Kiss of Fury

by Deborah Cooke

  Alex met his gaze. “I’m not afraid of anything. Not anymore.”

  “No more nightmares?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  His smile flashed. “The least I could do.”

  “What about you? Are you ready to face your dragons?” Alex watched Donovan, noting his stillness, and knew she had his undivided attention. “We could satisfy the firestorm.”

  Donovan gave her such an intense look that Alex knew he’d already made his decision. He uttered a single word with such conviction that Alex had no doubt of his feelings. “Yes,” he said with resolve.

  She stretched and brushed her lips across his, feeling the leap of his heart beneath her hand. “Let’s celebrate success,” she whispered. “By leaving the condoms on the nightstand tonight.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Alex fixed Donovan with an intense look of her own. “Yes.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to say anything more.

  Archibald Forrester was in a bad mood. Not only had he spent the entire week in the hospital, thanks to his emphysema acting up again, but some fool had stolen his car. His body might be healed but he was as mad as hops. The police had found the burned-out wreckage on the outskirts of town, and Archibald couldn’t imagine what the world was coming to.

  Worst of all, it was Thursday. He’d finally persuaded Berenice to go to the dance at the Legion with him on Saturday night, but without a car, he wouldn’t be able to pick her up. She would decline to go with him, again, and he’d have to start over his campaign to win her favor. Again.

  Archibald wasn’t getting any younger.

  His mood hadn’t improved—and his impatience hadn’t mitigated—when the nurse found some reason to avoid taking him downstairs on time.

  Archibald wasn’t dead yet, though. He got into the wheelchair the intern had brought and piled all of his documentation and belongings on his lap. The sooner he got out of the hospital, the sooner he could figure out how to get a car by Saturday night.

  He’d just wheeled himself into the hall when the nurse called after him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Forrester,” she said, then grabbed the handles on the wheelchair and pushed him forward with greater speed. He didn’t acknowledge her, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Do you have your charts? Good. I just got caught up talking to your grandson.”

  Archibald raised a brow, but said nothing. He wasn’t senile yet, either. His only grandson lived in Atlanta and his wife had delivered triplets less than a month before. Archibald doubted that Roger had made the trip to Minneapolis, and knew that if he had, he wouldn’t have wasted time chatting to nurses when he could have talked to him.

  Archibald knew an excuse when he heard one. He folded his arms across his belongings and let himself be pushed toward the elevator in silence.

  “Such a charming man,” the nurse said, clinging to her lie. “Here. He brought you a card.”

  She handed Archibald an envelope. He fingered it with suspicion. If it really was from his grandson, and if he had really been on this floor of this hospital five minutes ago, wouldn’t he have brought the card to Archibald himself? It was fat, as if it contained more than a card.

  Was it a trick? He hated practical jokes, always had. “Go ahead and open it,” the nurse chided as she backed his wheelchair into the elevator. “Get-well cards don’t bite.”

  That was true enough. Archibald opened the envelope and pulled out the card. It was attractive, not too fussy, and stuck to the basics. Get well soon was written across the front. No flowers—they had always made him think of funeral homes—but a cartoon of a dog.

  He opened the card and something metallic fell to his lap. There was no verse, just a handwritten note.

  Mr. Forrester:

  Thanks for the use of your car. I’m sorry for the result, and also for the fact that I couldn’t get another taupe one.

  Maybe the navy is more “you.”

  I told the dealership you’d stop by to do the paperwork for the license plates.

  Take care—

  D.

  P.S. I left something for the insurance in the glove box.

  The metal that had fallen to his lap was a pair of keys: Buick keys on a WWII vet key ring. A license plate number was written on a separate hang tag on the key ring, and that tag also had the name of a Buick dealership in town.

  Archibald read the note again. He wasn’t illiterate, either. His grandson’s name was Roger, which certainly did not start with a D.

  The nurse wheeled him through the exit, into a perfect, sunny fall day. He immediately spied a navy Buick in the short-term parking lot. It was the new model he’d been eying, and the dealer license-plate number matched the one on the tag.

  “There,” he said, as if it were truly his car.

  The nurse took him right to the driver’s-side door, and he stood beside it, trying not to admire it too openly.

  “New car?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She was pretty, this nurse. She smiled at him, and the sunlight danced in her hair. “I think you look good in navy. It’ll make your eyes look more blue.”

  Archibald snorted, pleased although he tried to hide it. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

  She shook a playful finger at him. “Let’s not be seeing you again too soon,” she teased. “As charming as you are, I’d rather you were healthy.”

  Archibald nodded agreement, and she headed back to the hospital, pushing the wheelchair.

  He looked at the car again. It was a fine piece of machinery, painted a metallic navy blue that glistened in the sun. Was this a trick? Some kind of Candid Camera setup? He couldn’t see any cameras, but he wouldn’t make a fool of himself anyway.

  He turned the key in the lock and his heart skipped when the door unlocked, then opened with nary a squeak. He got in, savored that new-car smell, and—still skeptical—leaned over to open the glove box.

  The receipt for the car was there, and it was marked PAID IN FULL. The paperwork for the license plates was there, with a business card clipped to it for the car salesman. There was an envelope with his name on it, addressed in the same handwriting as the card.

