Whisper Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  With luck, he'd have both soon.

  While he worked, Niall moved with determination toward Rox. Sloane glanced up as Niall bent down to touch her cheek with such tenderness that there was no doubt why Niall had lost that scale.

  Would the firestorm heal her, as it had healed Delaney?

  Sloane could only hope.

  "She's so cold!" Niall said, fear in his expression as he looked back at Sloane. "We have to do something!"

  "There's nothing we can do here," Sloane said. "Let's go."

  Niall was afraid.

  Rox was icy cold, her skin pale. The wound on her back looked ugly. He picked her up and cradled her against his chest, trusting no one else with the precious burden of her. The firestorm flickered between them, its feeble glow making him fear for her survival.

  Rox couldn't be the one who paid the price for his choice. It wouldn't be fair.

  But Niall was afraid he had made a fatal mistake.

  He only hoped he had the chance to make it right.

  He and Sloane worked together, trying to find their way back to the surface. Niall was disoriented and his shoulder was so painful that he couldn't think straight. It wasn't easy for him to help Sloane support Thorolf's weight, in addition to carrying Rox. Determination made up for his physical challenges. There wasn't room in most of the passages for Niall and Sloane to be in dragon form, so they made slow progress.

  At least the tunnels stopped crumbling.

  Rox's breathing was shallow. Niall feared with every step that he'd lose her before they reached the surface again.

  They couldn't find an unlocked door from the service tunnel to the adjacent subway station, and the platform was crawling with emergency workers. Niall preferred not to draw their attention, so he and Sloane decided to find another way out.

  Thorolf's stillness was spooky. Niall had always thought the big Pyr was pretty much invincible, as well as a good fighter, and it shook him to see Thorolf so weakened.

  Especially as he'd fallen in defense of Rox.

  Sloane was confident of the newest recruit's recovery, but Niall was worried. Had he been too hard on Thorolf? Had Thorolf committed to learning the skills of the Pyr too late? Had Niall unwittingly brought disaster on his friends by being his father's son?

  Niall kept looking back, fearing pursuit.

  Nothing.

  Only silence carried to his ears.

  In a way, that was worse.

  Chapter 16

  Quinn was descending into New York with Sara and Garrett in his grasp. He followed the heat of the firestorm, its pull guiding him unerringly toward one part of the city. He sensed shadow dragons and caught a faint whiff of Slayer--more important, he smelled the presence of his fellows. They had already gathered, and he changed his route to join them. Sara was dozing against his chest, but Garrett was wide-awake.

  "Feel the firestorm," he instructed his son, loving that they could already make this connection. Old-speak seemed the most apt way to Quinn to teach his son about the Pyr.

  At Quinn's bidding, Garrett stretched out both hands, as if holding them to a distant bonfire.

  "Know the miracle of our kind," Quinn continued. "The firestorm brings each Pyr the richest gem in his hoard, the chance to build a legacy, the opportunity to create the future."

  Garrett locked one hand around Sara's arm and nodded. He listened intently to Quinn, as yet unable to respond in kind. Quinn knew his son would learn old-speak in time, although it might not be possible until he experienced the change.

  "Honor your firestorm, when you are so lucky as to have one," Quinn murmured. "That is the lesson of my father, your grandfather."

  Garrett mocked breathing fire.

  Quinn targeted the roof of the building and made to land, aware of his son's sharp interest. He was five feet above the roof, on the verge of shifting shape, when the shadow dragon leapt out of the darkness and attacked.

  It was the shadow dragon made of Quinn's brother, Michel.

  Michel had died the day the church bell rang so many centuries before.

  Michel had been turned into a shadow dragon by Magnus.

  And now, Michel had come for Quinn.

  This creature looked like his brother, but the resemblance was superficial. His eyes were dead, like mirrors reflecting a starless night.

  The true Michel was long dead, his spark returned to the Great Wyvern. In fact, Michel had not aged in all these centuries--he was long and lanky even in his dragon form, like the boy of fifteen summers he had been when he died. Quinn was no longer the small child he had been, however, but an adult man--and a Pyr of fearsome power.

