Winter Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  He lifted his head, holding her gaze as he eased into her. Ginger swallowed at the size of him. She saw his concern. She saw his admiration of her. She felt a keen sense that both of them had been coming toward this point in time, this point of union, this nexus of choice.

  There was no turning back.

  This moment would change them both forever.

  And Ginger welcomed that as surely as she welcomed Delaney’s heat. When he was fully inside her, he closed his eyes and sighed, bending to touch his lips to her shoulder. Ginger caught him close and blinked back her tears, overwhelmed by the power of the connection she felt with him.

  “I’ll never forget,” she vowed, and he kissed her ear.

  “No. Never,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.

  Then he began to move within her. His expression was intense, almost fierce, and when his gaze locked with hers, Ginger’s heart pounded. His eyes were bright green, devoid of shadows or doubt.

  The firestorm flickered and heated, burning with new fervor, hotter and brighter than ever it had been. It was radiant between them, making their skin glisten and their hearts race. Ginger could have been on a sunny beach, or even merging with the sun itself. She’d never felt such heat, or burned with such desire, but she couldn’t imagine declining its pleasure.

  She kissed Delaney instead.

  She felt his heart match its pace to hers and caught her breath at the sensation. He smiled, and she felt the rhythm of his breath, realized that it too matched her own. His eyes glittered, reminding her of all he was, and Ginger dug her nails into his shoulders, only wanting more.

  Delaney moved slowly, his strokes sure, and Ginger was sure he meant to prolong the moment as long as possible.

  But the sensation was too much for her to last. She was too aroused and too emotional, and Ginger felt the crescendo rise within her all too soon. As soon as she trembled, he smiled. That was the sight that sent her over the edge. Ginger felt the tide roll through her—she gripped Delaney’s shoulders, saw the sparks fly, and hung on as long as she could.

  When she shouted with the force of her release, Delaney exploded, too. She felt his body go taut not a heartbeat after hers, heard his shout of joy. She could have sworn she felt the hot cascade of his semen inside her, then he leaned his head against her shoulder. They were both panting and when she kissed his temple, she tasted salt. Ginger smiled and held him close, recognizing that he still braced his weight over her.

  Protective.

  Dragons were supposed to protect and defend their treasures, weren’t they? Ginger’s smile broadened as her eyes closed. She let herself sleep, safe in Delaney’s embrace.

  Chapter 18

  Delaney slowly caught his breath and steadied his pulse. He stared down at Ginger, her hair spread across the hay. She wore nothing except those amber earrings, and it occurred to him that they might have meaning to her. It would be like Ginger to wear something from her family, or jewelry that had been a gift from someone she loved. She was filled with more love than anyone he had ever known, and she shared it willingly.

  She was a marvel.

  And she had made him whole again. He wanted to pick up that piece of paper and read the verse again, but he didn’t want to move away from Ginger. How could he have ever resisted her?

  Delaney traced a fingertip along the satisfied curve of her lips, admiration and affection vying for the upper hand in his thoughts. He was so busy studying her that it took a moment for him to realize what had changed.

  There was no spark.

  No light leapt between his fingertip and Ginger’s skin.

  In fact, the loft was feeling a bit chilly. The light had changed, taking on a cold, bluish tinge instead of the warm gold of the firestorm.

  Impossible.

  Delaney touched her again, his eyes widening in shock at the evidence before him. There was no spark.

  Which meant the firestorm had been sated.

  Which meant Ginger would bear his son.

  He remembered Rafferty’s conviction that Ginger’s pills would fail, and knew that his choice was the change that had made it possible.

  For a moment, his chest tightened in awe of what they had done. He could envision Ginger with their baby, and he could imagine how she would take the challenge of pregnancy—or anything else—in stride. He knew she would always have a smile and a positive attitude, as well as a determination to find a solution.

  He wanted with all his heart and soul to be beside her every step of the way.

