It was a crappy way to die, but at least it would be quick.
Instead of Ambrose’s torrent of flame, there was the sound of destruction from above. A cool breeze caressed Sara’s skin as the sky became visible overhead.
Ambrose swore as the roof was torn from the cabin and tossed aside. Three Pyr had taken the corners of the roof and wrenched it from the building. Sara wanted to cheer when she saw Quinn, looking grim and powerful, his steel blue scales glinting. She felt something slippery passing her and knew that the Slayer smoke was dispersing into the sky.
She also guessed that it was stinging the Pyr. Rafferty, Donovan, and Quinn recoiled immediately. Sara understood that they couldn’t retrieve her from below. She saw Quinn’s determination and knew he would try.
And that the smoke would kill him.
“No fair!” Ambrose roared and leapt skyward after the Pyr, abandoning Sara to the flames.
Sara saw her chance. She lunged skyward and seized the tip of his tail, holding tight as he carried her out of the smoke and flames. He twisted in midflight in rage; then his eyes gleamed when he saw her. Before Sara could gasp, Ambrose swung his tail up and opened his mouth beneath her.
Being burned to death was looking like the better option.
Ambrose’s teeth were long and sharp and yellowed. His throat gaped large and dark, a dark abyss with nothing good at the other end. The scales on his tail were slippery, and Sara felt like she was trying to hold on to a large fish. Sara clutched at a pair of scales, but her palms were sweaty and Ambrose writhed so that she swung in the wind.
“Sara!”
She turned at the sound of Quinn’s bellow and saw him closing fast. She also saw Boris move a lazy finger as if guiding something upward. She couldn’t see the smoke in the cabin rise to follow his bidding, but she knew the moment that Quinn hit its wall.
He recoiled with a bellow of pain, steam rising from him from the Slayer smoke’s vile touch. He writhed and beat at his chest with his claws, as if trying to turn something back. He breathed fire on himself even and Sara was afraid for him. Rafferty and Donovan closed ranks around Quinn, fighting to defend the Smith as Boris moved toward them. Sara knew that Quinn was badly hurt.
She could tell by the way Boris laughed.
She saw the blackened hole in Quinn’s chest and remembered that was where his damaged scale was located. The smoke must have targeted the weak spot, the vulnerability created by his loving Elizabeth.
Who else could help?
Erik was down and motionless, Sara saw then. Niall and Sloane were nowhere in sight. The green Slayer ascended from Erik’s fallen form to attack the three Pyr while Boris glanced skyward with pleasure. Sara saw him murmur, as if he were talking to the sky.
Or casting a spell. Was that possible? Dark clouds collided overhead with a crack of thunder and the wind swirled in unpredictable patterns. The sky had a greenish tinge and the wind was restless, a combination that Sara knew meant big trouble.
Where had the bad weather come from? The sky had been clear when she went into the cabin. And how had the clouds gathered from every direction? Boris must have been summoning a storm.
Because rain would ensure that fallen Pyr became dead Pyr.
“Seen enough?” Ambrose whispered beneath her and Sara realized he’d been watching her. “I love when everyone appreciates the stakes, although it did take you a while.” He wiggled his tail, forcing Sara to snatch at his scales in panic. The first heavy drops of rain fell, making her grip even more tenuous. “Don’t miss the big finish, Quinn,” Ambrose shouted.
Quinn raged dragonfire, but it couldn’t permeate the smoke. He was failing, Sara knew it, and there was nothing she could do.
Ambrose loved it. He was the focus of attention and worked the moment for all it was worth. He undulated with ease, chuckling as Sara’s one hand slipped free.
“Oops!” he whispered, then wriggled again.
Sara gasped and snatched. She got a grip with one hand, her legs waving in the wind as she struggled. Ambrose ran his tongue across his teeth, gave his tail a flick, and Sara lost her grasp on him completely. She fell, right toward his open mouth.
This time, Sara did say her prayers.
To her astonishment, they were answered.
Quinn saw Sara dangling from the end of Ambrose’s tail. He wanted to shred the Slayer who had taken so much from him and would have tried, if Donovan and Rafferty hadn’t held him back.
