Kiss of Fury

by Deborah Cooke

  Erik looked beyond the smoke to Boris and was shocked. The Slayer became larger and brighter, his eyes shining with triumph as his smoke tormented Erik.

  The smoke wasn’t just stealing Erik’s strength: it was giving that vitality to Boris. It was a conduit between the two of them, cheating Erik to fuel Boris. Boris would see Erik sucked dry, a shell of his former self.

  Given new strength by the realization, Erik snarled in his turn, pivoted, and dove toward the lake. The smoke pursued him but Erik knew how to lose it. He plunged into the lake’s icy depths, refreshed by the cold and free of the smoke. He looked up to see it gathering on the surface, ready to ensnare him when he emerged. Boris would be larger and stronger yet.

  Erik had to make his kill while he could.

  Alex snatched up Jared and pivoted immediately to return to the garage.

  No luck. Jorge landed in her path. He was beautiful in dragon form, all glittering topaz and gold. His eyes remained the same cold, cold blue. He smiled smugly and Alex wanted to deck him.

  “Auntie Alex?” Jared whispered against her throat.

  “Just hang on,” she told her nephew. “We’ll get out of this.”

  He whimpered and looked back at Sloane. Alex was thinking about the distance to Donovan’s Ducati, parked outside the garage, and wishing she had the keys.

  Then Magnus landed between her and the Pyr, effectively sandwiching her between two Slayers. He, too, seemed content to smile at her hungrily and bide his time.

  “I love a good dragon fight,” he murmured to Alex as if they were spectators at a sporting event. She bit back a rude reply. Delaney lay injured beside her and Alex didn’t know whether to trust him or not.

  Then she saw that the trickle of blood from his wounds was red.

  Meanwhile, Sloane had glanced over his shoulder, following Jared’s gesture. A larger and darker version of Sloane approached quickly, his talons extended and his teeth bared. He was a broken and burned version of the Pyr he must have once been, and one bent on slaughter. Sloane roared in pain as his father fell upon him.

  Sloane rallied and struck his father hard with his tail. They fought viciously for several moments and Jared cheered for his dragon. The Slayer fell, but Sloane didn’t rush in to make the kill. Instead, he studied the fallen Slayer. Alex saw Sloane’s hesitation—evidently there was enough familiar in the Slayer that Sloane couldn’t strike the final blow.

  “Kill him!” Donovan commanded.

  Sloane shook his head mutely just as his father rose again. The Slayer breathed slowly, fixed his gaze upon his son, and Alex was sure that the darkness of his eyes became more intense.

  “Join us,” he urged with quiet force, and Sloane averted his gaze.

  It wasn’t a time for doubts. Donovan attacked the ghoul that had been Sloane’s father before he could say more. He carried the Slayer high above the ground, then used his steel talons to cut off his claws. Jared watched with fascination, but Alex looked away. She’d seen this show before.

  Sloane’s father struggled and screamed, but even he must have known that his wings weren’t fit to save him if Donovan let him go. Donovan dismembered Sloane’s father just as he had destroyed his own. He wore the same expression of regret.

  When the pieces fell sizzling to the driveway, Sloane turned his dragonfire upon them, committing his father to ash and oblivion. Donovan landed beside him and added his dragonfire to finish the task.

  Alex saw that Sloane’s face was wet with tears, and understood that the deed had not been easy for him. The spark of the divine had been extinguished in his father, so there was no choice.

  That couldn’t make it any easier to do.

  Which was presumably what Magnus and the Slayers were counting on.

  When the ash stirred in the wind, Donovan surveyed the scene. Magnus chortled and waited. Donovan had obviously assumed that Alex had returned to the garage, and she knew the moment he discovered he was wrong.

  “Shit,” Sloane said.

  Donovan looked grim. He scanned the area, checking for allies and casualties. Magnus gave him time to look. Alex saw that Rafferty had fallen—Donovan’s mentor was bleeding and unconscious on the pavement. There was no sign of Rafferty’s grandfather, which she assumed was a bad sign.

