Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  He might be a dragon, but if she had to choose a champion between Marco and Jorge, the choice was a gimme. One had made sweet love to her. One had killed her nephew. Easy choice.

  Jac pretended to study the spines of the books—which weren’t in any language she could read—and fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see what Jorge was doing. She eventually turned, catching another glimpse of Marco’s eye.

  Okay. She and Marco were in this together. She had to distract Jorge and find out all that she could. There was no telling how much Marco knew, but she might be able to help.

  Finally, Jorge straightened and surveyed her, his eyes gleaming. To Jac’s amazement, his lower jaw had already partially grown back. He could chew, although his teeth weren’t all formed on his lower jaw yet. This was the Elixir in action. The Elixir conferred a kind of immortality, Jac remembered, allowing those who had drunk it to heal rapidly. Jac was impressed. She thought of newts growing new tails and wondered whether this skill worked for all parts of his body.

  When his eyes narrowed, she decided not to ask. Jac had to wonder whether she looked appetizing and fought the urge to retreat. It was easy to think of other large predators and how flight only prompted their instinct to hunt—by running, the observer became prey. She held her ground, just barely, her heart thumping with terror.

  It helped, actually, that Marco was in the room. Jac felt as if she were putting on a display of bravery, just for him. Like she was performing in a play, not really at risk of losing her life.

  “Multiple forms,” she said to Jorge, trying to sound confident and unafraid. “A characteristic of the Wyvern or of a Slayer who has drunk the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. What other forms can you take?”

  Jorge shifted shape again, taking his human form. He strolled toward her, his one fist clenching and unclenching, and she couldn’t decide whether he was more menacing as a fire-breathing dragon or as a man with ice-cold eyes. His wounded jaw, the flesh raw but the bones regrown as she watched, made him look even worse.

  Like a zombie.

  He paused to kick Marco, but the Pyr didn’t respond. “I’m not going to force-feed you,” he muttered, his speech still labored, then turned on Jac again.

  “He has to get his own Elixir?” Jac asked. “No table service?” Jorge snorted at the idea. “What if Marco doesn’t want it?”

  “Then he shouldn’t have asked for it,” Jorge snapped. “I would have left him behind.”

  That had been the old-speak Jac had heard then. It had been Marco asking for the Elixir, probably because he’d guessed that Jorge would bring him along to this lair. He had to be playing dead because he didn’t intend to really consume it.

  Jac couldn’t blame him for that, although his injuries looked painful. Marco bled red, though, which meant he was Pyr, and she guessed he meant to stay that way.

  There really were good dragons and bad ones, and she had the rotten luck to be snared by the worst one of all.

  “You showed some initiative in the fight,” Jorge said, his hand rising to his healing jaw. It was strangely fascinating to watch it rejuvenate and to hear his speech become clearer each time he spoke.

  Jac decided to disguise her fear as well as she could. “Too bad the effect didn’t last longer.”

  “Nothing will, not when a Slayer has drunk the Elixir.”

  “Where does it come from?” she asked. “I thought those who had drunk the Elixir always needed more.”

  Jorge’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been doing your homework,” he said softly.

  “I was, at least until someone stole my research book.”

  Jorge glanced back at the fallen Slayer then at Jac, raising a brow. “I feel so much better since that snack.”

  Jac couldn’t hide her horror as she realized what he meant. “He’d drunk the Elixir, as well.” She eyed the pair of dragons, one dead with his guts ripped open and one still smoking after the battle. “Are you saving the rest of the carcass for later?”

  “I’ll give Marco a chance to share.” He nudged the fallen Pyr with his foot again to no result. Jac saw a spark brighten on the end of her fingertip and put her hands behind her back to hide it. Marco must be waking up.

  “So, now you know what I am,” Jorge mused.

  Jac nodded and swallowed. It wasn’t good news to be trapped in a sealed room with a Slayer who was as close to immortal as a dragon shifter could get.

  “And you know about Marco now, too.” Jorge smiled. “A night of revelations.”