  Just as Quinn had dreamed so many times this past month, the shadow dragon attacked when he was most vulnerable.

  When he had his family in his grasp.

  It was also when Quinn had the most to lose and the least patience with risk.

  Sara awakened suddenly in Quinn's embrace, ducking instinctively when his plume of dragonfire blazed into the night. Garrett mimicked his father, baring his teeth and exhaling noisily, as if he, too, would breathe dragonfire. Sara had a moment in which she wondered what kind of challenge it would be to have a teenage Pyr before the shadow dragon attacked Quinn.

  She snatched Garrett, giving Quinn one arm free. She held her son close and locked her arm around Quinn's neck. New York glittered wetly beneath them.

  Quinn would defend them to his last breath. She knew it and she believed in his power; yet she always feared for him when he fought. Quinn fought fairly and was honorable.

  Shadow dragons and Slayers, however , didn't acknowledge any rules. They cheated and deceived, and Sara always worried that her honorable Pyr partner wouldn't see through their lies in time.

  Quinn's opponent was a shadow dragon, which didn't reassure her at all. He had scales of rusted steel. He reminded her of abandoned factories, reminiscent of the past and almost forgotten. He was smaller and leaner than Quinn, as if younger, and looked insubstantial. He had a cut on his shoulder, one that didn't bleed. He looked down at her and ran his dark tongue over his teeth, the cold emptiness of his gaze filling her with dread.

  Garrett, in contrast to his mother's wariness, breathed his imaginary fire at the shadow dragon, undaunted by his father's opponent or their precarious position.

  "Hold tightly to me!" Sara told the boy, and he did as he was told. Sara heard thunder and knew the two opponents were trading taunts; then Quinn lashed at his adversary with his tail.

  The shadow dragon hissed but had no dragonfire to breathe. Quinn's dragonfire lit the night with brilliant orange, blackening the scales of his opponent. Quinn slashed with his talons and cut off the end of the shadow dragon's tail.

  The limb fell, and Quinn incinerated it with dragonfire before it could reach the ground. The ash fell on the roof of the building far below like a dusting of dark snow.

  Garrett bounced in approval.

  The shadow dragon leapt on Quinn's back, his claws digging deeply into Quinn's flesh. Sara gasped as she saw the wound and the red blood flowing from it.

  But the shadow dragon was no match for the Smith on this night. Sara knew that the shadow dragons haunted those who had loved them in human form, and she wondered who this shadow dragon had been. He clearly had no emotional tug for Quinn.

  Or maybe he did.

  Quinn was more vicious than Sara had ever seen him. He spun and bit into his opponent's chest, ripping a large chunk out of the shadow dragon and spitting it earth-ward. Keeping one arm tightly around Sara and Garrett, Quinn shredded one shoulder of the shadow dragon. He pulled one arm free, then burned the falling parts to ash. He was savage and determined, immune to any familiarity the shadow dragon might have had with a lost Pyr.

  Sara had seen Quinn fight with such resolve before, usually in defense of her, and guessed that the shadow dragon had lost any advantage by attacking Quinn while he carried his family.

  The shadow dragon didn't appear to feel any pain as Quinn atta
cked him--nor did he bleed. He carried on, fighting viciously, even as Quinn steadily cut him apart and burned the pieces. It was a grisly exercise and Sara sensed Quinn's abhorrence of what had to be done. Their son watched with wide eyes.

  Quinn roared, thrashed the shadow dragon with his tail, then severed his head from his body. Sara held Garrett's face to her chest, trying to shield his view. Quinn's dragonfire was savage and bright as the last pieces of his opponent fell, only ash emerging from the brilliant orange torrent of flames.

  Sara sensed Quinn's regret as he hovered, watching the ash fall.

  "You knew him," she said, no question in her tone.

