Winter Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  Just Delaney.

  He continued quietly, his manner intense. “You have to recognize that the strongest urge for a Pyr is to defend his mate, against anyone or anything.”

  Mate. There was a strong old word, one that made Ginger quiver. She could understand that primal urge, though. She’d dealt with enough testosterone in her time on the farm to recognize the power of biological demand.

  And to respect it.

  What were these dragons but raw testosterone in action? Was that why Delaney had protected her? Because he considered her to be his mate? They certainly had mated the night before—and how. The idea of his being possessive of her made that roar of desire grow.

  That was exactly the kind of distracting thought Ginger didn’t need.

  Delaney gave her fingers a squeeze. “Something changed, Ginger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the sanctuary. Magnus tried to command me and it didn’t work.”

  “What did he command you to do?”

  “Kill you.”

  Oh. Ginger couldn’t think about dragons roasting her, shredding her, or eating her. She didn’t dare let herself remember the view down Magnus’s gullet or the heat of flames burning her coat. If she did, she’d run screaming from the truck, from Delaney, from all the strange things happening in her life this morning.

  She thought about snow instead. She thought about real life. She thought about the barn needing to be mucked out, cows needing to be checked, and coffee needing to be made. She felt Delaney’s expectation that she would ask more questions, but she needed a minute to digest what she’d already heard.

  He gave her that minute, and his understanding made her warm to him all over again. The snow squeaked under the truck tires as they rode in silence. Ginger saw her mailbox and pulled into her own driveway. She parked in her usual spot and turned off the engine. The Pyr parked Delaney’s rental car beside her truck, but they didn’t get out of the car, either.

  The silence in the truck cab felt charged, erotic, dangerous. Ginger decided she needed more than those couple of minutes to review her plan.

  “I guess everyone is hungry.” She reached for the door handle, sparing a glance at Delaney. He was watching her with an intensity she was coming to associate with him. His eyes were green but normal. The admiration in his gaze made her heart go thump and her reservations dissolve.

  She belatedly remembered what he’d said. “You never told me why you didn’t do what Magnus commanded you to do.”

  Delaney smiled just a little, a playful curve appearing at one corner of his mouth. Ginger’s mouth went dry at the memory of how that mouth could kiss, where he had kissed her, how he had made her feel. “You,” he murmured. “I met you and that changed everything.” His gaze danced over her, as if he was amazed by her.

  Ginger tingled. This man had a dangerous power over her, an ability to make her forget everything about him.

  She really should put some distance between them.

  But instead, she let go of the door handle and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Be serious.”

  “I am. I think it’s the magic of the firestorm.” He slid his hand over hers, interlocking their fingers with possessive ease. She felt that heat rise beneath her skin, desire making her pulse leap. His hand felt strong and warm, protective and reliable over hers. She liked that his hand was so much larger than her own, that he was tall and broad and handsome.

  And he wanted her.

  “What’s a firestorm?” she whispered.

  “This,” he said, the single word low enough to make her blood simmer. He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm as he watched her. The kiss sizzled, shooting sparks into the cab of the truck, sparks that illuminated his features and made her chest go tight.

  Ginger swallowed. Delaney pressed her hand against his chest, trapping it between his palm and the thunder of his heart. She felt the power of his heartbeat, her eyes widening as it matched its pace to her own. Their hearts seemed to beat as one, pounding golden light out from beneath their entwined fingertips, a light that melted her reservations. Ginger felt a little dizzy, a little lost in the bright green of Delaney’s gaze.

  Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

  She found herself easing closer to him, putting her other hand on his shoulder. She watched him smile, satisfaction warming the light in his eyes even further.

  “The firestorm marks the meeting of a Pyr and his destined mate,” he whispered, and she felt his voice as much as she heard it.

  Mate. There was that word again. “How many mates do you get?”

  “Just one.” Delaney bent and brushed his lips against her temple. He smiled quickly. “One is really all any Pyr needs.”

