.” He wisibly tightened his grip on her wrist and she whimpered. “You had best hope that your champion wins this duel, for I shall demand much more for the prize you would claim as your own.”
“You promised!”
His voice dropped low. “I lied.”
Rage contorted her features, but before she spoke the scene cut to darkness. The contrast was startling. Alex sat down on the edge of the couch, transfixed. She could see rock gleaming wetly in the darkness, as if the camera had entered a cave.
There was a light coming from far below. Water dripped, and as the camera wound its way down a roughly hewn staircase, the drips and pillars of calcium became clear.
The camera closed in on the silhouette of a man, as if coming up behind him. He carried the lantern that was the source of light. Alex saw the gleam of a knife in the hand of the man whose view she shared. He followed the first man in silence.
This wasn’t good.
The lead man moved warily. He was dressed in a green velvet doublet with lace collar and cuffs. His boots were high and his tights showed that he had great legs.
He didn’t look in the least bit effeminate, but then, with a build like his, Alex couldn’t imagine that any outfit could make him look less than all man. She was also pretty sure his tights weren’t padded. That was real muscle.
She wondered who the actor was and yearned for a glimpse of his face. He moved with easy grace, like a dancer or a runner. He held a sword high in his right hand and a lantern in his left. His hair was russet, the same deep auburn shade as Donovan’s.
She glanced down at Donovan, who was still out cold, then back at the screen.
“What do you seek in my lair, intruder?” demanded that deep male voice Alex had heard before.
The man with the russet hair spun. He swung his blade immediately to defend himself and the two blades clashed. Alex would have recognized him anywhere.
Donovan!
Chapter 10
How could a cameraman fight a battle with Donovan while juggling the weight of a camera? Then Alex knew. She really was looking through the eyes of Donovan’s opponent.
The Wyvern had conjured this display from Donovan’s past as a lesson for Alex.
Alex sat down, ignoring the voice in her mind that insisted things were getting too weird. She watched as the two men battled each other, their swords clashing mightily. She wished she could have seen the attacker: all she saw of him was the bloodred velvet of his sleeve, the wrist edged with pearls and lace. He had a hand like a ham hock— again, there was no question of the frills making him look feminine.
He backed Donovan down the stairs, into the grotto below. Donovan flung his lantern on a rock shelf and it cast a feeble light into the considerable dimensions of the cavern.
The scene was otherworldly. Stalactites and stalagmites clustered like ungainly teeth. Some were encrusted with white residue from the dripping water, yet others were stained rich ocher. The roof of the cave arched high overhead.
There was a lake, one as dark as a mirror and with nary a ripple. A pile gleamed near it, a pile of precious objects.
As the attacker forced Donovan away from the lantern, Donovan abruptly pulled out a shorter blade. He fought with both hands, stabbing at his assailant with a flurry of blows. He was fast and unpredictable, faster and more agile than his opponent.
The attacker cried out in pain as a blade found its mark, and Alex wanted to cheer.
His perspective suddenly changed. He got taller, because suddenly she was looking down on Donovan. Alex guessed that the attacker had changed shape. She looked for his shadow and saw it stretched across the floor of the cave. He had wings and talons and a long tail.
More dragons. If this was in the past, then this dragon could do to Donovan what Boris and Tyson had done to Mark.
And the Wyvern expected Alex to watch.
She looked for the remote. Then she realized that Donovan was here, whole and sleeping. He’d survived this battle.
Sometimes it was good to know the ending of the story.
The attacker’s vision had become crisper, far more detailed than his vision in human guise. When he focused on something, his sight seemed to spiral in, increasing the level of detail so quickly that it made Alex dizzy. Alex was awed by the resolution.
Was this how the world looked to Donovan in dragon form? He had said that his senses were more keen, but this was amazing.
Meanwhile, Donovan bellowed and changed shape as well, taking much less time for the transition. His scales glimmered in the lantern’s light, as rich an ornament as his Elizabethan garb. He was all muscle and sinew, all power, and Alex wanted to applaud. He looked like a champion.
Donovan didn’t have that embedded pearl on his chest, the one that was now in her pocket. Was the difference important?
The pair locked claws and grappled for supremacy. Donovan was younger, Alex could see, more slender and quick. Lighter, too—his opponent flung Donovan across the cavern so that he fell hard against the floor.
Donovan didn’t immediately move. Alex stood up.
Donovan’s opponent turned his gaze on the lantern. Alex saw his vision fixate on the flame to the exclusion of all else. The lantern flame became larger and larger.
He was controlling the fire with his will. The flame leapt high, higher, higher, then was abruptly extinguished.
The cavern was plunged into darkness. Alex watched the vision of Donovan’s opponent adjust to the change with remarkable speed. Shadows redefined themselves into walls and floor and lake and hoard. He almost had night vision, seeing the world in so many shades of black and red and gold. He seemed to have become taller.
Then she guessed what he’d done. He’d stolen the energy of the flame and turned it to his own uses. He’d coaxed it to its maximum power, then taken the energy for his own.
He turned to consider Donovan with such deliberation that Alex had a bad feeling.
The ground rumbled. Donovan’s opponent looked around in confusion. The floor of the cavern was jumping and ripples crossed the lake’s surface. The golden hoard was disturbed, several items falling into the lake with splashes. The cave floor vibrated with force and Donovan’s assailant lost his balance.
He took flight just as several large stalactites fell and shattered on the floor of the cave. He pivoted in midair and his vis
ion locked again on the fallen blue dragon. He obviously intended to finish what he had started, ASAP.
Donovan stirred, raised his head, and shook it. He looked straight at his assailant, eyes flashing as he exhaled smoke.
But before Donovan could rise to his feet, a massive dragon of opal and gold erupted from the earth right in front of him. He made an impressive barrier between Donovan and his attacker, rock crumbling from his shoulders and back.
The assailant took a step back. “You,” he breathed, his hatred audible.
Donovan looked surprised, too.
“Ah, Magnus,” the new arrival said, shaking his head slowly. His voice was deep and ancient and Alex recognized it right away—he was the Pyr who had driven the hearse. “I am disappointed in you.”
The assailant—Magnus—snorted. “Why should I care?”
“Once you cared for my friendship and respect.” The new arrival’s eyes gleamed.
Magnus laughed. “Once I did not know the old secrets of power.”
“Once,” Rafferty said quietly, “you were among the true Pyr.”
“What stirs you, Rafferty, after all these years?” demanded Magnus. “We know already that you cannot defeat me.”
Rafferty apparently didn’t accept this as a given. His eyes glittered. “Perhaps I have learned something in two centuries.”
“Perhaps your ability to snore will not affect the outcome.”
Magnus breathed a stream of fire that lit the cave with brilliant orange. Rafferty reared back and the pair lunged for each other.
If he was on Donovan’s side, then Rafferty was a good dragon. Alex cheered for all good dragons. It was her new policy.
Rafferty struck Magnus with his tail. Magnus ripped Rafferty’s wings with his claws and the red blood of the Pyr dripped into the lake below. Rafferty rammed Magnus into the wall of the cave, causing it to shake. Several chunks of rock loosed themselves and shattered below, one splashing in the lake.
Magnus had forgotten Donovan, but Alex hadn’t. Where was he?
Magnus roared and bit, his teeth digging deep into the Pyr’s throat. Alex saw Rafferty’s eyes dim and feared he was lost. He fought on, but more weakly than before. His breathing was labored and Magnus locked his talons around the Pyr’s neck.
Kiss of Fury Page 17