Ember's Kiss (5 page)

He let instinct rule.

He tugged her so that she was against his chest. Her hands fell on his shoulders and she looked up at him, his own desire mirrored in her blue eyes. That was all the encouragement he needed to bend his head and claim her lips with a kiss.

And the firestorm surged through his veins, filling him with hope and desire, persuading him that it knew best of all.

Liz felt that spark electrify her.

Firedaughter
.

The word resonated in her thoughts as the old fire surged through her veins. Her power
was
back, against all rhyme and reason. She couldn't explain it, but the
evidence was irrefutable. And magic was like that—it played by its own rules.

This was why she'd felt more alive than she had in fourteen years. Arriving here had somehow jolted her awake from a long sleep and rekindled her powers. She was immersed in the sensory power that had once filled her days and nights, and it felt so good and so right that Liz had no desire to throw it away again just yet.

Maybe she was drunk.

Maybe that was why she didn't care.

But she wanted all the sensation that she'd denied herself for the past fourteen years. She wanted to wallow in it, savor it, and enjoy it.

Just for a few moments.

In this moment of moments, making out with the most irresistibly sexy guy she'd ever met suited her just fine. She didn't even know his name. She didn't need to know his name. It was one soul-searing kiss, and after that, she'd never see him again.

Liz wasn't impulsive about sex. She wasn't someone who lost control. She wasn't impetuous or inclined to indulge her passions.

But she was intuitive and she knew what was right.

This guy and his kiss were right.

In fact, this was the first thing that had been right in a long, long time.

His kiss awakened parts of her that had been slumbering and fueled them with new heat. Liz felt languid and sexy and absolutely certain of what was right. Just
the way he'd looked at her made her feel sexy. The way he smiled was mischievous, seductive, and had tempted her to taste him. The way he walked and moved, his powerful grace, made her want to jump his bones.

His kiss was all that and more.

She just wanted more.

Liz's breasts were crushed against the rock-solid muscle of his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her tightly. Her lei was pressed between them, the perfume released by the flowers almost making her dizzy with its sweet scent. His touch was the perfect combination of gentleness and demand. She felt immersed in the true blue of his aura, and her conviction that he was exactly the kind of man she'd guessed him to be. One thing about auras: they had no ability to deceive.

His mouth was locked on hers, coaxing her and claiming her. His lips were both firm and soft, cajoling and demanding. His kiss was simultaneously passionate and sweet, so persuasive and enticing that Liz was sure she'd never get enough.

She twined her fingers into his hair, loving that it felt as silky and curly as she'd guessed it would. She ran her hands over his shoulders, liking that he was broad and tall—taller even than her—and strong. His skin was warm and his embrace seemed protective. She loved that he was all muscle but that he was gentle with her. He pulled her to her toes and deepened his kiss, the touch of his tongue against hers making her so hot that she thought she'd explode.

As if to prove how magical this embrace was, that strange firelight danced around their bodies and between them. It seemed to light the desire within Liz. Maybe it was some kind of illusion caused by the eclipse or maybe it was a new facet of her power. Liz didn't care. As the flames danced and slid over her skin, Liz's lust simmered and burned.

Like embers coaxed to burn again, stirred from ashes and coals.

Rob had never kissed her like this.

Maybe she would have fallen for him if he had. She opened her mouth to the sexy surfer, liking the way he caught his breath when she flicked her tongue across the tip of his. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, locking her against his strength, and she felt his erection against her stomach. Liz was thrilled that he was as excited by their kiss as she was.

“Full eclipse in an hour and a half,” one of the grad students from the research lab said, sounding as if he was a thousand miles away. “Let's get back to the Institute in time to see it.”

“Just a few more minutes,” protested another guest.

Their voices pulled Liz back to reality. Hard. That was her life now, a life among scientists and maybe a future at the Institute. It was logical and dispassionate and she had chosen it deliberately.

