Kiss of Fate

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Teaser chapter

  About the Author

  Praise for Kiss of Fire

  “Paranormal fans with a soft spot for shape-shifting dragons will definitely enjoy Kiss of Fire, a story brimming with sexy heroes; evil villains threatening mayhem, death, and world domination; ancient prophesies; and an engaging love story. . . . An intriguing mythology and various unanswered plot threads set the stage for plenty more adventure to come in future Dragonfire stories.”—BookLoons

  “Deborah Cooke has definitely made me a fan. I am now lying in wait for the second book in this extremely exciting series.”—Romance Junkies

  “Wow, what an innovative and dazzling world Ms. Cooke has built with this new Dragonfire series. Her smooth and precise writing quickly draws the reader in and has you believing it could almost be real. . . . I can’t wait for the next two books.”—Fresh Fiction

  ALSO BY DEBORAH COOKE

  Kiss of Fire

  Kiss of Fury

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library, a division of

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  First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, February 2009

  Copyright © Claire Delacroix, Inc., 2009

  All rights reserved

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  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  eISBN : 978-1-440-69851-4

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  Prologue

  Chicago

  February 21, 2008

  The Pyr gathered at Erik’s lair for the eclipse.

  Erik’s lair was in a warehouse that had been partly converted to lofts. It was large and industrial and in a lousy part of town. Rafferty wondered who would see the high circle of dragons on the roof of the building and what they would make of the scene. The idea made him smile.

  As usual, Rafferty was hopeful that, this time, the firestorm would be his. He was older and he had waited longer, though even his legendary patience was thinning. The Great Wyvern had a plan for each of them; Rafferty believed that with all his heart.

  So he would wait his turn as well as he could.

  The company stood on the roof, watching the moon slip into the earth’s shadow. It took on the hue of blood, casting the earth in surreal light.

  “Quickly,” Erik said with more than his usual impatience. “The full eclipse will last less than half an hour this time.”

  Rafferty understood Erik’s concern: This was the third of the full eclipses, three in a row before the final battle between Pyr and Slayer. After this eclipse, the die would be cast and the battle for ascendancy over the planet’s fate would begin in earnest.

  Rafferty wasn’t precisely sure how that would manifest, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. He knew enough about old prophecies to respect them, even when they were ominous and enigmatic.

  Especially when they were ominous and enigmatic.

  Once on the roof, the Pyr shifted shape in unison. At this eclipse they were joined by the two most recent human mates, both of whom were pregnant. Quinn, the Smith, was scaled in sapphire and steel in dragon form; his mate, Sara, the Seer, stood petite and fair at his side. Donovan, the Warrior, took his lapis lazuli and gold dragon form, while his tall and dark-haired mate, Alex, the Wizard, looked on with pride. There were two strong partnerships made at this vortex of change.

  This would be the third, if the Pyr could make it work.

  Rafferty intended to do what he could to help.

  Erik turned to an onyx and pewter dragon, while Rafferty became an opal and gold dragon. Sloane had brought Delaney and kept him between himself and Niall, although Rafferty suspected that it was Delaney who was most worried about what might happen.

  After all, the spark in Delaney’s eyes was much brighter. Rafferty believed that Sloane’s treatment was working, and that the darkness inflicted upon Delaney was steadily diminishing.

  Sloane changed form, his tourmaline scales shading from green to purple and back again, each one edged in gold. Niall, meanwhile, became a dragon of amethyst and platinum, glittering in the light. Delaney changed to an emerald and copper dragon. Nikolas of Thebes, new to this ceremony, shifted to a dragon of anthracite and iron, then quietly observed. Unlike the other Pyr and Slayers, Nikolas had no scent by which he could be discerned, but his presence was formidable.

  Erik murmured the ancient blessing once they were all in dragon form. Rafferty watched Erik spin the Dragon’s Egg, saw the moon’s light touch the round dark stone. Gold lines appeared upon its surface almost immediately, prompting a startled gasp from both Alex and Nikolas, who had never seen its abilities before. Rafferty watched hungrily as the gold lines triangulated a location.
>
  Would this be his chance? The Dragon’s Egg glistened as Erik leaned closer to read its portent.

