Serpent's Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  * * *

  Thorolf bolted after Chandra, well aware that those behind him were climbing over the scattered pails. He’d chased her like this once before, though it had been at night and the streets had been quieter. Once again, he was impressed by her agility and speed, never mind the nice tight curve of her butt. She was fast and nimble. He liked that a lot. He liked that she was strong enough to break a window with a phone. That was impressive. He’d chase her even without the firestorm to urge him on and feed his desire.

  Especially after being denied another sizzling kiss. He couldn’t wait to find out what else they had in common. He had the definite sense that his life was finally beginning.

  Plus he wanted to know more about that weird shape shifting she’d done while he kissed her. How could she do that? Which one of those women was really her? What else could she do? Thorolf had a thousand questions and wanted answers to them all.

  As Chandra put distance between them, fear began to resonate in his heart. How would he defend her when they were far apart? It could happen again. His breath caught with a strange panic, even as his skin started to burn again.

  It couldn’t happen again, not with his mate.

  No Pyr could consider a firestorm to be a distraction.

  But Thorolf couldn’t convince himself of that. The terror filled his mind, a panic that he couldn’t stop. He ran faster, intent on getting to Chandra’s side, fighting a fear that couldn’t be checked. His skin hurt again, but it wasn’t the exhilarating glow of the firestorm.

  He’d feel better when she was pressed up against him, when he could scoop her up and take flight to protect her, when he could hold her close and breathe fire over her head at anyone who dared to threaten her.

  Just then, Chandra ducked around the corner at the end of the alley and disappeared into a busy square. The firestorm’s heat faded to a mere glimmer. White fear shot through Thorolf that she was out of his sight and his skin burned so that he nearly screamed aloud. His paranoia felt new for all its vigor. If he couldn’t see her, the Pyr could target her and set her up, work with humans to see her eliminated for his own good.

  Just like before.

  It could happen again.

  No! Thorolf lunged after Chandra. He raced around the corner and was startled by the bright sunlight in the square beyond. The eclipse was over, the sun so bright that the shadow might never have been. The square was filled with a busy and bustling market, crowded with people shopping and negotiating. The firestorm’s radiance touched him, its golden light surprisingly reassuring, and he caught his breath as his terror faded.

  Thorolf noted bright piles of vegetables, smelled fresh fish and heard the babble of half a dozen languages. His gut growled at the smell of hot dumplings being sold from a cart. He was starving. When had he last eaten? He saw Chandra leap an array of baskets before a stall selling dried legumes, her athletic ease filling him with pride. The vendor complained loudly, but Chandra raced away.

  She must know the area. Thorolf followed her lead, trusting in her choice. They’d be a great team. He heard the police officer shout behind him, but didn’t slow down. He had to catch Chandra. He saw her duck into a lane on the far side, then leap onto a corrugated metal roof. She raced up to the roof’s pinnacle, then disappeared over the top.

  When he lost sight of her, the heat of the firestorm diminished to the point of invisibility.

  That strange fury possessed him again, as well as a need to retaliate against the Pyr for what they’d stolen from him before. The only way to ensure Chandra’s safety was to eliminate all of the Pyr, one at a time, and make the world safe for his mate.

  It was a compelling notion, one that resonated with conviction.

  It also filled him with anger and resolve.

  Thorolf glanced back at the people pursuing him and his anger multiplied. He had the sudden urge to shred them all, these miserable humans who dared to obstruct his firestorm. For all he knew, this new painful tattoo had been a plot, a plot hatched by miserable humans working with the Pyr, a plan to weaken him so he couldn’t defend his mate. And now, hundreds of humans were separating him from Chandra so she could be stolen from him, too. It could happen again. Who cared about a cell phone, when a firestorm was at stake? He should turn and fight. He could shift shape and breathe dragonfire, fry them all to cinders in their tracks.

  The fury roiled and multiplied, making him see red.

  When he smelled Pyr, he was sure the trap was closing.