He saw Ambrose wiggle his tail.
He saw Sara struggle for a grip. “I have to help her!”
“The smoke will kill you,” Donovan said.
“She’ll be reborn,” Rafferty agreed sadly.
“That’s not good enough!”
“Look at it this way,” Rafferty said. “You won’t be the only one waiting for a firestorm.”
“We need you, Quinn,” Donovan said. “We need you now.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Rafferty concluded, but he was wrong.
“There’s one thing I can do,” Quinn said. He whistled at Ambrose, then shouted, “Catch!” Quinn flipped his father’s coin in Ambrose’s direction.
The Roman coin glinted as it spun toward the Slayer. Ambrose’s eyes lit at the sight of it. He abandoned Sara and lunged toward the coin, so anxious was he to catch it.
Quinn had been right: Ambrose’s real argument was with him.
The coin began to tumble toward the earth, but Ambrose swooped in fast pursuit. He plunged through the Slayer smoke, and snatched it out of the air just before it hit the ground.
“You’re on, Smith!” he roared in triumph, holding the coin aloft.
But Sara was still falling. Quinn fought against the two Pyr, wanting to help her no matter the price.
“Look!” whispered Rafferty.
A cloud of white emanated from Sara’s pocket as she fell. It spread with astonishing speed, changing from a shapeless mass into a dragon unlike any Pyr Quinn had ever seen. The slender white dragon caught Sara in her claws and flew skyward, moving with effortless ease. She passed through the Slayer smoke like a wind slipping between the raindrops and seemed to feel no ill effects.
“It’s the Wyvern,” Donovan whispered with awe.
He had to be right, because this dragon was unmistakably female. She was more sleek than any of the Pyr and so pale that she might have been made of spun glass. Her wings seemed embellished with feathers, more like those of an exotic bird than a bat, and were so translucent that they might have been made of sheer silk. They fluttered rather than flapped, as if she floated in agreement with the wind instead of flying with her own effort.
“Few see this sight,” Rafferty whispered with reverence.
“Something to tell the kids,” Donovan teased, earning a dark look from Rafferty.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting offspring,” he said, his gaze returning to the Wyvern.
She moved with a languid grace that made her look spectral and unreal. She carried Sara with tremendous care—something that worked for Quinn—then spread her wings over Erik’s fallen form.
She lost altitude slowly as the rain began to fall with force, sheltering Erik from the water like a massive umbrella. She settled over him much as a swan shelters her cygnets beneath her wings.
“She’s protecting him from the last element,” Rafferty said and the others could only nod agreement. Why Erik? Why did the Wyvern protect him? Quinn could only guess that it wasn’t time for Erik Sorensson to die, that the Great Wyvern had another expectation of that Pyr.
Quinn had a glimpse of Sara disappearing beneath the Wyvern and didn’t doubt that she was trying to help Erik herself.
Then he looked up and found Ambrose closing fast, his father’s coin glinting in the Slayer’s grip. “Protect the Wyvern,” he said to Rafferty and Donovan.
“But you’re too injured to fight,” Donovan protested. “You need us.”
“The challenge is mine to fight,” Quinn replied. “I gave it an
d he accepted it.”
“But…,” Rafferty began to argue.
Quinn interrupted him. “Sara carries the new Smith.”
Donovan gave a low whistle. “Quick work, Quinn.”
Quinn agreed. The firestorm had come and gone too fast. He wanted years with Sara, not moments, but the choice wasn’t his. If his dying deed was the killing of Ambrose, it would be the best possible gift to Sara and their barely conceived child. The Pyr would ensure that the boy was taught what he needed to know and Sara would help him understand what he had inherited.
He brushed off the concern of his companions and braced himself for Ambrose’s assault. “You have to protect the future, not the past.”
Rafferty was the first to go, the wisdom in his gaze showing that he understood Quinn’s choice. Donovan had a harder time with it. “I’ll kill him for you.”
“You can’t,” Quinn said. “The challenge was mine so the battle’s mine.”