  “London,” a woman’s voice said from behind them all. Rafferty pivoted to find the Wyvern lounging against the fire escape, still in her human form.

  He doubted that he was the only one surprised to find her there. Sophie was wearing a white skirt that floated around her ankles. Her long blond hair was loose and flowed down her back. She looked as much like a graceful swan—one made of glass or moonlight—as she did in dragon form.

  How did she keep herself from shifting shape under the eclipse’s light?

  She smiled as she regarded them, smiled so knowingly that Rafferty wondered whether she had heard his thoughts.

  She strode closer and crouched down beside the Dragon’s Egg. “Why don’t we ask it to tell us something we don’t know?” It wasn’t like her to be so direct, and Rafferty was concerned. If Sophie felt urgency, matters were worse than he had believed.

  “I do not have your skill, especially as you choose not to share it,” Erik said in old-speak. His irritation was clear.

  “Listen,” Sophie bade him in old-speak, the single word resonating in Rafferty’s chest. She murmured a chant. It was short and wordless, either a string of sounds or a language forgotten. It sounded old to Rafferty. Potent.

  She repeated it and Erik echoed the sound. She nodded approval and beckoned to him. Erik leaned over the Dragon’s Egg at her urging and the two of them chanted in unison, Erik’s voice gaining strength as he learned the chant.

  Then Sophie blew on the dark globe of stone. The golden lines disappeared immediately, like ripples blown from the sand, and a woman’s face came into view. She could have been swimming to the surface of a lake, her hair streaming back and her eyes closed.

  Then she opened her eyes and looked directly at Erik. Even from his position, Rafferty could see that her eyes were a glorious blue. The hair that flowed around her face was wavy and chestnut brown. It billowed, as if she were underwater and it moved with the current.

  Erik recoiled in shock. “Louisa!”

  “Yes,” the woman murmured, as if remembering something she had half forgotten. “Yes, I was called that, once.”

  Erik stared at the Dragon’s Egg.

  “This time my name is Eileen Grosvenor,” the woman said, her words clearly enunciated. She raised a hand and, moving as if he couldn’t do otherwise, Erik extended a talon toward her. When there was only a handspan between them, a spark leapt from the water to Erik’s claw.

  Erik swore and took a step back. The woman smiled so brilliantly that the Dragon’s Egg was lit from within. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sank out of sight. Her hair flowed around and over her; then the ends disappeared with a flick. She might have been a mermaid or a siren.

  Erik gave a cry and seized the Dragon’s Egg just as the eclipse ended. The stone turned black again, reverting to the smooth orb of obsidian stone it usually was, but a crackle of sparks lurked beneath Erik’s talons.

  “How can this be?” he demanded of the Wyvern.

  Sophie straightened and smiled as the Pyr around her shifted back to human form. She gave Delaney a hard look, then nodded once at Sloane. “You are half-done,” she said. “Do not falter without banishing the shadow completely.”

  By the time Sloane had nodded agreement, Sophie had turned and walked to the lip of the roof. She lifted her arms over her head, laughed as the wind teased her skirts, and leapt.

  Rafferty was the first to reach the edge. Even having guessed what he would see, he was still surprised.

  Below them a white dragon soared, long white plumes streaming behind her. She glinted in the changing light, reflecting and refracting the hue cast by the moon, like a dragon carved of crystal. She ascended and turned in a tight curve over the roof, leaving the Pyr staring after her with awe.

  She flew straight up into the dark sky, heading directly for the moon, then abruptly disappeared. The sky was clear and there was nowhere for her to be hidden. She simply had vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.

  “I hate when she does that,” Donovan muttered. Rafferty didn’t agree, not this time. No matter how often he saw her, Rafferty found that Sophie’s appearance gladdened his heart. He realized what a gift it was to have her among them. He felt as if there was a greater force on their side, on the side of right, and he was touched by her beauty as well.

  There could be only a single Wyvern, but in his many centuries, he had never known a Wyvern to be as actively engaged with the Pyr as Sophie was.

  Rafferty found Nikolas beside him, the other Pyr’s dark eyes wide with astonishment. “She is real, then,” he whispered. “I thought that I dreamed her presence before.”

  “She didn’t stay long enough to be introduced. Her name is Sophie,” Rafferty said. “She is the Wyvern, a prophetess who has skills far beyond our own.”

