Serpent's Kiss: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  A disgusted warrior queen.

  The firestorm burned brightly as she loomed over him, filling the space between them with its silvery light. He was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in all his life, and despite his pain, his body responded to the vision of her. Her eyes were shining, her feet braced against the ground. She could have been an action hero, or his favorite fantasy.

  For a moment, Thorolf forgot that she was pissed at him.

  Chandra didn’t. She hauled off and decked him. Thorolf couldn’t believe it until he saw the blood spurt from his nose.

  To his delight, it was red.

  Because of his firestorm.

  He laughed and reached for Chandra. She kicked his feet out from underneath him and he fell to the ground, seizing her on the way down. “I like wrestling,” he warned her as he rolled on top of her. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

  “Nothing said you’re going to win,” Chandra said through gritted teeth and drove her elbow into his chest. “I can’t believe you stopped me.”

  “I can’t believe you were going to kill her,” Thorolf muttered, as the pair of them grappled together.

  “It was my quest to kill her.”

  Thorolf was startled. “The one that has you going to Asgard once you finish.”

  She cast him a look, as if he were a particularly slow child.

  “All the more reason to interfere,” Thorolf said. Chandra glared at him. “You’re my mate. This is our firestorm. Clearly, I need more time to convince you that surrendering to it is a great idea.”

  “I work alone!” Chandra shouted as she rolled him to his back. She wriggled free, but this time, Thorolf tackled her, sweeping her feet out from beneath her.

  They tumbled together across the ground and Thorolf had to admit he was having the time of his life. It was incredibly hot to be wrestling with his mate, and he found himself aroused by how vigorous a fighter she was.

  He was starting to feel that a celebration would be in order.

  No matter who won.

  He caught her wrists in one hand and moved quickly, grinning when he trapped her beneath his weight. “Green eyes this time,” he noted. “I like it.”

  She twisted and bit, tried to kick him, then glared at him. “You like this,” she accused.

  Thorolf couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Oh yeah. Big fantasy. I always wanted a woman who would wrestle with me.”

  “Only because you want to win.”

  “Only because I want to lose, so you can have your way with me.” Thorolf chuckled and rolled his hips against her, letting her feel his reaction to their fight.

  “My way with you is to leave you,” she said, but her lips had parted in an inviting way. She was still talking tough, but the firestorm was provoking her response. Thorolf could tell by the way her eyes had started to sparkle.

  “Hasn’t happened so far,” he felt obliged to point out.

  “It would have happened right now, if you hadn’t interfered.”

  “Then you can’t expect me to have any regrets,” he murmured, then bent and stole a kiss. The firestorm was crackling silver between them, and the sparks that exploded from their kiss nearly blew his mind.

  “Centuries of preparation,” Chandra said through her teeth, her eyes narrowing again. “And you don’t even care that you screwed it up.”

  Thorolf braced himself on his elbows to look down at her. “Aren’t you taking female jealousy a bit far?” He made a joke, hoping she’d smile. “There’s enough of me to share.”

  “I should smite you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Go for it,” he invited. “I’m ready.”

  Chandra’s eyes flashed. Her knee moved so fast that he almost wasn’t prepared for it. His weight shifted through as he protected his jewels, and he realized too late that she’d expected him to do just that.

  “Idiot dragon!” she charged, and Thorolf was shocked to find himself sprawled on his back, her boot planted on his chest. “This isn’t about jealousy,” she informed him, a disgusted and triumphant warrior queen once more. “This is about keeping my word.”

  “Your promise to your brother?” Thorolf guessed.

  “That’s the one, the vow that saves his precious Pyr from extinction.”

  “We aren’t becoming extinct…”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  “Who exactly is your brother?” he asked, but Chandra was striding away. She pulled another arrow out of her quiver, her gaze scanning the jungle.

  She flicked a look at the arrow before loading it into the bow. “Jera,” she muttered. “It’ll have to do.”