Even Donovan couldn’t argue with that. Quinn still sensed that Donovan was torn, but the way Boris and Sigmund turned toward the Wyvern made up his mind. He flew to Rafferty’s aid, leaving Quinn to face his oldest adversary.
The battle could have happened at a better time. Quinn’s chest ached where the scale was damaged and the smoke had slid beneath it. He was determined, though, to resolve his old feud, whatever the price.
To Quinn’s surprise, Donovan pivoted as he departed and spewed dragonfire on Quinn from behind. It was the gift of a friend and ally. Quinn smiled as the surge rolled through him, invigorating him and making him feel radiant once more.
He felt the power of fighting as a team, of covering each other’s flanks, and knew that if he survived this fight, he could never go back to his solitary ways. Opening himself to trust others was something Sara had taught him. He wanted to learn all she had to share. He wanted to see their child. He wanted to make her eyes turn gold a thousand times.
Quinn wanted—and needed—to win.
Sara could hear the Wyvern chanting something low and deep, something Sara couldn’t quite hear, but even she could feel Erik respond to the song. He was unconscious and his breathing was shallow. The wounds he had sustained cut deep and he was burned on one side.
“There is something greater broken within him, Seer,” the Wyvern murmured. “The spirit must heal before the body can be repaired.”
That made sense to Sara in general, even if she didn’t understand the specifics. Sophie continued her chant, though, effectively ignoring Sara as she concentrated on Erik.
To Sara’s dismay, Rafferty and Donovan left Quinn to battle alone with Ambrose. The pair flew toward her just as Niall and Sloane came back over the forest. The amethyst and tourmaline dragons carried the charred body of the garnet red Slayer that had been Xavier. They tossed his carcass into the burning remains of the cabin, glanced toward Quinn, then also flew toward Sara.
“Sneaky,” Niall said with disgust.
“They all are,” Donovan agreed, his eyes narrowing as Boris and the green Slayer streaked toward the Pyr. “Here they come.”
Niall murmured something low, his brow furrowing. “Heads up,” Sloane warned, watching the churning sky overhead as well as the other Pyr. “This is unpredictable stuff.”
Even as he spoke, a funnel cloud emanated from one dark cloud, then retreated. Niall continued to murmur, then another larger one spun toward the earth with fearsome speed.
It fell upon Boris and the green Slayer. They never saw it coming and Sara heard the roar of Boris’s shock as the two disappeared into the churning air.
“Easy, Niall,” Sloane said when the burgeoning tornado veered closer.
The Pyr’s eyes narrowed as he fought to turn the unruly clouds to his will.
They all breathed a sigh of relief when the funnel cloud pulled back into the dark clouds above and the dark thundercloud seemed to boil while it was incorporated.
“Can you control storms?” Sara asked and an exhausted Niall shook his head.
“They’re unpredictable, especially violent ones, and often have intent of their own. I’d never invite one like this, because you just don’t know what it will choose to do.” He exhaled mightily, spent from his efforts, and the other Pyr quietly congratulated him.
Sara was trying to wrap her mind about the idea of a storm having an intention.
Meanwhile, Quinn and Ambrose fought vigorously.
The Pyr, to Sara’s surprise, landed in a circle around Erik. “Why don’t you help Quinn?” she demanded.
Rafferty bowed his head. “Because he asked us to protect you instead.”
“But that’s not right! That’s not fair,” Sara argued. “I thought you needed the Smith to save the earth….”
“They need the product of the union between the Smith and the Seer,” the Wyvern interjected calmly.
Sara turned to meet her steady gaze as she understood. She put her hand on her belly. “You said it wouldn’t be a child.”
“I said it wasn’t necessarily going to be a child. The possibility was always present.” Sophie smiled serenely at Sara’s shock, then returned to her healing song. She beckoned to Sloane who knelt beside her to learn her chant.
“But I’m not ready to trade Quinn for his child,” Sara said, even though no one was listening.
Rafferty settled beside her, his manner calm and thoughtful. “It is our way, Sara. The blood duel is a challenge to fight to the death. Once it is accepted, no other Pyr or Slayer can intervene.”
“So you just watch?”
