Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (57 page)

The book was open to a page on darkfire.

Darkfire. Was that what was governing her firestorm with Marco? He’d had the crystal, which had contained the darkfire. She’d seen its blue-green spark a couple of times in his presence, and the verse had mentioned it. Darkfire was supposed to cause inversions, to challenge expectation, and to make unpredictable events happen. She ran her finger over the entry and recalled the verse.

Three blood moons mark the debt come due

Will the
Pyr
triumph or be hunted anew?

Three eclipses will awaken the spark

In thirteen monsters breeding in dark.

Three times the firestorm will spark

Before darkfire fades into the dark.

Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice

None or all can be the darkfire’s price.

When the Dragon’s Tail has turned its bore

And darkfire dies forevermore

Will the
Pyr
be left to rule with might

Or disappear into past’s twilight?

Firestorm, mate or blood sacrifice. She didn’t like the idea of the darkfire having a price like that, particularly not now that she was a mate. She glanced at Marco and didn’t like the idea of him being a blood sacrifice much better.

Beside the book was a stoppered glass vial, like something from a laboratory. It was empty but Jac could see a tiny bit of dried red residue in it. Blood. She grimaced, not wanting to touch it.

Alongside that was a scale that had to have come from a dragon. It was larger than her outspread hand, closer to the size of a dinner plate. The scale was hard, like a seashell, but it was many hues of charcoal grey, like a dark pearl. It tapered to a point, which had a number of protrusions, like thorns. It looked like a magical thing and Jac couldn’t resist the urge to run her fingertips over it.

She eyed Marco and recalled how his scales had seemed to be lit with inner fire before he’d been injured. His scales didn’t have these protrusions and were a different hue of grey. There was a glow between them of faint golden light and she wasn’t sure whether the firestorm would help him or hinder him.

Jorge didn’t seem to have any ointment for burns, unfortunately.

There was also a stone displayed on the table. It was about the size of an olive and similar in shape. It was green with red lines on its surface that almost looked like veins. It was set in pewter, in a setting that looked like a tiny egg cup—except that it was sculpted to look like dragon talons. What was it? Jac reached out a finger to touch it, but the air shifted suddenly in the room and the pressure changed.

Her ears plugged then popped, and she spun around, recognizing that she had company, or soon would.

A ruby and brass dragon with bleeding wounds was flung down on the carpet under the chandelier, landing heavily beside Marco. Neither of them stirred or opened their eyes. Jac thought maybe the
Slayer
emitted a low moan. Black blood was running from his open wounds and she could see it burning the rug. It had to be the
Slayer
she’d injured with the third flare.

But now he had a chunk torn out of his gut. Had he revived enough to fight Jorge? Jac had to think so. He seemed to be hanging to life by a thread now. That worked for Jac in a big way.

The
Slayer
shimmered, then changed shape to a man. He looked like a gentleman you’d pass on the street somewhere in Europe, his hair fair and his figure trim. It was the shoes that made him look European, Jac decided. They were dress shoes, worn on the soles from extensive walking but polished to a gleam. He was also dressed more formally, and she guessed he often wore trousers and a tweed jacket like this.

In the blink of an eye, he changed back to a ruby and brass dragon, flicking between the forms until he abruptly remained in his dragon form.

There was a flash of light, then a golden salamander appeared on the floor of the cavern, not twenty feet away. Its body glinted like it was made of gems, and it ran around the fallen
Slayer
as if checking on him.

Or confirming that he had arrived in one piece. The salamander then shimmered in that familiar pale blue hue. Jac narrowed her eyes against the light and just barely discerned the silhouette as the salamander became a dragon of topaz and gold. His bottom jaw was gone, and his black blood flowed from the mess of torn flesh that remained.

Jorge.

Jac took a step back, doubting that he’d thank her for the injury she’d inflicted on him.

The library’s dimensions didn’t seem generous enough, not with three dragons in residence. Jorge bent and Jac saw his tongue slide into the fallen
Slayer
’s gut, then Jorge sucked. The sound was disgusting, but Jac couldn’t look away. Jorge feasted on his former ally, tearing into the corpse with his upper fangs, then using his tongue to slurp up the black blood.

Was that a glint beneath Marco’s eyelid?

Was he awake?

Jac turned her back on them both, revolted by Jorge but not wanting to give Marco away. Her heart was racing and she suspected the
Slayer
could sense it. Their senses were supposed to be very keen. Maybe the smell of her fear would cover her reaction to that glimpse of Marco’s eye. The firestorm seemed to be burning a little bit brighter, and Jac hoped Marco didn’t notice that either. Marco was still badly hurt, so every minute she could give him to recover had to help his condition improve.

He might be a dragon, but if she had to choose a champion between Marco and Jorge, the choice was a gimme. One had made sweet love to her. One had killed her nephew. Easy choice.

Jac pretended to study the spines of the books—which weren’t in any language she could read—and fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see what Jorge was doing. She eventually turned, catching another glimpse of Marco’s eye.

Okay. She and Marco were in this together. She had to distract Jorge and find out all that she could. There was no telling how much Marco knew, but she might be able to help.

Finally, Jorge straightened and surveyed her, his eyes gleaming. To Jac’s amazement, his lower jaw had already partially grown back. He could chew, although his teeth weren’t all formed on his lower jaw yet. This was the Elixir in action. The Elixir conferred a kind of immortality, Jac remembered, allowing those who had drunk it to heal rapidly. Jac was impressed. She thought of newts growing new tails and wondered whether this skill worked for all parts of his body.

