Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (46 page)

Sloane nodded reluctant agreement.

He wanted to offer Sam a reason to stay, but knew he couldn’t. He wanted to invite her back to visit, to come to his home whenever she wanted, to continue their relationship, but he knew it wouldn’t be fair.

For all he knew, his firestorm could spark next.

He felt her waiting on the invitation and knew the conclusion she’d draw when he didn’t make it.

Maybe it was easier this way.

Maybe it was best.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“In the morning, I guess. It’s a bit late to get a flight now, and I have to pack.” She surveyed the room. “You have my email and phone. Let me know about the house. I’ll wait before calling a real estate agent.”

“Thanks.” The silence grew between them and began to turn awkward. Sloane wondered whether Sam had expected more of an argument from him and wished he could have made it. He bent and touched his lips to her temple, and she didn’t pull away. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, one last tear sliding from beneath her lashes. He curled a tendril of her hair around his fingertip, telling himself that it couldn’t be the last time ever, but suspecting that it was. “I should go home,” he murmured. “My guests will be wondering where I am.”

She nodded once. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

Sloane knew what he could promise and what he couldn’t, even if he didn’t like the truth of it. He sighed, then left Sam, aching that he had to walk away from the most promising relationship of his life. Because it wasn’t his firestorm and, just like Sam, he wasn’t going to promise what he couldn’t deliver.

He’d made a difference to her, and maybe that had been the point.

Funny that helping Sam to heal didn’t feel that good to Sloane.

Fortunately, he had work to do.

Chapter Sixteen

It was when Drake was discharged from the hospital, apparently clear of any infection, that he became a thief.

He had time to think in the isolation ward, time to consider his options. It was clear that Jorge had stolen the virus from Sloane in order to infect Veronica. It was equally clear to Drake that he had foiled the
Slayer
’s scheme before it could do its worst. If he had not discerned the virus so early, Veronica would have been discharged and the
Pyr
would have gathered her protectively into some private lair. He did not doubt that the mates of the other
Pyr
would have surrounded her in a gesture of support, and that they would have subsequently become infected. Possibly the children of the
Pyr
would also become infected, and the
Pyr
themselves. These illnesses and any deaths could only dishearten the
Pyr
in this final battle, if not lessen their numbers.

The plan made sense to Drake and was consistent with what he knew of vipers.

The thing was that even though he had kissed Veronica, he had not contracted the illness. They could find no sign of it in his blood. The nurse who had tended to Veronica upon her admission was infected, but not the doctor—the difference had been attributed to the fact that the nurse hadn’t worn gloves in her initial contact with Veronica’s bleeding fingers. The exchange of body fluids had been proven again to be key to the spread of the virus.

The most pertinent fact was that his mate was infected with a fatal virus, as might his son be. There was no cure or antidote, and Drake had a feeling that the one best qualified to find such a cure was the Apothecary. Sloane’s research, however, was hampered by his lack of a sample of the virus. Drake had tried to visit Veronica while he was in isolation, in the hope that he could obtain a sample by stealth, but the staff were determined to keep the isolated patients separated even from each other until it was clear who was infected and who wasn’t.

Since he wasn’t, he’d been evicted from the ward.

Drake watched through the glass as the staff gathered Veronica’s blood. They were still establishing the protocol of isolation at this hospital and the management of the hazardous fluid that was infected blood. The lab was in the basement, and the samples had to be taken there. He wasn’t as skilled with beguiling as many other
Pyr
, but he had convinced the attending doctor to destroy the rest of Drake’s blood sample after it was tested for the virus, a small victory in breaking protocol. When these blood samples were moved to the lab, there might be an opportunity to see Sloane equipped with what he needed.

And if there was not an opportunity, Drake would create one.

The survival of his mate and son hung in the balance, after all.

* * *

The orderly got into the elevator with the cart of blood samples, feeling a little creeped out that he’d ended up with this job. He’d worn a HazMat suit to collect them from the nurse and had sealed them into the trolley, and was still wearing three layers of latex gloves and a mask, but still.

This shit might as well be Ebola.

He jumped when a muscular guy stepped into the elevator, just as the doors were closing. It was that partner of the woman who was infected, the guy who looked like a commando and had been in isolation himself for a week.

The orderly took a step away from the man as the doors closed. His tests had come back clear and he looked vital, but the orderly didn’t trust this infectious shit.

It came from dragons, after all. It might be magic.

The guy exhaled slowly and the orderly couldn’t help but hear the sound of it. He seemed to exhale forever, as if his chest was the size of the whole elevator. The orderly glanced at the other guy in curiosity, only to find that man’s gaze fixed upon him.

It was weird. It looked as if there were flames burning in the guy’s pupils.

“A pestilence,” the guy said, his voice oddly low and melodic.

The orderly nodded agreement.

“A plague carried by vermin.”

“A plague,” the orderly agreed, unable to look away from the guy’s eyes. The flames seemed to burn brighter in his eyes, which was some kind of weird illusion. The orderly found himself leaning closer, as if he’d be able to see how it was done. No luck: the flames were brilliant orange and the guy didn’t seem to blink.

“So many samples,” the guy said softly.

“So many samples,” the orderly agreed.

“Toxic samples that must be counted.”

The orderly nodded. “Toxic samples that must be counted.”

The guy gestured to the cart and counted aloud. The orderly found himself counting along with him, under his breath. “One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight, nine.” The man nodded. “Nine samples, safe and secure.”