  Ginger caught her breath at the wave of desire that swept through her, the sizzle that slid over her skin from his touch. She liked to think that she wasn’t easily charmed, but Delaney Shea had her wrapped right around his little finger.

  Even if he was a dragon shape shifter.

  Wrapped around his talon, maybe.

  His hand slid to her nape, pulling her closer, and as much as she wanted his kiss, Ginger tried to be the skeptical city girl she’d always been.

  “Why should I believe that?” she asked.

  “You’ve seen the firestorm,” Delaney said. “You’ve felt the heat of it and now you know what it means.” He arched a brow, looking powerful and knowing and sexy. There was a little bit of the dragon in his confident expression and it made Ginger’s heart skip with desire. “A firestorm only happens once in a lifetime. It can’t be missed because sparks literally fly.”

  “I thought I’d imagined that.”

  “You thought wrong.” Delaney bent down to her, his expression filled with intent. Ginger caught her breath and she shivered when he touched her cheek. There was that tenderness again, that light caress that could make her blood sing. The awe in his eyes made her heart pound. “You are the only one.”

  “How many women have you told that to?” she asked lightly, trying to hide how powerfully his words and his touch had affected her.

  “Only one,” he said with force. She looked up to see his eyes brighten as his gaze danced over her features. Ginger could have sworn he was telling her the truth. “Only you.”

  Delaney’s words thrilled her, made it impossible for her to move away. Rational thought surrendered the war to sensation and desire, knowing the battle was long lost. Ginger’s heart skipped as he bent to kiss her.

  She knew what he was.

  But she still thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  And she wanted his kiss, this kiss, even if it wasn’t the most sensible choice she’d ever made in her life. Sometimes, even Gran had said, a woman has to follow her instinct.

  Ginger was running on pure intuition with this man.

  And it felt right.

  As right and as good as his kiss.

  Delaney didn’t appreciate that Thorolf rapped his knuckles on the window of the truck. It wouldn’t have mattered when the Pyr had chosen to intervene—it would have been too soon. Ginger’s kiss was sweet and hot, well worth savoring, and Delaney wasn’t happy with the interruption.

  He was starting to understand why Niall found Thorolf so irritating.

  “Hey, I could do with some coffee,” Thorolf shouted, knocking on the glass again. “It’s cold out here.” Delaney heard the newest recruit to the Pyr team stamp his feet and was sure he heard Niall and Sloane chuckle.

  Delaney broke his kiss with reluctance, then smiled for Ginger. She was flushed, her lips redder than they had been. “They’re not the most subtle guys on the planet,” he said.

  “No.” A fleeting smile touched her lips. “I guess not.” She flicked a glance over Delaney, exhaled, then opened her door. She jumped out of the truck. “I could use a coffee, too, actually.” She slammed the truck door, then strode so quickly to the kitchen door that he halfway thought she
was trying to escape him.

  “Trouble in paradise,” Thorolf said in old-speak, and Delaney ignored him. He got out of the truck and followed Ginger.

  Was she overwhelmed? He could respect that she might need a bit of space to come to terms with all he’d told her, and knew that he found the firestorm distracting, too. Her kiss had shaken him, left him raging with desire and unable to think of much except heading back to her bedroom for another attempt to sate the firestorm.

  “I thought it looked like a good kiss,” Niall added, his tone teasing, but Delaney ignored him.

  “Nice smoke boundary,” Sloane mused, obviously trying to restore the balance between them all.

  “For all it’s worth, now that the Slayers can cut smoke,” Thorolf muttered. Delaney knew that the relatively recent addition to Erik’s team of Pyr had yet to master the art of breathing smoke.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Niall said, showing some of the same irritation Delaney felt at the judgment. “Better than you could breathe, certainly.”

  Thorolf’s eyes flashed, then he and Niall glared at each other. Their mutual animosity was well established, and of no interest to Delaney. He saw Ginger glance over her shoulder and up at the sky, frowning.

