Ember's Kiss (39 page)

Her mother smiled back at Brandon, nodding approval of Liz's choice. “Teach the young one all he needs to know,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to Liz's flat belly. “When worlds collide, it's not always clear how they'll mix.”

“I thought it was the darkfire that made everything unpredictable,” Brandon said.

Liz's mother nodded. “Darkfire in the hands of a Firedaughter is even more unpredictable.”

Then she brushed her fingertips across Liz's collarbone, her touch as light as a spring breeze. Her skin tingled and Liz saw the completed pentacle glitter beneath her mother's touch. Liz looked up at her mother, but the shadowy vision of the woman she'd loved all her life was gone. She blinked back her tears as Brandon took her hand in his.

“You're not rid of me, Elizabeth,” her mother murmured in her ear, her whisper filled with familiar humor. “I'm not an Airdaughter for nothing. I will appear to you, when I can and when you need me. I promise. You have only to look.”

And that was more than Liz had ever expected.
She met Brandon's gaze and took his hand, her heart pounding with joy.

“Blessed be,” her mother whispered, her voice already fading.

“Blessed be,” Liz echoed, smiling because she knew that she was blessed beyond belief.

K
ira had been right.

The surf broke perfectly on Tuesday morning, just as she'd forecast. Brandon was down on ‘Ehukai Beach when the sun came up, watching the waves break on the reef. It was absolutely textbook. The waves had to be twenty-five feet high, the curl of the Pipeline exactly the way Brandon preferred it to be.

This would be his day.

He would succeed because of Liz and the firestorm.

He hurried back to his place and woke Liz with a kiss, then put on some breakfast, following his pre-competition ritual to the letter. He did his warm-up exercises and tugged on the wet suit from Kira. His sense of anticipation was growing with every passing moment. They went back down to the beach, and the organizers had their staff ready. He registered and signed waivers, got his time slot, shook hands with the other competitors.

Matt, Dylan, and Rick were there early, each of them nearly as excited about Brandon's opportunity as he was. Kira fussed over the wet suit, Brandon's impetuousness forgiven, and gave him a kiss on the cheek in encouragement. Liz talked to them all, then gave a cry of pleasure when she spotted a familiar face.

Brandon could have told her that her friend Maureen would be there—he'd heard that diesel Mercedes pulling into town—but he hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise.

They both surprised him with the news that Liz had been offered a chance to collect samples at the reserve for her research. She'd made a good impression in her lectures and was optimistic—with Maureen's encouragement—that the research opportunity could develop into a job offer at the Institute. She was ready to move to Hawai‘i to make that happen.

Everything was coming together perfectly.

Brandon was aware of the
Pyr
gathered on the beach, watching him with pride, and he waved to them all. Garrett and Zoë ran over to give him hugs, and Brandon felt as if he'd been welcomed into an extended family he'd never realized he had.

He watched the waves, welcoming their consistency. He'd wondered whether he should use his affinity with water to improve the surf on this day, but it turned out that he didn't have to decide. The ocean was cooperating all on its own, which suited Brandon even better. The sun got hotter and the beach got more crowded. Liz smeared lotion on them both and
he felt the tension building. The Jet Skis pulled a couple of competitors out of the water, big names who had miscalculated the Pipeline, and the excitement on the beach grew.

Brandon surfed twice and made good showings, although he knew that he had to completely nail his third run. The international team organizer had already spoken to him by lunchtime, but there was no firm offer on the table.

It all depended on his last run.

He needed to be perfect in the Pipeline.

Finally the whistle blew and it was his turn. Brandon ran into the surf alongside the other competitor. They plunged into the water as one and started to paddle for the incoming waves. Although they were in competition with each other, a sense of camaraderie joined them. They were both really in competition with the waves. They punched through the break together, swimming with power into the trough. The other guy was on the inside.

“Your choice,” Brandon said, because that was protocol.

“This one,” the guy said. “I'll take this one.”

“Looks like a beauty,” Brandon said. “Have a good ride.”

“You, too.” They grinned at each other, exchanged thumbs-up; then the wave began to swell against the horizon. The other guy turned his board and started to paddle toward the shore.

“Go, go, go!” Brandon shouted, knowing the people
on the beach would be shouting the same thing but that the other surfer wouldn't be able to hear them. The wave moved beneath him, gathering power and momentum.

“Get up!” Brandon cried as the wave's high point lifted the other surfer high. The other guy was on his feet, riding the curve toward the shore. Brandon could barely hear the applause on the beach. The other surfer ripped the face of the wave, much to the approval of the audience. He'd get points from the judges for his moves.

Then he tried to ride the Pipeline. Brandon saw immediately that he hadn't read the curl properly. He'd no sooner gotten the front of the breaking wave than it crashed over him, driving him down into the reef. The Jet Skis roared, but the other guy was up.

He looked pissed off when he began to paddle back out beyond the break. Brandon smiled. He knew what it was like to have the water get the better of you. He let the next wave pass, not liking it so much, and the other surfer joined him on the outside.

“Nice rip,” Brandon said, and the other guy nodded.

“You going?” he asked.

Brandon eyed the wave swelling against the horizon. “Yeah,” he said. “This one's mine.”

“It's going to be big.”

“That's the way I like them.” Brandon turned and paddled toward the beach with powerful strokes. He felt the wave gaining on him, then matched his speed
to it perfectly. The wave moved beneath him, lifting him high, higher than he'd expected. He heard the surprised cry of the surfer behind him and of the spectators on the beach. He had no time to be surprised. He had to concentrate.

He didn't rip the surf or try any fancy moves. He just rode it with control, positioning himself perfectly. The surf broke just as he'd anticipated, and the white curl of foaming water appeared right beside him. He let one hand trail in the deep turquoise of the roiling water and felt the spray of the Pipeline closing around him. He stayed right at the lip of the breaking wave, the white spray sparkling all around him, the roar of the ocean filling his ears.