  A heartbeat later, Thorolf caught the scent of Slayer, the putrid and distinctive stench of a dragon shifter gone bad, it was the last straw. The villain had been drawn to the firestorm, whoever he was, attracted to the spark with the hope of killing Thorolf’s mate. Pyr and Slayer were present, at least one of each, drawn to the firestorm. The Slayer’s scent was stronger because he was closer. It didn’t matter which of them tried to sacrifice Chandra, no one was going to touch her while Thorolf drew breath.

  Thorolf shifted shape with a roar, right in the middle of the market. The change shot through his body so swiftly that it nearly left him dizzy. He was briefly surrounded by a pale blue glow, then became a massive moonstone and silver dragon. He knocked over a table of vegetables during the shift and didn’t care.

  Even Erik couldn’t take issue with Thorolf’s need to defend his mate.

  It felt so good to take his dragon form that Thorolf roared, spewing a long stream of dragonfire into the sky. People screamed and he loved their terror. They should all see him like this. They should know that dragons lived among them, that their pathetic lives could be erased if he so chose.

  Thorolf pivoted in flight and breathed more dragonfire, sending them scattering. He scanned the crowd, seeking some sign of the Slayer. He exhaled fire at the closest stall, one hung with hundreds of silk textiles, and felt a wicked jolt of delight when the lengths of cloth lit and burned like tongues of fire.

  He’d turn it all to fire and leave it all burning. That would teach them.

  The other dragon appeared suddenly then, on the far side of the square. He might have been conjured from nothing at all.

  Thorolf had drawn the Slayer out of hiding!

  Now that new arrival would die for his audacity.

  If only his skin wasn’t burning, as if he were on fire from head to tail. He hoped the pain wouldn’t affect his ability to fight.

  Thorolf’s opponent was enormous, as muscular as Thorolf himself. They’d be evenly matched, Thorolf thought with satisfaction. The other dragon’s scales were opal and gold, glittering in the sunlight like pale jewels. His black blood would flow over those scales, revealing the truth of his nature and marring his deceptive beauty. Thorolf would be vindicated when his opponent died in excruciating pain.

  He’d be an example to all the others.

  Then Thorolf would hunt the Pyr who dared to draw near his firestorm. He’d track down every last one of them to ensure his mate’s safety forever. Chandra’s defense required no less.

  Thorolf bellowed and flung his challenge coin at his opponent. Let there be no misunderstanding between them! The silver thaler was a thick and heavy coin with a lion rampant on the one side, one so much better than the silver penny he’d used when still allied with his father.

  His father. The first and worst of the Pyr against him. Bitterness curdled in his gut at the memory. The coin caught the sunlight as it spun through the air. The thaler tinkled as it landed in the marketplace, but the other dragon didn’t rush to pick it up.

  In fact, he seemed to be surprised. He stared at it, blinking, as if he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant.

  But that was impossible. All Pyr understood the ritual of the challenge coin. It was a fighting tradition older than Thorolf.

  “Pick it up, coward!” Thorolf roared in old-speak. He launched himself at the seemingly frozen intruder, determined to defend his mate from harm.

  The other dragon leapt into the air at the same time and they collided with
a clash over the awestruck crowd. His opponent hadn’t picked up the coin, but it didn’t matter. They’d still fight to the death, whether the coward agreed to the challenge or not.

  Thorolf wasn’t going to lose. They locked claws in mid-air in the traditional fighting pose, even as Thorolf buried his teeth at his assailant’s chest. He ripped flesh with satisfaction, shredding the muscle beneath the opal scales.

  The other dragon cried out, then thrashed, pulling himself away. “What’s happened to you?” he demanded in old-speak. When Thorolf roared and snapped at him again, the other dragon decked him. Thorolf fell back dizzy, but undeterred, blood running from his snout. The opal dragon gave him a thump with his tail.

  “Thorolf!” he shouted aloud. “What are you doing?” His voice was familiar, but Thorolf knew it had to be a trick.

  Some dirty Slayer trick.

  He heard blood fall on the pavement below and sizzle, which meant it was Slayer blood. So, he’d injured his opponent already. It would be a short fight.