  He nodded once, then continued his flight, following the lure of the firestorm. That Quinn was so silent told Sara all she needed to know.

  "Michel," she guessed.

  Quinn nodded again. "The shadow dragons are loosed."

  But the only one who could haunt Sara's dragon, the last one who could make him dread what had to be done, was no more than ash on the wind.

  It was a start.

  Sloane chanted softly as the small party made progress, bending his attention on first one patient, then the other. It seemed to Niall that Thorolf was responding to Sloane's healing song. Was his color better? There was no change in Rox that Niall could discern. If anything, she seemed colder.

  Rafferty appeared so suddenly out of a side tunnel that he made them both jump in surprise. "Let me," he said, taking Thorolf's weight from Niall's shoulders. He also lifted the brand from Niall's grip, shoving its handle into his belt after he had grimaced at it.

  They moved more quickly then, all bent on getting out of the nether world of the tunnels. With Rafferty's aid, Niall was better able to concentrate and use his affinity to help them.

  Niall's sense of scent led them ever onward. He knew they were following a different path from the one they'd taken into the tunnels, but it smelled right to him. Eventually they reached a metal staircase that looked like it would lead to a basement. There was a steel fire door at the top of the steps, and Niall wondered what was behind it.

  Was it better or worse than what they'd already faced?

  Where were they?

  Rafferty and Niall exchanged uncertain glances. Niall couldn't smell anything unusual, just basement, cheap carpeting, maybe a restaurant in close proximity.

  Fifteen narrow metal stairs stood between them and the street.

  "Almost there," Sloane said, addressing Thorolf with false cheer. He pinched the Pyr's side and Thorolf flinched. "Come on, kiddo, help us out."

  Thorolf groaned, grimaced, and opened his eyes.

  "Otherwise, we have to drag you up these stairs," Sloane said, his tone teasing. "We're too tired to be gentle."

  "Where are we?" Thorolf asked.

  "The details are unimportant," Rafferty said, his tone soothing. "You need to help so we can get out of here."

  "Then I'll fix you up," Sloane said. "Promise."

  Thorolf eyed the steps, then looked at Rox. His gaze was solemn and his concern clear.

  "She's here because you defended her," Niall said. "Thanks."

  Thorolf nodded, took a breath, and gripped the railing. He hauled himself up three steps, his teeth bared.

  "Easy," Sloane said. "Don't make the injury worse."

  "We gotta get Rox out of here," Thorolf said, and Niall couldn't have agreed more. They were up the staircase more quickly than he'd anticipated, Thorolf helping to haul his own weight while Rafferty braced him from behind.

  Niall reached for the doorknob in the steel door and turned it.

  It was unlocked.

  He opened the door and peeked around the edge. It led to a corridor, the kind of hallway that would be in an old office building. That hall was lined with doors to various offices, many of which had signs in both English and Cantonese, and bent to the right over its length. Niall disliked that he couldn't see either end of the corridor. That probably wasn't the only reason the hairs were prickling on the back of his neck.

  He gestured to the others and they quickly emerged into the corridor while it was empty. Niall shut the door behind them, noting that it had no sign on it.

  It also locked from the corridor side. There was no going back.

  They looked left and right, and Niall knew he wasn't the only one trying to get a sense of the place. He could smell herbs and roots, as well as some kind of hot food--steamed dumplings, maybe. There was a pervasive smell of mildewed carpet and a silence that buffeted at his ears. There was something familiar about the place, something he couldn't quite name.

  He chose a direction, heading left and holding Rox close. Traffic sounded close at hand and he hoped there would be an exit. Sloane and Rafferty supported Thorolf, who was still unsteady on his feet.

  An Asian woman in tight jeans and stiletto heels came out of one of the offices behind them. Niall didn't see which one; he only heard her quiet murmur when she wanted to pass them. He moved immediately to one side, knowing they were blocking the passage.

  "I beg your pardon," Rafferty said quietly as he and Sloane moved to one side, as well.

