Serpent's Kiss: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  Lorenzo met the Slayer’s gaze steadily. “Touch her and die,” he murmured in old-speak, then spoke aloud. “Wonderful. The light of my life.”

  “I told you already. That’s not what this is about.”

  “What then?” Lorenzo opened his paper, as if their conversation had been exhausted already. They exchanged a few more comments aloud, clearly not very close friends or those very glad to see each other. The proprietor peered out the window, scanning the overcast skies for signs of a thunderstorm, as the two dragon shifters spoke in old-speak.

  “You’re the one who finished Balthasar,” Jorge said.

  Lorenzo glanced up. “And so?”

  The Slayer leaned closer. “By beguiling him.”

  Lorenzo lifted a brow, inviting more.

  “They say you’re the best at it.”

  Lorenzo turned the page of his paper. There was no need to confirm the obvious.

  “To beguile a Slayer is no small accomplishment, much less to send him willingly to his death.”

  “I assume you have a point.”

  “I fight in my own class, but I fight to win.”

  Lorenzo glanced up.

  “I want you to beguile Chen.”

  Lorenzo shrugged. “I’d have to find him first.”

  “I can take you there.”

  “So he can fry me on sight? I think not.”

  “I can get you into his lair,” Jorge insisted, showing an insistence that Lorenzo found fascinating. He knew that both Slayers had consumed the Dragon’s Blood Elixir, which meant that they healed quickly from their wounds and possessed a kind of immortality. He also knew that the source for the Elixir had been destroyed, that the substance was highly addictive, and that Jorge had eaten other fallen Slayers to get more of the Elixir in the only way possible. “You won’t have long, but if you’re as good as they say, you won’t need it.”

  So, Jorge wanted Chen out of the way, likely to assume his role among the Slayers. That likely meant Jorge couldn’t beat Chen in combat. Lorenzo didn’t know if the Slayers still had a hierarchy like the Pyr, but it wasn’t a battle that interested him much. Getting rid of Chen, especially if that only gave Jorge more power, wasn’t an improvement in any way. Jorge was merciless in a rare and evil way.

  The alliance had to offer more upside to be worth the risk.

  “Pass,” Lorenzo said and folded up his newspaper. He drained his espresso and set the cup down in the saucer before speaking aloud. “How pleasant to see you again,” he said in a tone that conveyed the opposite. “I hope the weather improves for the rest of your visit.” He rose to his feet, intending to leave.

  “You never asked what I could give you in return.”

  Lorenzo stifled the urge to scoff. He did, however, smile in his most disparaging manner before turning away.

  Jorge sat back, his eyes gleaming with confidence.

  If he hadn’t been so good at bluffing, Lorenzo would have paused.

  As it was, he knew he had something Jorge wanted badly, and the only way to find out more was to make the Slayer work for it. He inclined his head and left the cafe.

  He had just moved past the window when the old-speak echoed in his thoughts.

  “You can save one of your own,” Jorge said. “Otherwise, Chen will suck him dry.”

  And that made Lorenzo’s footsteps falter. He pretended his shoe lace had come undone and bent to retie it. “Who?”

  “Thorolf.”

  The grandson of one of his grandfather’s best friends.

  It always had to be that way, didn’t it? The ghosts never did abandon the living completely. Lorenzo knew he hadn’t done nearly enough for the Pyr since his firestorm—and he’d done even less before that. He knew that Erik was giving him time and space, showing more patience than Lorenzo had expected.

  And Thorolf would be the son of a good friend of Erik’s father, too.

  “It’s already happening,” Jorge continued lightly. “Chen’s had him for almost two years.”

  There had to be something to the prophecy.

  Lorenzo could do the beguiling. Not easily, but it could be done. Of course, he’d need Jorge’s help to get to Chen in the first place. On the one hand, he’d be making a deal with the proverbial devil. He couldn’t count on Jorge to be honest or truthful or keep the terms of their deal. He could expect a trick. On the other hand, if he could outmaneuver Jorge, he’d be saving a Pyr. The prophecy had to be right.