  “You going to beguile her?” Thorolf asked.

  Delaney shook his head. “No. I’m telling her the truth.” He followed Ginger to the porch then, ending the conversation because he didn’t want the Pyr’s advice on how to manage his relationship with Ginger. He still knew what he had to do, he still expected to die doing it, and he wanted her to know at least that he had been honest with her.

  Even though there was a whole lot more truth to be shared.

  Ginger pushed open the kitchen door and passed the weight of the storm door to him, starting to shrug out of her jacket before she glanced toward the table and froze.

  “Coffee’s on.” Rafferty, one of the oldest of the Pyr, sat at the table, his long legs outstretched and crossed in front of him. He had his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and Ginger looked from him to the pot still on the stove. “I hope you don’t mind my making a pot. I figured you all would need it.”

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Ginger demanded.

  Rafferty rose to his feet, all of his courtly charm on display. “Rafferty Powell, at your service.” He bowed slightly. “The door was unlocked, and I thought it smarter to wait out the storm inside.”

  Ginger glanced to the driveway, then back at the table. “I forgot to lock the door,” she recalled, speaking almost to herself before she looked at Rafferty again. “But there’s no car and there are no tracks.”

  Rafferty smiled. “I heard the smoke,” he said in old-speak.

  “Thunder again!” Ginger said with obvious frustration.

  “He’s a friend of mine, actually,” Delaney said.

  Ginger’s eyes narrowed. “Another friend? Or another Pyr?”

  “Both,” Delaney and Rafferty said in unison.

  Ginger closed her eyes for a minute as she took a deep breath. “How many of you are there?”

  “Not enough,” Rafferty said, and it looked as if Ginger might challenge his conclusion.

  Delaney stepped forward and touched her elbow. The spark made Rafferty’s eyes widen. “Sit down and I’ll get you a coffee.”

  “Black, please,” she said, sinking into a chair. “I need the strongest hit I can get this morning.”

  “And that’s not thunder,” Delaney continued as he poured her coffee. “You’re hearing old-speak.”

  The Pyr hung back, standing around the perimeter of the room except for Rafferty who took his seat again. They were waiting for him to reassure his mate, and although Delaney appreciated that courtesy, he was beginning to wish they weren’t so good at making trouble for him.

  “What’s old-speak?”

  “It’s how we communicate with one another. Our senses are more sensitive than human senses, so we can hear sounds at lower frequencies. When we communicate with old-speak, it sounds like thunder to humans.”

  Ginger arched a brow as Delaney put the mug of coffee on the table in front of her. “So, now you have secrets from me, too?”

  Rafferty hid his smile behind his mug as he took a sip of coffee. His twinkling eyes gave away his amusement.

  “Why is that funny?” Ginger asked.

  “Because mates never take well to old-speak,” Rafferty said. “I’m always interested in the explanations and rationalizations of the individual Pyr before the inevitable result.”

  The tension eased out of Ginger under the influence of Rafferty’s calm demeanor. He had that effect upon humans, with his slow speech and mellow manner. It was his affinity for the element of earth that gave him a reassuring aura.

  “What’s the inevitable result?” Ginger asked.

  “The Pyr always give up old-speak in the presence of their mates,” Rafferty said with complete confidence. He smiled at Ginger. “Don’t be fooled—mates have a dangerous power over the Pyr, despite their fire-breathing ferocity.”

  Ginger made a sound of approval and glanced at Delaney, her manner expectant. It was such a small concession to make.

  He could return to scaring her later.

  It was the firestorm undermining his conviction. Delaney knew it, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t speak in tones that Ginger can hear,” he said, and was rewarded by her smile. The sight made his heart skip a beat and he was shocked at the power this woman already had over him.

  “Absolutely,” Niall agreed, quick to support Delaney. Sloane and Thorolf nodded; then Ginger’s smile broadened.

