Serpent's Kiss: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  When she fought, she was bound to a rock outside the village.

  When she begged for mercy, her father called her a whore before he threw the first stone.

  Chandra turned away, just as Ulrike had done, looking up in time to see the first of the marauding dragons appear in the sky overhead. The difference was that this time, she regretted what she had done.

  If only she could turn back time and never become Ulrike.

  If only she could give Thorolf back the lover who had claimed his heart. She watched him relive the pain of that last parting and felt her own tears fall. She had believed not that long ago that the firestorm was a purely biological act of survival. Against all odds, she’d fallen in love with the passionate and troublesome Pyr who was her mate. She wanted him to be happy, no matter what the expense to herself.

  She owed him a debt for stealing his true love away.

  And she was going to have to find a way to pay that balance.

  No matter what it took.

  * * *

  The snow swirled around them, even as Thorolf’s thoughts churned.

  Chandra was the woman who had betrayed Astrid.

  She’d done the dirty work of disposing of his “distraction”.

  The snow faded away, leaving them facing each other in Myth again. The firestorm’s light burned silver between them, tempting Thorolf’s body to fulfill its promise, but he felt only disgust. He wanted Chandra to deny what she’d done, but saw the look in her eyes and knew she wouldn’t.

  It was true.

  This firestorm was tearing him apart. It was messing with him now, its heat and light turning his thoughts in a very earthy direction. He was well aware of Chandra’s appeal, that she was his destined mate, that he had an obligation to his kind to seduce her.

  And that undermined the fury of betrayal with frightening speed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, lifting a hand toward him. “I had no idea in those days. I didn’t understand.”

  It would have been easier to believe her if he hadn’t seen her nearly shoot Viv in the head.

  “Then why are you doing the same thing to Viv?” he demanded, his voice as raw as the wound on his heart. “Aren’t you eliminating a woman who is my lover? Isn’t she just another distraction?”

  “No! I told you. She’s Tisiphone…”

  “A story that only you know,” Thorolf challenged. At some level, he acknowledged how good it was not to have to hold back with Chandra. He could say what he thought, he could dish out hard truths and he knew she could take it. She’d probably send some harder truths right back at him, and he admired that. “Let’s face it, it’s an awfully convenient story.” He stepped back, seizing his jeans and tugging them on. “You’re the one who has this big mission for me. You’re the one who chose me at birth to complete some quest for you.”

  She bowed her head in silent acknowledgement instead of fighting.

  That made him feel that he might be wrong, which stole a lot of the steam from his indignation. “You’re the one who eliminates every distraction, every pleasure that could keep me from doing what you want,” he charged.

  Chandra shook her head emphatically. “No, it’s not like that.” She looked at the ground and frowned, and he waited, knowing she was mustering her argument. He was surprised to realize how much he wanted her to justify this to him. “Removing Astrid was your father’s idea. He thought you weren’t sufficiently focused on your training. I trusted his judgment.” She shrugged. “He was Pyr. I’m not.”

  “You could have asked! You could have made a suggestion instead of sacrificing her!”

  “He said you’d fought about it already.”

  Thorolf exhaled, knowing that was true. “She didn’t have to die. Not like that.”

  “I know I was wrong.” Chandra put a hand on his arm and the firestorm’s sizzle unsettled him even more, softening his anger. “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you for that.” He meant the words to sound sarcastic, but they didn’t quite.

  Still, Chandra understood. She folded her arms across her chest, a determined gleam lighting her eyes. “I can’t bring her back, no matter how sorry I am.”

  Thorolf blinked, not having considered that possibility, then pushed her a bit more. “Maybe that’s even true.”

  “What’s done is done. You have to believe me.”

  “I don’t have to believe anything.”

  She visibly gritted her teeth. “Then at least listen to me.”

  “I’ve heard plenty, thanks.” He spoke so firmly that she fell silent. He wondered if she realized he was trying to convince himself to hold his position. “I’m not going to be your go-to dragon. I do what I choose to do, not what others choose for me to do. It’s a matter of principle.”

