Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  He wanted to pace, but Lee insisted upon stillness. The other Pyr had spent the day in a meditative state, building a spiral in a clearing in the forest at the back of Drake’s yard. It was wrought of dragonsmoke and invisible to human eyes, but Drake could feel its cold chill. It had a power about it that Drake didn’t trust, but that Lee said would draw evil to its core. Drake didn’t like having such a thing so close to his sons and mate, but he trusted Lee.

  And Lee had vowed it would be gone when the eclipse was over.

  The shadow finally touched the moon, and they all shifted shape, ready for whatever would happen next. The tree branches were devoid of leaves and looked like skeletal fingers reaching for the moon. Drake watched the light turn steadily more reddish as the shadow progressed across the face of the moon. He tried to be as still as a rooted tree, but he was aware of his heart pounding. He closed his eyes as it matched its rhythm to that of Veronica, not so very far away. The sensation still made him dizzy, but it also reassured him as a sign of her welfare. Her pulse was a little slower than his own.

  Drake felt agitated and uncertain. If he’d been in human form, the hair would have been standing on the back of his neck. Something strange was in the air, maybe even darkfire, and he had a hard time holding onto his conviction that all would end well.

  He didn’t like spells.

  He didn’t like waiting either.

  He was ready to fight for all he loved.

  The eclipse proceeded with glacial speed, so slow that he wanted to scream aloud. Lee didn’t even move, his concentration was so great, and Drake could scarcely hear his breathing. Delaney and Niall watched the surroundings, their eyes glinting in the darkness. Theo was close by Drake’s side, as loyal a second as any Pyr could have.

  When the moon was completely eclipsed, Lee shifted shape, becoming a dragon that could have been made of pure gold, with red scales and talons. He flew over the spiral he’d created of dragonsmoke, then hovered over its middle, his great red wings flapping slowly to keep him aloft. He murmured an incantation that Drake didn’t understand, then retreated to the perimeter, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  They didn’t have to wait long before two Slayers appeared suddenly in the air of the clearing.

  They were ruby red and gold and smelled of Elixir. Sloane had missed them then, which meant that the responsibility for inoculating them was theirs. Delaney shifted back to human form and picked up a syringe as Niall covered his back. One clone lunged at Drake, but Theo intercepted him. They locked claws and battled for supremacy, then Drake roared and joined the fight.

  He tackled the Slayer fighting Theo, slamming him into the ground beside Delaney. Delaney shoved the needle into him and emptied it, casting aside the syringe to pick up another one. The Slayer roared with frustration and exhaled a plume of dragonfire, setting the tree branches overhead aflame. He couldn’t manifest elsewhere, but he was still dangerous. He launched himself at Drake, teeth bared. The Slayer slashed at Theo, then bit at Drake. The two Pyr exchanged a nod and seized him, flying straight up into the night.

  Drake saw Niall fighting with the other Slayer as Delaney struggled to inject him and heard a vial crack.

  It was Lee who tore a gash in the side of the other Slayer and jammed the broken syringe into that vermin’s side. The Slayer screamed in anguish, but the antidote hadn’t spilled and it was within him, too. Delaney and Niall held him down as Lee breathed fire, searing the wound shut as the Slayer screamed.

  Both Slayers were inoculated, but not dead yet.

  They couldn’t get escape.

  There was the wail of a distant siren, and Drake felt Veronica’s fear for him. A wave of protectiveness consumed him, lit his world with red and fury, drove his need to see these vermin scrubbed from the face of the earth. There was only a Slayer to be slaughtered, a Slayer who wanted to harm his mate and sons, and Drake was going to ensure his death was painful.

  And irrevocable.

  Drake roared and shredded the Slayer in his fury, while Theo held their opponent captive. He breathed dragonfire at the Slayer and ensured that he was too dead to ever threaten any Pyr or human again.

  Drake’s cry brought more of the Dragon Legion to their aid. He caught a glimpse of Rhys and Hadrian, Alastair and Balthasar, and others whose names he didn’t even know. The sky was thick with dragons and alight with dragonfire.