  He opened the envelope to find twenty new hundred-dollar bills.

  For the insurance.

  It seemed that the world was a better place than he’d come to believe.

  Archibald exhaled and looked around, seeing the day with new eyes. He didn’t know who had taken his car and wrecked it, but that person had done the right thing and that was good enough by him.

  Archibald turned the key in the ignition and liked the sound of the engine. He ran his hand across the brand-new upholstery and couldn’t help but smile.

  Wait until Berenice got a look at this.

  Alex was locking the Green Machine into a temporary garage late Thursday afternoon when she heard the distinctive roar of a Ducati. She turned and waited, her buoyant mood made even better with the promise of Donovan’s arrival.

  He turned the corner and slowed the bike as he approached her, opening the visor on his helmet. He looked long and lean and sexy, his wicked smile doing dangerous things to her pulse. He was James Dean and every other hunk movie star rolled into one package.

  And he was smiling at her.

  “Hey gorgeous,” he said as he came to a stop. “Going my way?”

  It wasn’t a joke. Alex felt gorgeous in his presence, sexy and feminine as she never had before. She was happy when she was with Donovan, too, and she loved how he had helped her.

  Having him in her life was worth fighting dragons. “Depends,” she said, sauntering over to the bike. “Where are you going?”

  “How was the meeting with Mr. Sinclair?” he asked instead.

  “Amazing!” Alex couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. “He’s bringing in a technical consultant tomorrow to go over the Green Machine and he took at least a hundred pictures. He has that team already lined up for a strategic partnership and hal
f of them are coming in for the weekend. Everything is a go!” She flung out her hands, still unable to believe how well it had gone. “We drove all over the place and he talked on the phone the whole time. The man seems to know everybody.”

  “So, it’s happening.” Donovan nodded approval.

  “It’s happening,” Alex agreed. “I couldn’t have managed it without you and the Pyr. Thanks.” She would have kissed him but he was still wearing his helmet. She laid a hand on his arm instead and he put his hand over hers.

  Even without the spark of the firestorm, it was pretty electric.

  “So how about us?” he asked.

  “Us?” Alex felt her heart skip.

  “Us.” Donovan gave her a hard look, one that made Alex’s mouth go dry; then he looked away. “We have an outstanding bet to settle,” he mused. “There was a bottle of champagne riding on who could hold back the longest, and it seems to me that we should confirm who’s buying.”

  “It’s not just about sex,” Alex whispered, and Donovan shook his head with force.

  “No, it’s not. It’s about celebration.”

  “It’s not just about proving that you’re alive, either.”

  Donovan pulled off his helmet and got off the bike, then took her hand in his. “The firestorm is about love,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s about finding your destined mate and falling hard enough that you worry about that person before you worry about yourself. It’s about finding strength in your own weakness.” He bent and brushed his lips across her knuckles, launching a wave of desire that nearly took Alex to her knees.

  He looked at her, a wicked glint in his green eyes as he put her hand over his chest. She knew he had a new mole there, a mole that marked the contribution of her talisman. She was fiercely proud that she’d been able to offer something to make him safe.

  No matter what happened.

  “The firestorm has just drawn us to where we needed to be, Alex,” he murmured, his eyes filled with promise. “I love you, and half measures just aren’t going to be good enough.”

  Alex couldn’t think straight about what he had said. Not yet. Not when his words were what she most wanted to hear.

  “Dragon babies,” she said, liking the sound of it more and more.

  “There will be a child, and he’ll be our son. No matter what happens between you and me, I’ll take care of him.”

  “I know.”

  Donovan frowned down at her hand. “I know you aren’t crazy about dragons, and if being with me is too much for you, I’ll understand. . . .”

  He was giving her the choice. Alex was humbled and thrilled.

  “I’m not crazy about Slayers,” she corrected. “But I think I’d like to have a good dragon of my very own.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Just in case.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Insurance?”

  “Like a dragon’s tooth in the garden, but better.”

  Donovan smiled a slow crooked smile that made her pulse go crazy. Alex knew that she’d never get tired of this journey of discovery. “We can’t go to my apartment. It was trashed by the Slayers—”

  Donovan put a finger over her lips, his touch making her mouth go dry. Alex felt her heartbeat synchronize with his and watched his eyes darken with desire. “You asked where I was going. I’ve got an appointment to look at real estate tomorrow.”

  “Real estate?”

  “I’m thinking I need a real lair, not just somewhere to leave my hoard, and that I need it in Minneapolis-St. Paul.”

  “Someplace with a dangerous downtown vibe?”

  “Someplace with good schools.” He smiled at her. “I’d like you to come along, since I’d like for us to share that lair.”

  “I’d like that, too.” Alex leaned closer, knowing it was time for the truth. “I love you, Donovan Shea,” she whispered, her voice low. She saw his grin flash before he kissed her.

  “We should keep it legal,” she teased moments later. “Seeing as we’re in a public place.”

  “I can fix that,” Donovan said, handing her the second helmet he’d brought. “Just don’t tell me what kind of lingerie you’re wearing.”