  “Don’t you want to learn more about the plan? It might actually have been a good idea.” Her voice hardened. “It might be important.”

  It made Thorolf even angrier to realize that he was being persuaded. “It’s principle,” he said with force. “If you’d asked me, if you’d been straight with me, or if you’d convinced me to volunteer—that would be one thing. Instead, you’ve tricked me, lied to me, deceived me, and stolen from me.” He flicked a glance over her, only to find her lips set with a stubborn resolve he recognized.

  Maybe they had that in common, too.

  “So you’ll die,” she said quietly, her gaze rising to his. “And that would be awful.”

  “Because you’ll have to find another victim to finish your plan?”

  “No! That’s not why.” Chandra took a deep breath. “I don’t want there to be a world without the Pyr,” she said, her voice passionate. “And I really don’t want there to be a world without you.” Her heart was in her eyes, and her words echoed with honesty.

  Thorolf wanted to believe her.

  But he was afraid that would be the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

  Which would be saying something.

  He had to get away from the firestorm’s influence to sort out his reaction. He couldn’t make a reasonable decision with Chandra right in front of him and the firestorm’s glow distracting him so much.

  He wanted to believe in the firestorm.

  He wanted to believe in her.

  But he needed to be sure.

  Had he ever met a woman who could piss him off so much? Had he ever met one who turned him inside out like this, and forced him to reconsider everything he’d believed to be true? He was sure he hadn’t and knew he’d think about that later. And the firestorm was relentless. He frowned at the light. “I don’t know what you did to make there be a firestorm between us, but whatever it is, you can stop this trick.”

  Chandra’s expression was mutinous. “No, I can’t. It’s not faked.”

  “The only thing I ever wanted in all my life, the one thing I was living for, was my firestorm. Thanks for trashing that, too.”

  “I didn’t trash it!”

  “Explain this to me then,” he invited. “I’m supposed to conceive a child with a goddess who manipulates me? The firestorm is supposed to be with a mortal woman, one who can conceive the Pyr’s son. It supposed to be with someone who will bear and nurture that son, as well as be a partner to the Pyr in question.”

  She glared at him and he tried to ignore the tears glimmering in her eyes. “Who says I’m not that person?”

  Thorolf flung out his hands. “It’s obvious! You’re not mortal and you’re leaving!”

  She took a step closer, her gaze locked on his. “I’d argue that we are good partners. I think we fight well together, and our weaknesses balance each other’s strengths.”

  “Except for the part about you not telling me details that might help me to survive.”

  She blushed but didn’t blink. “I’m getting over that. You’re teaching me how.”

  “Except for the part about you refusing to satisfy the firestorm.”

  Her lashes fluttered and she seemed at a loss for words. She swa
llowed, then looked at him, so soft and feminine that his guts knotted. “Maybe I’m getting over that, too,” she whispered.

  Thorolf’s anger abandoned him then, but he refused to let her see that just yet. She was good at defending his back, but he needed more. “You said you’d never satisfy the firestorm. That you work alone.”

  She looked pointedly back at the place on the mossy bank where he’d pleasured her. “Did that seem as if I was fighting the firestorm?”

  “Oral sex isn’t good enough.”

  She lifted a brow. “Then why did you stop?”

  It did seem as if that had been a bad idea. “You’re not mortal.”

  Her lips tightened and she averted her gaze. She swallowed and Thorolf saw that he’d upset her, even though he’d simply told the truth. Why had she softened now? Why wasn’t she striking back?

  He had to think. “Just don’t follow me.”

  “But the firestorm…”

  “Will keep burning. I need to think without it or you messing with my mind. There: we have something in common after all.” He gestured to the jungle around them. “This is supposed to be a sanctuary, right? So, how much trouble can I get into alone?”

