Ember's Kiss (26 page)

“No. I don't believe it….”

“Then keep it in trust for me until your son is born.”

“Why don't you just keep it yourself?”

“Because it wants to be with you.” He lifted it to his ear, as if listening, then nodded. “Yes. It does.”

Liz opened her mouth to protest, then saw the conviction in his dark eyes. And she recognized this logic, this kind of certainty in what had to be done, who had to do it, and how it had to be facilitated. Her mother had talked to her crystals, too, and listened to them. Liz considered the large crystal and knew that Marco was right—because the blue-green flame flickered with greater intensity when he offered her the stone.

She should have it.

She would need it.

She put out her hand, and Marco smiled.

No sooner had Liz accepted the weight of the crystal in her hand than Marco flung his hands into the sky. He leapt up and shifted shape with such grace that Liz's breath was taken away. He became a dragon, too, a large and sleek one.

He was who he said he was. Liz was reassured.

His flight across Kane‘ohe Bay was filled with the same leisurely grace as his smile, and Liz felt a new conviction settle over her as she watched him go. The dragons were beautiful creatures—when they weren't trying to kill her. Liz watched Marco soar high over the mountains, and accepted the truth.

She had to embrace her powers, then use them to free Brandon. She had to believe once again. She had to move beyond the past. Her biggest obstacle was probably her fear of failure, but she'd conquered fear before. She would face a challenge similar to the one that had killed her mother, but she would need to win. It was the only way that the firestorm would fulfill its promise—to both of them.

Marco disappeared from sight, and she had to hope that he was going to Brandon.

Liz turned the crystal in her hand but saw no secrets lurking in its depths. Yet. She lifted it to her ear and listened but heard nothing.

She put it in her purse.

Liz guessed she'd be seeing Marco again, when her son was born—if not before.

Her son. Her son would be a
Pyr
. She was going to be living at the intersection between the world of the
Pyr
and the world of humans for the foreseeable future.

She'd better get used to it.

“Well, there you are!” Maureen exclaimed from behind her. “You're soaking wet.”

“There wasn't a shuttle…”

“You should have just called.” Maureen put an arm around Liz and urged her toward the residence. “You weren't caught in that eruption, were you?”

“It was right behind me. The mountain fell just as I came out of the tunnel.” Liz smiled at her friend. “Your car's okay.”

“I'm more worried about you than the car! You must be shaken up.” Maureen gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I was so concerned for you today, but look at you.”

“I just took a swim….”

“But your eyes are shining like diamonds.” Maureen nodded with satisfaction but held up a hand. “You don't have to tell me a thing. I'm just glad that Hawai‘i is agreeing with you so well.” She rolled her eyes. “Despite all that's going on. I'm glad you're here. I forgot to give you a key to my room this morning. They managed to dig out your luggage—it doesn't look as if you'd unpacked much—and that's all been moved.”

“That's great. Thank you.”

“We have some last-minute changes, so I hope you don't mind me abandoning you again.” Maureen's brow furrowed.

“No, that's fine. I really appreciate everything, Maureen, and don't want to be a pain…”

“Never!” Maureen gave Liz a quick hug, then waved at two students carrying a folding table. “No, no. We need that in the other hall. I'll show you.” With
a cheerful wave, she was gone, doing what she did best.

Liz headed for the room, knowing what she had to do.

Brandon had disrupted the entire spiral, and the floor of the room looked like a beach. The sand wasn't making any electrical charge when he kicked through it anymore, so he believed he had dissipated its power. He did feel more in control of his dragon. That had to be a good sign.

Especially if Chen came back.

Brandon's two scales were still perched in the sand in the middle of the room. They glowed faintly, as if they were hooked to an alarm system. He wouldn't have put that past Chen.

Since the
Slayer
wasn't answering his summons so far, Brandon would trip the alarm.

He strode across the room and bent to pick up his scales. His fingertips had just brushed the closest one when there was a brilliant flash of light.

