Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel by Deborah Cooke
“I don’t own the darkfire crystal,” he confessed, remembering her earlier comment. “It’s here, but it’s not my possession.”
Jac eyed him warily. “Is it stolen?”
Marco shook his head. “No one can own such a thing. It exists and I’m fortunate that it’s here, but it has its own destiny to fulfill.” He held her gaze, his own falling to her lips once again.
Jac nestled a little closer. “Why? What’s it for?” She dropped a fingertip to the stone and smiled when the spark leapt at her touch. Marco wondered why it responded to her, and concluded that he and the darkfire, as usual, were in agreement.
“It has many purposes,” he admitted. “But you will probably be most interested in its ability to kill a dragon shape shifter.”
Jac caught her breath, her eyes wide as she stared at Marco. “How do you know that?”
“Guess.” He held her gaze and smiled slowly, willing her to make the obvious conclusion. When Jac glanced to the backpack he’d left by the door, Marco was sure she’d done just that.
But she made a different conclusion than he’d expected. “You’re a dragon hunter,” she whispered, and Marco had to admit that in a way, it was true.
He did hunt Slayers.
“Where are you going?” she asked with new urgency.
“Easter Island.” Marco wanted more than anything for Jac to go with him. He was concerned, though, that asking her outright might seem too forward for her. That nervousness was gone, but he was aware that some of her uncertainty lingered.
He held her gaze for a long moment, then released her, letting his reluctance to do so show. He crossed the floor to pick up his backpack, feeling her gaze follow him. He put the crystal into the bag with care, ensuring it was rolled into a T-shirt for protection, then glanced up to find Jac still watching him. She gripped the book tightly, but there was a new fire in her eyes.
“Can I come with you?” she asked and Marco nodded.
“I was hoping you would,” he admitted and was rewarded by her brilliant smile.
* * *
Jac knew what her sister would say: she was out of her mind.
Actually, pretty much everyone Jac knew would have said the same thing. Going on a whim to Easter Island with a neighbor she knew just about nothing about—except that he kissed like a god and that he hunted dragon shifters—was the most impulsive thing she’d ever done.
Which was saying something.
On the other hand, passing up the opportunity to join ranks with a guy who was obviously experienced in the art of hunting dragons would have been even more crazy, especially as she wanted to kill dragons and hadn’t a clue where to start.
Granted, she’d never seen Marco take down a dragon, but he’d had the book and he had this darkfire crystal, and there was that verse on his wall. Something about three blood moons and darkfire and firestorms. Firestorms were discussed in this book he’d given her.
The fact that he’d written a poem on the wall of his apartment with a marker was enormously compelling to Jac. It indicated an artistic flair and a disregard for the rules that she admired. The emptiness of his apartment showed a disinterest in conventionality and the expectations of others that she liked, too. She felt as if they were kindred spirits and was certain she could trust him. He was clearly as serious about hunting dragons as she was, and she admired the dedication shown by his focus. She liked that he had immediately decided to go where the dragons were. She was glad she’d knocked on his door and caught him before he’d departed.
And she was thrilled to be going along.
Jac didn’t really want to talk to her sister, but she couldn’t just disappear either. Irresponsibility was one trait Jac didn’t possess. Fortunately, her sister had taken to turning off her phone since leaving her job. Jac called Sam, her fingers crossed and figured it was a sign of everything going her way that the call was immediately directed to voice mail. She left a message, explaining that she was going to a retreat. It was a lame excuse but Sam would probably accept it.
Jac packed in five minutes flat, grabbed her passport and credit cards. She debated the merit of taking the book and decided it was too risky. She really didn’t want to lose it. Instead, she tucked it under the loose floorboard in her closet, and piled shoeboxes on top of it, thanking her lucky stars that she lived in an old building filled with idiosyncrasies. She took her notebook on dragons, though, even though it wouldn’t fit in her purse. She grabbed a bigger purse from her closet and dumped the contents of her smaller one into it, then jammed the notebook in the side. No doubt she’d have time in an airport somewhere to restore order to the contents so that she could find everything quickly.
Jac was out of breath when she met Marco in the lobby of the apartment building, and knew her relief that he was still there showed. He had a cab waiting and took her bag to put it in the trunk beside his own. He held the door for her, too, and Jac felt like a queen when he settled beside her.
He offered his hand, palm up, and she glanced up to find that simmer in his eyes and that slow smile curving his lips. She put her hand in his, liking how he closed his fingers around hers. His grip was proprietary, but she knew he’d release her at the slightest sign she’d prefer he do so. Jac had no intention of giving such a sign. He was so different from men she’d dated before. He waited for her to show her preference, but still managed to make his interest clear. Finally, impulse was steering her in the right direction. She eased closer, so that her thigh was pressed against his and felt Marco give her hand a minute squeeze.
God, he was hot.
She had to hope that the next time he kissed her, it was in a place where they could get naked.
