Serpent's Kiss: A Dragonfire Novel (15 page)

Maybe none of it mattered anymore.

* * *

In his lair, far beneath the mountains of Tibet, the
Slayer
Chen dozed in his dragon form. He was perfectly still in his cave, the light from the sconces on the walls caressing his lacquer red and gold scales. He breathed slowly and deeply, fortifying the dragonsmoke barrier around his lair with every exhalation.

And he dreamed. He dreamed the dreams of Thorolf, his chosen prey. He’d already cursed the untimely spark of that
Pyr
’s firestorm. Just a few days in the world would have been enough to let the tattoo ink leach into Thorolf’s body and darken his blood. Just a few days would have been enough for him to destroy at least a few of his fellow Pyr. But the firestorm had complicated things.

The mate was an enigma until Thorolf dreamed.

Chen’s eyes opened suddenly when Thorolf slammed the skull back into Chandra’s hand.

“So that’s it,” he whispered, his pulse quickening as he considered the implications of what he’d just learned. “It explains so much.”

Challenges so often came back to the curse of family.

Chen’s gaze flicked to the large egg-shaped rock in one corner of his lair. He smiled, liking that the last member of his family and the only one who had ever spoken against him had been so perfectly contained. He was glad that he hadn’t killed Lee.

At least not quite.

He liked to think that on some level, Lee was aware of his older brother’s doings. The
Pyr
Lorenzo was right in that there was little point in a brilliant performance without an audience.

Too bad Lorenzo had gotten away. Chen thought they might have agreed on many things.

But Thorolf wouldn’t escape this time. The magic was too strong. Chen narrowed his eyes and reviewed his scheme, certain it would succeed.

* * *

The ghosts shouldn’t have shown Thorolf that.

Chandra had deliberately kept her truth to herself, just because she’d doubted he was ready to hear it. The ghosts, though, had outed her and now Thorolf’s support was lost.

But then, Chandra was coming to realize that nothing about this particular quest was going according to plan. The firestorm was changing everything, making her doubt her past choices, even eroding her own conviction that she would succeed.

It wasn’t the firestorm: it was Thorolf. She had to wonder now why she’d chosen him, why she’d felt even before his birth that he would be so special.

She’d been right, of course, but she was starting to wonder what had guided her choice. Instinct? Destiny? An awareness that one day she would have a firestorm with him? Either way, Chandra was quickly becoming convinced that her
Pyr
was remarkable. He was far more dangerous than she’d imagined.

She’d let Thorolf choose a skull to learn what he knew about the creature who now called herself Viv Jason. That was all. He had to know something of use, even if he didn’t realize its importance. She’d assumed his choice of skull would reveal some part of his truth.

Instead, he’d learned part of
her
story.

Worse, he knew what she was—if not specifically who she was—and more about the connection between them. He knew she’d been the one who’d chosen him for his destiny, which wasn’t going to help convince him to confide in her.

She was never going to complete this quest.

Miserable ghosts! They always played games with the truth, hiding what she most needed to know, pretending to offer wisdom but really only giving partial data. She wouldn’t have trusted them at all if she’d had any other resource, but this went beyond any previous deception.

The worst part was that she felt such compassion for Thorolf. He felt used and manipulated, and the truth was that he had been. It wasn’t an unfair reaction, but Chandra couldn’t change the past.

She couldn’t undo what she’d done.

She’d never considered over the centuries what it was like for some individual, some mortal, to be chosen to play a particular role. If a job needed doing, she found a way to do it. Chandra thought about results, but results from her perspective. She’d never before considered the price paid by the one she’d chosen.

Chandra changed lives and never gave it a second thought.

She’d changed Thorolf’s life by choosing him, and now, that could be the reason she failed.

That sounded like a lesson her brother would engineer.

Somehow she had to make this right.

The heat of the firestorm faded to a faint glow with distance. She knew Thorolf was furious: in fact, she could feel his anger more clearly than the firestorm’s invitation to passion. Despite that, she felt disheveled and disturbed. If ever she could have hoped for her usual clear thinking, this would be the moment.

Instead, she felt guilty.

It was a new sensation and Chandra didn’t like it at all.

But the change in her perspective didn’t change that she
had
chosen Thorolf. Centuries of preparation couldn’t be discarded now that the battle was upon them. The creature who called herself Viv Jason was out in the world, seeking the destruction of the
Pyr
. Chandra had chosen Thorolf as the champion who could save the
Pyr
. Thorolf was the lynch pin, whether he wanted to be or not.

Even her short bit of time in Thorolf’s company, even that one kiss had given Chandra a new conviction that the world could not be without the
Pyr
.

She didn’t want the world to be without Thorolf.

Which meant she had to succeed. Somehow.

She lifted a hand and a pale spark of the firestorm danced on the tip of her finger. Maybe she could use the firestorm. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to surrender
something
to get Thorolf on her side. Sometimes destiny needed a helping hand, and this time, it had to be Chandra’s.

She would have to use pleasure and sensation and the firestorm’s seductive power to change Thorolf’s mind. It was the only tool she had, the only thing powerful enough to affect a stubborn
Pyr
. She didn’t have to actually satisfy the firestorm, but a few more kisses wouldn’t be all bad—especially if they helped her to achieve her goal.

Could she offer more without surrendering everything to him?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

Thorolf ran.

He bolted though jungle, jumping over roots and vines and ducking through the lush vegetation. He didn’t know where he was going, or how far this place extended. In a way, he didn’t care. He wanted the heat of the firestorm to fade. He didn’t want to feel torn and betrayed and disappointed. He wanted to exhaust himself and sleep.