When his eyes narrowed, she decided not to ask. Jac had to wonder whether she looked appetizing and fought the urge to retreat. It was easy to think of other large predators and how flight only prompted their instinct to hunt—by running, the observer became prey. She held her ground, just barely, her heart thumping with terror.

It helped, actually, that Marco was in the room. Jac felt as if she were putting on a display of bravery, just for him. Like she was performing in a play, not really at risk of losing her life.

“Multiple forms,” she said to Jorge, trying to sound confident and unafraid. “A characteristic of the Wyvern or of a
Slayer
who has drunk the Dragon’s Blood Elixir. What other forms can you take?”

Jorge shifted shape again, taking his human form. He strolled toward her, his one fist clenching and unclenching, and she couldn’t decide whether he was more menacing as a fire-breathing dragon or as a man with ice-cold eyes. His wounded jaw, the flesh raw but the bones regrown as she watched, made him look even worse.

Like a zombie.

He paused to kick Marco, but the
Pyr
didn’t respond. “I’m not going to force-feed you,” he muttered, his speech still labored, then turned on Jac again.

“He has to get his own Elixir?” Jac asked. “No table service?” Jorge snorted at the idea. “What if Marco doesn’t want it?”

“Then he shouldn’t have asked for it,” Jorge snapped. “I would have left him behind.”

That had been the old-speak Jac had heard then. It had been Marco asking for the Elixir, probably because he’d guessed that Jorge would bring him along to this lair. He had to be playing dead because he didn’t intend to really consume it.

Jac couldn’t blame him for that, although his injuries looked painful. Marco bled red, though, which meant he was
Pyr
, and she guessed he meant to stay that way.

There really were good dragons and bad ones, and she had the rotten luck to be snared by the worst one of all.

“You showed some initiative in the fight,” Jorge said, his hand rising to his healing jaw. It was strangely fascinating to watch it rejuvenate and to hear his speech become clearer each time he spoke.

Jac decided to disguise her fear as well as she could. “Too bad the effect didn’t last longer.”

“Nothing will, not when a
Slayer
has drunk the Elixir.”

“Where does it come from?” she asked. “I thought those who had drunk the Elixir always needed more.”

Jorge’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been doing your homework,” he said softly.

“I was, at least until someone stole my research book.”

Jorge glanced back at the fallen
Slayer
then at Jac, raising a brow. “I feel so much better since that snack.”

Jac couldn’t hide her horror as she realized what he meant. “He’d drunk the Elixir, as well.” She eyed the pair of dragons, one dead with his guts ripped open and one still smoking after the battle. “Are you saving the rest of the carcass for later?”

“I’ll give Marco a chance to share.” He nudged the fallen
Pyr
with his foot again to no result. Jac saw a spark brighten on the end of her fingertip and put her hands behind her back to hide it. Marco must be waking up.

“So, now you know what I am,” Jorge mused.

Jac nodded and swallowed. It wasn’t good news to be trapped in a sealed room with a
Slayer
who was as close to immortal as a dragon shifter could get.

“And you know about Marco now, too.” Jorge smiled. “A night of revelations.”

“And questions, too.”

Jorge lifted a brow in silent query.

“Why bring me here? I’m a mate, evidently, but the firestorm isn’t satisfied.”

“Exactly.” Jorge’s sudden smile did just about nothing to build Jac’s confidence. “The firestorm makes you particularly useful.”

“Because the firestorm draws
Pyr
like moths to the flame,” Jac remembered, trying to sound as if she wasn’t terrified. “You’re going to use me as bait.”

A smile lifted the corner of Jorge’s mouth. “How badly do you want to live?”

“As badly as you do, I’ll guess.”

Jorge smiled as he approached the display of his treasures. His manner gave Jac the definite sense that he knew something she didn’t. He fanned through the pages of the book, then turned to offer it to Jac. “Yours, I believe.”

Jac eyed it with skepticism. “You don’t strike me as someone with a giving nature.”

Jorge’s smile widened. “I’ve no need of this volume any more.”

“Did you read it already?”

“Of course. But it wasn’t as interesting as I’d expected.”

“How so?”

“It’s out of date.” Jorge bit off the words.

“What were you hoping to learn from it?”

Jorge glanced toward the fallen
Slayer
then seemed to change the subject. “Notice anything strange about my fellow
Slayers
, the ones who have been hatched?”

“They’re identical, like twins.”

“They’re clones,” Jorge confirmed.

Jac recalled the reference in the verse on Marco’s wall to thirteen monsters bred in the dark, awakened by the blood moon. “Clones of who?”

“A
Slayer
named Boris Vassily, who died several years ago.” Jorge strolled back to his supposed ally, and Jac didn’t trust that he was telling her so much. Was he telling her the truth? Or lies that would mislead her? “He was the leader of the
Slayers
after his father. He was cloned by Sigmund Guthrie before he died, although Sigmund himself died before completing his experiment.”

“You were hoping for notes on making more.”

Jorge’s quick glance was cold enough to freeze Jac’s marrow.

There was a rumble then and the floor vibrated. Jac looked up to see the chandelier shaking, the flames dancing on the candles.

Was it an earthquake?

Would she die in this place even before Jorge attacked?

Chapter Twenty

The rumbling faded just the way it had grown in volume. Jac thought she heard a whistle then realized that Jorge was smiling as he watched her.

“Was that old-speak?” Jac asked and he laughed.

“No other dragon shifter knows of this place.”

“Then thunder?”

“So far underground? I think not.”

“An earthquake, then.”

Jorge’s smile broadened. His face was healed, now, just a bit of skin missing on his cheeks. “A train,” he whispered. “A subway train, about two hundred feet above us.”

Then there were people close by. Jac felt her mouth drop open as she looked up at the ceiling.