  Niall was still battling the Slayer that had been his brother, but his brother was winning. Quinn was fighting against two of the Slayers created from his older brothers, one of which was blackened from dragonfire, his exhaustion showing. Sara stood in the shelter of the garage, her gaze fixed on Quinn.

  Donovan seemed to note all of this, then eyed Magnus. Alex knew he was assessing the Slayer’s strength. Could he see that Magnus was still missing the same scale he’d been missing all those centuries ago? The light wasn’t good, but Alex didn’t want to shout what she could see.

  Too bad humans and their Pyr mates couldn’t exchange a private kind of old-speak. She tightened her grip on Jared, who—for once—didn’t seem to mind being hugged.

  Magnus smiled with confidence as he addressed Donovan. “Care to reconsider your choices? We’d love to have you on our team.”

  “Never,” Donovan seethed. Alex knew he’d die fighting rather than surrender to evil.

  She just wished it didn’t look as if things could end that way.

  Delaney felt despair. The darkness had come from nowhere, dragging him back to its depths like a malevolent monster of the deep. A whistle and a chant, both of which he had been taught to remember forever, had undone him.

  Despite the power of Donovan’s firestorm, Delaney feared he would never be healed.

  He felt the presence of Donovan’s mate close beside him.

  He listened to Magnus and Jorge, heard Donovan’s frustration, and understood the situation. He wasn’t going to let Donovan lose what was precious to him.

  Delaney didn’t care what price he paid to secure the future of Donovan’s mate. His own future wasn’t worth living, not with this dark stain placed upon his heart, not with this charm that he couldn’t deny. He wouldn’t be a Slayer pawn forever, commanded to injure those he had cared for. He couldn’t imagine a better cause for sacrifice than Donovan’s future.

  Little did he know that making that choice was the key to finally erasing the stain laid upon his heart.

  ”Isn’t this interesting?” Magnus murmured as he locked claws with Donovan. “You saw that my treasure was lost and now I can return the favor.”

  “Don’t touch my mate!” Donovan spun in the air, fighting Magnus as they turned together. Their tails entwined and he was startled by Magnus’s great strength.

  Jorge snatched up Alex and Jared, when Alex might have run into the garage, laughing as he held them above the ground.

  “I don’t have to touch your mate to kill her,” Magnus said with a smile. “Although it might add to the fun.”

  Rage filled Donovan, a fury at the crimes of the Slayers and their quest for victory at any price. They would break any taboo or twist any soul to their purpose. They would destroy and devour and never regret a bit of it if their own ends were served. What would be left of the planet if they won? The anger threatened to consume him; then he remembered Alex’s trick.

  He deliberately used his anger to fuel his desire for justice. He battled ferociously against Magnus, letting his fury over the Slayers’ treatment of Delaney fill his veins. He cast Magnus against the pavement, heard a bone crack, and watched Magnus take flight again.

  They locked claws, spiraling through the air in their struggle for supremacy. Donovan thought about Alex’s ordeal, how Boris and Tyson had let her watch them eat Mark alive. He thought about her nightmares and her fears and the very real chance of her being committed to a mental hospital.

  The injustice made him livid.

  “More,” whispered the Wyvern in old-speak.

  Donovan thought about Magnus manipulating Olivia, about Boris fighting Erik, about Tyson stalking and attacking Alex. He thought about the Slayers attacking
Peter and his family, about Boris deceiving Mr. Sinclair, about a thousand acts of unfairness both big and small. He let his heart fill with the darkness that was Slayer; he let himself despise it; then he used it against his opponent.

  And with the crescendo of rage, Donovan felt a resonance grow within him. He felt an accord with Gaia, that he was not just a part of the earth or an inhabitant upon it, but that he was her instrument.

  The elements of the earth were his weapons of war.

  He was the Warrior.

  Donovan roared as Gaia fed his triumph. The earth bellowed and shook and heaved. Hail fell from the sky like arrows of ice, the second weapon beneath his command. Rock projectiles took flight and pummeled the dark opponents of the Pyr, the third weapon in Donovan’s arsenal. Magnus shouted with frustration, recognizing that a greater force had joined the fray.