  “And questions, too.”

  Jorge lifted a brow in silent query.

  “Why bring me here? I’m a mate, evidently, but the firestorm isn’t satisfied.”

  “Exactly.” Jorge’s sudden smile did just about nothing to build Jac’s confidence. “The firestorm makes you particularly useful.”

  “Because the firestorm draws Pyr like moths to the flame,” Jac remembered, trying to sound as if she wasn’t terrified. “You’re going to use me as bait.”

  A smile lifted the corner of Jorge’s mouth. “How badly do you want to live?”

  “As badly as you do, I’ll guess.”

  Jorge smiled as he approached the display of his treasures. His manner gave Jac the definite sense that he knew something she didn’t. He fanned through the pages of the book, then turned to offer it to Jac. “Yours, I believe.”

  Jac eyed it with skepticism. “You don’t strike me as someone with a giving nature.”

  Jorge’s smile widened. “I’ve no need of this volume any more.”

  “Did you read it already?”

  “Of course. But it wasn’t as interesting as I’d expected.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s out of date.” Jorge bit off the words.

  “What were you hoping to learn from it?”

  Jorge glanced toward the fallen Slayer then seemed to change the subject. “Notice anything strange about my fellow Slayers, the ones who have been hatched?”

  “They’re identical, like twins.”

  “They’re clones,” Jorge confirmed.

  Jac recalled the reference in the verse on Marco’s wall to thirteen monsters bred in the dark, awakened by the blood moon. “Clones of who?”

  “A Slayer named Boris Vassily, who died several years ago.” Jorge strolled back to his supposed ally, and Jac didn’t trust that he was telling her so much. Was he telling her the truth? Or lies that would mislead her? “He was the leader of the Slayers after his father. He was cloned by Sigmund Guthrie before he died, although Sigmund himself died before completing his experiment.”

  “You were hoping for notes on making more.”

  Jorge’s quick glance was cold enough to freeze Jac’s marrow.

  There was a rumble then and the floor vibrated. Jac looked up to see the chandelier shaking, the flames dancing on the candles.

  Was it an earthquake?

  Would she die in this place even before Jorge attacked?

  Chapter Twenty

  The rumbling faded just the way it had grown in volume. Jac thought she heard a whistle then realized that Jorge was smiling as he watched her.

  “Was that old-speak?” Jac asked and he laughed.

  “No other dragon shifter knows of this place.”

  “Then thunder?”

  “So far underground? I think not.”

  “An earthquake, then.”

  Jorge’s smile broadened. His face was healed, now, just a bit of skin missing on his cheeks. “A train,” he whispered. “A subway train, about two hundred feet above us.”

  Then there were people close by. Jac felt her mouth drop open as she looked up at the ceiling.

  “So close and yet a world away,” Jorge murmured. “They’re all oblivious. This place has been secure for hundreds of years. They’ve never even found the ventilation shafts, which truly is a sign of the inferiority of humans.”

  “Where are we?”

  “In the lost library of Ivan the Terrible.”

&nbs
p; Jac had heard of that library and its treasures. “Isn’t it supposed to be under the Kremlin?”

  “It is,” Jorge agreed. “Far beneath both the documented and the undocumented subway systems. Though its existence is rumored, no one knows where it is.” He leaned closer. “Even the Pyr don’t know this place is here, much less that the greatest prize of all has been safely kept within it.”

  Jac glanced to the display of treasures and her gaze was drawn to that green stone. “The stone,” she said. “Was it here?”

  “An aristocrat’s prize,” Jorge said, picking it up with obvious admiration. “A Dracontias. Perhaps the Dracontias.”

  Jac had read about the Dracontias but neither she nor the sources had believed it was real. “I thought that stone was a myth.”

  Jorge gestured to himself. “You stand in the company of a myth come to life.”

  That was true enough. Jac’s gaze lingered on his jaw, which looked exactly as it had before. “There was supposed to have been a Dracontias cut from the brow of a fallen dragon in the Middle Ages.”

