Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  She heard Jac inhale and saw the firestorm’s glow brighten with proximity.

  “Who’s your Pyr?” she demanded.

  “Marco.”

  Eileen frowned. The dragon Erik believed a traitor to the Pyr had appeared with Boris. That couldn’t be a good sign. Was Marco turning Slayer, as Erik feared?

  On the other hand, his mate was in Eileen’s car, with the darkfire crystal. She looked as if she knew how to use it.

  Maybe things weren’t as bad as they looked.

  Eileen crossed her fingers on the steering wheel and drove.

  * * *

  Boris materialized out of thin air.

  Just as Erik had envisioned. He was in his dragon form, talons raised when Boris appeared before him. They both were in flight, circling and assessing each other’s strengths. Boris smelled like Slayer, but had a vitality about him that didn’t bode well for Erik. His ruby and gold scales glittered in the sunlight, and he looked like a treasure come to life. Erik was well aware that this version of Boris was in perfect health, while he could still feel the wounds he’d sustained in his battle against the other two versions of Boris in the fall.

  At least Eileen was driving away.

  He lifted his claws, ready to fight to the last. He wasn’t going to think about the blood sacrifice in the prophecy.

  Much less the other monsters said to be coming. How many times would he have to fight this duel to the death?

  Could he win every time?

  Boris surveyed Erik, his eyes shining as if he could discern Erik’s doubts. “We have unfinished business,” he said in old-speak, then lunged at Erik with his claws extended. They locked talons, the force of the collision sending Erik backward.

  Erik’s thoughts flew as he strategized. The Slayer was stronger than he had expected, as strong as a much younger dragon. That had to be the result of the Elixir: Boris was younger than Erik but not by that much.

  And he should be dead.

  Erik had to defeat his opponent quickly to have any chance of winning. He rolled into a reverse somersault in the air, gripping Boris tightly, then flinging him across the sky. He flew after him and batted the Slayer hard with his tail, sending him soaring over the desert. Boris flailed as he tried to slow his own flight and Erik enjoyed the sight of his helplessness.

  It wouldn’t last.

  That was the moment that Erik noticed Boris hadn’t arrived alone. A very familiar Pyr hovered in the air behind Erik, his dark scales reflecting the light like mirrored sunglasses. Marco. He still smelled Pyr and the glow of the firestorm was on the tips of his talons, but Erik found the motionless Sleeper as inscrutable as ever. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Erik waited for Marco to declare himself.

  The other Pyr just watched, which enraged Erik.

  “Checking the fit before you finally turn Slayer?” Erik demanded in old-speak. “Or have you just come to take me down, like you did Rafferty?”

  Marco seemed to smile. As he so often had done, he kept his opinions to himself.

  Erik distrusted that trait as much as his presence.

  Boris roared in that moment and Erik pivoted to find the Slayer raging back toward him, breathing fire. Erik exhaled a barrier of dragonsmoke, hating that he’d lost time by confronting Marco. It was almost as if the other Pyr had deliberately distracted him, compromising him even more. He was aware of Eileen driving closer and irritation that she hadn’t done as he’d instructed was enough to break the flow of his dragonsmoke.

  Boris found the gap, of course, and slipped through it. Erik blinked as his opponent shifted to the shape of a salamander to fling himself through the small space, then back to dragon form before he lost altitude. Boris laughed at Erik’s surprise and loosed another torrent of dragonfire as he roared closer.

  Erik hovered in place, waiting, then slipped aside quickly. He felt like a matador when Boris flew past him, but blew hot dragonfire on the Slayer’s tail. Those trailing feathers were incinerated, which gave Erik some satisfaction.

  He was also pleased to have both of his opponents on the same side.

  He felt his eyes widen in surprise at the golden glow that surrounded Marco. His mate was close, then. Erik glanced toward the car and saw that there was another woman in the passenger seat beside Eileen.

  If Marco was turning Slayer, what did his mate want with Eileen?

  Never mind Zoë.