  “White lace, of course,” she said as she got on the bike, and he groaned. She put her arms around his waist. “I think I might start a collection. For luck.”

  “There’s more than luck at work between us,” Donovan said, and revved the bike.

  At the sound, Alex had an idea. “What do you think about driving the world’s first and most environmentally friendly motorcycle?” she said, and Donovan laughed.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to think of that,” he said. “I’ve already warned the others that you’ll be converting their vehicles. Quinn volunteered his pickup truck to be next.”

  “That reminds me,” Alex said, leaning closer as Donovan took a curve. “There’s one more thing we need to make right.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Three words.”

  “Archibald Forrester’s Buick,” they said in unison.

  Donovan grinned. “I took care of that this afternoon.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Made things right. Besides, I think navy will suit Archibald better than taupe.”

  Alex laughed and kissed him again. “Thank you. I was worried about him losing his car.”

  “We had to fix it, and I needed something to do during your meeting.” His expression turned wicked, and Alex’s heart skipped at the sight. “Because we’ve got other fires to light tonight.”

  Alex wasn’t going to argue with that.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  When I first proposed this story, I had Alex’s prototype car use water as fuel. By the time I sat down to write the story, I was beginning to wonder how I would make that sound plausible. But in August 2007, there was a story in the news—what perfect timing!—about a cancer researcher named John Kanzius in Erie, Pennsylvania, who inadvertently discovered that salt water will burn while exposed to radio frequencies. His results have been confirmed and are the focus of research.

  So, while Alex is ahead of her time, the Green Machine isn’t that implausible.

  Read on for a sneak preview of the next

  book in Deborah Cooke’s Dragonfire series

  KISS OF FATE

  Coming from Signet Eclipse in February 2009

  Chicago

  February 2008

  The Pyr gathered at Erik’s lair for the eclipse.

  Erik’s lair was in a warehouse that had been partly converted to lofts. It was large and industrial and in a lousy part of town. Rafferty wondered who would see the high council of dragons on the roof of the building and what they would make of the scene. The idea made him smile.

  Rafferty was older than all the others, but he never got bored of the world and its charms. As usual, he was optimistic that this time the firestorm would be his, but he couldn’t resent the good fortune of his fellows.

  The Great Wyvern had a plan for each of them; Rafferty believed that with all his heart and soul.

  And he would wait his turn.

  While he waited, he did his best to facilitate the firestorms of his fellows.

  The company stood on the roof, watching the moon slip into the earth’s shadow. It took on the hue of blood, casting the earth in surreal light.

  “Quickly,” Erik said with more than his usual impatience. “The full eclipse will last less than half an hour this time.” Rafferty understood Erik’s concern; this was the third of the full eclipses, three in a row before the final battle between Pyr and Slayer. After this eclipse, the die would be cast and the battle for power over the planet’s fate would begin in earnest.

  Rafferty wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Meanwhile, the Pyr shifted shape in unison. For this eclipse, they were joined by the two most recent human mates, both of whom were pregnant. Quinn, the Smith, was scaled in sapphire and steel; his mate, Sara, the Seer, stood petite and fair at his side. Donovan, the Warrior,
took his lapis lazuli and gold dragon form, while his tall and dark-haired mate, Alex, the Wizard, looked on. Theirs were two strong partnerships that had been made at this vortex of change.

  This would be the third, if the Pyr could make it work.

  Erik turned to an onyx and pewter dragon, while Rafferty became an opal and gold dragon. Sloane and Niall brought Delaney and kept him between them, although Rafferty believed that it was Delaney who was most worried about what might happen.

  After all, the spark in Delaney’s eyes was much brighter. Rafferty believed that Sloane’s treatment was working and that the darkness inflicted upon Delaney was steadily diminishing.

  Sloane changed form, his tourmaline scales shading from green to purple and back again, each one edged in gold. Niall, meanwhile, became a dragon of amethyst and platinum. Delaney changed to an emerald and copper dragon. Nikolas of Thebes, new to this ceremony, shifted to a dragon of anthracite and iron, then hung back to quietly observe.

  Erik murmured the ancient blessing once they were all in dragon form. Rafferty watched Erik spin the Dragon’s Egg, saw the moon’s light touch the round dark stone. Gold lines appeared upon its surface almost immediately, prompting a startled gasp from both Alex and Nikolas. Rafferty watched hungrily as the gold lines triangulated a location.

  Would this be his chance? The Dragon’s Egg glistened as Erik leaned closer to read its portent.

  “London,” a woman’s voice said from behind them all. Rafferty pivoted to find the Wyvern lounging against the fire escape, still in her human form.

  He doubted that he was the only one surprised to find her there. Sophie was wearing a long white skirt that floated around her ankles. Her long blond hair was loose and flowed down her back. She looked like a graceful swan, or perhaps like one that was made of glass.

  How did she keep herself from shifting shape under the eclipse’s light?

  She smiled as she regarded them, smiled so knowingly that Rafferty wondered if she had heard his thoughts.

  She strode closer and crouched down beside the Dragon’s Egg. “Why don’t we ask it to tell us something we don’t know?”