  Thorolf didn’t pause for conversation. He breathed fire at his opponent and that dragon fell back as his scales were singed. Thorolf then drove him down toward the ground with a relentless plume of flame.

  The opal dragon fell, gasping, his scales smoking. He reached for the challenge coin and Thorolf laughed that his wager was accepted. No sooner had his opponent’s talons closed over the thaler, than Thorolf seized the opal dragon by the tail and hefted him into the air. He spun him around, then flung him across the roofs of the city. The other dragon stopped his fall by beating his wings hard, then turned his course.

  He didn’t come back to fight, the loser.

  To Thorolf’s horror, the opal dragon flew in the direction Chandra had taken, as sure a sign of his malicious intent as there could be. Thorolf could smell his mate, the intoxicating scent of her desire and faint whiff of her perspiration. He could hear that she was running hard, her breath coming quickly, her fear rising. She knew it wasn’t good for them to be apart. She was afraid. She’d expected him to be right behind her. He’d promised to follow and protect her.

  He wasn’t going to let her down. Thorolf flew after her with purpose, as swift as an arrow shot through the sky, determined to reach her before his opponent.

  To defend her, then claim her forever.

  The opal dragon seemed to be using his own keen sense of smell to hone in on Chandra. He was ahead of Thorolf, but not by much. The possibility that Chandra could be injured only made Thorolf more furious. Didn’t Slayers target mates as the easiest way to stop a firestorm? No Slayer would stop his! He was angry enough to ignore the burning pain beneath his scales, even though he felt as if he were being jabbed by a thousand tiny needles.

  Thorolf flew hard in pursuit of the other dragon, breathing a long plume of dragonfire when he was close enough to singe his opponent’s tail. The other dragon turned and ducked, flying an evasive route but one that led directly to Chandra. Thorolf lunged forward, reached out his claws to seize the enemy’s wings and rip them from his back, just as the pair soared over a roofline to fly over a quiet canal.

  The golden light of the firestorm rose from the wharf to touch the tips of Thorolf’s talons. Its heat slid through his body, dismissing the fury that had filled him. The burning sensation in his skin faded abruptly, as if Rox had spread one of her aloe balms over a new tattoo.

  He realized suddenly that the other dragon was familiar, even as the scent of Slayer faded.

  No, his opponent was Pyr.

  What was going on? Where was the Slayer? Thorolf looked around himself in confusion, even as the firestorm’s heat kindled his desire. His grip loosed on the other dragon, who hovered in the air to watch him. The opal dragon held Thorolf’s gaze and offered him the silver challenge coin, clutched in his outstretched claw.

  It was Rafferty. Thorolf blinked, looking between the coin and the Pyr he’d be most likely to call his mentor and friend.

  What the fuck?

  * * *

  “You dropped this,” Rafferty said in old-speak. “Take it before someone misunderstands your intent.”

  Thorolf was stunned. Not only had he attacked his old friend, he hadn’t even recognized him. How could that be? Had the firestorm and his fear for Chandra’s safety overwhelmed everything?

  And where was the Slayer?

  Thorolf looked around, then took a deep breath. He could smell only the two of them, but a definite scent of Slayer lingered. Had a Slayer like Jorge materialized and disappeared?

  No. Thorolf had thought Rafferty a Slayer and had challenged him to fight to the death. He wouldn’t have believed it if the other Pyr’s chest hadn’t been bleeding. He felt sick as he eyed the wound he’d given his friend, then wondered where the black Slayer blood had come from. Rafferty’s expression was wary, but he waited patiently for Thorolf to take back his own challenge coin.

  Thorolf did so, not knowing where to begin to apologize. “I’m sorry…”

  “You didn’t know who I was.”

  Thorolf shook his head, hoping the other Pyr would have an explanation for that. Rafferty was older, after all, and paid a lot more attention to Pyr lore.

  Rafferty gave Thorolf a hard look, then turned gracefully in the air and descended behind a derelict warehouse. Chandra was standing behind a pile of wooden crates, her expression as uncertain as Rafferty’s had been.