The blond guy was right in front of him, crouched on the other side of the scales, grinning like a maniac. Jorge. The other
Slayer
. Before Brandon could make sense of the way he had abruptly appeared, Jorge decked him. Brandon fell backward, and Jorge seized a scale.

“I'll just take these,” Jorge said. “Seeing as you don't need them anymore.”

Brandon tasted blood and roared in pain. He was
sprawled on his ass, blood running down his chin, but he rolled to his feet. “No chance! They're mine!”

“Dead dragons don't need armor,” Jorge sneered. His eyes glinted with malice as he turned the scale in the light. “But why don't you just come and get it?” He deliberately lifted the scale, as if displaying it to Brandon, then snapped it in half.

Brandon felt as if he'd been knifed in the gut. He bent over, the pain excruciating. He was bleeding again, and he was sure the wound would correspond to a spot where he was missing a scale.

Jorge chuckled and pocketed the broken pieces. He obviously enjoyed Brandon's anguish. He reached for the last scale in the sand. “Guess you'll have to decide who to answer to soon,” he said, looking so smug that Brandon wanted to rip his throat out.

For once, Brandon's dragon had the right idea.

“Maybe there won't be much left of you for Chen to claim.” Jorge glanced down at the final scale, his expression malicious, and Brandon guessed what he was going to do.

Brandon's dragon roared, and he let the beast loose.

He shifted shape quickly and bounded forward. He seized Jorge by the throat, then breathed a plume of brilliant orange dragonfire, aiming it at the man caught in his grasp. Jorge's hair burned and his skin reddened.

Jorge snarled in fury, then shifted in Brandon's grip. He became a topaz yellow dragon that was as slippery
as a snake. His scales were already singed, which made no sense, but Brandon would worry about that later. He breathed fire and turned more of them black.

Jorge twisted and snapped at Brandon. His sharp teeth caught at Brandon's shoulder. Jorge bit deep and tore Brandon's flesh, ripping out a chunk and spitting blood on the floor.

Brandon caught the
Slayer
by the throat and slammed his head into the wall so hard that the building shook. It was satisfying to see the black blood flow from Jorge's temple, so satisfying that he did it again.

Jorge snarled and thrashed within Brandon's grip.

“Give me that broken scale.”

“Get it yourself.” Jorge drove his tail upward, slamming it into Brandon's genitals. The blow was enough for Brandon to loosen his grip a bit. He saw stars for a moment and fought his nausea.

Jorge slithered away.

The
Slayer
dove for the last scale, but Brandon jumped on to his back. He bit at one wing, tearing it loose from the joint, and Jorge screamed as he fell to the floor. Hard. He still reached for that second scale, but Brandon breathed fire at his outstretched claw. The scales blackened and smoked, crackling as they burned, until Jorge withdrew his claw.

He reared back then, slamming Brandon into the ceiling. Brandon wound his tail beneath the
Slayer
quickly, getting even for that blow to the genitals. Jorge roared in pain, and that was before Brandon bit down and ripped his right wing free of his body. Black
blood flowed from the wound, dripping into the sand on the floor and hissing on contact.

Jorge spun in Brandon's grasp and jabbed his talon straight into the third undefended spot on his belly. All the breath went out of Brandon at the strike, and he faltered just long enough for Jorge to slash across his face with his claws.

Brandon fell backward from the blow, and braced himself for Jorge to land on top of him.

But the
Slayer
stood before him, one wing stretched high, his tail coiled across the floor.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes glittering like cut glass.

Brandon felt the temperature of the room drop; then a barb pierced the wound that had bled first. The pain was excruciating and it burned like acid.

Dragonsmoke.

Jorge was breathing dragonsmoke. Brandon narrowed his eyes and looked more closely, only then seeing the tendril of frosty white dragonsmoke that stretched like a cord between himself and Jorge. He started to get up, intending to attack his opponent, only to realize that his strength was sapped.

Jorge chuckled, never breaking the thread of dragonsmoke.

Somehow it was stealing energy from Brandon. He watched as the
Slayer
smiled more broadly. He looked larger and brighter. He was feeding on Brandon, like a kind of vampire, stealing Brandon's power and making it his own.