  Thorolf leapt to his feet. “Don’t hurt her!” He reached out a hand in appeal. A spark leapt from his fingertip to Chandra’s chest, as if to soften her heart, and she caught her breath at the impact. At least she paused before shooting. He felt he was making progress and tried to make more. “Okay, she was my girlfriend, but we broke up. No matter what your deal with your brother is, you don’t have to kill her…”

  “She is your enemy.” Chandra pivoted to face him, her eyes bright. “She nearly killed you and you don’t even get it. I’m hoping that’s because you’re loyal, not stupid.”

  Thorolf shook his head. “No, you’ve got it wrong. Viv’s not my enemy.” The raven descended suddenly and landed on his shoulder, making him jump. It made a cry and Chandra strode back to his side. She grabbed his arm and turned it hard to the right, stared at the dark mark, then nodded thoughtfully.

  “Of course. Snakes,” she said, hissing out the word.

  “What about snakes?”

  She pressed her fingertips against two spots in the middle of the bruise. “You were bitten. Those are fang holes.”

  Thorolf’s gut churned at the very idea. “No way. No snake could be that big.”

  “Not a normal snake.”

  “Forget it. I’ve never been bitten by a snake…” But as Chandra pressed his skin, Thorolf remembered a large green snake. He remembered fighting with it, back in that apartment, then he remembered it biting him, the feel of its fangs sinking into his arm and the toxin of its venom immobilizing him.

  Right there.

  Chapter Eight

  “I should have realized earlier what they meant, but then—” Chandra’s lashes fluttered and she blushed. She licked her lips, flicking at glance at him, then frowned “—but then, I was distracted.”

  The firestorm’s silvery heat surged through Thorolf, reminding him all too well what could have distracted Chandra when she’d been close enough to check out his skin. “I can help with that,” he offered, but she rolled her eyes and marched away.

  The firestorm dimmed with distance, reminding Thorolf of their argument. “But what does that have to do with Viv?” Even if she’d kept the snake in the apartment without telling him, it wasn’t her fault that it had bitten him. “Just let her go.”

  “In this place? I don’t dare risk it.” Chandra was raising her crossbow to aim it at him, her expression grim. “You can help or you can continue to hinder. Choose.”

  Thorolf understood that she’d fire at him without a moment’s hesitation.

  He reached for her but she backed away. She aimed the weapon and Thorolf held up his hands in surrender. “You wouldn’t fire at me,” he said, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice. “We have a firestorm. We could be good together.”

  “Maybe that’s why it’s Jera,” she mused.

  “What? The rune?”

  “There’s one on every arrow,” she told him. “Or there is when I choose it. It’s always the perfect rune.”

  “I forget what Jera means,” he said and felt like a loser.

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head, but her gaze wasn’t as condemning as it could have been. “Good thing you’re cute,” she said, then her voice turned stern. “Change toward completion,” she said and lifted the crossbow. “It might be right.”

  Thorolf raised his hand. “
That’s not a good way to end the firestorm,” he said. He dared to smile and saw her eyes narrow. “Just let Viv go and I’ll try to help in your quest. How’s that for change?”

  “You are infuriating,” she murmured again, then exhaled with obvious exasperation. “Even for a dragon.”

  Thorolf smiled, hoping to charm her. “I do my best.”

  Chandra shook her head, a gesture of affection and resignation. “You would have a dimple,” she muttered then lowered the crossbow.

  A dimple clearly was a good thing.

  That concession was enough encouragement for Thorolf.

  He leapt in pursuit of his mate, not wanting to lose the advantage of the moment. To his shock, he ran smack into a wall of glass that had somehow been erected between them. It cracked from his point of impact, shattering the image of Chandra. He wondered if it also broke his nose.

  It might have been a mirror and it certainly was a barrier. As the pieces fell away, he thought he saw images of Viv in the shards. She looked really angry, but then there was only snow where Chandra had been.

  No, where the image of Chandra had been.