  It wasn’t just ego that made him sure of which wager he’d take.

  Lorenzo gave every sign of checking the lace on his other shoe, taking his time before he replied just as Jorge had anticipated he would. “Let’s talk terms,” he said and felt Jorge’s triumphant smile.

  * * *

  Marco watched the darkfire crackle. It danced amidst the fire burning in the fireplace in Lorenzo’s office, its blue-green light making the fire look unworldly.

  It summoned him. It spoke to him. It drove him, as it always did, and he only knew to obey its whispered commands.

  He watched its light and knew he had to collect the last darkfire crystal to finish what had begun. Marco didn’t know how it would all play out and had no ability to see the future. He simply trusted the darkfire.

  He’d given away the last surviving crystal that still nursed a darkfire flame deep inside it. He’d done that because the darkfire commanded it. Now he knew that it had only been a loan.

  And he had to collect the crystal as soon as possible.

  He couldn’t leave Cassie and Antonio, not with Jorge close at hand. But he had to go. Marco felt an uncharacteristic prickle of urgency. He reached for Lorenzo’s phone, hoping that Drake or some of his Dragon Legion were near at hand.

  Time was of the essence.

  * * *

  Thorolf found himself lying on the ground in an urban street. People chattered around him, apparently astonished to find him in their midst.

  He was back in Bangkok, he was sure of it.

  No, he knew exactly where he was. That smell couldn’t have been anywhere but the Ko Ratanakosin amulet market. He opened one eye warily to find himself on the pavement between vendors, their tables loaded with carvings and their yellow umbrellas arched overhead, brilliant in the sunshine. He could see the wall of a shop hung with Muntjac antlers for protection against evil forces, a row of Kuman Thong golden boy sculptures, waiting to be adopted in exchange for warnings of future mishaps, and Palad Khik wooden penis sculptures hung from the lip of the nearest table. No one ever had to ask what that charm was supposed to bring. Thorolf could smell the dust and the distinctive scent of old bones and relics, as well as his favorite noodle vendor around the corner. He could have kissed the ground—and sucked back the noodle vendor’s entire inventory.

  It was hot, hot the way it was in late April.

  He hoped he had some cash in his pocket. Noodles wouldn’t fill him up, but they’d be a decent start. He was starving.

  He also felt bruised and battered, as well as strangely elated. His mate was gorgeous, and she was a thousand women in one. She was literally a goddess. She’d kicked his ass, and all Thorolf wanted was more. She’d said she wouldn’t fulfill the firestorm, it was true, but he’d been making progress on that front.

  The firestorm was on his side. It had to be. It hadn’t seem like it at first, but there had to be an explanation. The firestorm had to be right.

  He just had to believe.

  And maybe talk to Rafferty.

  Plus ask Chandra more questions. Too bad Thorolf knew he was alone. There was no spark of the firestorm, no hint of Chandra’s presence.

  She must have tossed him out of her sanctuary.

  That was a sobering thought.

  It certainly was overwhelming for Thorolf to think back on his firestorm so far. A mate who was a goddess. A fury that made him attack the stranger living in his apartment and try to kill Rafferty. Chandra’s insistence that Viv was his enemy. The contradictions and complications were
enough to make his head hurt.

  On the other hand, kissing Chandra had been incredible. He wanted his firestorm to be real. And the vision she’d given him of his birth had been both consistent with everything he knew, and a revelation. He recalled the falcon and the skulls and the mirror on the threshold of the place she called Myth and was amazed.

  “They should make drugs this good,” he muttered to no one in particular. “I’d buy a lifetime’s supply.”

  Chandra was trying to keep her word. He could understand that. She was a kick-ass fighter and a shape shifter, two more things they had in common. He knew the sex would be really great, even after the firestorm was satisfied. It had been a while since Thorolf had wanted anything enough to fight for it, but this firestorm was a contender.

  He was going to satisfy it, if it was the last thing he did.

  Chandra would be worth any battle.

  The voices around him grew louder then and he felt someone draw close. He was nudged in the knee, probably to determine whether he was dead or not. The nudge annoyed him in an unexpected way.