Fury gave Brandon new strength. He bellowed and
breathed a stream of fire at the offending tendril of dragonsmoke. The dragonsmoke was unaffected. He tore at it with his talons, but each time his claw passed through it, the smoke burned. Then he leapt at Jorge, who was enjoying his pain far too much.

But Jorge lifted that broken scale high and crushed the two pieces to cinders in his claw right before Brandon's eyes. The pain was overwhelming, so excruciating that Brandon thought he would pass out. He felt as if a chunk of his gut was being ripped out of him and shredded before his eyes.

Brandon fell to the floor and shifted back to his human form. He panted and tasted his own sweat as well as his blood. He was exhausted and terrified that this would be the end of him. The pain was more than anything he'd ever borne before. He was more battered than he had ever been before. He shifted back to his dragon form as soon as he could, not at all ready to surrender the fight.

Somehow he had to protect Liz.

Somehow he had to keep Jorge from finishing him off.

He had to trick the
Slayer
into underestimating him.

“Rotating between forms,” Jorge muttered with satisfaction. “A classic sign of a
Pyr
near death. Maybe Chen will come home to find a corpse.”

Brandon knew he could work with that assumption.

He could fake out Jorge. Because he not only knew
that Jorge would collect the second scale and leave Chen's lair, but that Jorge would leave the same way he'd arrived. He'd spontaneously manifest elsewhere.

Jorge was Brandon's ticket out of captivity.

Brandon repeatedly changed to his human form and back to dragon again, keeping his eyes nearly closed. He wanted to look as if he were out cold, but he kept one eye open the barest bit so he could keep track of Jorge. It made him dizzy to shift so quickly and frequently, but he had to have the element of surprise on his side again.

The
Slayer
chuckled, then shifted back to human form. He went back to pick up that second scale. He turned his back on Brandon, and Brandon coiled his power to move. Jorge bent over, his fingers touched the scale, and he started to shimmer.

Brandon leapt and seized his ankle. Jorge roared and tried to shake him off, but Brandon held fast. He locked both hands around Jorge's ankle, determined to not let go. Jorge punched Brandon, obviously trying to leave him behind, but Brandon knew salvation when he'd found it. Jorge kicked him in the face and probably loosened a tooth, but Brandon had more to lose than his teeth.

He held on.

Because his life depended on it.

Just as he'd anticipated, Jorge had been in the act of spontaneously manifesting elsewhere. Just as he'd hoped, Jorge couldn't stop his disappearing act once it had begun. Brandon was soon surrounded by that
strange silvery fog again and felt nauseated. He held tightly to the
Slayer
's ankle, not at all sure where he'd end up if he let go.

In fact, he wasn't sure where he'd end up, anyway.

But wherever it was, he'd have to kick Jorge's butt to get free. He needed energy for that.

Maybe it was time he learned to breathe a dragonsmoke conduit himself.

Liz opened her suitcase on the cot that had been set up in Maureen's room and rummaged in it a bit, to make it look as if she had been unpacking. Then she emptied her wet purse on the bathroom floor. Her phone was dead after its dip in the bay, but that was to be expected. The purse was not in very good shape, but she would sponge as much water as possible out of it later. She could also lay out her ID and cash to dry.

First, she had to do something more important. She opened the zippered pocket in the purse lining and took out a small black velvet bag. It was wet, as well, the silk velvet dripping and smelling of the sea.

But then, her mother had always loved the ocean. Liz smiled sadly to herself as she undid the drawstring and tipped out the contents into her hand. The pendant was sterling silver, about the size of a dollar coin, and it hung from a silver chain. A lump rose in Liz's throat at the sight of it.

She would never forget that night.

Maybe that had been the point.

She turned the pendant over in her hand, her tears rising at the sight of the incomplete pentacle etched on the back side. A Wiccan pentacle has five points, one for each element and the one pointing skyward for the element of spirit that presided over fire, water, air, and earth. This pentacle had only three points drawn. One of the lower ones—for fire—was missing, as was the point for spirit.

Her mother had died in a test of fire and spirit.