  Rhys breathed dragonsmoke and drained the Slayer of every last vestige of his energy, then he and Hadrian ensured that the dead Slayer was exposed to the elements after his death. Theo and Drake joined them to incinerate the remains to ash. By the time the task was done, Niall, Lee and Delaney had done the same to the other Slayer with the help of the Dragon Legion.

  The woods behind Drake’s house were filled with Pyr, their noble scent filling his nostrils. They listened in unison, but the eclipse was over and there were no more Slayers in the vicinity.

  Did Drake dare to breathe a sigh of relief?

  * * *

  Sloane was racing after Jorge, determined to eliminate the Slayer at the root of all the Pyr’s trouble. He didn’t think of how far behind his fellow Pyr were. He could hear them fighting and smiled at Thorolf’s shout of victory when he dispatched one of the clones. It was a sign that they were winning. The moon was almost completely eclipsed, which meant that in less than an hour, the fate of the Pyr would be sealed.

  Sloane was going to do his part.

  He seized Jorge’s tail and pulled that Slayer to a halt. Jorge spun in the air and smacked the falsa against Sloane’s head. The air filled with cracked clay and tufts of cotton, as well as dried corn and twine. Debris flew in every direction and got into Sloane’s eyes. By the time he’d blinked them clear, Jorge had squirmed out of his grip and flown higher. Sloane beat his wings hard in pursuit.

  There were items falling from the falsa as Jorge flew, freed by the wind or the loosened coverings, and they hailed down on Sloane. They seemed to surround him like an ever-changing cloud and he identified items as much by scent as by sight. He saw parrot feathers float past him, more cotton and dried corn, small tokens of gold like coins. There was a glint of gold earrings, then shards of earthenware pots and chunks of dusty textiles. He saw bits of woven reeds, a leather sandal, a ball of red string that unfurled as it fell past him. He saw a gourd that had been hollowed out, then decorated, then smelled that the next missiles were whole dried vegetables. He flew through a shower of coca leaves, reached up, and seized Jorge’s tail again.

  Sloane dug his talons in deep and Jorge spun to fight. The Slayer loosed a stream of dragonfire even as Sloane tried to drive the needle of the syringe into his skin.

  Jorge’s scales were so hard that the needle bent.

  Too bad this Slayer would never love anyone enough to lose a scale.

  Jorge slashed at Sloane then, once again using the falsa as a weapon and loosing a lot of cotton. Sloane dropped the syringe and saw the glimmer of it spiraling down into the valley far below. He raced after it, abandoning Jorge for the moment, caught up to it and snatched it out of the air. He pivoted and soared upward again, just in time to see two small items of ruby and brass tumble from the falsa.

  They shimmered blue, then were gone.

  The last two Slayers, and Sloane had missed them.

  Jorge cast aside the falsa, which scattered human bones into the air as it fell earthward, and dove toward Sloane with his talons extended.

  They collided hard and tumbled through the air, the force of impact enough to make their wings momentarily useless. Sloane was glad he’d passed the syringe to his back claw, although Jorge was trying to seize it with his own. They wrestled with their tails, each trying to claim the syringe.

  “What’s in it?” Jorge demanded. “Hoping to convert me to the Pyr team with a vaccine?” He laughed at the very idea.

  “There’s no chance of that.” Sloane smiled even as he gave Jorge a thump with his tail. The Slayer flinched for a heartbeat, and Sloane snapped at him
but missed. “Maybe it’s Elixir.”

  “If it was, you’d be taking it yourself. Shouldn’t the Apothecary be interested in immortality?”

  “I’m not interested in addiction.”

  “Exactly.” Jorge eyed the syringe with suspicion and took a deep breath, his eyes glinting. “The scent makes something curdle within me,” he murmured, his eyes glinting. “Don’t tell me that the Apothecary has nefarious plans.”

  They raged at each other then, tussling and biting, and Sloane managed to tear one of Jorge’s wings a bit. He had no opportunity to inject the syringe’s contents into the wound, though, before Jorge twisted from his grip and tore his own tail.

  “I should just let you do your worst,” Jorge taunted. “Since your kind will be gone soon.”

  “I don’t know how you figure that.”

  Jorge laughed and spoke aloud. “Survival of the fittest. Humans do get some things right. Slayers are superior, so we will triumph.”