The orderly frowned. There had been ten. He was sure of it. He looked down at the cart and counted, but there were only nine.

And the lid that should have been locked over the cart didn’t look right either.

He caught his breath but the man hit the stop button on the elevator. He seized the orderly’s chin and compelled the smaller man to look into his eyes. Those flames burned like an inferno and once he looked at them, the orderly couldn’t avert his gaze.

“Nine samples, safe and secure,” the man said.

“Nine samples, safe and secure,” the orderly found himself saying, even as his mind fought against that conclusion.

The man widened his eyes. “If one’s missing, it’s not your fault.”

“Not my fault.”

“The nurse gave you the tray, just this way.”

Relief rippled through the orderly. “The nurse gave me the tray, just this way.”

“You just do what you’re told.”

“I just do what I’m told.”

The man started the elevator on its descent again. “The nurse is to blame.”

“The nurse is to blame,” the orderly concluded.

The man smiled. “You were in the elevator alone.”

“I was in the elevator alone.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“The elevator stopped for no reason.”

“The elevator stopped for no reason.”

The elevator stopped on the next floor and the man got out. There was no one in sight and he disappeared so quickly that he might never have been there.

The orderly frowned at the control panel and the empty corridor. Why had the elevator even stopped on this floor? He was alone in the elevator, and it had stopped for no reason. He pushed the button to close the door and it continued to the basement where the lab was located.

When he pushed the cart out of the elevator, he noticed that the seal was broken on the tray. It wasn’t his fault. The nurse had given it to him this way. He just did what he was told.

All nine vials were still safe and secure.

* * *

Sloane was washing up the dishes after his solitary dinner, listening to jazz, drinking wine and indulging in a little self-pity. He’d staked out a private corner of his own house, and wasn’t inclined to share on this night. His lover was gone. His research was lost. His mission was impossible. His fellow
Pyr
were becoming injured on a regular basis and he couldn’t help feeling that this was the beginning of the end for his kind. Drake’s mate was in isolation and infected, and Drake was being held for tests. Sloane had asked Theo to see if he could get a sample of the infected blood, but that
Pyr
had had no luck.

Sloane had a persistent sense that Jorge held all the proverbial cards. The Seattle virus was killing more people all the time, and the media blamed the
Pyr
for it—despite Melissa’s broadcasts.

And all they could do was wait to see what Jorge intended to do next.

The situation stunk, no matter how Sloane looked at it.

He supposed he shouldn’t regret that his house was full of his fellow
Pyr
. He realized how accustomed he’d been to his own company and how much his privacy meant to him just when it was gone. Erik was more grim and irritable than usual, Melissa was worried, and Eileen was researching on Sloane’s computer. Rafferty still hadn’t awakened. Quinn and Sara were outside with the boys and he could hear them playing a game that had to be intended to tire them out. Donovan and Alex had taken their boys to Delaney’s farm in Ohio, as had Niall and Rox.

Thorolf had been to Easter Island, without finding much, and had gone to Australia afterward at Chandra’s insistence. Sloane was glad that she’d agreed to remain at his house until the baby was born. Maybe Thorolf had a gift for talking sense into her. Despite all of them being together, Brandon, Brandt, Liz and Thorolf hadn’t been able to distinguish any rocks on Uluru as better prospects than the others.

Chandra was getting closer to her time. She’d eaten an impressive variety of pickles while at Sloane’s home, showing a real taste for hot and sour varieties. He wondered whether he’d have much to do when she went into labor—she was remarkably strong and self-sufficient. Sloane doubted that he’d be able to convince Chandra to linger long after the delivery.

Everyone was busy, but nothing was being resolved.

Sloane felt responsible for that. He had bought Sam’s house in the end, and Quinn and Sara had moved into it for the time being, which at least took their family out of Sloane’s house. If Niall hadn’t been so busy trying to dreamwalk to Rafferty—and Rox hadn’t been as pregnant as Chandra—they’d probably all be in residence here. While his house was generously proportioned, it wasn’t a hotel. He already wished it had a few more bathrooms.

Sloane hadn’t heard a word from Sam since her departure, just one short email from her lawyer acknowledging the transfer of the title. He looked across to the house that had been hers, remembering her words about dragons, and winced.

It was probably just as well that she was gone. There could be no future with a woman who hated what he was.

No matter how many times he assured himself that this was true, it remained a depressing thought.

And a situation he wished he could change.

Sloane supposed he should have been glad that Sam wasn’t his mate, but he didn’t find a lot of joy in that thought either. He emptied the last of the bottle of wine into his glass, grimacing that he’d hoped to share this one with Sam, then heard an exchange in old-speak.

Sloane spun and inhaled, his gaze searching the shadows outside his kitchen window.

Then he felt relief, and the shimmer he emitted when on the cusp of change fading away again. Two large dragons landed on his patio with the unison shown only by the Dragon Legion. They were precision flyers, all of them.

They shimmered blue as they shifted shape, becoming men just as their feet touched the ground. They strode to the door, in step, without missing a beat, and Sloane recognized Drake and Theo.

He changed the permissions on his dragonsmoke barrier, wondering what they wanted.

Drake, true to form, said nothing. He just held up a stoppered vial of blood and Sloane guessed what it was.

He threw open the glass door. “Where did you get it?”

“The first theft of my life,” Drake said grimly even as he offered the vial to Sloane. “But I believe my mate would have given it to me willingly if she’d known my intent.”