Darkfire Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  Rafferty could even see the blue haze when he closed his eyes. As he moved within Melissa, as she provoked him much as he had provoked her, he felt the heat burn brighter. It became whiter and hotter, burning more vigorously in place. Its demand increased, mingled with Melissa’s scent, tickled the dragon to wakefulness, and utterly enchanted Rafferty.

  He cupped her buttocks and stood up, easily carrying her weight with him. She locked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He met her simmering gaze as he slid his hand between them. He felt her clitoris harden again and saw her eyes sparkle in anticipation. Feeling that she was on the cusp once more, he moved his fingers with surety, knowing already what she liked.

  He dared to imagine how powerful their lovemaking would become over time, as they each learned how best to drive the other wild. The notion excited him as little else could have done.

  Rafferty deliberately drove Melissa to climax, holding his own reaction back with an effort. Melissa convulsed as she reached her orgasm, her legs tightening around him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her cry rippling across his cheek. He watched her, loving how the blue flames of the darkfire touched her skin, surrounded her, and made her seem to glow like a rare treasure.

  His prize.

  His mate.

  His treasure.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him, reaching to pull him closer. Her hungry kiss drove Rafferty to the precipice. He let loose and roared, fit to rattle the rafters. He came in a raging torrent, his seed spilling in a release so shattering that it shook him to his core.

  Rafferty’s orgasm both lasted forever and was over in a flash.

  It left him staggering in his library, Melissa curled against his chest with a contented smile. He leaned one shoulder against the mantel to catch his breath, liking the stability of the massive slab of old oak. Melissa sighed in contentment and lifted her head to consider him, her own gaze drowsy in the aftermath of pleasure. She trailed her fingertips through his hair, down his cheek, through the day’s growth on his jaw.

  “What a perfect way to spend a rainy morning,” she said softly, tracing a line across his mouth with one silken fingertip. To Rafferty’s astonishment, he felt a prickle of the heat trail her touch.

  He blinked and looked, knowing his thoughts were muddled and the angle was bad. Melissa swept her hand over his shoulder, then down his arm, as if she would memorize the shape of him.

  There were unmistakable blue sparks leaping and dancing in the wake of her caress. He could see them. He could feel them. They made a burning line across his skin, one that fed his desire all over again and sent that familiar urge through his veins. They were that same elusive blue-green as the darkfire had been just moments before.

  How could this be?

  “Oh,” Melissa said quietly as she noted the direction of his gaze. “Looks like the Pyr mythos has it wrong.”

  Rafferty stared into her eyes, unable to summon a word to his lips. How could the firestorm not be sated?

  Then his heart clenched in fear. Was there something different about darkfire? Something he didn’t know? Something he should fear?

  “Wow,” Melissa said abruptly. “What kind of rocks are these, anyway?”

  Rafferty followed her gaze to his bookshelves, only to discover that each sample in his mineral collection had a strange blue flame dancing at its core. The light flickered through the stones, taking on the color of their crystals, and painted the walls in strange dancing light.

  Darkfire.

  The large quartz crystal he’d been holding earlier was the brightest of all, the blue flame at its heart burning with new vigor.

  Rafferty was awed and horrified.

  Melissa cast him an impish glance through her lashes, one that made his heart skip. “Do you need to rest up before we try again? Maybe have some breakfast?”

  “This cannot be,” he said. He gently put her down, shoving his hand through his hair in consternation. He reached out to touch her shoulder, catching his breath as the blue flame danced again between them.

  It seemed to be burning even brighter.

  His body certainly was responding to it with greater vehemence.

  This made no sense.

  Melissa tugged on the robe again, almost as if avoiding his gaze. “I could use a coffee before round two.” She spoke lightly, which was strange since she’d been so sensitive to his moods thus far. Rafferty dismissed the idea that she could be hiding anything from him, telling himself that paranoia had no place in a firestorm.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” he said, heading for the kitchen with purpose. Maybe the caffeine would clear his thoughts.

  “Maybe it would be a good time for you to explain this darkfire to me,” Melissa suggested.

  Again, Rafferty heard something in her tone, a wariness that awakened his own. He considered her, and her gaze danced away from his. He was right. She wasn’t surprised that the darkfire still burned between them.

  Why not?

  “Maybe there is more than that we need to discuss,” Rafferty suggested, and knew he didn’t imagine that she caught her breath. Then she walked quickly toward the kitchen, once again giving him the impression that she was hiding her thoughts.

  Melissa had not conceived his son on the consummation of their relationship, and Rafferty had a feeling she knew why.

  He was going to learn the truth, before the coffee was gone.

  Chapter 10

  Deep in the mountains of Tibet, Chen ceased his song. He felt the distinctive heat of the darkfire. He sensed the power of the firestorm. He tasted the spark of the darkfire. He heard the Sleeper stir. Chen recognized that his decision to let the darkfire loose had had unexpected repercussions, and he was intrigued.

  He wasn’t truly surprised. Unpredictability was darkfire’s hallmark.

  The sound that interested Chen the most was a quieter sound, one of a Pyr finding his affinity. Chen heard three quick bolts of lightning strike in succession, and he knew that particular lightning was not caused by the weather. He smiled when he realized which Pyr had created it, for control over lightning was a mark of an affinity with air.

