Winter Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

Donovan slipped from the bed and checked the house, following his usual routine.

  Nothing.

  Everything was as it should be.

  Just as he’d anticipated.

  He paused in the living room, surveying the park on the opposite side of the street. There was snow on the ground and the trees were dark silhouettes against the night.

  Donovan still felt unsettled, his mind flooded with images of the past. He felt as if he stood in the middle of a tumult, a hurricane of memory. Just as the other nights when his sleep had been disturbed, he saw his mother. Her image was as clear as if she had been standing in front of him, although she had presumably been dead for centuries.

  A pretty woman, but a poor one, Elizabeth Connaught probably hadn’t aged well. Maybe it was kinder to remember her in her youth. Donovan saw her in the act of throwing him out of her house, hurling a pot after him as he strode down the alley. She called him names, but he had never turned around. He’d never gone back.

  That had been a mistake, because his father had gone back to Elizabeth. Donovan hadn’t known about his younger brother’s existence for years, and he hadn’t known that he and Delaney were brothers until recently.

  But Donovan knew he had made his peace with that. He waited, wondering whether the cycle of memories would continue, maybe tell him why he couldn’t sleep.

  He saw his father in their last fatal fight, and his hands clenched in recollection of what he had been compelled to do. The shadow dragon Keir had become not only had to die, but Donovan had to give the killing blow. It hadn’t been the happiest reunion, but he and Keir had never seen eye to eye.

  Donovan had never been afraid to take on the dirty work, and he hadn’t shirked from it then. He could wish, though, that his father had made different choices. He could learn from those bad choices and move forward, making better choices himself. He could respect that the Elixir had fed the evil within Keir and made him worse than he ever could have been without its power.

  The Elixir.

  Keir had been fed the Elixir, his body roused from the dead by Magnus with his vile substance. Keir had never fully become Slayer—he lacked the motivation—but he had possessed tendencies in that direction. Had his blood run black at the end of his wasted life? Donovan wasn’t sure, because Keir had had no blood when father and son met again. He shuddered, felt the tingle of a firestorm, and knew that Keir couldn’t plague his other son as he had tried to interfere with Donovan’s firestorm.

  Yes, it was Delaney’s firestorm that tickled at Donovan’s consciousness, that tempted him closer, that summoned him to help his only brother. Donovan had resisted its summons, knowing that his greater responsibility was to Alex and Nick.

  Was that why his sleep was disturbed? Because he wasn’t helping Delaney?

  But Delaney had been forced to drink the Elixir as well. And even though Delaney had been drawn to Donovan’s firestorm, even though the heat of Donovan’s firestorm had pulled Delaney from the deepest pit of darkness, he was still infected with the Elixir’s toxin. He still responded to commands Magnus had slipped into his subconscious, one of which had been a compulsion to harvest the children in Sara’s and Alex’s wombs.

  They had tried to help Delaney, they had tried to ensure his healing, and he had turned on the two pregnant women. Donovan’s lips set in a tight line. A firestorm couldn’t last forever, and he would not go to this one. He wouldn’t risk Alex and Nick by taking them along, and he wouldn’t leave them alone and undefended.

  He evidently also wouldn’t sleep. His resolve unwavering, he pivoted to return to bed before his absence awakened Alex.

  Then the power went out.

  The streetlights winked out, leaving only the light of the stars beyond the window. Donovan looked out the window at the park again. The darkness was startling after the ambient light of the city. The hair on the back of Donovan’s neck prickled, portentous of something he couldn’t name.

  “Power’s out,” Alex said, and Donovan heard her footsteps on the hardwood floor. “Did you get the flashlight?” She went into the kitchen and returned a moment later. There was a click, and an arc of yellow light spilled across the floor.

  And Donovan saw his own reflection in the wide pane of glass that was the living room window. His hand seemed to lift of its own accord, his fingertips meeting those of his own reflection.