  Erik lunged at Boris, moving so quickly that he tore open the Slayer’s chest. Black blood dripped to the desert far below, but Boris bellowed and bit at Erik’s shoulder. The pair locked talons, and Erik dug his claws deeply into those of his opponent, again drawing blood. Boris snapped suddenly at Erik, his teeth ripping open Erik’s face.

  It seemed that Boris meant to end this quickly, too. Erik was well aware of Marco just watching.

  Probably waiting for him to weaken.

  Probably intending to step in if Boris were injured.

  The very idea infuriated Erik and gave him new strength. He battled against his opponent, countering blows and inflicting as much damage as he could. There were no Pyr within range to come to his aid. Quinn was miles ahead, because he hadn’t stopped to meet with Lorenzo. Lorenzo was meeting with Maeve. Rafferty was the only one who could spontaneously manifest elsewhere, but he had to still be recovering from his injuries.

  Erik was on his own.

  He and Boris were locked together, thrashing and ripping at each other. Boris bit again at Erik’s chest, tearing the flesh open with gusto. The pain was excruciating and Erik faltered a little in his assault as his blood flowed over his scales. He spun Boris around, then snatched at the Slayer’s wings, damaging one but not ripping it free. Boris twisted like a serpent, clawing into Erik’s guts, then burying his talons in the wound to tear at Erik’s entrails. Erik moaned in agony and thrashed with new vigor.

  He would not be murdered in front of his mate and child.

  Erik locked his tail around that of the Slayer, then dropped hard toward the ground. Boris struggled but Erik held him tightly, knowing this might be his last chance. He slammed Boris into the road, ensuring that his head cracked against the asphalt. He smacked him down again, then breathed fire right into Boris’s face. The Slayer had always been vain, and it seemed just to burn him to a crisp, starting with his face. Erik was aware of car tires squealing, but he didn’t dare avert his attention from the Slayer.

  Not until Boris was dead.

  Boris snarled and twisted. He writhed and wriggled. He struggled for his life even as the smell of his burning scales filled Erik’s nostrils. Erik stopped only to inhale another deep breath, but Boris took advantage of that moment. He reversed their positions with astonishing speed and held Erik down, one back claw digging into Erik’s guts. He locked his front claws around Erik’s neck and squeezed tightly, the sight of his laughing maw filling Erik’s vision.

  “Looks like I win,” Boris said, clearly pleased with his triumph.

  Marco applauded from some distance away, the sound sending fury through the leader of the Pyr.

  Erik wasn’t dead yet. He exhaled smoke as quickly as he could, driving it into Boris’s chest wound. He felt a jolt as soon as the conduit was established and began to suck strength from it. It was sweet to weaken Boris this way, as he’d learned the trick from Boris the first time they’d fought to the death.

  Boris’s grip faltered and Erik breathed more deliberately. He sucked harder on the conduit, drawing the power of his opponent and using every bit of it.

  “What if it turns you Slayer?” Boris whispered in old-speak. “What if using my strength puts the Elixir in your body?”

  The idea was so disgusting that Erik hesitated, just for a heartbeat. In that instant, Boris turned the direction of the dragonsmoke conduit. He began to draw power from Erik with fearsome speed, and Erik panicked that his opportunity had been lost. He fought against his body’s inclination to shift shape, knowing that it would be seen by the Slayer as an indication of pe
nding triumph.

  He felt a shadow fall over them and opened his eyes to find Marco descending. The other Pyr was silhouetted against the brilliant blue of the sky, and Erik feared the worst. “You are an abomination,” he said to Marco but Boris laughed.

  “He is a convert, because he wants to survive.”

  It was a horrific notion, that the Pyr should be eliminated and the Slayers should win the Dragon’s Tail Wars. The very possibility compelled Erik to fight with all his might. He struggled against Boris, determined to survive, then the Slayer’s weight was abruptly ripped away from him. Erik lay gasping at the realization that Marco had attacked Boris.

  He wasn’t a traitor, after all. Boris and Marco locked in combat overhead, battling against each other with fearsome power. Erik saw that Marco’s blood was running brilliant red, as sure a sign of his true allegiance as there could be. The firestorm illuminated the pair with golden light. The Slayer was fortified with Erik’s own strength, but Erik could change that.