Liz the marine biologist didn't make out with strangers in parking lots—regardless of how gorgeous they were or how well they kissed. What if Maureen saw her? Could it jeopardize her chance at a job here?

Liz ended their sizzling kiss with an effort.

She planted her hand on his chest and pushed the surfer slightly away. It was like pushing a brick wall. He let her break the kiss, but he didn't move very far away and his arms stayed around her waist. The night was velvety dark but lit with an odd luminosity. Those flames danced around the surfer's body, silhouetting him in a halo of golden light.

How did her gift illuminate him?

Or did he have powers of his own? It was an intriguing idea, one that tempted her to linger in his embrace.

“I don't even know your name,” she said quietly, as if that was the problem.

He smiled crookedly, looking both devilish and sexy. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, the feel of his warm breath against her earlobe making her shiver. “I don't know yours, so fair's fair.” His lips touched her throat, a sweet kiss that made her knees weaken. “Brandon,” he whispered against her skin, then pulled her closer.

Brandon. He had an accent, but hadn't said enough that she could identify it. It made him seem even more exotic and alluring. She found her hands sliding over his shoulders again, moving of their own volition, stroking as if she'd memorize the feel of him.

He pulled back and smiled that sexy smile at her, indulgent. There wasn't nearly enough air in the universe for her to take a breath. That golden glow filled the space between them, radiating and flickering, heating her body at every point of contact.

Brandon arched a brow, inviting her to confess her name.

“I'm Liz,” she admitted.

He repeated her name, as if trying it out, and she liked the rumble of his voice in his chest. She could feel it against her breasts, which made it impossible to ignore her desire for him.

And just one more kiss.

The Firedaughter in her welcomed the flame he kindled.

Liz smiled at Brandon, leaning against him, and saw his eyes gleam with anticipation. She stretched to kiss him again, but there was an interruption.

“Hey, Brandon!” a guy shouted. Liz turned, still in Brandon's embrace, and saw his friends standing beside a Jeep. Something flashed in the hand of the dark-haired guy, maybe a small container. “What
is
this stuff?”

She felt Brandon's alarm like an electric shock. “Don't touch that!” he called out, stepping away from her with purpose. “Don't open it!”

What was it?

The guy who had tried to buy her a drink laughed. “It must be pretty special.” He opened the container with an effort.

“Hey! Leave that!” Brandon shouted.

But his friend ripped open the container and flung its contents into the sky. Something glittered in the air, as if the vial had been filled with stardust.

Liz took a step back, instinctively distrusting that sparkle.

It reminded her too much of magic.

“No!” Brandon roared.

Liz felt the collision of something falling over her body, like ash touching her skin. Everywhere it landed, it sparked for a second.

Stardust.

No. It was magic, and not white magic.

Liz recoiled in horror. She tried to brush the dust off her, her revulsion strong. It made her body burn with a hunger that couldn't be natural. It was similar to the golden light that sparked between her and Brandon, but hotter, darker, and more primal. Violent.

This was old magic and it was strong. No matter how much of her gift she gave away, she'd recognize the power of this.

Why did Brandon have this stuff?

What was he?

She looked up only to find him staring at her. He was glittering, that same ash lighting his body with golden pricks of light. A pale blue shimmer of light danced around his body, outlining his figure against the darkness. She felt an electrical charge in the air, as if a storm was mustering. It was different from his aura, more powerful, and she sensed that it was unpredictable.

And his eye—his eye had turned brilliant red. The pupil had become a vertical slit. She caught only a glimpse of it; then he pivoted to race toward his laughing
friend. His silhouette looked to Liz as if it were tinged with red fire.

Like the simmering lip of a volcano.

Hear no evil,
her mother whispered in her thoughts.

After the auras came the spirits. Liz remembered the sequence well—even though it hadn't proceeded this quickly when she had been a kid.

“Come on, Liz!” Maureen shouted, and Liz turned toward the cars.