  Thorolf sat up, which made people move back warily. He rubbed his head and guessed that he didn’t look his best. His jeans were rumpled and a bit dirty, no surprise given his adventures, and his jaw hurt where Chandra had decked him. He was probably getting a bruise. He had a few other new aches, too.

  In a way, though, the fact that she’d come so close to kicking his butt was really sexy. Thorolf got up slowly, testing his steadiness on his feet. He figured he felt better than he should.

  His T-shirt was gone and to his horror, that swirling tattoo was becoming darker again.

  And it burned like acid.

  In fact, his skin could have been lit by inner fire, and he stared in disgust at the incompetent ink all over his body. He could almost watch his skin inflame. Where had he gotten this tattoo? What kind of moron had done this to him? Who would remove it?

  Thorolf suddenly smelled Slayer. He spun in place, seeking some sign of his opponent, hovering on the cusp of change and ready to fight. All rational thought abandoned him, that cold fury filling him with violence.

  And a need to slaughter.

  That was probably why he didn’t even notice the moonstone and silver dragon scale that had fallen on the pavement.

  * * *

  It could happen again.

  Thorolf looked around, seeking his foe. An opal salamander was considering him from six or eight feet away. The lizard was hidden in the shadows between baskets of Phra Kreuang. These amulets with the face of the Buddha were made by the millions and had been plentiful for a long time. Vendors bought lots of them for resale and optimists spent hours with jeweler’s loupes, sifting through them in search of rare versions.

  The salamander’s hide shone opal and gold in the darkness. It shouldn’t have been there. Thorolf felt an overwhelming sense of rage billow though him. It was outrageous that some vermin should invade the market like this! Red fury filled him like a cloud, obliterating everything else in his mind. He wanted to kill the salamander, to smash it with his fist, to smear it to nothing on the stone.

  That fate was no less than it deserved.

  Thorolf lunged toward it with a snarl, sending the crowd scattering in dismay. People gasped as the blue light of the shift brightened around his body, but he couldn’t have stopped the shift to save his life. He changed to his dragon form with a roar of triumph, intent upon making the world right. People screamed and ran. Thorolf didn’t care. He seized the salamander in one claw, filling his nostrils with the creature’s abhorrent scent.

  Instead of being frightened, the salamander held its ground. “See what happens when you abandon your mate?” it said in old-speak, the words echoing in Thorolf’s mind. The creature had a deep voice, one that seemed familiar somehow, and it spoke with a measured calm that seemed inappropriate under the circumstances. “She is your salvation, Thorolf, and a gift from the Great Wyvern. Cast her aside at your own peril.”

  That this lizard should dare to tell him about his life only made Thorolf more livid. He began to squeeze the small creature in his claw, so intent upon crushing the life out of it that he didn’t immediately notice the tendrils of dragonsmoke circling around his legs. The salamander made a little squeak of pain, then some of its blood ran red between his talons. Thorolf grinned and squeezed harder.

  The dragonsmoke barrier rose thick and fast, the tendrils weaving with alarming speed. It came out of nowhere, conjured so quickly that he couldn’t evade it. It was up to his hips in a heartbeat, frosty cold and burning when he tried to kick his way through it. It snared him like a net, one that scalded him on contact, then tightened around him like a shroud. Thorolf screamed as the dragonsmoke enclosed him completely and trapped him. He tried to thrash his way free, without success.

  “Take a deep breath,” the salamander advised in old-speak, then they were engulfed in pale blue light.

  Thorolf tipped back his head and bellowed in frustration, sending a fiery plume of dragonfire shooting into the air. It didn’t destroy the dragonsmoke barrier, either. The permissions were set against him, and that realization did nothing to diminish his anger.

  He would destroy whoever was responsible for this.

  He would make them hurt before he killed them.

  Then he would hunt down everyone they had ever loved or known, and kill them, too. He glared at the salamander in his hand, but the creature shifted shape and he lost his grip. It slithered between his fingers as if it had no bones at all. He snatched at it, only to have his talon burned by the dragonsmoke as the salamander slipped through it.