  “I know who she is,” Nikolas murmured, avidly seeking some sign of her presence.

  “Her prophecies count only if you understand them,” Quinn noted, and Sara smiled.

  Nikolas’s wonder was undiminished. “If we do not understand, then we are not worthy of the prophecy,” he said stiffly. “Praise be to the Great Wyvern that such beauty exists.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head in an attitude of prayer.

  Erik was still staring into the Dragon’s Egg, his features pale. “Louisa,” he whispered, raising his gaze to meet Rafferty’s. “It can’t be true.”

  Rafferty knew that it was, no matter how Erik might wish for it to be otherwise. He didn’t remember all of Erik’s history, but suspected that his firestorm hadn’t been a success.

  How lucky Erik was to have a second chance!

  It was fitting, though, that the leader of the Pyr be proven before their greatest challenge. All the same, Rafferty knew that Erik might need his help.

  “Stay with me in my lair in London,” he invited. “We’ll find your firestorm together.”

  He was relieved when Erik, ever independent, nodded agreement.

  Erik’s firestorm had ended badly, then. Rafferty hoped with all his heart that Erik and his mate could conquer their past.

  Together.

  The patient known as John Doe in the burn ward of a major hospital felt the tug of the eclipse as well.

  He awakened stiff and groggy, his body determined to heed the ancient call. He knew what would happen instants before it did, knew that the sedative would keep him from controlling his primal urges. He tore bandages from his hands and the IV needle from his arm, flinging himself from the bed in the nick of time. No sooner had his bare feet touched the cold linoleum than he shifted shape.

  Fortunately, he had arranged for a private room.

  There was no question of lingering longer in treatment.

  With a swing of his mighty tail, he shattered the tinted window. Before the nurses could arrive, he launched himself through the broken glass and took flight over the city. He had not recovered his full strength, but Boris Vassily had learned to make the most of whatever he had. The Elixir had saved him from death, although it had taken surgical intervention to rebuild his body.

  He whispered to the wind and the sky and listened to the tales they told. He asked one question of the moon and heeded its response. Anger boiled within him as he understood with perfect clarity who would feel the firestorm this time.

  There would be no happy ending if Boris had anything to say about it. Justice demanded that he ensure his father was avenged, that Boris himself got revenge.

  Erik Sorensson would be cheated of his firestorm.

  Just as Boris had been cheated of his beauty. The ruby red and brass dragon he became was less splendid than once he had been. His trailing red plumes were gone, his body as scarred in dragon form as in human. He could not bear to look at himself, for he had been the jewel of his kind.

  He knew where to lay the blame. Erik Sorensson was the Pyr who had come close to killing Boris,
just as Erik’s father had killed Boris’s father. That was a crime that couldn’t be repeated. Only the Elixir had saved Boris, but now that he was healed, he would eliminate Erik forever.

  First Boris sought the address he knew so well, the address where the payments had gone. He wheeled out of the sky over the luxury condominium, and his nose told him that the plastic surgeon he had retained, the same one bribed to overlook any physiological oddities in his anonymous patient, was home.

  It was a perfect night for a house fire.

  Boris landed on the terrace that overlooked Lake Michigan and confronted the good doctor through the sliding glass door wall. The doctor put down his glass of champagne and turned at the sound of Boris’s arrival, alarm and disbelief mingling in his expression.

  Boris reared up, letting the doctor see his scars, willing him to make the connection. The surgeon’s eyes widened in horror; he dropped the glass and backed away with his hands held high.

  That was when Dr. Stanley Berenstein understood that he would never collect the bonus payment for the successful completion of the surgery.

  He would never taste the Dragon’s Blood Elixir himself.

  Boris laughed, kicked his way through the sliding glass door, and loosed his dragonfire.

  He took great pleasure in the way the plastic surgeon’s skin crackled, in the way it burned beyond the ability of any surgeon to repair. He let the doctor experience the fullness of the pain, let him see what he had become, then fried the life out of him.

  Humans were such a feeble species.

  Boris left the doctor dead and his apartment blazing like an inferno. The fire was his ally in destroying signs of his presence. Pesky details resolved, he then turned his attention to a matter of greater import.

  The time was ripe for vengeance.