  But his thumbnail had turned almost completely red. It wasn’t a natural red. It was a pulsing, angry red, the red of the Elixir. It was the taint of something other than the Elixir, because Delaney could feel that the Elixir had been banished from his body. There was no shadow in his thoughts, no dread in his view of the future, no dark terror of what would be.

  No conviction that a dire future awaited them all.

  He stared at his nail and wondered what Magnus had done to him. Ginger had said that Magnus had intended to replace Cinnabar with Delaney, and he wondered now what Magnus might have done to prepare for that possibility. He was turning into Cinnabar, turning as red as that Pyr had so many centuries before. The red was claiming his body in steady increments.

  Delaney pushed to his feet in his agitation. He was still tainted, but in his body instead of his soul. He still posed a threat to Ginger and their son. He still had to destroy the Elixir, and though he would try to return to her and keep his vow, he had to ensure that his mate and son had a better future than they would if he did nothing.

  If anything, the fact that she would have his son redoubled his determination to do whatever was necessary to destroy the Elixir forever. Delaney couldn’t father a child, only to let that young Pyr inherit a toxic legacy. He wouldn’t let his nightmare come true in his son’s life. The Pyr were charged to defend the treasures of the earth, and both Ginger and Delaney’s unborn son counted.

  He had to do what only he was capable of doing.

  He had to meet his fate.

  Whatever it proved to be.

  Delaney tucked Ginger beneath her coat with care, then kissed her cheek. He dressed quickly, then paused at the top of the ladder for one last look. He wished he could talk to her one last time, wished he could explain, but he didn’t want to awaken her.

  With sudden clarity, he knew how to tell her that he wouldn’t forget his vow. Delaney removed his mother’s cross, cradling the silver chain in one hand. He poured the silver into Ginger’s open palm, ensuring that the cross was on top.

  She stirred slightly in her sleep, but he held his breath and she didn’t awaken.

  Then he was gone, as swift as the wind, intent on doing what had to be done.

  His resolve redoubled, Delaney headed for the barn and the rest of the fertilizer that Ginger didn’t want anyway. He picked up the broom inside the door, ready for Reginald, but the rooster didn’t rouse himself to attack. The hens were all piled up in one corner, their feathers fluffed out and their heads burrowed down low. Reginald was on the perimeter of the group, his head buried in his colorful feathers.

  The barn was chilly but not frigid and the animals didn’t seem overly troubled by the temperature. Delaney halfway thought it was getting warmer—he could hear water dripping from the roof.

  Delaney moved bags of fertilizer out of the barn, stacking them out of sight of the house. He’d appropriated a heavy tarp and spread it across the snow, then stacked the fertilizer bags on top of it. The cows didn’t seem to mind his movement in their space. They stood with their heads down, tails swishing, and appeared to be sleepy. The bulls were more curious, but even they seemed content to simply keep an eye on him.

  Delaney didn’t touch the rails of their paddocks, and slipped past them as stealthily as a shadow. He worked quickly, ignoring the scent of his fellows.

  When he had moved as much fertilizer as he thought he could carry, he shifted shape. He gathered the corners of the tarp in h
is talons and took flight, lifting the burden with some effort.

  Then he headed toward the sanctuary, his flight low with the weight he carried. The wind was warmer and the sky was clearing, and Delaney’s heart was full of a conviction bolstered by his promise to Ginger.

  Delaney could choose to do better than his father, and he could choose to keep his promises.

  Both of them.

  Magnus was strong, stronger than Rafferty had recalled, but Rafferty was fueled by anger and a passion for justice. They battled with ferocity, flinging each other back and forth across the stone chamber. The rock walls vibrated with each strike, and stone crumbled all around them. Rafferty deliberately cast Magnus against the vial of the Elixir every time he could, but as he had suggested earlier, it couldn’t be shattered with force.

  Rafferty felt himself tiring, just as he was struck by Magnus’s apparent invincibility. The old Slayer was stronger and more resplendent than ever, cocky in his confidence. That bare spot on his chest had grown a twisted partial scale, one that looked more like a nail than a scale. It was thick and gnarled but diminished the size of his weak spot.