  Just when Donovan was sure they’d win, an unknown dragon came over the roof of the house.

  “Who’s that?” Alex cried, hoping to distract her captor. Jorge looked but he didn’t loosen his grip.

  Pyr and Slayers stared at the new arrival with shock.

  He was the color of anthracite, a thousand hues of silver, gray and black, his scales gleaming in the starlight. He seemed primitive compared to the other Pyr, more reptilian.

  “He looks like a dinosaur,” Jared whispered.

  “Pyrannosaurus rex, maybe,” Alex replied.

  “I wonder whether smart women taste better,” Jorge mused. Alex ignored him.

  Sara had been right. This was the fighting dragon that had grown out of the Dragon’s Tooth pearl they’d planted. No wonder he looked so old.

  “He has no scent,” Sloane murmured. “Which side is he on?”

  “We’re always ready for converts,” Jorge said.

  “So, you figured out the secret of the Dragon’s Tooth,” Magnus mused, his voice dark. “To think that there were once a hundred such teeth, simply waiting to be put to use. To think we could harvest an entire Slayer army if we simply retrieved them.”

  “You mean you lost the other ninety-nine?” Donovan scoffed. “Remind me never to trust you with anything important.”

  “I had them all!” Magnus bellowed.

  “So, Olivia coaxed the others out of you?” Donovan said. “Did she even know their power?”

  “That stupid woman had no idea what she asked of you,” Magnus said, seething at the memory. “Much less what sacrifice she asked of me.” He turned a bright glance on Rafferty.“It was his fault that I lost them all. It was always his fault.”

  Out in the driveway, Rafferty lifted his head, his eyes glimmering. Alex was surprised when he began to hum.

  So was the new arrival, who turned as if entranced by the music.

  “It’s the same song Rafferty sang when we planted the tooth,” Sara murmured from a safe vantage point inside the garage. “I remember it.”

  So did the new arrival. Alex held her breath. Would the song infuriate him or persuade him to take the Pyr side?

  Erik erupted from the lake like an arrow loosed from a bow. He sliced through the smoke and spiraled upward, targeting Boris.

  The startled Slayer took the brunt of Erik’s blow in his chest. The force of impact sent them both spinning through the air.

  Erik wasted no time on formalities. He ripped open Boris’s chest and bit the Slayer’s neck. Black blood flowed over ruby red scales as Boris screamed in pain.

  Erik thought of Louisa, killed by Slayers.

  He thought of the son Louisa had borne him, Sigmund, turned Slayer at Boris’s behest.

  He thought of the Wyvern, tortured at Boris’s command.

  He thought of the wickedness done by his opponent, and shredded Boris alive. He ripped his scales and tore his flesh, ignored the screams as the blood ran. He ravaged Boris’s body, turning it into a wreckage of its former glory.

  When Boris ceased his screaming and struggling, Erik flew high over the city of Chicago. He dropped Boris, then flew beside him, loosing an endless torrent of dragonfire on the Slayer’s body. The brilliant scarlet feathers that trailed behind Boris burned to cinders. The ruby red scales darkened to black. The brass edges of the scales darkened and the leathery wings curled into impotent wisps.

  Boris hit the pavement with a resounding thud and moved no more. Erik checked that he’d left no detail unattended. He wanted Boris to remain dead.

  Boris had been struck with dragonfire.

  He’d fallen to the earth.

  The cold wind off the lake touched his broken body.

  The rain fell upon his stillness.

  All four elements had been accounted for. A dark puddle of blood spread beneath Boris, mingling with the rain and glistening like an oil slick.

  Boris had played his last trick. He was dead, or so close to it that the difference was immaterial. Erik hovered, watching his opponent’s fallen form with suspicion.

  But Boris didn’t stir.

  The wind did. It burst forth suddenly, setting the litter on the dock to whirling. The wind tasted dark and ominous, and Erik turned his attention to it.

  Something was wrong. There was an unnatural disturbance in the forces surrounding the earth. The north wind hinted at where the trouble had occurred.

  Minnesota.

  With one last lingering look, Erik abandoned Boris’s corpse, turned in midair, and streaked north at lightning speed to help his fellows.