“There’ve been times when dragon fighting has been a spectator sport,” Donovan said, his gaze fixed on the battle.
“Right. I’ll bet the Slayers play by those rules all the time,” Sara said bitterly. “Couldn’t you at least keep tabs on Boris and Sigmund? It would be like them to double back.” She turned to Niall. “I mean, if you aren’t sure about controlling storms, maybe it was Boris who made it look like you controlled it.”
She again had the sense that the Pyr consulted each other. Niall took flight, his expression that of someone who listened intently, albeit to something Sara couldn’t hear. The storm was passing; the rain had settled into a more steady downpour. The clouds were still dark, but that uncertain energy was dissipating. “They’ve turned south,” he murmured, peering into the distance.
“I’ll go with you and intercept them,” Donovan said. “Sara’s right that the Slayers don’t play by the rules.”
Some other comment was passed between them; Sara felt it more than heard it. Then Rafferty eased closer to her. He was her guardian; she understood as much without words.
But there was another guardian she would have preferred. She watched Quinn battle Ambrose, wishing there was something she could do to help.
“You can stay out of it,” Rafferty said. “The conviction that you are safe is his bedrock.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
Rafferty smiled. “Humans are enchantingly transparent.” He sighed and pulled his tail around, then patted it in invitation. Sara sighed in her turn and sat down on the opalescent scales, telling herself to be patient.
It wasn’t her best trick.
Especially when it became apparent that Quinn was losing.
“I don’t like spectator sports,” she grumbled, unable to keep herself from watching.
“Neither do I,” Rafferty agreed. “Blood sports are worse.”
Sara couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter 16
Quinn knew that he had to use Ambrose’s pride against him to triumph. It was the only weak spot the Slayer had. The hole in Quinn’s chest ached as he ascended to meet Ambrose over the woods that encircled the burning cabin. Rain beat down, turning their scales slick, and the wind swirled around the pair as they locked claws.
They thrashed their tails at each other, clawed, bit, and parted when Quinn exhaled dragonfire on the Slayer.
“I won’t be breathing fire on you,” Ambrose mutte
red. “No matter how much you tempt me.”
“An old dragon like you should be easy to beat, anyway.”
“Age gives experience!”
“Age gives weakness and infirmity. Look at you, for example.”
“I’m stronger than ever!” Ambrose raged.
“I don’t think so. Erik sent you from the tower with your tail between your legs the other night,” Quinn taunted, knowing that Ambrose didn’t like reminders of failure. “Maybe you’re getting old, Ambrose, too old to fight.”
The other Pyr launched himself at Quinn with fearsome fury. Quinn was startled by how quickly he moved. They grappled with each other, claws locked, and fell from the sky as they fought for advantage. Quinn could see the hatred in his opponent’s eyes and feel the heat of his breath as he snapped at Quinn’s chest.
Quinn thought they would crash into the trees, but he wasn’t going to be the one to let go first. He lashed at Ambrose with his back claws, but the Slayer struck Quinn with his tail first.
Quinn tumbled toward the treetops, stunned by the force of the blow.
“I let Erik defeat me that night,” Ambrose bellowed, loosing a stream of fire. He ensured that it didn’t come near Quinn. “I chose to leave.”
Ambrose was furious and Quinn decided to prod him more. He pretended to be more injured than he was, taking his time recovering his balance and flying upward to engage again. “What about the night before in the arcade? You ran like a little boy who didn’t know how to shift shape.”
“Like the one you used to be?” Ambrose sneered. “I chose to leave your mate that first night and let you think it was a mugging.”
“I wasn’t fooled,” Quinn scoffed. “You left the coin.”
Ambrose smiled, his teeth gleaming yellow. “A nice touch, wasn’t it? A little reminder of our past.”
“And evidence of who threatened my mate.” Quinn said. “Not very clever, Ambrose. I would have been at a greater disadvantage if I still believed you were dead. The element of surprise is powerful.”
Ambrose flew straight for Quinn, four sets of claws extended. “I don’t need another advantage to finish what I started in Béziers,” he snarled.
Kiss of Fire Page 28