With distance, the golden glow between her and Brandon dimmed so much that she might have imagined it. The blue shimmer around his figure disappeared. Everything looked normal.

But Liz was shaken. What was going on?

Brandon and his friends were bickering around their Jeep. Brandon was obviously trying to get that shiny container back from his buddy. Liz couldn't help noticing that the argument didn't seem so amiable after all.

It also seemed like he'd forgotten her already.

She touched her hand to her forehead, thinking about the flames, that kiss, Brandon's eye changing, and the blue shimmer of light. Liz was still itching with desire, wanting to do more than kiss Brandon. She wanted to run after him and leap into the back of their Jeep, go with him wherever he went, and satisfy all her sexual fantasies in one night.

But he had a strange power, one that should make her run.

Maybe it was better that he'd turned away.

Maybe he was saving her from herself. Maybe he was on logical Liz's side.

Brandon and his pals drove out of the lot, still arguing. Liz could feel Brandon looking toward her, her skin prickling with awareness, but she deliberately didn't look at him. She'd never see him again, which was probably a good thing.

Even if her lips still burned from his powerful kiss.

Erik Sorensson, leader of the
Pyr
, stood on the roof of his loft in Chicago, watching the sky. The clouds overhead obscured any portion of the eclipse he might have seen, but Erik could still feel its power.

He felt the spark of the firestorm and knew its location. It was hot and bright, unusually so, and Erik wondered why. What was different about this firestorm? Was darkfire modifying it? Or something else?

Erik followed the conduit of ley lines that led his thoughts to every living
Pyr
and understood which dragon was feeling the firestorm's burn.

It was the mate. She was different, although Erik couldn't discern how. Perhaps the darkfire had beckoned to her or maybe it fed her powers, whatever they were, but she was the reason the flame burned so brilliantly.

Was that bad? Good? Erik wasn't sure.

He used the overcast sky as a scrying glass, trying to see the future and best navigate the threat to his kind. Instead of a dark mirror, the future could have been a dark opal touched with shimmering blue and
green light. Erik recognized the effect of the darkfire but still could not guess what would result from its influence. Its light swirled in a vortex, looking both unpredictable and dangerous.

Erik stood and he pondered and, finally, he chose.

He sent two messages. The first, in old-speak, the language of the
Pyr,
was to Sloane in California, the Apothecary. Not only was Sloane closest to Hawai‘i, but Erik sensed his skill would be needed.

“Go”
was all Erik said to Sloane, knowing his command would be followed.

The second, a text message, was to Brandt in Australia. “Stay away,” he instructed the distant
Pyr
, having no expectation that this particular dragon would do as commanded. Brandt was passionate, volatile, and unpredictable.

Like darkfire.

And the
Pyr
experiencing the firestorm was Brandt's only son.

That the pair was estranged gave Erik the conviction that Brandt's presence wouldn't help. He hoped Brandt listened to him, but he wouldn't count on that.

Erik scanned the sky one last time, still sensing that a great deal was hidden from him. There was uncertainty in the air. He—and all the
Pyr
—would have to be vigilant.

No. They would have to be prepared. Erik was going to assume that his presence was needed. He'd go with Quinn, the Smith of the
Pyr
.

Assuming he could persuade Quinn to accompany him.

“Stay away.”

Brandt Merrick ordered another double. He couldn't stop himself from pulling up the message on his cell phone to stare at it. He knew why Erik had given that instruction, and he knew that Erik was right. Brandt had messed up every part of his relationship with his son, and he trusted Erik to help Brandon get his firestorm right.

Anyone had to do better than Brandt had done.

But still. He felt the burn of his son's firestorm. He experienced that surge of optimism again, as bright as it had been twenty-seven years before for him.

Him and Kay.

The firestorm's heat made Brandt burn for a second chance and yearn to reclaim everything he had lost.

He was looking at the message again when the bartender put his drink in front of him. He could smell the familiar tang of the rum straight up, but for the first time in a long time, he had no taste for it.