  Instead of being trapped in dragonsmoke with a small opal salamander, he was trapped in the same space alone. The salamander shimmered blue, then became a gold and opal dragon, one that watched him with care from the other side of the dragonsmoke barrier.

  It was the same dragon he’d fought before, the one who had picked up his challenge coin.

  This was his dragonsmoke.

  He’d imprisoned Thorolf to stack the odds in his own favor, to win with an unfair advantage. It was exactly the kind of trick a Slayer would play.

  A thought struggled to be heard in Thorolf’s mind, a protest that he didn’t want to consider, but he let his anger obliterate it. The pain in his skin was driving him out of his mind. As furious as he was, there wasn’t anything he could do to the other dragon. He raged and breathed dragonfire, he roared and shouted, but the dragonsmoke held him perfectly captive.

  “We exchanged challenge coins!” Thorolf bellowed, beating at the dragonsmoke barrier with his tails and claw. “How dare you walk away? Coward!”

  The opal dragon shifted shape again, becoming a man with long dark hair and dark eyes. He shook his head at Thorolf in disappointment, even as he lifted his T-shirt to consider the blood running from his side. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Thorolf,” he said wearily. He poked the wound and winced. “We’re old friends, you and me, even though you’ve forgotten.”

  “Liar!” Thorolf railed against the dragonsmoke barrier, but only succeeded in burning his own scales. “Sorceror!”

  “Let me see that.” Two other men joined the one who had been the salamander, one with dark hair and one with fair hair. They were Pyr, as well, Thorolf could smell as much, even though they were strangers, too. He realized that they were all in a luxurious hotel room, its quiet opulence as different from the amulet market as was possible. The blond Pyr took a long look at the first one’s wound, then considered Thorolf with apparent concern.

  “You don’t look so good, T,” he said with some sympathy.

  Thorolf didn’t want sympathy. He bared his teeth and snarled at the other Pyr, which seemed to startle him. The only thing Thorolf wanted to do was shred them all.

  They deserved no less for abducting him like this.

  He would make them pay.

  Especially if anything happened to Chandra.

  * * *

  In Chicago,
Erik Sorensson sighed and turned off his laptop. His partner Eileen watched him from the other side of the room.

  “That bad?” she asked, but he could only shake his head.

  “I need to think,” he said, hearing the strain in his own voice. Erik felt the absence of Sloane and Rafferty keenly, although he didn’t know what else he could have said to convince them to stay away from Thorolf. They’d departed immediately in a blue glimmer of light, Rafferty carrying the two Pyr and his own mate to Bangkok.

  He’d spoken to Niall and knew that Niall had taken Rox and the boys directly to Bangkok instead of coming to Chicago. Quinn said Sara had a prophecy, but Marco had claimed it and they didn’t remember it all. Something about a Pyr union destroying Chen.

  Erik was out of the loop. Given that the situation was of his own choosing, he was surprised by how vehemently he disliked it. It wasn’t natural for a Pyr to stand back or step aside.

  Even if he had been trying to protect his own kind.

  Erik supposed he should be honored that Rafferty and Melissa had left Isabelle in his care and under his protection.

  Instead he felt the weight of his many years.

  It had been painfully quiet and now there was this new video of Thorolf.

  Eileen watched him, then nodded in understanding. “You should sleep,” she said softly. “Everything always looks worse when we’re tired.” Her acceptance of his responsibilities and his nature made his heart swell with love.

  He stopped to kiss her, drawing strength from her touch, then pushed back the hair from her cheek. “I’ll be with my hoard.”

  Eileen pursed her lips, her gaze assessing. She knew him too well. “You already quit. You don’t have to plan any more.”

  “I still have responsibilities.”

  “How about taking care of yourself?”

  Erik nodded, letting his fingers trail down her throat. “You’re right. But I do need to apologize to an old friend first.”

  Her expression turned questioning.

  “I let him down. I didn’t keep my promise.”

  Eileen smiled and laid her hand against his face. “If you didn’t keep your promise, that was because you couldn’t. And if you couldn’t do it, it couldn’t be done.”