  Thorolf spun to look behind himself, but her sanctuary disappeared and he was surrounded by that swirling snow again. He was caught up in a wind that spun around him. It might have been a tornado or a maelstrom, spinning more and more quickly and lifting him off the ground. He had to close his eyes against the wind and the pellets of ice that struck his face.

  She’d tricked him. He should have resented it, but he admired how artfully it had been done. She had incredible powers. She probably didn’t need his protection.

  That was a deflating thought, especially as she was so fascinating.

  If manipulative.

  Thorolf hadn’t felt so turned inside out by a woman in a long, long time.

  No, not ever.

  No sooner had he had the realization then suddenly the wind stopped.

  He almost didn’t want to look.

  But he did.

  * * *

  “Meet me.”

  The old-speak slid into Lorenzo’s thoughts, licking his mind in a way that he found both revolting and inappropriate.

  He didn’t reply, but continued to review his plans for a new show in Las Vegas. He missed performing in a way he hadn’t expected, and he knew that his mate, Cassie, missed the States. Venice was elegant and beautiful, but three winters of dreary cold and endless acqua alta had been enough to diminish even his love of the city. They were never going to finish the renovations on the palazzo, not with the flooding each winter creating new damage, and he was starting to think the tourists outnumbered the pigeons.

  The incessant dampness wasn’t much good for little lungs, either—now that Lorenzo was a father, he worried about Antonio’s health, too. Cassie’s current pregnancy had tipped the balance. With another son due in May, it was time to return.

  Some good dry desert heat would be just the thing for all of them.

  Of course, his final show had culminated with his apparent death, which made for a great disappearance but complicated a comeback. There was good promotion to be had in returning from the dead, but the niggling detail of the Slayer’s corpse that had been found in his car and mistakenly identified as Lorenzo was an issue. He had a feeling he’d be pushing his talent for beguiling to its ultimate limit to convince many people that they hadn’t seen what they thought they’d witnessed.

  In a way, he was looking forward to the challenge.

  Lorenzo was sitting at his desk before a blazing fire in the large room overlooking the Grand Canal on the third floor of their palace, reviewing a midnight inspiration that had promise, when the old-speak slithered into his thoughts.

  He couldn’t smell the speaker, or sense his presence, which meant either that he was far away or very good.

  Or Slayer.

  Lorenzo prickled at that possibility. Of course, a firestorm had sparked concurrent with this lunar eclipse. That invariably brought the Slayers out of the woodwork, so to speak.

  The blue-green light of darkfire glittered, then the chair opposite was filled with Marco, the Sleeper of the Pyr. He was watching Lorenzo closely, his thoughts no easier to read than Lorenzo’s probably were.

  So, he’d heard the old-speak, too.

  Lorenzo thought of Cassie, sleeping in the next room, exhausted after another night of Antonio’s teething. She was feeling good in her final trimester, but had difficulties finding a comfortable posture to sleep. In a way, Antonio’s teething was a mixed blessing, because he would only take comfort from Cassie, which left her so tired that her posture didn’t matter. He’d suggested that he could beguile their son, but Cassie had—predictably—forbidden it.

  “Not her,” came the old-speak, the words underscored with humor. “I prefer to fight in my own class these days.”

  Lorenzo was jolted that the other dragon had followed his thoughts. He was losing his touch. Or his legendary control. It was time to get back in the game.

  Lorenzo met Marco’s gaze. The Sleeper mouthed the word Jorge, and Lorenzo nodded. A Slayer approaching him. Interesting.

  He flicked his fingertips, trying to emulate the spark of the firestorm, and Marco smiled. Thorolf, he mouthed, which surprised Lorenzo. Hadn’t that Pyr been missing?

  Marco nodded, evidently following the line of his thoughts.

  Very interesting.

  “Should I be flattered?” Lorenzo replied in old-speak after letting Jorge wait for it, and Marco bit back a smile.

  “Probably. I have a proposition for you.”

  “The proverbial offer I can’t refuse?” Though Lorenzo made a joke of it, he was intrigued. Slayers didn’t come to Pyr and they didn’t offer anything. Ever.