  Not that this Pyr, so new to his affinity of air, had actual control over the lightning. He drew it, without even knowing why or how.

  Air was the only element missing from Chen’s mastery of the four.

  He suspected this Pyr would be easier prey than the others with similar affinities. He stirred his brand in the ashes of the fire he had kindled, checking the status of its repair. The seven pieces were beginning to soften, but it was still too soon to forge even the two smallest together.

  He coaxed the flame high. He urged it to burn hotter.

  Then, while it fulfilled his command, Chen laid the first trap for the prize he intended to claim.

  Sara awakened suddenly, heart pounding. She’d been dozing on the couch, and the fire on the hearth had burned low. As had become typical, she was freezing cold.

  But she was also shaken by the vision that lingered in her thoughts. She had seen a little girl, a little girl with long chestnut curls and beautiful dark eyes. She was a pretty child, maybe five years of age, although there was a mysterious tilt to her smile.

  Something about the little girl’s expression made Sara think she knew more than most people, or saw more than most.

  Something about that little girl’s smile reminded Sara of Sophie, the lost Wyvern.

  Sara’s dream had been short, just the little girl turning to smile at her. No more. Who was this child? Sara stroked her belly and wondered. Had she seen the child she would bear to Quinn? But how could the baby growing in her womb be a girl? The Pyr always had sons, with the exception of the Wyvern. The Wyvern was the only female Pyr at any given time, and Erik and Eileen had already had Zoë.

  Was something going to happen to Zoë?

  Was it possible that Zoë was not the new Wyvern?

  Or that there might be two Wyverns, for the first time ever?
Sara rose to get Sigmund’s book, even though she’d already been through it six hundred times. There were no real answers there about darkfire, nothing more than what Quinn had told her, but there was nowhere else to look.

  How much could darkfire change their world?

  Sara had a terrible feeling that all she could do was wait to find out.

  Thorolf dreamed of an enormous bar. It was his kind of place. It was smoky and dark, the music was loud, and the women were gorgeous. The drinks were free, and there was food as he’d never seen in a bar before. Everywhere he looked there was another buffet, another bartender pouring generous drinks, another hot half-naked woman giving him a come-hither look.

  Paradise.

  He went from one sensory pleasure to the next, his pace slowing only when he realized he was never going to run out of anything in this place.

  Heaven.

  He didn’t know how long he was there, how far he had walked into its depths, how many women he’d kissed or drinks he’d swallowed, when he staggered into a room entirely upholstered in purple velvet. It was round and lit with sconces mounted at intervals around the perimeter. The floor seemed to be made of stars, but the effect was probably from fairy lights under Lucite.

  In the center was a round couch or bed covered in purple leather. There was nothing else in the room, except the smell of incense.

  And a woman. She was sitting on the far side of the bed, her back to him. Her hair was dark and straight, and he guessed that she was Asian. She was slim. When she stood up, he saw that she was taller than he’d expected.

  She rolled her shoulders, slipping off her robe. It slid down her back to pool on the bed. He caught a glimpse of her nails, which were long and red. The light from the sconces danced over her bare skin, and Thorolf found himself responding to the promise she hadn’t yet uttered.

  He took a step closer, forgetting the free drinks. He heard the door close behind him, but he didn’t care. A little privacy would be all right for whatever she had in mind.

  She strolled around the bed, her head tilted down and her hair hiding her face. She was more buxom than he would have expected, but smooth and sleek. She was wearing only a pair of purple stiletto boots.

  Then she flicked back her hair and smiled at him, her lips painted a glossy red. She raised one finger and beckoned to him.

  But Thorolf retreated in horror. Chen could take the form of an alluring woman, this form. He knew precisely who confronted him. Who invited him. He heard a bolt slide home before he could get to the door; then the woman who was Chen laughed.

  It was a throaty laugh.

  A wicked laugh.

  A laugh that didn’t foretell anything good for Thorolf. He flung himself at the locked door, but it made no difference. He couldn’t tear it open. And he couldn’t change shape. He tried. He heard Chen coming closer, heard the click of those heels on the floor coming steadily closer. He knew he was doomed.

  Chen was going to finish what he had started. He was going to claim Thorolf, just as he had tried with that tiger brand, and there was no escape.

  Thorolf awakened in a panic, clutching the sheets, taking a good long time to realize that he was safe in Rox and Niall’s apartment. He was panting in terror, and his skin was cold with sweat.

  Bastard. Resolve grew cold and hard within Thorolf. Chen wasn’t going to mess with his mind. Chen wasn’t going to stalk him or torment him. Chen sure as hell wasn’t going to capture or claim him. No way. Somehow, Thorolf was going to finish that old Slayer first.

  He could guess what Niall would think of that plan. Thorolf’s lips set with resolve. This was one time that he wouldn’t confer with the others, when he would follow his own gut. He was right and he knew it; plus, he wasn’t afraid to solve his own problem by himself. He wasn’t going to endanger Niall or risk what that Pyr had with Rox.

  He’d go alone.

  Soon.