  She watched him in silence, looking so hurt that he felt like he’d kicked a puppy.

  But she’d betrayed Astrid. And she admitted it. She might as well have killed Astrid with her own hands.

  Could a goddess change?

  Thorolf didn’t know. It made no sense. But so long as he was with Chandra and the firestorm was tempting him to satisfy its sexual promise, he couldn’t reason anything through. He wanted to be sure of the nature of the mother of his son before he conceived that child. He marched into the jungle, reminding himself not to even think about snakes, and hoped he made sense of it all soon.

  He refused to regret that Chandra did as he asked and didn’t follow him. He’d never wanted anything to do with deities and quests and duties assigned to him before he’d spoken his first word. All he’d ever wanted was for someone to love him as he was, for what he was, and the one woman who had done that had been stolen from him. That Chandra was responsible for Astrid’s death was the worst news possible.

  Everything he’d always believed was wrong.

  And frankly, if the firestorm was a lie, Thorolf no longer saw the point of being Pyr.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That night in Bangkok, Niall tried to dreamwalk again.

  Rox sat beside him, her hand folded tightly around his own. She was right about Thorolf’s strange new tattoo. It was odd how it became steadily darker, then faded before the firestorm.

  It had to be Slayer blood, and it had to be from a Slayer who had drunk the Elixir. The way Thorolf fought them reminded Niall all too well of his brother’s state when Phelan had been turned into a shadow dragon, never mind the way he didn’t seem to feel pain then.

  If they knew how the tattoo had been applied, maybe they could figure out how to remove it. It was a long shot, but Niall was more than ready to try.

  He let himself slide into a meditative state. He thought of Thorolf and tried to follow the other Pyr’s consciousness. He lost the trail quickly, unable to pursue Thorolf wherever he had gone. Maybe he was too far away.

  “He’s in Myth,” someone murmured, and Niall recognized the dreamy voice of Marco, the Sleeper. He felt the prickle of darkfire pass over his body, like a wave of electricity that left his hair standing on end. “You can’t follow him there,” Marco continued serenely. “But the darkfire beckons.”

  Niall found himself in a cavern, lit with flaming torches that were mounted on the walls. He immediately saw Thorolf in his dragon form, motionless in the middle of a large spiral that seemed to be burned into the cavern floor.

  “This is the past,” Marco continued softly, much as Chandra had spoken when she conjured that vision. “It has shaped the present.”

  Was this where Thorolf had been for so long? He looked thinner and his scales were dull.

  They were also tattooed. Niall heard a bubbling sound and turned to see a large arrangement of glass and tubes. A fire burned under a large sphere of glass, the heat fogging the interior. He could see a dragon trapped inside the bubble of glass, though, an emaciated dragon who had apparently passed out.

  He might even be dead.

  His yellow topaz scales were edged with silver and looked familiar, but not as familiar as Chen’s spiraling brand on his neck. This was JP, albeit a much less healthy version of him than when Niall had last fought the Slayer. JP had drunk the Dragon’s Blood Elixir, which should have given him immortality, except that the supply had been destroyed. And evidently, being simmered slowly while trapped in glass didn’t allow for the usual regeneration.

  The sphere had a spout, a tiny spout that dripped black liquid into a simmering beaker.

  Niall realized in a flash that this was a still, and it was being used to extract a liquid from JP’s body.

  There was only one liquid it could be.

  Niall remembered Cinnabar, the dragon trapped by Magnus and used to create the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. That substance had been addictive, and he was glad that the source had been destroyed during Delaney’s firestorm.

  But those who had drunk the Elixir needed more. Niall remembered Jorge devouring the corpse of Magnus, the Slayer who had ingested the Dragon’s Blood Elixir for the longest period of time, just to get another hit. Jorge had sucked the marrow from Magnus’ bones in his desperation for the Elixir.