  He rolled over and breathed a new conduit of dragonsmoke, dispatching it toward Boris like a cobra on the hunt. Erik breathed smoke more quickly than he ever had, and watched its glittering path across the desert floor. He launched it toward Boris and drove it deeply into the Slayer’s wounds. He wound the dragonsmoke into Boris’s innards, wrapping it around his bones and tendons, ensuring that it couldn’t be easily dislodged, and then he drew upon it with all his might.

  Boris visibly faltered under this assault. He roared at Marco and bit with new vigor, as if sensing that he didn’t have much time to save his near-victory. He breathed dragonfire, but Marco simply hovered in the air, as if to taunt him.

  “Liar!” Boris bellowed then lunged at Marco, who didn’t move.

  Erik saw the sudden flash of darkfire. It came from behind him, a blue-green bolt of lighting that shot right over him and struck Boris in the heart. The Slayer twitched in pain and shouted loud enough to make the ground vibrate. The crackle of darkfire didn’t stop, just burned and burned, a conduit of brilliant light.

  The Slayer exploded before Erik’s eyes, burned to a crisp by the darkfire.

  There was only black ash left to fall to the desert floor.

  Ash, pain, and the weight of Eileen’s hand upon his claw. Erik closed his eyes and let himself shift back to his human form as the pain of his injuries swept over him. “Water,” he whispered. “We need to expose his remains to water.” He heard the splash of liquid and didn’t care what it was, only that it had been done.

  Then, for the moment, Erik knew no more.

  * * *

  Jac was getting used to dragon fights, evidently.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever be completely at ease with them, but this one had been a bit less terrifying. Her heart was hammering but didn’t feel like it would leap out of her chest and make a run for it.

  She’d thought that Marco was never going to give her the signal, and that the ebony and pewter dragon would be killed first, but he’d chosen his moment well. They had to have been exchanging taunts in old-speak, because she’d heard the rumbling. And they must have been breathing dragonsmoke, then using it to steal power from each other. She couldn’t see the dragonsmoke but she’d seen the reactions of the two warriors.

  She was well aware that Erik’s mate Eileen hadn’t trusted her and didn’t blame her for that. As soon as the Boris clone was fried to nothing, though, Eileen gave her a tight hug. Then she dropped to her knees beside her fallen Pyr.

  It had been the little girl who had dumped the bottle of water from the car over the pile of ashes that had once been the Slayer. Jac would have to think about her presence later. She knew the Pyr only had sons, except for the Wyvern. Was this little girl the product of another marriage? She looked so much like her father that Jac doubted it.

  Could she be the Wyvern?

  Marco landed beside Jac in his dragon form, but didn’t shift. “Awesome job,” he said to her, his claw closing around her hand. “You chose the moment just right.”

  “You gave me the signal,” she admitted, liking that they’d worked together. Marco gave her a look that would have warmed her to her toes, even without the dazzling power of the firestorm.

  “You had this planned?” Eileen demanded. Erik had shifted to his human form after falling to the ground, and Jac guessed it had been an involuntary shift, the kind the Pyr made when they were seriously injured. At least he wasn’t rotating between forms. “You meant for me to turn around?” She’d bound Erik’s torso as well as she could, but he was bleeding steadily and her fear for him was clear.

  “I guessed you would when you saw the fight.”

  Marco gave Jac a steady look and she explained, speaking quickly. The information would help Eileen decide what was best for Erik. “The new dragons are clones of Boris Vassily. There will be thirteen of them all together, six more coming at the next eclipse.”

  “The blood moon will ripen the eggs,” Eileen murmured. “Do you know where they are?”

  “No, but Boris has exchanged challenge coins with Erik—”

  “I remember that part,” Eileen interjected.

  “—so, each and every one of them has a burning desire to kill him. This one was the last survivor of the first two batches. He was determined to take out Erik to establish himself as the leader of the clones.”

  “He’d have accomplished their objective before they hatched, making himself ascendant,” Eileen said with a nod. Her gaze never left Erik, who was unconscious and bleeding. “But now he’s gone, thanks to you. How many Slayers are left?”

