He pivoted then, his eyes flashing. “The pictures. You have to remove them.”
“Well, I won’t.” Melissa got to her feet, pretending to be more composed than she was. She was chilled to the bone with the absence of his touch.
No. It had been his rejection that had left her so cold. She pulled on her jeans and shoved her feet into her sheepskin boots. “And no matter how many times you do that, you won’t change my mind.”
If she’d thought he’d been angry before, Melissa learned otherwise right then. He pivoted, eyes blazing. “I did not do
that
to win your acquiescence. I am not manipulative!”
He did have a tendency to speak formally. Melissa had noticed it before. Where was he from? Where did dragon men come from? He had a slight accent, as if music underlay his words. His voice was so rich and deep. A radio voice.
She folded her arms across her chest again, knowing they wouldn’t keep him away if he chose to come after her. “You were doing some good manipulation just then.”
He swore under his breath, then approached her, shaking a finger. “I will
not
be seduced.” His voice rose with anger, resonating more loudly with every syllable. “I will not be charmed into abandoning my principles and the defense of my kind, firestorm be damned! I have principles, and they cannot be cast aside so readily as that. Do we understand each other?”
“No,” Melissa said just before a knock sounded on the frame of her front door. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
He faltered then, glancing toward the door in frustration. Then he straightened, looking daggers at the porch.
“Bad time?” Montmorency asked sweetly, smiling so broadly that Melissa could readily recall him in dragon form. He was dressed in his usual conservative style, looking like a successful European businessman.
He held his side with one hand, as if a bit stiff. Melissa realized that the injuries these guys sustained in their dragon form carried to their human form.
Interesting.
“Not at all,” she said. She crossed the room, pushing her lover back behind her. “My house,” she muttered to him.
“Your battle,” he replied, and he was right.
That was a bit daunting.
“I just wanted to stop by and pick up my book,” Montmorency said smoothly. His eyes glittered. “Assuming that it
slipped
into your possession last night.”
“I don’t have it,” Melissa said with a shrug. She wasn’t lying, although she couldn’t see what Mr. Conscience had done with it. There was no sign of the book in her living room. No doubt, he’d moved just as quickly in hiding it as he had in flashing it in the first place.
“Come, let’s not play games,” Montmorency said, his manner oily. “I’m prepared to make its return worth your while.”
Mr. Conscience began to protest, but Melissa held up a hand to silence him. “How so?” she asked, and he snorted disdain. She glanced back to see him settle into her computer chair. He looked disgruntled, irritable, and unpredictable.
Sexy as hell.
She would have loved to have had the time to explain to him that their ethical standards were exactly the same. As it was, she found it irresistible that he had no troubles pointing out her moral infractions, a choice that could interfere with their being intimate again.
That was a different choice than many men made.
Of course, she hadn’t exactly been playing hard to get. Maybe he knew that she found him irresistible.
Montmorency spoke, and Melissa glanced back toward him. “Perhaps it would be better to discuss this on the porch, away from the surly stare of my old friend, Rafferty. He seems to look askance on our discussion, and I wouldn’t want him to dissuade you from accepting very good terms.”
Rafferty
.
The name suited him better than Mr. Conscience.
“Don’t,” Rafferty warned. She heard the squeak of the chair as he rose to his feet.
Melissa respected his concern, but she knew what she was doing. She didn’t trust Montmorency any farther than she could throw him, either. But taking two steps onto the porch didn’t put her appreciably out of range—should Rafferty decide again to defend her. She already knew he could move at the speed of light.
Although he
had
warned her that Montmorency could, as well.
Melissa stepped into the foyer, even so. “What do you offer in exchange for the book?” she asked Montmorency. “Assuming I could lay hands on it again.”
Montmorency smiled, and this time he resembled nothing more than a hungry crocodile. Melissa didn’t flinch or show her fear. She held his gaze, letting him become overconfident. He said something, very quietly, and she couldn’t hear him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Melissa!” Rafferty cried. “Don’t look at him!”