“What’s with the verse on your wall?” she asked once the cab was headed to the airport. “What does it mean?”
He shook his head, appearing to be untroubled. “I don’t know.”
“So, it’s a clue.” Jac nodded, excited to be closer to the action. “Do you have it written down somewhere?”
Marco tapped his temple, then bent toward her. He whispered the verse into her ear, his breath making her skin tingle. Jac felt that it was impossibly intimate to be in a cab at night with this man murmuring so low that only she could hear his words. She discovered that her fingers were trembling as she wrote the verse in her notebook. Her heart was racing, too.
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…
Jac was so consumed with the recollection of Marco’s kiss and the desire for another that she barely understood the rest of the words as she wrote them down.
There’d be time for that later, Jac was sure.
For now, there was the muscled heat of Marco’s thigh, the warmth of his breath in her ear, the tightness of his grip on her hand, and the knowledge that they were embarking on an adventure together.
That was more than enough.
* * *
Sam’s first day of having a booth for her readings was clear and sunny, a perfect California afternoon. She set up her canopy at the local farmers’ market and was a little bit nervous about taking money from people for readings when she was so new at it. She had to make a start, though, and the other vendors were very friendly. Sam sat at her table, enjoying how the tablecloth adorned with moons and stars fluttered in the breeze. The sunlight came through her canopy, and she didn’t mind at all that she had no takers as yet.
She felt good.
It had been a long time since she’d stopped to smell the proverbial roses.
She had Sloane to thank for that change.
And her perspective had improved even more since she’d apologized to him. His parting kiss and promise to call her had given her an optimism that made everything seem possible again. Strangely enough, her excursion into town to delicately enquire after him had sent some new customers her way. She’d looked up the
Thanks to Sloane, she was doing better at enjoying the view, instead of condemning herself for her failures. She was even managing to remember Nathaniel a little bit, the good times, in a way that she knew was healthy. She’d unpacked an old photo album the night before and smiled at his birthday parties.
Well, she’d cried a bit, too.
At least she wasn’t numb any more. Something was healing within her. Going to Sloane’s house that first time in impulse had started her on a good path. Sam had to think that impulse might be a good thing. She’d definitely under-rated its advantages.
She wished that her sister was a little less impulsive, though. It seemed that Jac was looking for things to do, maybe to avoid thinking about Nathaniel—or maybe to avoid talking to Sam. Maybe to avoid growing up, or having a life of her own. Sam didn’t know.
Jac had moved across the country on a whim. Why did she even want to be in Seattle? And now this. Sam thought of the message Jac had left on her voice mail and irritation stirred. How like Jac to give half of the information and leave no way to contact her. Sometimes it seemed that Jac took being a free spirit a bit too far.
Their father had always said that Jac had to make her own mistakes and follow her own path, that saving her from herself wouldn’t accomplish anything, given how stubborn she was. He’d said that only Jac could find her way, then had rolled his eyes to show his expectation that Jac never would.
Sam couldn’t help wishing that their father hadn’t been so right, or that she was better at taking her sister’s nature in stride. She wished that she and Jac could really talk, although they never had. It was worse since Nathaniel had gotten sick. Sam hadn’t wanted to blame Jac or say anything accusatory out loud. She knew her sister blamed herself for what had happened, but also that Nathaniel had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She hadn’t been able to talk about him at all, and the tension between them had only grown. Now that they were both alone, Sam found herself wishing for a stronger bond with her only sister.
She didn’t even know how to start, though.
Sam stirred in her chair with some impatience, disliking that her serene mood was being disturbed. She considered the sunlight again, the happy crowds, the light breeze, and forced herself to feel content. She thought about how good she felt when Sloane touched her, how the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful and powerful, and couldn’t wait for him to come back.
He’d promised and she knew he was the kind of man who kept his vows.
Sam liked that, a lot.
But what had he needed to do in Chicago and then New York? As much as she wanted to keep things simple between them, Sam couldn’t deny that she wanted to know.
That quote was creepy, after all, and what she’d read of the book was worse. Necromancers. Sam shivered. That was hardly better than dragons.
What would she say if he asked more about her reaction to his tattoo? That she had a pathological fear of dragons? That sounded stupid.
Telling him the truth was out of the question.
What if he figured it out for himself?
The prospect of him guessing her big secret nearly gave her palpitations.
Sam took a deep breath. She supposed that Sloane’s absence gave her too much time to think about it. She’d always over-analyzed everything, that’s what Jac said, and maybe it was true.
Sam smiled at the people strolling past her booth, pushing strollers and carrying baskets stuffed with fresh produce, artisan bread and cheeses from the local creamery, as she tried to let her worry go. It was starting to work, much to her surprise, and she pulled out her tarot card book for a bit of studying.
“How much for a reading?” a man asked, his voice low enough to give Sam shivers.