  Erik didn’t see Boris rouse himself long moments later. He didn’t see Boris slowly drag his burned and battered body across the wet pavement toward the detritus of his clothes.

  Erik didn’t see Boris, hatred in his eyes, deliberately pick up the penny in his talons and lock his fist around it.

  Erik didn’t see Boris change back to human form, see him bleeding and bruised, wearing only the undershirt he had managed to hide away. He didn’t see Boris lean his forehead on the ground, gathering the last shards of his strength.

  Erik certainly didn’t see Boris crawl away.

  If Erik had witnessed any of this, he would have been far more worried about the future than he already was.

  He had never believed that the legendary Dragon’s Blood Elixir truly existed. Seeing Boris rise from the ashes of destruction and cheat death would have changed Erik’s thinking.

  But Erik was gone.

  Chapter 20

  Nikolas had been enchanted too long.

  The world was so different that it bore little resemblance to the one he knew. The earth sang a variation on the song he understood—her tune was more angry than it had once been. The wind carried different scents than the ones he had known. The water in the lake beyond knew nothing of the Mediterranean that he so loved.

  But the dragonfire was the same.

  He knew it and he recognized his own kind. He knew that even if much had changed, some things had remained constant. He sensed valor in the lapis lazuli and gold dragon to his right, and respected the unknown talisman on that one’s chest.

  He sensed evil in the jade and gold dragon to his left and felt the relentless darkness of that one’s selfish heart. He did not understand the shadow dragons, the ones that were neither dead nor alive, but he felt an abhorrence of them.

  Then he heard the song that had coaxed him to awaken, a song as old as the earth herself, a song that roused a rhythm in his blood and reminded him that he was again alive. It was a song that awakened his commitment to justice and his pledge to use his abilities for the cause of right.

  He had been born to fight, and reborn to fight again.

  Nikolas raged after the jade dragon, fighting with vicious fury. The lapis lazuli dragon joined forces with him and they assaulted the jade dragon from both sides. The old dragon did not surrender the fight easily, but battled with surprising vigor.

  Meanwhile, the topaz and gold dragon held the woman and child captive. His wings flapped, and Nikolas knew he meant to kidnap the pair and hold them hostage. The woman screamed.

  The jade dragon
locked claws with the lapis lazuli one, keeping him from going to the woman’s aid. One of the shadow dragons left the sapphire dragon to assail Nikolas and Nikolas met his assault with fury.

  How dare they endanger a woman and child?

  The fallen dragon, the copper and emerald one, roused himself suddenly in the woman’s defense. He attacked the topaz dragon with unexpected force. The woman squirmed free as the pair fought. They looked like vicious snakes knotted around each other, blood running red and black over their scales.

  The woman and child ran back into the shelter where another woman waited. Nikolas was relieved. A dragon battlefield was no place for humans.

  Chaos reigned, but Nikolas sensed that it was under the command of one of the Pyr. He surveyed them and identified the lapis lazuli dragon as the source of power. He wore a badge upon his chest, a mark of black and red. He was a veritable fighting machine and Nikolas felt the earth answer his summons. Hail sliced through the sky, rocks flew, and the wind swirled in a maelstrom beneath his command.

  He was magnificent, a leader of warriors and one whom Nikolas could respect. He committed himself to the lapis lazuli dragon’s side. They fought together and he followed his leader’s strategy, destroying those who were neither dead nor alive.

  The opal dragon sang, changing his tune.

  There was a rumble as the earth parted, leaving a chasm across the land. Nikolas instinctively seized the jade dragon when he halted in surprise, then cast him into the abyss. Hail fell down upon him, leaving wounds everywhere it struck. The copper and emerald dragon dispatched the topaz dragon after him.

  The lapis lazuli dragon then cast others in the abyss, the others who were neither dead or alive. The shadow dragon fighting the amethyst and platinum dragon screamed and streaked skyward. His opponent landed, breathing heavily, as he watched the shadow dragon go. The shadow dragon Nikolas had fought followed suit, flying high over the trees and fading from sight.