  A third memory assaulted him, the power of the visual reminder weakening his knees. He had encountered Delaney centuries before on a Dublin street, and even though neither of them knew any others of their kind, they had immediately recognized each other as Pyr. They had sensed the common ground they held and they had faced each other, just as he faced his reflection, in that fateful encounter. Their fingertips had met, each of them touching the other as if encountering a mirror.

  They had never talked about it, but Donovan knew it had been a powerful moment of connection for both of them.

  It had been when they had each known they were not alone.

  Donovan tapped the glass lightly with his fingertips, not liking the message but unable to argue with it. Could he leave his brother alone? Could he truly abandon him?

  Donovan realized he couldn’t.

  Somehow he had to help Delaney.

  Then he heard Quinn’s old-speak slide into his thoughts.

  “Sara says we have to go.” Quinn was perfunctory, resolute. “It’ll be worse if we don’t.” Even in old-speak, Donovan could hear his friend’s displeasure with this course of action.

  But Sara was the Seer.

  And neither he nor Quinn had ever avoided what they had to do.

  “At your back,” he replied.

  “Ditto,” Quinn replied.

  The prospect of going to Delaney with Quinn eased Donovan’s uncertainty and he was filled with conviction as he turned to meet the question in Alex’s eyes.

  “Delaney needs me,” he said. “We have to go to his firestorm.”

  She froze, her gaze dancing over him. “Even with Nick?”

  “Especially with Nick,” Donovan said, convinced of his choice. “Our firestorm helped Delaney before. We need to finish what we started. Sara says so.”

  “I thought I heard thunder.”

  He smiled at Alex to reassure her and she came a step closer. “You know that I’ll do anything to defend you.”

  “Yes,” Alex agreed softly. “I know.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, each drawing strength from the other. Donovan reached for Alex and caught her close. She wound her arms around his neck and tipped her head back. He liked that she didn’t argue with him, but trusted his judgment and his ability to defend her. He’d summon every element to protect his small family and the sight of Alex’s trust made his heart skip a beat.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’ve been sensing his firestorm but didn’t want to go to it. If Sara dreamed that we need to go, I’ll guess that it’s going wrong.”

  Alex nodded. “Then we do have to go. If anyone ever needed love in his life, it’s your brother. Where are we going, anyway?”

  Donovan listened and inhaled slowly, gathering a sense of what was in the wind. He felt the tingle of Delaney’s firestorm again, its heat a bit more intense than it had been. This time, he explored it, letting it fill his senses and tinge his tongue. It was a hot one.

  “South,” he said quietly, striving to pinpoint the heat. “Not that far, but I’ll know better as we get closer. Maybe Ohio.”

  “Snugglies for Nick then,” Alex said, and touched her lips to his. Her tone lightened as she teased him. “You Pyr could have firestorms in Fiji in the winter, you know. Maybe at a nice all-inclusive resort with hunky bartenders.”

  “What do you need with a hunky bartender?” Donovan growled, pulling her closer.

  “Nothing but the view,” Alex responded, those few words all she had time to admit before he kissed her.

  Donovan was sure she wasn’t thinking about bartenders, hun
ky or otherwise, by the time he was done. As always, her touch gave him strength and fortified his knowledge not only of what he had to do but that they would succeed.

  As a team.

  Chapter 16

  Delaney’s shout awakened Ginger. She was surprised to find him in her bed, even more surprised to find him battling a nightmare. He thrashed in his sleep, clearly trying to wake up. Ginger couldn’t imagine what haunted him and she didn’t really care.

  She cared only that he was suffering.

  Again.

  She had to make a difference. She sat up and gave his shoulder a firm shake.

  “Wake up!” she urged, then shook him again.

  He mumbled something she didn’t understand, then frowned and struggled once more against some unseen foe.

  Ginger seized both of his shoulders and shook him hard. “Wake up, Delaney!” she said. When he still writhed beside her, his anguish evident, she slapped him across the face.