  Thorolf didn’t understand what was going on, but he followed Rafferty. The golden glow of the firestorm brightened as he drew closer to Chandra, the heat of it searing his doubts and filling him with both desire and optimism. He felt more like his old self, if more hungry than usual. The destructive passion was burned away by Chandra’s presence, although he couldn’t make any sense of it. Thorolf landed beside her and shifted shape.

  He looked down, not happy to see that the swirling new tattoo was darker than it had been, as if the ink were changing color with time. He didn’t like that one bit.

  The other Pyr watched him, then shifted shape and landed a few paces away. Rafferty winced as he walked, and Thorolf saw that his friend’s skin was badly burned on the one shoulder where Thorolf had breathed dragonfire at him. His chest was bleeding, as well. But why had Thorolf felt compelled to attack him? Why had he thought him a Slayer? It made no sense.

  “Truce?” Rafferty asked, as if uncertain.

  “I’m sorry,” Thorolf said, horrified by what he had tried to do. “I smelled Slayer.”

  “So did I,” Rafferty replied in old-speak, his gaze unwavering.

  Thorolf glanced around worriedly, wondering where the other dragon shifter had hidden himself. “We have to find him! He’s come for the firestorm…”

  “Yes, in a way he has,” Rafferty said quietly. He folded his arms across his chest, looking disinclined to begin a search.

  Thorolf eyed him in confusion. Rafferty wasn’t a Slayer.

  Chandra flicked a handkerchief from her pocket, then reached to wipe the blood from his nose. Thorolf gasped when he saw its dark color on the white cloth. His blood wasn’t quite black, but it was darker than it should have been, a burgundy instead of a brilliant red. It was rotting the cloth as he watched, burning a hole through the handkerchief and emitting a plume of steam. At the look in Chandra’s eyes, he lifted his own forearm and sniffed it, taking a deep breath of his body’s scent.

  And it was there, faint but unmistakable: the scent of Slayer.

  He was the Slayer.

  “How can that be?” he asked aloud, but neither of them seemed to have the answer.

  * * *

  Chandra was reassured by Thorolf’s surprise. It had frightened her to see him attack the other Pyr with such power and made her fear him as she hadn’t before. His dragon nature wasn’t frightening to her when he tempered it, but he’d looked out of control. When he’d attacked the guy at the apartment, he’d had the same livid expression.

  But the Pyr were supposed to defend the treasure that was the human race.

 
And they didn’t attack each other.

  At least Thorolf couldn’t explain his own reactions either. Chandra wondered what exactly had happened to him in the past twenty-two months.

  Where had he been?

  Not that it mattered, really. She had her quest to fulfill. All she needed from him was one little piece of information, not complications and distractions.

  “I don’t understand,” Thorolf said to Rafferty. “How can this be? What happened to me?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” Rafferty replied. The other Pyr was almost as big and broad as Thorolf, but with dark hair and dark eyes. He seemed to be older, too, or maybe just wiser, and he spoke with deliberation. As she worried about this, the older Pyr smiled and offered his hand to her. “I’m Rafferty.”

  She smiled politely and shook his hand. No sparks. Of course. “Chandra.”

  “I’m honored to meet you.”

  That amused Chandra. If he’d known who she really was, he might not have been so gracious. “But you don’t know anything about me.”

  “The firestorm has chosen you to be Thorolf’s mate. That’s all I need to know to be honored to meet you.” He turned to Thorolf again. “Do you know where you’ve been?”

  Thorolf shook his head, glancing at Chandra in confusion.

  “You’ve been missing for almost two years,” she said, thinking all the while about what she’d seen. It was strange that whatever had enraged him had been dispelled, twice, in her presence.

  Did the firestorm help?

  Or was it the reason for his change in the first place? She doubted the Pyr would conclude that, but she had no irrational expectations of the firestorm and its so-called promise.

  Maybe her nature was the issue.

  “Twenty-two months,” Rafferty said. “You disappeared the same day that JP vanished from Erik’s captivity.”

  Thorolf shook his head. “Twenty-two months? No way. It was just yesterday that…” His voice faded as he obviously became uncertain.

  “That what?” Rafferty prompted. “What’s the last thing you remember?”