  Was it a trick?

  “I’m hoping so.” Jorge named a coffee shop that was in the same block, revealing that he knew the location of Lorenzo’s lair. That wasn’t reassuring at all, but Marco settled into his chair and nodded once.

  He’d guard Cassie and Antonio. As irritating as Lorenzo had found Marco during his firestorm with Cassie, the Sleeper had grown on him with longer acquaintance. He quite liked Marco and trusted him.

  Cassie liked him, too, and wouldn’t be dismayed if she awakened to find him standing guard.

  “Five minutes,” Lorenzo replied, disliking that he was unable to resist temptation and knowing that Jorge had probably relied upon that.

  Marco unfolded a piece of paper and laid it on Lorenzo’s desk, pushing it across the leather blotter with a fingertip. Lorenzo quickly realized it was a prophecy of the kind that characteristically came to the Pyr during a firestorm. It was printed out on a plain sheet of computer paper.

  “A union of five will tip the scale

  When the moon aligns in Dragon’s Tail;

  This Pyr alliance can defeat the scheme

  And cheat the Slayer of his dream.

  Fulfilling a pledge long been made

  Will put darkness in its grave.

  Know Pyr and Slayer can share one curse:

  A vulnerability wrought of their birth.

  Keep the pledge and defeat the foe,

  So the Dragon’s Tail brings triumph not woe.”

  Marco took a pen and underlined This Pyr alliance.

  He gave Lorenzo an enquiring glance.

  Lorenzo thought for a moment, then beckoned for the pen. He wrote his own name, volunteering for the alliance since he’d been targeted by Chen during his own firestorm. He paused for only a moment before adding that of Erik, because he couldn’t imagine the leader of the Pyr not taking a role. He added Thorolf, who had been targeted by Chen before, then glanced up at Marco.

  Marco added Brandon to the list. Lorenzo nodded, recalling that Brandon had also been targeted by Chen. Then Marco wrote his own name.

  Five Pyr volunteers. According to the prophecy, if they banded together, they could defeat Chen.

  The question was how.

  Lorenzo nodded understanding, then ro
se to his feet. He had to wonder what Jorge wanted, and how it tied in. He exchanged a glance with Marco, flicking a look toward his sleeping family. Marco nodded and settled back in his chair, evidently intent upon remaining to defend Cassie and Antonio.

  That was an offer Lorenzo couldn’t refuse.

  * * *

  Jorge was waiting in his human form, as Lorenzo might have anticipated. The tall blond Slayer was incapable of blending into any group of humans, with the exception of trained mercenaries. He looked almost ridiculous with a small cup of espresso before himself, but no one would have dared to laugh at him. He flicked a look at Lorenzo, who ignored him deliberately.

  Jorge was anxious, although he disguised it well.

  Lorenzo found himself even more intrigued.

  Lorenzo chatted with the proprietor, whom he knew well, admired the pastries, ordered an espresso, and read the headlines on the newspaper while he waited. He gave every impression of having all the time in the world, knowing it would annoy Jorge.

  He’d come, but Jorge wasn’t going to have it all his way.

  He turned finally with his espresso in hand, the paper in the other, and cast a glance over the cafe in search of a table. He feigned surprise at the sight of Jorge, and headed toward him. “I didn’t know you were in town!” he declared, ensuring that all attention was drawn to them.

  Jorge glowered at him. “So much for subtlety,” he complained in old-speak.

  Lorenzo smiled as he took the seat opposite the Slayer. “They were all watching you already. Instinctive reaction, maybe.”

  Jorge exhaled and looked out the window.

  “You’re supposed to be meeting an old acquaintance,” Lorenzo reminded him.

  Jorge’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction, then he turned a tight smile on Lorenzo. “I didn’t know you were here, either,” he said, forcing out the words.

  “Gives us a chance to catch up,” Lorenzo said. “How’s that beautiful wife of yours?”

  “As beautiful as ever,” Jorge replied, his eyes glittering. “Yours?”