  His eyes flew open at that, his expression wild. He looked terrified and haunted, and Ginger’s heart melted that he should suffer so. He scanned the room, as if uncertain where he was, then his gaze fixed upon her so abruptly that she jumped. His eyes were piercingly green, but filled with those dark shadows. Ginger caught her breath. Delaney was pale and cold, like a man who had seen a ghost.

  Or who had walked with the dead.

  “Ginger,” he whispered, seemingly awed to find her with him. He reached for her and it never occurred to Ginger to deny him. He caught her close and rolled her beneath him, protecting her from some villain that only he could sense. He ran his fingertips across her cheek, then exhaled in relief at the dance of the firestorm’s sparks. He swallowed as he met her gaze again.

  “I dreamed you were dead,” he confessed, his words husky.

  “Not yet,” Ginger said, smiling in the hope that he would, as well.

  “I dreamed it was my fault,” he whispered.

  Ginger reached to frame his face in her hands. “No,” she said firmly. “No. It could never be your fault. You defend me.” She smiled at him again, letting her fingers slide over his hair. “Every time.”

  Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders then and the shadows dimmed in his eyes. Ginger became aware of the way he held his strength over her, the warmth of his fingers tangled in her hair. His T-shirt did nothing to hide the muscled splendor of his chest and she could see that his wounds were healing with record speed. She also saw the cross beneath his T-shirt, its silver gleaming through the fabric.

  He smiled ever so slightly, his smile even more precious each time she prompted it, and the firestorm shimmered and glimmered between them. Her bedroom was filled with a magical golden light, a glamour that she would never forget. Ginger swallowed, aware of the press of her breasts against his chest, the heat that the firestorm lit in her body, and a desire that was far from languid. Delaney wore his Jockeys still, obviously having intended to honor his promise to her, but she could feel that his body had other ideas.

  He’d never inflict himself on her, though.

  Ginger felt powerful and sexy as she slid her hands around his neck. She pulled him closer, smiling into his eyes. “Come here and kiss me,” she invited in a husky whisper, and she didn’t need to ask him twice.

  Delaney dipped his head and caught her lips beneath his. He kissed her thoroughly, his embrace demanding and possessive. Ginger knew he was claiming her and she didn’t care. She felt the rasp of a day’s growth of whiskers and locked her fingers around his neck, drawing him closer.

  Their kiss was open-mouthed, hungry and demanding, hot and fierce. She knew what he was and welcomed his power. Their tongues danced, each of them nearly intent on devouring the other. Ginger’s heart began to skip, the firestorm burning hotter and brighter. She arched against Delaney, pulling his strength to her, wanting him as she had never wanted a man before.

  She didn’t give a damn about the pill or about the chance of bearing his son.

  She wanted Delaney inside her.

  Immediately.

  He groaned her name and pulled away, but she didn’t let him retreat. Ginger held on and rolled on top of him. Delaney started to argue, but Ginger straddled him, sat up, and pulled off her nightgown. She was nude, her hair tangled and her cheeks flushed, and had never felt more gorgeous.

  Whatever Delaney had been planning to say was never uttered. He fell silent, and swallowed, as he stared at her. He raised one hand to cup her breast. Her nipple tightened as his fingers slipped over her skin, and a golden spark of light leapt between them as Ginger arched her back. She caught Delaney’s hand in hers and held his palm against her breast.

  She smiled down at him, seeing the wonder in his eyes. She also felt something against her thigh, his erection revealing that their thoughts were as one.

  “Get naked already,” she whispered, then grinned.

  “But—” Delaney began to argue, but Ginger didn’t give him a chance. She fell against his chest and kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth in silent demand. He groaned, his hands closing on her buttocks to draw her closer. Ginger pulled her knees up on either side of him and Delaney’s fingers clenched.

  As she kissed him, she could feel the thunder of his heart against her breasts. She caught her breath as their heartbeats synchronized. It was a dizzying sensation, one that gave her an overwhelming sense of union with him.

  One that made her think they could be a team.

  One that encouraged her to believe that the firestorm had it right.