  She smiled as she drew alongside them, her gaze flicking over Thorolf with obvious appreciation. Her floral perfume was strong enough to make Niall's nose itch and her blouse was a vivid red. Her jeans could have been painted on, and Niall was surprised she could walk easily in heels so high. Thorolf stared after her as she made her way to the street.

  The woman paused just before the door to the street and cast Thorolf a smile over her shoulder. There was a bruise on her cheek, albeit one she had tried to hide with makeup.

  When Thorolf didn't respond to the invitation, she shrugged and stepped into the street. She strode to the left without hesitating, the door swinging shut after her.

  Thorolf then took a few steps in pursuit.

  "Not dead yet," Sloane muttered, and rolled his eyes.

  Rafferty chuckled and shook his head when Thorolf's neck turned red.

  Niall caught the door before it closed. He was surprised to find them on Doyers Street near his ruined building.

  There was a Chinese apothecary shop to one side of the door he held and a dim sum restaurant on the other. That explained the smells. The signage overhead acclaimed the services of the acupuncture specialist and several other professionals located in the corridor.

  "Holy crap," Thorolf said, looking around with amazement.

  "I've walked past here a thousand times, with no idea," Niall agreed.

  "No." Thorolf shook his head. "She's gone."

  And it was true. Despite the number of people on either side of the street to the left of the doorway, there was no sign of the striking woman in the tight jeans.

  "As surely as if she'd never been," Rafferty mused.

  "Maybe she went into a shop," Niall suggested, but he had a feeling that wasn't the case.

  Were there other entrances to the underground network in the vicinity?

  Did the woman know about them?

  Or was he just seeing threats where none existed?

  It didn't matter. He had priorities right now. He indicated an alley and they hurried into its protective shadows. The Pyr shifted shape immediately, leaping into the sky as they carried their wounded back to Rox's apartment.

  Rox dreams of the dark prison of the past.

  She's back in that house, back in her bedroom, back alone in the darkness. She's fifteen again, fifteen, filled with attitude and frightened.

  She's terrified of the night and what it brings.

  Suzie has run away; Suzie who always protected her baby sister; Suzie who was the first.

  The pretty one.

  Rox curls herself up tightly in her bed, afraid to sleep. She knots her nightgown around her ankles. There is danger in the darkness. Evil things happen in the dark and she is without a defender. She doesn't dare sleep; she hasn't slept since Suzie left. Nothing has happened yet, but it will.

  She hears a footfall in the corridor and k
nows it's his.

  He's coming.

  Her breath hitches and she pretends to be asleep. She wishes he would pass her door. She wishes he would go somewhere else. She wishes he would leave her alone. She wishes he would die.

  But he opens her bedroom door. She can see his figure silhouetted in the doorway, this man who has moved into their house and changed everything.

  Her mother called Suzie a liar.

  She would call Rox a liar, too.

  Rox swallows; she tries to sound as if she's asleep even though her body is frozen in fear. He comes silently into the room, closing the door behind him. He comes closer, ever closer, and Rox's heart pounds in terror.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and the weight of his hand falls on Rox's hip. She fights the urge to scream, knowing it won't fix anything.

  "Pretty," he whispers, his voice making her shudder violently. He pulls the hem of the nightgown loose from her ankles. Rox doesn't want to move and reveal that she's awake. "Now that Suzie's gone, it'll have to be you."

  And his hand slides beneath her nightgown.

  There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to escape her stepfather. Rox is trapped in the darkness of her past, unable to find an escape to her present.

  The Pyr were gathered in Rox's apartment. Niall was relieved to see Erik and Eileen, Delaney and Ginger, Sara and Quinn. Zoe was sleeping on her mother's lap. Quinn's son, Garrett, was pretending to breathe fire, to Delaney's encouragement. Delaney remained close while Ginger nursed their son, Liam. Erik was pacing in front of the large window and Eileen was flipping through Rox's book on dragons, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Niall wasn't sure whether Quinn was hurt or lost in thought--he seemed very still.