  “Chevalier de Gonzo, Grand Master of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, slew a dragon on the island of Rhodes, successfully extracting the Dracontias from its brow before it died.”

  Jac recalled all of the story now. It was in Sigmund’s book. “But the dragon had lost his ability to taint the power of the stone at the point of his death, presumably because the knight had enchanted him.”

  “Beguiled, I would guess.”

  “I didn’t think humans could beguile dragons,” Jac said. “I thought only worked the other way around.”

  “Perhaps the knight learned a new trick.” Jac sensed that Jorge knew more of this than he was telling and wondered why he’d told her anything at all.

  Was he just bragging about his treasure?

  Meanwhile Jorge turned the stone in his hand. “The gem became a family heirloom.”

  “And was used to both cure illness and to detect illness.”

  “Put the Dracontias in water and it will cause the water to boil. When the water cools and the stone is removed, the antidote to any illness is in the cup.” Jorge put the stone back down on the table with elaborate care. “Although I’m somewhat skeptical that there truly is a universal cure. The second version of the tale, that putting the Dracontias into a cup of poison will turn that poison to water, is more compelling to me.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want something that you may be able to get.”

  “And if I do get it for you, you’ll let me live.”

  Jorge inclined his head in agreement.

  “Why don’t I believe that?” Jac asked and he smiled.

  “Maybe we share a certain skepticism of the claims of others.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Marco said he wanted the Elixir. He indicated that he wished to turn Slayer.” Jorge gestured toward the fallen Pyr and Jac tried to appear indifferent to Marco’s fate. “But Pyr don’t change their alliances that readily.” Jorge shook his head. “I’m afraid he meant to trick me.”

  And what would Jorge do about that? It was easy to see that the Slayer was quickly recovering from his wounds, while Marco was still badly hurt. Jac was sure Marco would lose any dragon fight started now.

  “Maybe now that he’s had his firestorm, he sees the appeal of turning Slayer. Of being immortal with the Elixir.”

  “Maybe.” Jorge reached into his shirt and removed something that made Jac’s heart still. It was a scale, a dragon scale, of deepest black that looked as if it had been lit by an inner fire. He placed it on the table, and Jac knew whose scale it was even before the firestorm sparks lit between it and her. “But I think he lied to me,” Jorge said softly. “I think Marco said he wanted the Elixir so that I’d bring him here with you.”

  Jac didn’t know what to say to that. Had Marco known that Jorge would take her to a sealed lair? Could any of the Pyr spontaneously manifest in other places, like these Slayers? Or had this ploy been the only way to ensure he knew where she was and could defend her? She felt keenly aware of her vulnerability.

  Marco didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  Jac had to hope that was because he was paying close attention. “You’re pretty suspicious of someone who wants to join forces with you,” she managed to say.

  “I am,” Jorge admitted. “It’s a learned response.” His eyes lit with inner fire and he placed the scale alongside the other one on the table with a reverence that made Jac wonder why it was important. She couldn’t remember reading anything about that in the book, just that the Smith repaired the armor of the Pyr.

  “Is this the part where you make me an offer I can’t refuse?”

  “Not you,” Jorge murmured, his eyes glowing. “Not you.” Before her eyes, his right hand shimmered blue then changed to a massive dragon claw. His talons glinted as he made a fist, then he smashed Marco’s lost scale so hard that the table cracked in the middle.

  The scale broke into pieces as Jac jumped back, and Marco howled in pain.

  “Sorry to disturb your slumber,” Jorge had time to laugh, then Marco reared back and breathed a plume of dragonfire. His eyes blazed and the firestorm brightened to a blinding light.

  In a heartbeat, Jorge had changed shape and the two of them had locked claws. Marco lunged toward Jorge and slammed the Slayer into the wall, showing a fortitude Jac hadn’t expected, given his injuries. The firestorm blazed with brilliant light, which maybe gave him new strength.

  She guessed then that he meant to use what power he had to get her out of this prison.