Brandon was surrounded by a tube of swirling water, as if the ocean held him safe in the palm of her hand. It was exhilarating, as if he'd stepped out of time. He felt in tune with the world and her elements, in balance with his dragon and its awesome power, and filled with joy for his future with Liz. For this moment, there was nothing but him and the sea and the happy pulse of his heart.

Perfect.

And it seemed to last forever.

He soared out of the end of the Pipeline when it crashed to nothing on the reef, standing on his board and riding in to the beach on his own momentum. A roar of applause rose from the audience, and he saw that the judges were giving him perfect scores. Kira was shouting with joy, and the photographers were
clustering around him, their shutters clicking. Liz was running across the sand toward him as the siren blared, signifying the end of the session, and he caught her up and swung her around in his arms.

“You were great!” she said with excitement.

“Because of you,” Brandon said, and kissed her. He saw the organizer of the international team coming toward him with a big smile, and he knew exactly what he was going to say. He turned to the man with a grin and stretched out his hand in greeting, barely hearing the invitation to join the team that had been his goal for years.

Because he saw an older couple standing back from the crowd, their hands clasped.

His parents had come to watch him.

Brandon couldn't believe it. He looked twice, but they were still there.

Smiling at him.

In a daze, Brandon accepted the coach's offer and shook his hand, aware that Liz was practically bouncing beside him. “You did it,” she whispered in delight.

But Brandon stared in astonishment at his parents. They were not only here and smiling, but together. Before he could make sense of it, his mom smiled and waved. Brandon opened his arms to her on instinct. She started to cry as she hurried toward him, then caught him in a fierce embrace.

“I had to meet this Liz of yours,” she said when she'd kissed him a hundred times. She turned to Liz expectantly. Brandon introduced them, looking for his dad.

Brandt Merrick hung back, as if uncertain of his greeting. Erik stood behind him, one hand on the other
Pyr
's shoulder. Brandon nodded, then strode to his father, offering his hand. “Hey, Dad. It's good to see you,” he said, meaning every word of it. “I'd like to talk to you, if you have time.”

“All the time in the world,” Brandt said with a smile as he seized his son's hand. He looked into Brandon's eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.” Brandon caught his dad in a tight hug, feeling his tears rise when he felt his father catch his breath. He looked up and met Erik's knowing gaze, then saw the leader of the
Pyr
smile with approval before he turned away.

He led his dad back to Liz and his mom, marveling as he did so that just a week before, he'd thought that his dragon would ruin his life. Now he had everything, everything he'd always wanted and a love he'd never dreamed of finding.

And he would defend it, both as man and as dragon, for all the days and nights of his life.

This was the gift of the firestorm.

 

 

C
assie had to hand it to this Lorenzo guy. The custom-built theater for his stage show,
The Trial by Fire
, was incredible even by Vegas standards. He hadn't skimped at all. There was nothing tawdry or tacky about it. The interior was gorgeous and elegant, far more luxurious than any of the other venues they'd visited or glimpsed.

The seats were cushy and upholstered in black velvet. They were scrupulously clean, as if they'd been upholstered just that day. The carpet was black and thick underfoot, unstained as far as she could see. There wasn't so much as a stray kernel of popcorn. The curtains on the stage looked like real velvet, black with a line of metallic orange along the hem. That line etched the glittering outline of flames.

Trial by fire. She got it.

There were sconces spaced along the walls, each looking like a brass bowl that held a flame. Of course,
they couldn't have been real flames, not with fire codes, but they looked real. The temperature in the theater was cool but not cold. It felt like a refuge, both from commercialism and the noisy bustle of Vegas.

She listened to the audience as they took their seats and murmured to each other. She felt their wonder and knew that Lorenzo had them believing in him even before he began his show.

Cassie folded her arms across her chest, less willing to be persuaded. All of this magic stuff relied on trickery, on making people look left when things happened on the right, for example. She was determined to see the truth of whatever this guy did.

Her BlackBerry vibrated again and she glanced at it. Again they had doubled the price they'd pay for shots of those shape-shifting dragons. Melissa Smith's television show about the
Pyr
must have really good ratings. Cassie scrolled through the message, eyeing the specifications for what they wanted.

A suite of shots, documenting the change from man to dragon.

That would be tough to fake.

Of course, if the
Pyr
were real, the shots wouldn't be fake.

Cassie dismissed that possibility. She wondered what the editor would pay for proof that the
Pyr
were a hoax. Well aware of Stacy's disapproval, Cassie sent a message to ask.

Her BlackBerry received a reply almost instantly. This story was hot. She wasn't totally surprised that the
editor would pay the same price for proof of a hoax, but was surprised that the price had increased again.

But where would a person find one of these supposed dragon shifters?

“Off,” Stacy muttered. “You promised.”

Cassie turned off the device and put it away. It would be enough money to retire. To leave the business of illusion for good.

She was surprised by how appealing that idea sounded.

Cassie was still thinking about that money as the lights began to dim and music started from all sides. The flames in the sconces leapt higher, and that line across the bottom of the stage curtains began to glitter.

As if it were burning.

A trick, but a good one.

If she were pretending to be a dragon shifter, where would she hide?

Maybe, just maybe, in a place where nothing was what it seemed to be.

A place like Las Vegas.

Hmm.

Lorenzo nodded at his staff and strode to his place at center stage, where he would await the rising of the curtains. He fought his awareness of the slow burn of the eclipse, teasing at the edge of his thoughts. He felt the firestorm light for some poor
Pyr
and ignored it, just as he had a hundred times before.