Preferably for a long time.

Maybe in Myth, he could sleep forever.

Actually, he could have used a Texas buffet. They’d lose money on him, that was for sure. He thought about chicken fried steak and deep fried okra, mashed potatoes and gravy. Biscuits, definitely. Maybe some huevos rancheros to start things off, because he hadn’t had breakfast in a while. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten and his gut was empty enough to ache.

It said something for his state of mind that he wasn’t going to ask Chandra, the only person in this place, for help with that.

He’d rather starve.

He leapt more than one river, and eventually the jungle thinned. The ground became more rocky and the vegetation more sparse. The air cooled and was less humid, the sky turned a midday blue. Pine trees grew on either side of him, springing out of the earth as he ran. It was as if the landscape was changing to suit him, or to frame him.

No. To remind him.

Thorolf saw the mountain grow out of the ground on either side of him, stretching into the sky and looming over him. He saw the snow on their peaks, the sparkling streams crashing down their sides, the eagles soaring near their precipices. He ran, knowing full well what land he’d entered and wanting only to emerge on the other side of it. He saw the brilliant blue water in the fjords, felt the sting of cold air in his lungs, saw the alpine meadows beneath his feet turn to snow. He saw the smoke rising from the village, felt his heart shred, but couldn’t stop.

He shifted shape instead.

He was flying then, soaring in his dragon form, swooping over the land in his haste to reach Astrid. He knew what he would find, and he realized that he’d known it even then, even before he’d seen her. He swooped low over the burning village, knowing where she was by the weak beat of her heart. He’d have known the sound of her anywhere, the smell of her, the sound of her.

Her pulse was so weak. Her breath was so thin. Her pain was beyond belief.

He hadn’t believed it until he’d seen her, until he’d touched her, until she’d seared him with her accusation.

Until he’d watched her die. The last words passed her lips and she was gone.

He could have torn out his own heart then in his despair. The one person who had loved him for himself was gone.

He roared into the sky, bellowing with anguish. The world was quieter because she had breathed her last. It was empty. A void. A prison. He flew long and hard, journeying far before he returned home, aching and weary. He sought refuge and sanctuary.

Instead he found an answer he’d never wanted.

His father was waiting for him, his gaze steely. He surveyed Thorolf, nodding once when he saw his son’s devastation.
“It was for the best,”
he said in old-speak.
“She was a distraction from your purpose.”

Thorolf had stared at his father, shocked to stillness by his words.

“She was not your destined mate,”
his father said, as if explaining something simple to a child.
“You will see in time that mine was the right decision.”
And he offered the Avenger of the Aesir to Thorolf, the blade forged with the Helm of Awe, the blade that was both his destiny and his condemnation.

A distraction.

Thorolf seized the weapon without a word and took flight again. Fury gave him new strength and he knew where he had to go. He strained himself to fly to the edge of the world, the place where the cliffs fell sharply down to a bottomless chasm. He shifted shape and stood on the peak in his human form, then flung the blade out into the void. It caught the sunlight as it spun through the air, then plummeted to the depths where it could never trouble him again.

He spat after it.

He was done with destiny, with obligation, with those who cared for him only because he could fulfill their dreams. He was done with love, although he wasn’t done with sex by a long shot. If his father wanted to judge him by his deeds, Thorolf would give his father plenty. He would enjoy every pleasure of the flesh that could be had. He would drink and eat and fight and fuck and never care about any of it. He would indulge himself and only himself.

Until one day, his firestorm gave him the mate no one could ever call a distraction.

And now, centuries later, Thorolf stood on the lip of that chasm again, his mind filled with the anger and the passion of the past. “Astrid,” he whispered, his wound as raw as when it had been newly inflicted. “Astrid, I’m so sorry.”

He stood on that precipice and was sorry to be what he was.

Because that was the root of it. Because he was
Pyr
, he couldn’t give a son to a woman who wasn’t his destined mate. Because he was
Pyr
, he was chosen for a quest he didn’t want, and that woman had been called a distraction. Because he was
Pyr
, his kind were responsible for the razing of her village. He didn’t know the dragons who attacked human settlements, but he knew of them. His father knew them, clearly, and had directed their most recent attack. Eventually, such destructive dragons would be called
Slayers
. When Astrid died, there had been no formal division in the ranks of the
Pyr
.

His own kind, no matter how Thorolf looked at it, were responsible for Astrid’s death.

And she was right: all she had done was love him for himself.

Thorolf kicked a stone and watched it fall, knowing he’d never hear it splash in the water far below. He’d cast aside everything for the sake of principle. He’d surrendered everything he could have done, just to deny those who demanded he deliver on an obligation he hadn’t made himself. He’d bet everything on the promise of the firestorm.

But his firestorm had proven to be the biggest betrayal of all.

Chapter Six

Niall sat bolt upright in bed, his fists clenched in the sheets and his body taut. The recurring dream was crisp in his mind, so vivid that he could taste the cold wind. There was blue light all around his body and he recognized that he was poised to shift shape and fight. He breathed deeply, but his lair was safe, as were Rox and the boys. He forced himself to relax and remember what he could of his nightmare. He felt the devastation of the
Pyr
whose nightmare he’d shared repeatedly and finally knew who it was.

Rox rolled over at his motion, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Okay?”

“It’s Thorolf,” he said tightly, then swung out of bed. “The dream is Thorolf’s.”