  She slid her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up to his shoulders. She was naked and she wanted him to be; she wanted to rub herself against him and feel every contour of his body.

  His skin was smoother than hers, stronger, satin to her silk. His legs entwined with hers, his all muscled strength and definition.

  She wanted to see everything he had. She wanted to touch everything he had.

  Delaney pushed her hands away, as if he’d stop their embrace, but Ginger could feel the truth of his desire for her.

  “Don’t you want me?” she teased.

  He visibly gritted his teeth. “I promised you.”

  “I’m changing the deal.”

  “You’ll regret it in the morning,” he argued.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do!” Delaney locked his hands around her waist and made to move her to one side. He looked disheveled and irritated and so utterly sexy that Ginger wasn’t having any of it.

  She pulled down his Jockeys and sat on him.

  He gasped and froze, his gaze flying to hers.

  Ginger smiled and rolled her hips, pulling him deeper inside of her. Delaney’s eyes blazed into hers, then he moved so quickly that she was surprised. One moment she was astride him; the next she was on her back and his fingers were making her forget everything she knew. She reached for him but he evaded her, ducking to caress her with his tongue again.

  He was too good at it. Ginger couldn’t argue with him, couldn’t summon a coherent thought to her lips. She understood that he was keeping his promise to her and she loved that; all the same, she yearned to feel him inside her again. Delaney gave her no opportunity to argue or to challenge his decision. He touched her and teased her with such conviction of what she liked best that they could have been lovers for a dozen years.

  Or destined mates.

  He brought her easily to climax, then did it again. And again. Tongue and fingers and lips and breath, each was a tool he used to give her pleasure. Ginger was dazzled, both by his creativity and his determination to deny himself.

  The sizzle of the firestorm’s sparks seemed to be beneath his command as well, a timely tingle driving her over the edge each time. She shimmered and simmered, sizzling in her desire for him. He was taut and persistent, and Ginger realized he meant to sate her at his own expense.

  When she was too exhausted to stay awake, she reached for him. He easily evaded her touch, slipping from the be
d and tucking her beneath the quilts again.

  “I’ll touch you,” she said, hearing sleep in her own tone.

  Delaney made a rueful sound. “There’s not a chance I’d keep control then,” he muttered. His fingertips fluttered across her cheek and then he was gone.

  And as she dozed, powerless against her own exhaustion, Ginger realized one thing. Delaney had given her all the pleasure she could want, except the one thing she wanted most.

  Her heart melted that he did what he did in order to keep his promise to her.

  She’d been right—he was a keeper.

  And she was going to do her best to persuade him that they had a future, together.

  Ginger was confident of her own success until she straightened the bed. She meant to sleep a few more hours, but what she found on the pillow left her wide awake.

  It was a bead of mercury, lying on the linen like a perfect silver tear.

  Where had it come from?

  She thought of the hoarfrost around the bowl of Elixir, the mercury dripping from it into the snow, and was afraid that Delaney’s future might not be hers to claim.

  Delaney was no better than his father.

  He descended the stairs quietly, keenly aware that only his promise to Ginger had kept him from repeating his own family history. That wasn’t good enough. He should have been stronger than he had been.

  He refused to become an abomination, a puppet condemned to serve Magnus’s will. He refused to fulfill his mother’s dark condemnation of his future prospects. He owed Ginger better than that, owed more to the woman whose trust was like a shaft of sunlight upon his heart.

  Thorolf was sleeping in the kitchen, his feet braced on one of Ginger’s kitchen chairs. The tall Pyr’s head was tipped back and he was snoring loudly enough to cover the sounds of Delaney’s departure.

  Although Delaney knew Niall would have enjoyed finding Thorolf so remiss on his watch—and the chance to berate the newest recruit yet again—he crept past the sleeping Pyr.

  The door to the porch didn’t squeak as he opened it, although he feared the gust of cold air would awaken Thorolf. He slipped through the door as quickly as he could, shutting it behind himself.