  “Just Jorge, but he’s badly hurt after his fight.”

  “So, there’s time.” Eileen nodded, her decision made. “Will you help me take him back to Sloane? If we drive, I’m afraid the journey will take too long.”

  “I’ll do better,” Marco said. He drew Jac against his side, making the firestorm blaze brilliantly between them. Eileen shaded her eyes. “Erik can use fire to heal himself. We’ll heal him with the firestorm.”

  Jac was awed by his choice. Eileen was clearly pleased. She nudged Erik and whispered to him, and he stirred. His eyes opened as he watched the sparks of the firestorm and Jac felt his wonder.

  She felt a good bit of that wonder herself. She liked that Marco was offering this to heal the leader of the Pyr and that she could be a part of helping the good dragons to win.

  “You bleed red,” Erik whispered. “I should have asked instead of guessing your intentions.”

  “It looked bad,” Marco admitted. “I don’t blame you. I had to trick you to deceive him. But let’s see you healed before we talk more.”

  Erik shifted to his dragon form in a shimmer of blue then Marco reached out to him. They locked claws and Marco held her more tightly. The firestorm heated to a brilliant white radiance and Erik tipped back his head, baring his teeth as the firestorm seared his wounds. He drew Eileen against his one side and she beckoned to Zoë. The five of them were in a tight circle, the firestorm blinding in its radiance.

  Then Zoë reached out and touched the darkfire crystal still in Jac’s hand. The light in the stone flared brilliantly, illuminating them all with blue-green light, and Jac saw Erik’s wound close completely. He gasped, then sighed as Eileen shed a tear of gratitude.

  That was when Jac saw the scale on Marco’s chest loosen, seemingly of its own volition. It worked itself free of his armor and began to fall.

  Jac caught it, smiling with the certainty of what it meant.

  “I love you, too,” she said to him, not caring who heard her confession.

  Erik cleared his throat and there was a gleam of humor in his eyes. “I think you two need a little privacy now,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in his dragon form. Eileen smiled and caressed her daughter’s head and Jac felt her heart thunder in anticipation.

  “Yes, we do,” she said to Marco. He laughed, then she was in his arms and the darkfire crackled. She didn’t care where they went.

  She just wa
nted to be with him.

  Forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Marco manifested in Jac’s apartment, his mate crushed in his arms. They were hot and covered with dust from the desert, and he could feel the dried blood on his wounds. He was also filled with the aftermath of victory, the need to celebrate his survival in the most fundamental way. His blood was pumping and his firestorm was burning brighter and hotter than ever. That Jac had made such a noble choice had stolen his heart away for good.

  That she loved him was the best news he’d ever heard.

  Marco supposed it was no surprise that he’d manifested in her bedroom, in the place most indicative of what he wanted to do. The apartment was filled with the pewter light of late afternoon and the coolness that accompanied a day of steady rain. The firestorm illuminated the bedroom like a thousand candles.

  Jac smiled up at him and lifted her hands away from her chest. His scale was in her grasp, held against her like a breastplate. He wished he could protect her from head to toe in similar armor, but had no chance to say as much. She pulled his head down and kissed him with a hunger he recognized as equal to his own.

  Just as her power and passion was equal to his own.

  She was the perfect mate for him.

  There was no need for conversation.

  The firestorm lit to a brilliant white light between them, and Marco felt as if he’d stepped into the center of the sun. He was sizzling with desire and overflowing with love, and Jac’s kiss told him that she felt the same way.

  “The shower,” she whispered when he gave her the opportunity to catch her breath, and he couldn’t think of a better place. He carried her into the bathroom and started the water running, then tugged off his T-shirt as he turned to face her. Jac had peeled off her own shirt and discarded it. There was a smudge of dirt on her white bra and another on her cheek, but she was smiling at him with delight. She wriggled out of her jeans and he kicked off his own, then their underwear was cast out of the small bathroom, too. Her fingertips landed on the cut on his shoulder, but Marco could hardly feel it.