  Rafferty knew he would have only one chance to strike.

  He also noticed that Magnus seemed to be listening for something. Or someone. Either way, the Slayer was slightly distracted.

  Rafferty had a good idea who Magnus expected to arrive. He knew then that he couldn’t risk being injured when Delaney came to the sanctuary, as the younger Pyr would likely need his help. Magnus’s minions might have been charged to seal off the entrance to the sanctuary after Delaney’s arrival.

  That meant the Pyr wouldn’t be able to follow and help him.

  Rafferty took a blow deliberately then. He stumbled and let himself fall, feigning a greater injury than he’d had. He endured a flurry of blows from Magnus, pretending to be too feeble to fight back.

  “Weakling!” Magnus chortled in old-speak, then breathed dragonfire at Rafferty’s fallen form. Rafferty fought the urge to defend himself. “You should have accepted my offer when you had the chance.”

  Rafferty groaned and let his body go limp. Magnus landed beside him, cautious in case it was a feint. Rafferty never moved. The Slayer poked at him, then forced open his eye with his gold talons. Rafferty let his eye roll backward.

  Then he shifted to human form, flickering rapidly between his two forms. It was a sure sign of distress among his kind and not easily done by choice, but Rafferty did it.

  And Magnus was persuaded.

  He snorted, then kicked Rafferty. He grabbed the Pyr’s leg and dragged him into another chamber, one that was colder. Rafferty guessed it was on the path to the entrance to the sanctuary. The Slayer dumped Rafferty behind a pile of rubble, pivoting suddenly at a slight sound.

  “Yes!” Magnus hissed, then darted out of sight to hide.

  Rafferty barely dared to breathe, suspecting as he did that everything was coming to a culmination.

  It was warmer in the barn. Ginger was aware of the change in the temperature even in her sleep. She smiled to herself, amused that she was so attuned to the land and the weather that influenced it. She’d known that the cold and snow couldn’t last, and liked that the storm was breaking at roughly the same time that Delaney had made his promise to her.

  She took it as a good sign.

  She sighed and stretched, feeling very good. There was a moment of surprise when she realized she was alone—again—then she heard a man’s tread on the floor of the barn below. Maybe he’d gone to get coffee.

  Ginger snuggled beneath her coat, content to be surprised. The hay prickled against her skin, but it was fun to be naked in the barn.

  Almost as much fun as having great sex in the barn.

  With Delaney.

  Ginger sighed and nestled more deeply into her coat’s warmth. That was when she realized there was something in her hand. She felt the weight of the silver, and the sinuous tangle of the chain, and knew exactly what she held. Her eyes flew open and she gasped to find Delaney’s cross in her grip.

  His tread sounded on the ladder, coming steadily closer.

  Ginger sat up then, surprised and confused. Why had he given her his mother’s cross? Did he mean he was going to keep his promise to her? Ginger had a bad feeling, one that got worse when she saw blond hair appear at the top of the ladder.

  Delaney had auburn hair.

  She squeaked and drew her bare legs beneath her coat, just in the nick of time. Niall appeared at the top of the ladder. He looked determined and irritated, especially when he saw that Ginger was alone.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Ginger felt herself blush, but she had to ask. “Don’t tell me that you heard that we were done.”

  Much less that the Pyr had heard everything.

  Had she shouted? Ginger couldn’t remember.

  Niall averted his gaze and the back of his neck reddened, telling evidence that Ginger had guessed correctly. “Keen hearing,” he mumbled. “I heard that you were sleeping.” Ginger got dressed quickly while Niall retreated to the ground floor. “Where’s Delaney?” he called just as Ginger started down the ladder.

  “He must have gone into the house.” To her dismay, her bra was slung across a bale of hay, impossible to miss.

  Niall frowned. “I guess I could have missed him,” he mused, sounding unconvinced. Mostly he appeared to be fascinated with the view of hay bales in the opposite direction of Ginger’s bra. “Erik is making a plan, because Sloane’s back. You should be part of it, too.”