What a ridiculous thing to say. It was critical to hold his gaze to persuade him of her own integrity. She knew a thing or two about making a deal. Melissa looked.
“Pictures,” Montmorency said, just an increment more loudly. His eyes gleamed. “I offer you pictures of
Pyr
in daylight. Just come closer to see.”
“I don’t have my camera.”
“You don’t need it. You can use mine.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Montmorency held her gaze. “Just come with me.”
There were flames in his eyes. It was so strange. It couldn’t be. Melissa took a step closer to see them better.
“There’s dragonsmoke!” Rafferty roared, but Melissa had already taken the last two steps, over the threshold. She stood on the porch beside her foe, staring into his eyes.
Montmorency began to laugh.
Rafferty lunged after her, and Melissa glanced back. To her shock, he seemed to collide with an invisible barrier right where her door had been. She saw him grimace in pain and throw himself at the invisible barrier once more. It repelled him again, and she smelled flesh burning.
The smell was horrible. She turned back to Montmorency, even clutching his sleeve. “What are you doing to him? Make it stop!”
“Oh, don’t tell me that it’s love,” Montmorency said with a chortle. “Not just a firestorm, but true love, too.” He turned to a very frustrated Rafferty. “My friend, you have waited so very long for such a prize. Too bad I am going to steal it from you.”
“No one is stealing me,” Melissa said hotly. “I’m going right back in there….” She pointed through the doorway, and, when her hand crossed the line that should have been marked by the door, Rafferty seized it.
Green and blue sparks flew, like the light of a sparkler on the Fourth of July, and Melissa had to close her eyes against the brightness. His hand was warm, his touch soothing, and she wanted more than anything to be back at his side.
“Oh yes, I am,” Montmorency said, his voice strangely low. “Darkfire, too. Oh my.”
Melissa glanced his way, intending to argue with him. Those flames were dancing in the depths of his eyes again. Surely she was wrong. No one had flames in their eyes. She looked more closely, and she was snared.
“Melissa!” Rafferty shouted.
She released his hand, pulling her own hand away from him, and stared at Montmorency’s eyes. So strange. So fascinating.
“In fact,” Montmorency said with quiet intensity, “you’re going to come willingly with me.”
“Willingly,” Melissa echoed, unable to look away from the brilliance in his eyes.
“We’ll take a ride, together.”
“A ride together.” Melissa hated how she repeated his words, like some kind of zombie, but she couldn’t stop herself. What was going on?
“See the sights.” His words slipped into her mind, mingling with her thoughts until she couldn’t distinguish the two. She fought against whatever spell he was casting, but he opened his eyes wider and spoke more slowly.
Drawing her into his web.
The flames flickered and danced, and Melissa watched them hungrily.
“Come with me, Melissa,” Montmorency said, then smiled. “Mine is an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Can’t refuse,” she echoed, and put her hand into Montmorency’s elbow.
She vaguely heard Rafferty’s bellow of rage, but it didn’t seem to have much to do with her, not so long as Montmorency kept talking to her. He patted her hand and guided her off the porch.
She heard the steady chop of the blades of a helicopter, guessed that it was on the circle in the center of the cul-desac, but couldn’t look away from Montmorency’s eyes.
Not until he looked away from her.
And by then, they were five thousand feet above the ground.
She was horrified as she saw her town house far far below. There was no sign of Rafferty.
What had she done?
Rafferty was infuriated. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper—to even have a temper—but the firestorm seethed beneath his skin, feeding the beast and turning his nature more passionate. It was the darkfire, he knew it, but that only made him more furious. It was like the power of the eclipsed moon, but a thousand times more potent.
Inescapable.
Now his mate had been captured by Magnus, his own anger persuading her that that villain’s company was a better choice than his own. Whether Melissa believed as much for the long term or not, she’d believed it long enough to step through the dragonsmoke barrier that Rafferty couldn’t cross, and to be beguiled by that old snake.