  What was Melissa going to do?

  She had understood the basic idea of the firestorm and had known there was no risk of her being the woman who carried Rafferty’s child. She didn’t understand why he would even have a firestorm with her, given her personal history.

  What she hadn’t recognized, though, was how important that child was to Rafferty. She’d known he wanted the child, of course, but had thought he had wanted sex more. But the sight of his dismay when the darkfire flames continued to dance between them, after the firestorm should have been satisfied, had torn at her heart.

  She couldn’t give him what he wanted.

  She’d thought that sex would be enough, that physical expression would satisfy the desires between them. But this darkfire played for keeps. Instead of being just a physical act, intimacy had forged a stronger emotional bond between them.

  Melissa herself was yearning for the permanence that Rafferty found so appealing. She admired him, his strong ethics and his patience. She knew he would be a good parent. She wanted to give him that son, more than she’d wanted anything in a long time.

  And he would make a great partner. She wished again that they had met sooner, before so much had been stolen from her, but there was no point in wishing that her life had turned out differently.

  She was resolved to tell him the truth as soon as possible. She liked to have all the facts before she made a decision. It was only fair that Rafferty knew her history before deciding whether they would pursue a relationship or not.

  The reciprocal agreement was that she wanted to know everything there was to know about the firestorm and Rafferty’s argument with Magnus. It wouldn’t be an easy exchange for either of them, but there was no point shirking what had to be discussed.

  Melissa had no chance to initiate that conversation, though.

  Rafferty pushed open the swing door to the kitchen for her—more of a gentleman than he gave himself credit for—and Melissa was startled to find a man already sitting at the kitchen table.

  The stranger’s hair was mostly dark, silver at the temples with a bit of salt and pepper throughout. He wore a dark sweater and had slung a black leather jacket over the back of his chair. His gaze was simmering.

  Melissa was startled by his presence, but Rafferty was not. “Good morning,” he said, as if he found men in his kitchen all the time. “Where’s Eileen?”

  Melissa suspected he wasn’t that excited to see the other man.

  “She took Zoë to the park.” The stranger spoke in clipped tones, his accent more emphatically British than Rafferty’s. What was Rafferty’s accent? It seemed more musical. “It’s possible that some exercise will encourage her to take a nap.”

  Rafferty made no comment upon that. Eileen must be this man’s partner, and Zoë a child. Melissa went with the obvious conclusion that Zoë must be the daughter of this man and Eileen.

  “You might have made the coffee,” Rafferty commented.

  “I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” the stranger said.

  Rafferty raised a brow, said nothing, and made a pot of coffee.

  The stranger’s gaze locked upon her, his disapproval clear, and Melissa found herself blushing. She had been a bit noisy during her climax, and the library was only a dozen feet away.

  Had Rafferty known the other man was here?

  If not, how had he gotten into the house?

  There was silence in the kitchen except for the sound of Rafferty’s preparations. Rafferty didn’t rush, but then, Melissa didn’t imagine that he often hurried. There was an attractive leisure to his gestures, even doing something so mundane as making a pot of coffee. It was as if he enjoyed every moment for itself.

  Melissa liked that. Living in the present made a lot of sense to her, and once again, she felt a sense of common purpose with Rafferty. She wanted to live like this. She wouldn’t think about the fate of their relationship—she guessed it would end soon, although the prospect saddened her.

  Why did all the rotten luck in the world find her?

  Soon the kitchen was filled with the welcome
scent of a good dark brew. Melissa chose to take pleasure in the moment, in the smell of the coffee and the thickness of her borrowed bathrobe, in the gleam of Rafferty’s eyes, and the pleasure that had left her body humming.

  It was surprisingly easy to do.

  “Cream and sugar?” Rafferty asked.

  “Both, please.” Melissa tightened the knot on the belt of her bathrobe.

  Rafferty handed her a mug of steaming coffee, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Melissa took it from him, their fingers brushing on the handle. A blue flame leapt high at the point of contact, burning so bright and hot that Melissa caught her breath. Her knees went weak, her mind filled with memories of Rafferty’s sure touch, her gaze locked on his strong and tender hands.

  The stranger’s words came in a low hiss. “How can you leave the firestorm unsated?” His voice rose. “How can you, of all Pyr, be so irresponsible?”

  Rafferty turned on the other man. “I am not irresponsible….”

  “No? What about this?” The new arrival pulled a newspaper out of his laptop bag and tossed it on the kitchen table. The headline was enormous.

  DRAGON KIDNAPS JOURNALIST BYSTANDER.

  Melissa’s eyes widened at the grainy image of Rafferty soaring into the sky with her in his grasp.

  Oops.

  “The media is full of this story,” the stranger continued with irritation. “It’s everywhere you turn.” He flicked a hot look at Rafferty. “You may be interested to know that you have been cast in the role of evil dragon, while Jorge plays a hero.”

  “That’s not true!” Melissa said, but Rafferty held up a hand. She understood that this was his fight and sipped her coffee, burning her tongue.

  Rafferty pointed at the other man. “Magnus assaulted me in the street, in the presence of my mate. What was I supposed to do? We have sworn a blood feud.”