  Just in case, she grabbed the book that Jorge had given back to her. Then she snatched up the Dracontias. As Jorge and Marco collided with the opposite wall, cracking glass panels and making books fall to the floor, Jac closed her grip over the stone and hoped for the best.

  Surviving this day was a long shot, no matter how she looked at it.

  * * *

  “I’ve got one.”

  Sloane looked up at the sound of Thorolf’s old-speak, understanding what he meant. They’d captured one of the identical versions of Boris Vassily. Sloane felt both excitement and trepidation. “Alive?”

  “He was barely so. But the Elixir is working fast.”

  He was going to have a live Slayer captive in his home. Even though Sloane had made preparations, the prospect still frightened him. He guessed that refrigerating the Slayer would slow his metabolic processes, including the regenerative power of the Elixir, but he had no idea how quickly the Slayer would recover.

  Although he could guess what would happen when the Slayer could spontaneously manifest elsewhere again.

  The logistical realities were no less daunting. It was the middle of the day and there were customers arriving at the shop, not to mention the ones on the road outside. Lee had taken charge of the store while Sloane worked in his lab. If Thorolf landed in dragon form, carrying a wounded dragon, lots of people would notice. Fortunately, the other Pyr were still at his home.

  “I’ll meet you,” Erik interjected. He’d obviously heard Thorolf’s old-speak and Sloane was glad.

  “We’ll take the truck and trailer,” Quinn added. “That way, it doesn’t matter what shape he takes.”

  “He’s in human form now,” Thorolf said. “Thank the Great Wyvern.”

  “Thorolf has to be exhausted,” Sloane said aloud.

  “Thorolf is coming?” Eileen asked, having lifted her head at the sound of old-speak. When Erik nodded, she now stood up with purpose. “I’ll cook,” she said and stepped into the kitchen. “He’ll be starving.”

  “He’ll want to go back for Chandra,” Sara contributed.

  “He’ll need to eat first,” Eileen countered.

  “We need to meet somewhere remote,” Quinn said.

  “But not too far,” Erik added and Sloane nodded agreement.

  “Lassen Volcanic National Park,” he suggested. “It’s closed to visit
ors this time of year.”

  “We’ll park at the perimeter and fly in,” Erik said with a nod, and Sloane gave Thorolf directions in old-speak.

  “It’s farther inland for him to fly,” Eileen said with concern. “He must be exhausted.”

  “He is stronger than he knows,” Erik said. “The son of champions.”

  “We’ll pick up some roast chickens and a couple of pies to hold him until your meal is done,” Quinn said with a wink. “Let’s go, before that Slayer recovers enough to fight. Thorolf won’t be in any state to subdue him again.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” Eileen asked worriedly.

  “Won’t the Elixir allow him to recover?” Sara asked.

  Sloane was well aware of Drake listening to their conversation. “There’s a balance to be struck. If he dies and is exposed to the four elements, he’ll disintegrate to dust and I need his blood. If he’s kept under normal conditions, the Elixir will ensure that he heals and can escape.”

  “So?” Eileen asked.

  Sloane smiled. “I’m going to refrigerate him. It’ll slow down his metabolism but not kill him.”

  “We’ll save that task for later,” Erik said grimly.

  “After we’ve learned all we can from him,” Quinn agreed, and Erik lifted a finger.

  “I would remind you that Boris Vassily and I have exchanged challenge coins. No matter how many of him there are, the pleasure of exterminating this one will be all mine.”

  * * *

  Ronnie awakened, feeling less sick than she had in the hospital. She touched her own forehead and it was cooler than it had been. She had no idea how long she’d slept and braced herself on her elbows to look around.

  She didn’t remember much of the flight with Drake. She knew he’d rescued her from the hospital but as soon as she’d been safely in his embrace, she’d fallen asleep. She’d awakened when they arrived wherever they were, but her fever had been building. She had a vague recollection of an intense dark-haired man giving her an injection, then of Drake helping her into bed. She remembered telling Timmy that she loved him.