  Delaney felt relieved that the moment had been saved, but that sense wouldn’t last long.

  Chapter 7

  “I expect everyone is hungry,” Ginger said, and there was a general murmur of assent. Delaney enjoyed the sight of her satisfaction and thought that giving up old-speak—for the moment—was a small price to pay.

  She took a swig of coffee, then got to her feet. She crossed the kitchen, quickly ensuring that each of the Pyr had a mug of coffee and putting on another pot. He followed her as she opened a door on the far side of the kitchen and was surprised to see a large, stainless steel fridge and matching freezer.

  “They didn’t look good in the kitchen,” she said with a smile. She opened the freezer and he was surprised by how full it was. “Tanya and I have been making the food for the wedding reception ahead of time. Those two thousand appetizers are the last of it.” He remembered what she had said about being a trained chef and was intrigued.

  Ginger, meanwhile, pulled out a pound of frozen bacon.

  “Heirloom pigs?” he guessed, and she smiled.

  “Raised organically in the next county,” she agreed.

  “Let me do something to help,” Delaney said, and she let him begin to fry the bacon. He was impressed by how efficiently she moved and knew she’d made a plan for preparing the meal. He stayed out of her way as he started the bacon, but watched.

  Niall, Sloane, and Thorolf tried to become invisible and failed—they stood around the kitchen and nearly filled it with muscle. Rafferty watched with amusement, sipping his coffee as Delaney and Ginger worked together.

  Delaney felt Ginger stop beside him. She held two cartons of eggs but knew she wasn’t just assessing the progress of the bacon. “Why are your friends here?” she asked him in an undertone. “Is it because you were going to destroy the Elixir?”

  Delaney tried to warn her in time. “They can still hear you.”

  “It’s because of the firestorm,” Rafferty said, proving that Delaney’s claim was true.

  Ginger turned to consider the older Pyr, clearly surprised that he had heard her words.

  “Those sharp Pyr senses,” Delaney murmured, and she nodded in understanding.

  “We can also sense the firestorm,” Rafferty said, calmly continuing his explanation. “No matter where we
are.” He put out one hand, spreading his fingers as if savoring the heat from a bonfire. “We can feel the heat, possibly because it’s our obligation to our own kind to facilitate firestorms when we can.”

  Ginger flicked a look at Delaney, her skepticism clear. “You help one another get lucky?”

  “That’s not what the firestorm is about,” Rafferty declared.

  “I know that the firestorm marks a Pyr meeting his destined mate,” Ginger said, clutching the cartons of eggs. “Delaney just explained that.”

  Rafferty’s gaze flicked to Delaney, who shrugged.

  Ginger caught the exchange and turned on Delaney. “There’s more, isn’t there? What else does the firestorm mean?”

  Delaney licked his lips. The Pyr waited in silence, having already given him plenty of rope to hang himself. Rafferty looked expectant. Niall was smothering a smile. Sloane had developed a fascination with his own fingertips and Thorolf was grinning. Delaney would have liked to have had this discussion with Ginger on his own schedule.

  Or maybe not at all.

  And Ginger sensed that.

  He already knew she wasn’t the kind of person to pretend otherwise. Ginger put the eggs down and placed one hand on her hip. “What aren’t you telling me? Come on, cough it up.”

  “The firestorm also means that the mate conceives the Pyr’s son,” Delaney admitted.

  Ginger made a dismissive wave of one hand. “No such chance. I take the pill.” She would have turned to the stove, but Rafferty spoke.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he said, and Delaney wished he hadn’t.

  “Excuse me?” Ginger turned on Rafferty again.

  “The pill is known to have a small failure rate in preventing conception.” Rafferty shrugged. “I guarantee you that the firestorm will ensure that is what happens between you and Delaney.”

  Delaney winced to have that detail aired. As much as he was glad to have the support of his fellow Pyr, they did have a tendency to be annoying.