The reality of his situation—of her situation—and his own responsibility for it made Rafferty want to shred something.
Magnus would have been the ideal candidate.
“Good choice,” Thorolf said, shoveling back chickpea salad as if he might never have the chance to eat again. “Gotta say, I wouldn’t have expected you to be the one to screw up a firestorm.” He shrugged. “Although it’s not like there’s much we can do about it now.”
“The dragonsmoke perimeter ring is complete,” Rafferty said through gritted teeth.
“Yup,” Thorolf agreed easily. “Even I can hear its resonant ping. Magnus is one sneaky dude and breathes smoke fast. What now? We call Erik in old-speak?”
Rafferty ignored him. He didn’t need any help to consummate his firestorm. He didn’t need any advice to secure the safety of his mate. Magnus had just raised the stakes of their duel. Rafferty would not see his destined mate endangered as a result of his choices—whether he and she successfully negotiated their firestorm or not. She was human. She was one of the treasures of the earth he was charged to defend.
Not only that, but his firestorm was the fabled dark-fire. He had another responsibility, one that Magnus didn’t suspect existed but would be determined to derail if that
Slayer
learned the truth. The Sleeper would awaken, according to Rafferty’s grandfather’s ancient charm, because the darkfire burned and Rafferty was bound to defend the Sleeper until the darkfire was extinguished.
That he had never believed this day would come was irrelevant. This was not the moment for regrets.
He had to save Melissa.
Yet Rafferty was trapped. He couldn’t cross the dragonsmoke barrier without Magnus’s permission, not without being singed to cinders and surrendering all of his life force to his foe. He couldn’t leave the town house through the door or the windows, or even the roof.
But there was another way out.
Through the earth. He just had to open a path.
Indeed, he had no choice but to do so.
Regardless of the cost.
Rafferty clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and began to sing the song of the earth. Such was the force of his anger that the earth was quick to respond, a ripple running immediately beneath the foundation of the town house.
Rafferty sang louder, and the building began to dance. He felt the earth begin to crack deep beneath its footings, and he sang louder, pouring his heart and his soul into his song. He sang with all the force he could muster; he sang every song with a vehemence he’d never experienced before.
And the earth responded in kind.
There would be an earthquake, and this house would be its epicenter, because Rafferty sang from its foyer. And when the crack in the surface was wide enough, he would walk through the earth to save his mate.
“Oh shit,” Thorolf said, putting the bowl of salad down on the counter. “What are you doing?”
Rafferty ignored him and sang. The floor jumped, a jagged crack opening above the doorway as the house split. Bricks began to fall and plaster crumbled. The dragonsmoke roiled through the gap, unseen but toxic, and Rafferty sang louder. They had to escape before the smoke burned them, before it could create a conduit to Magnus and cheat them of their life force.
Rafferty sang with renewed vigor.
A mighty crack sounded, and the foundation of the town house split like an egg. The earth yawned open, a crevasse bisecting the cul-de-sac. It was wide and deep, opening like a great rift before Rafferty’s eyes.
He sang even louder.
The earth rumbled and the pavement tore, the crack yawning ever wider. Rafferty didn’t know how long it would hold. He jumped down into the gap, singing all the while. Then he ran down the length of the crack toward freedom.
The dragonsmoke gave chase. He could feel its chill seeking him.
“Erik is going to be pissed!” Thorolf shouted, but Rafferty didn’t care. Both Erik and Thorolf could take care of themselves.
His mate could not.
Two hundred yards farther, just before the cul-de-sac connected with the main road, the earthquake ruptured a water main. Water spurted upward like the plume from a whale, and Rafferty took advantage of its cover to leap into the air. He shifted shape in the mist of the spraying water and soared into the clear midday sky.
He heard the crowd of observers behind him, but it was too late to care about that detail.
He had more important things to do in the immediate future.
He had to save his mate.
He had to defend the Sleeper.
He had to destroy Magnus before both were lost forever.