She glanced up, only to find the man who had been filling her thoughts leaning against the corner pillar of her booth. Sloane was wearing jeans and desert boots, a red T-shirt and had an untucked chambray shirt open over top. He carried a bulging canvas tote bag, the end of a baguette protruding from it and was wearing a battered straw hat. He took off his sunglasses and smiled at her, making Sam glad she was sitting down.
The man was hot enough to melt her knees.
Never mind her reservations.
Chapter Eleven
“Twenty bucks,” Sam said.
“That’s cheap.”
“Neighborhood discount,” she replied, picking up her cards before she realized the import of what he’d said. She paused to consider him, liking how he seemed to have been waiting on that. “How do you know the going rate?”
“Call it a weakness,” he said easily and sauntered into her booth. Sloane sat down opposite her and tipped back his hat, that smile even more potent at close proximity. Sam had thought it a temperate day but she got shivery chills when his knee bumped hers under the table. He put a twenty dollar bill on the table, then took the cards from her hand. She knew she didn’t imagine that he ensured their fingers brushed. He shuffled the cards easily, despite their large size.
“You must have just gotten back,” she said.
He feigned surprise. “And you haven’t even dealt the cards yet. Wow.”
Sam laughed and plucked the shuffled deck from his hand. “I noticed that your truck wasn’t back this morning and you know it.”
His eyes twinkled in a way that made her feel feminine and desirable. “I’m glad you noticed.” His gaze locked with hers and Sam felt the awareness rise between them.
She said the first thing that came to her lips. “You didn’t mention why you had to go to Chicago and then New York.”
“No, I didn’t.” Sloane leaned over the table and changed the subject before she could blink. “I’m guessing that asking why you hate dragons so much would be a violation of the rules?”
“It seems like we’re renegotiating the rules.”
His smile turned wicked. “Now, that’s intriguing. So, you’ll explain about dragons if I tell you why I had to go?”
Sam’s heart was racing. “Maybe we should go back to the rules, after all.”
“Chicken.” Sloane’s gaze warmed as he surveyed her. “What makes you think you’re the only one who likes to unveil secrets?”
“I’m guessing I’m not.”
Sloane shook his head. “Maybe it’s something we have in common.”
“Maybe,” Sam acknowledged, liking that idea a lot more than the possibility of him figuring out her secrets. “Maybe it’s healthier to let some secrets stay buried.”
He eyed her for a long moment, and Sam couldn’t guess his thoughts.
Once it wouldn’t have bothered her, but with this man, in this moment, she really wanted to know what was in his mind.
It might even be worth sharing one or two of her own secrets.
“Maybe we should start again.” Sloane offered his hand, which looked just as strong, warm and welcoming as it had that first day. Sam was relieved by the gesture, and even more by his words. “I’m Sloane. Would you like to have frequent and enthusiastic sex, with no commitment, and just the occasional question?”
Sam found herself laughing. “I would,” she said and put her hand in his. Sloane closed his fingers over her hand, the possessive gesture making her heart pound, then pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
“Deal,” he murmured, the low sound of his voice making everything inside her flutter. She wanted to ask what he’d done, when he’d leave again, everything about him—but that was more like an interrogation than an occasional question. She pulled her hand from his and shuffled the cards.
“We should ask the cards about those secrets,” she said and Sloane grinned.
“My thoughts exactly. Do what you do, neighbor of mine.”
Sam sat straighter in her chair, feeling that it was portentous that Sloane would be her first reading, and turned over the top card.
* * *
“Just a three card layout for that discounted price,” Sam said, as if she did this all the time. It was her first official reading and she was well aware of how closely Sloane was watching her. “Past, present and future.” She set the first card down. “This is about your past.” It was The Hermit. “Um, this is a card about learning…”
“Is it?” Sloane drawled, and Sam realized she must have it wrong.
He watched her, inscrutable, and didn’t offer a single clue.
Except for her conviction that he was enjoying himself. His eyes weren’t just twinkling. They were dancing.
“Yes,” she insisted, trying to brazen her way through it. “It means that you’ll live to a very ripe old age and become very wise.”
“But I thought it was the card for my past.”
“Then you come from a family with a lot of longevity. You’ll live long because it’s in your genes.” She nodded as if certain of that, although she had a feeling she’d mixed it up with another card. Sloane seemed to be biting back a smile. “And your present,” she said, turning over the next card quickly.
Sloane couldn’t fully hide his surprise. “The Nine of Wands,” he said.
It was hard to remember the meanings of seventy-eight cards anyway, and tougher still with Sloane watching her so intently. “A blond messenger has sent you an announcement,” she decided.
Sloane leaned an elbow on the table, bringing his steady gaze even closer. “I thought the cards that had pages or squires were male messengers.”
Sam became flustered, because it seemed that he knew more about doing a reading than she did. He certainly wasn’t pleased with this card. “Give me a second,” she said tightly and dug her reference book out from beneath the table. She looked up the card, then smiled at Sloane. “You’re being tested in your job.”