  “He returns,” Marco whispered and Niall took a quick scan of Chen’s lair. He saw the needles that the Slayer was using to tattoo Thorolf’s scales. He saw that each scale was tattooed with a swirl, one just like the ones on the floor, just like JP’s brand, and guessed that they were part of Chen’s spell.

  He caught a glimpse of a strange rock on the far side of the lair, one that looked like a massive egg but was wrinkled all over its surface.

  Then the darkfire glimmered. He felt Rox’s grip on his hand and opened his eyes to find himself back in the hotel room again. He knew what was turning Thorolf Slayer.

  The Elixir had to be working through Thorolf’s scales, passing through his skin and entering his bloodstream.

  But Niall had no idea what they could do to stop the toxin’s progress.

  * * *

  Tisiphone had pulled the shards of the mirror together, using all of her sorcery and considerable force of will. She’d just managed the feat, and that only because she was in Myth.

  In the realm of mortals, it would have been impossible. Their collective skepticism and doubt in magic shaped the possibilities in their sphere. At its very basic level, magic only happened because of belief, because of faith in possibilities, because of a conviction that the world could be reshaped to suit the sorceror’s will. As mortals became less persuaded that anything existed beyond the material, the power of magic had steadily faded.

  No wonder it was time for the gods to leave their realm.

  What would happen to Myth? Tisiphone didn’t think it was an accident that Myth was so empty. Maybe even the ghosts were forgetting how to reach this place. Maybe the old lessons learned here weren’t of any relevance. But when the last portal closed, she wasn’t going to be left behind. She would be with her sisters, wherever they were.

  She had to get out of the mirror.

  That was a challenge, given that some sorry soul had to look into the mirror to free her from its depths. In a realm devoid of occupants, there weren’t exactly a lot of takers.

  All Tisiphone had was her belief that it could be done, that it must be done, that it would be done. She closed her eyes and believed. She envisioned someone—anyone!—coming through the jungle and stumbling upon the large mirror that held her captive. She imagined that person being surprised and intrigued. She thought of how that person would look into the mirror, quickly the first time, uncertain how a mirror could be in this place. Then he or she would look again, more lingeringly, curious. He or she wou
ld note details in the reflection, that hair was a bit too long over the forehead, or that there was mud on the cheek, or even that the lips that curved into a smile were particularly inviting. Mortals all had a sliver of Narcissus deep inside, and once her liberator had glanced and looked again, he or she would lean in to study the reflection.

  One good long stare would be all it took. Tisiphone would be free, once more, even if her savior never looked in a mirror again.

  Every action had consequences, after all. Every mortal had his or her purpose. Tisiphone was less interested in the price paid or the balance struck than in her own survival. She’d suck the mortal dry who freed her from the mirror, taking every last crumb of his or her strength to fuel her own.

  She could see it all so clearly, and she believed in the possibility of it happening with all her might. She knew that she could shape at least part of her reality and she turned what was left of her power upon making that dream come true.

  She smiled when she heard the tread of a foot in the jungle.

  She willed the person to come closer.

  She straightened when the footsteps became louder, when the jungle leaves were brushed aside, when the person froze in wonder.

  Tisiphone opened her eyes and looked out of her prison, astonished to find Thorolf staring back at her. “Viv!” he cried, then raced to the mirror. He ran his hands over the glass, his glance running around its perimeter. He was broad and strong, a warrior who always persisted. What a sexy beast he was. He looked to have been tested, though, and in rough shape as a result, his skin burned and his hair disheveled. She felt a pang of guilt for having had any part in his injuries.

  The worst part was that she knew she’d have to do it all over again.

  It was her or him, and that choice was easy to make.

  She swallowed and stood, wishing it didn’t have to be this way. “Thorolf!” she whispered, filling her voice with an affection she didn’t have to feign. A smile touched his mouth at her tone and he glanced at her face. She spread her hands in appeal, knowing his weakness when it came to women. “Just look at me.”

  She conjured a tear, letting it slide down her cheek, and knew her vision would come true.