  Ginger grabbed her bra and shoved it into her coat pocket. Niall gestured and Ginger stepped out of the barn ahead of him. The wind was much warmer, the snow already melting quickly. There were puddles on the driveway and the sky was clearing overhead. It was late afternoon, but there was a glimmer of sunlight on the horizon.

  There was a big black pickup truck and a red sports car parked beside Ginger’s pickup. The Pyr were gathering to help Delaney, and Ginger liked that a lot.

  Niall looked back, scanning the horizon and sniffing the air. Ginger wondered what he was sensing, but before she could ask, he urged her toward the house. “Hurry!”

  Thorolf was in Ginger’s kitchen, sprawled on the tile floor as he played with two toddler boys. Eileen had made coffee and the kitchen was filled with its enticing scent. Sloane was back, flipping through what looked like an old book, his brows pulled together in a frown. He seemed more intense than previously, his dark hair mussed from his stabbing his fingers through it, and Ginger sensed that he was preparing an argument. Erik was right beside him, his eyes gleaming with purpose.

  There were others, though. A tall man with similar coloring to Delaney paced the width of the room. A dark-haired man with blue eyes and broad shoulders leaned against the counter and tapped his toe as he watched the others.

  Delaney wasn’t in the kitchen, but Ginger assumed he was upstairs, maybe having a quick shower.

  There were also two more women in her kitchen. Eileen held her baby against her breast, although Zoë was sleeping soundly now. A boy who looked to be about a year old was playing peekaboo with Thorolf. The tall, athletic-looking woman with dark hair watched and smiled. That boy shared the auburn hair of Delaney and the pacing Pyr. A dark-haired boy crawled across the floor, touching the box of tools at the feet of the still man who shared the child’s coloring. A blond and petite woman bent to whisper to the child, smiling when he left the box of tools alone and returned to Thorolf.

  Ginger’s kitchen was full to bursting.

  She had no doubt that these men were more Pyr. Delaney had said they could sense one another’s firestorms. The fact that they were more drawn to the firestorms of those they cared about indicated to Ginger that Delaney had better friends than he realized.

  “More Pyr?” she asked by way of greeting.

  Eileen nodded agreement and smiled. “I hope we’re not too much trouble.”

  “We have to help Delaney,” contributed the petite blonde.
She smiled in turn. “I’m Sara.”

  “Alex,” said the dark-haired woman. She crossed the kitchen with purpose and offered Ginger her hand.

  Ginger appreciated how direct she was and shook hands with her. Alex had a firm grasp and a no-nonsense glint in her eyes that Gran would have liked. “Ginger.”

  “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Alex said with a smile that Ginger immediately returned.

  “So, you’re all . . .” Ginger’s voice faltered over the Pyr’s preferred choice of term for their partners. It seemed so biological to call women “mates.”

  “Mates,” Alex said firmly.

  “Survivors of the firestorm,” Eileen added.

  Sara slid her hand into the crook of the dark-haired Pyr’s elbow. “But not just breeding machines. We’re partners for the duration. We provide balance to the Pyr, making them more than they can be without us.”

  Ginger liked the sound of that.

  So did Sara’s partner. He nodded and smiled slowly, his affection for her clear. “Quinn Tyrrell,” he said, offering Ginger his hand. “I’m the Smith.”

  “Should I know what that means?” Ginger felt an amazing strength in his grip.

  “Quinn repairs the armor of the Pyr,” the man who resembled Delaney said, offering his hand in turn. “I’m Donovan Shea, Delaney’s older brother.”

  “Drawn to his firestorm?”

  Donovan’s smile was a quick flash. “You’d better believe it.”

  Ginger felt that everything was coming together for Delaney. She eyed Quinn. “You mean that you fix the Pyr’s dragon scales?”

  Eileen answered before Quinn did. “They don’t like to admit it, but losing a scale leaves them vulnerable. Quinn can replace a missing scale, for example.”