  “Unless you all die. You are outnumbered.”

  Jorge smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. Six new Slayers flew out to do their worst tonight.” He gestured down toward the ground, and Sloane saw that Brandt and Arach had both fallen. He couldn’t see from this distance whether they were injured or dead. Brandt was rotating between forms, which wasn’t good, Arach was in his human form, which wasn’t a good sign either.

  One of the clones was still battling against the Pyr but Sloane couldn’t deny that it looked as if his fellows were weakening. There was a lot of blood below them and big fissures in the earth. As he watched, the ground rumbled again and new dust rose from the ancient city. Would it be Gaia who eliminated them from her surface?

  “Look at the bright side,” Jorge said. “You won’t have to tend to them, not since your kind will be wiped from the face of the earth.”

  He had to help them.

  He had to finish Jorge first. He spared a glance at the moon, knowing the moments of opportunity were slipping away.

  Why couldn’t the Pyr have been the ones cloned?

  “Maybe I’ll leave you a legacy,” Sloane taunted in old-speak. “A little something to remember us by.”

  Jorge laughed again. “Maybe you’ve become the Dreamer instead of the Apothecary.” He launched an assault on Sloane then, hitting him with such force that Sloane was stunned. Once again the syringe was knocked out of his claw, tumbling toward the valley far below and leaving Sloane without the means to finish the fight.

  He couldn’t give up, not now, no matter what the odds against him. Sloane felt a grim resolve fill his heart and knew he’d fight to his very last.

  He’d give everything he possessed to save the world and give Sam a future.

  Even his life.

  Chapter Thirty

  Marco spontaneously manifested at Machu Picchu, right in the middle of a dragonfight. He found himself abruptly between Rafferty and one of the ruby and brass clones, just as Rafferty was slashing at the Slayer. Marco shifted into human form and ducked out of the way. He felt the Slayer’s black blood rain down upon his back as Rafferty’s blow hit home. His back burned but Marco didn’t care.

  He could see that Thorolf was ensuring that another clone stayed dead, his dragonfire lighting the night sky. Far overhead, he could discern Sloane and Jorge locked in battle. Brandt was rotating between forms in the middle of a clearing nearby and the ground was rumbling underfoot with a restlessness that wasn’t reassuring. He could see Liz and Chandra bent over Brandt, trying to help him. Arach was in his dragon form and utterly still, a pool of red blood beneath him.

  The moon would slide out of the shadow of the eclipse within moments.

  He had to ensure Erik’s survival, first and foremost. Marco followed the scent of the antidote to find Sloane’s stash and took another pair of syringes. He checked that they were loaded with antidote and might have returned to Michigan, but Rafferty slammed a Slayer into the ground beside him. The Slayer looked dazed.

  “This one,” Rafferty commanded, his eyes blazing. “I’m not sure he’s had his fill.”

  Marco jabbed a loaded syringe into the Slayer, who shook his head in confusion then began to struggle. “It won’t kill you,” Marco said amiably. “It just eliminates the Elixir from your body.”

  “Which means you can be killed,” Rafferty smiled coldly as the Slayer apparently understood his peril.

  He might have protested, but Rafferty hauled the other dragon into the sky, and Marco doubted it was an accident that his talons were digging so deeply into his opponent’s scales. “Now, let’s finish up.”

  Marco waited to watch Rafferty deck the Slayer so hard that the other dragon tumbled through the air and smacked against a fitted stone wall. The wall cracked, the stones fell, and the earth shook once more. Black blood flowed across the stone, and Rafferty held the Slayer captive as he breathed a ceaseless stream of dragonfire.

  Marco nodded approval as the Slayer screamed, then he wished himself back to Michigan.

  * * *

  Sloane didn’t dive after the syringe this time, because he knew his opponent expected it. Jorge breathed fire to distract him, then bit into Sloane, shredding the shoulder of his dominant hand. Sloane knew it wasn’t a coincidence. He pretended the injury was greater than it was and let his wings falter and still, as if he’d passed out.

  He fell like a rock toward the ancient city.

  Jorge took a deep breath and dove after him. He was going to breathe dragonsmoke, to draw out the last of Sloane’s strength. Sloane knew he couldn’t let the dragonsmoke touch him, but he was buying precious time.

  And getting closer to the falling syringe. He beat his wings, driving himself downward with greater speed, as if he were confused. Jorge plummeted after him, then dispatched a stream of dragonsmoke that spiraled toward Sloane with astonishing speed.

  Sloane counted the seconds, wanting to time his recovery to the moment he could snatch the syringe out of the air. He watched his opponent though narrowed eyes. The dragonsmoke glittered, closing fast, immediately followed by Jorge’s gleaming eyes and sharp teeth.

  Sloane waited until the smoke was a talon’s span away.

  Then he came suddenly to life. He lunged at the syringe and snatched it out of the air. He passed it to his claw, glad that it was still full, and pivoted in the sky. He dodged the dragonsmoke and soared upward, straight for Jorge, with the needle point leading the way. Jorge’s eyes widened and he spun to evade the needle.

  And that was the moment Sloane saw where Jorge was missing a scale. It wasn’t over his heart or on his belly, but in the joint, at the nexus of his right hip. The scales would overlap there, diminishing the size of the gap when he moved, but now Sloane knew where it was.

  He locked on to his target, chasing Jorge with all his might. He seized Jorge’s ankle, earning a volley of dragonfire, but held fast even as his own scales burned. He reached up and his grip fumbled. He had a heartbeat to fear that Jorge would escape, then got his grip again.

  There wasn’t an instant to waste.

  Sloane buried the needle into Jorge and emptied it with savage speed. Jorge twitched and flailed, the color fading from his scales even as Sloane watched. The needle broke with the Slayer’s efforts, but the syringe had been emptied.

  “What did you do to me?” Jorge demanded, his eyes blazing.

  “An antidote to the Elixir.” Sloane smiled. “Congratulations, you’re mortal again.” He decked the astonished Slayer, sending him tumbling through the air. “Just in time to die.”

  “That’s impossible!” Jorge roared and they locked claws once more, lighting the night with their dragonfire. The fight was savage and fast, Sloane’s determination giving him more power than he’d known he possessed. Jorge was battered and bleeding, his wings torn, his guts shredded, his scales burned.

  Something fell from beneath his scales where he had tucked it for safety, a small gleaming cylinder that might have been a pencil. As much as Sloane wanted to know what it was, he was
n’t going to release Jorge to find out.

  It fell, spiraling down into the darkness and disappearing.

  “She did it,” Jorge whispered, his claw falling to the unprotected spot, then he snarled. “I knew she was worthy.”

  Who did he mean? Sloane looked after the cylinder. What had it been? Who had given it to Jorge and what was it for?

  Sloane was amazed that Jorge had ever been able to care for anyone. Perhaps the lost scale had given him little vulnerability because his affection was so limited. Either way, the Elixir was gone. The moon was about to emerge from the shadow of the eclipse and the battle wasn’t finished.

  The Slayer tried to breathe dragonsmoke, making an effort to save himself, but Sloane easily evaded it. He slashed at Jorge, who could no longer offer much resistance. He ripped open his body so his black blood rained down on the mountains of Peru, and then he burned the Slayer’s body to a crisp. With the Elixir neutralized in his body Jorge couldn’t evade his just reward, and he didn’t fight for long.

  When he was dead, Sloane carried him into the deep valley of the river, not wanting to take any chances. Only once Jorge had been exposed to all of the elements and his body had dissolved to ash, did Sloane race to help his fellow Pyr.

  The moon was sliding free of the eclipse, and he was glad to find Thorolf flying toward him bearing the remains of one fried Slayer and Brandon with the other. “Water!” Thorolf cried and his triumphant word echoed off the cliffs.

  Sloane watched the moon overhead as he caught his breath, and hoped all of his fellows had won.

  * * *

  Marco slid into the field beside Quinn’s home in a flash of blue light, only to find that Erik was holding down the last of the Slayers. His grip on his opponent’s neck was so tight that the Slayer could scarcely breathe. The Slayer was also cut to ribbons, his blood flowing like a black river, and the stench was enough to turn Marco’s stomach.