And within that dust, he saw the dead, crowded behind his vehicle, himself in their midst.
Was the vision real?
Or another illusion of Lorenzo’s?
Erik was already shaken, but that vision had him pushing the car to its limit in his haste to get back to his family.
Alex rushed home at Donovan’s mysterious summons. Just the fact that he’d called her at work and asked her to come home quickly, with no further explanation, meant something was up. There had been an eclipse the night before, so Alex had an idea what it was.
Donovan wasn’t visible when she entered the house, but she heard movement in the kitchen. She smiled at the sound of their son, Nick, chattering to his father.
Her smile faded when she glimpsed the packed suitcases in the doorway of the bedroom. She’d been right.
“Where to?” she asked, noting that the kitchen was perfectly clean and organized.
“Flight at three,” Donovan said, his manner terse. “Chicago first. Then London, then Cardiff. After that, we’ll drive.”
Wales. They were going to Wales. Alex guessed whose firestorm it was and couldn’t hide her smile. “Commercial flights?” she asked.
“It’s too far for me to fly us all.”
Alex understood that the truth was he didn’t know what to expect when they arrived. He wanted to be wellrested. Alex’s hand slid over her still-flat stomach.
Donovan’s gaze followed her gesture and his lips tightened. “I’m sorry. Centuries ago, I made a promise, and today is the day it must be kept.”
“What kind of promise?”
“To defend the Sleeper, if and when he awakened.” He winked at her. “Although I still need to protect you. That’s why we’re
all
going.” Donovan checked his watch, then scooped up Nick. “I think I got all the essentials. Could you check? The cab will be here in ten.”
“But who’s the Sleeper? Whom did you promise? And why does this Sleeper need to be defended? I thought this was about a firestorm!”
“It is. I’ll tell you more on the way.”
Alex stepped into his path. She’d had a rough first trimester and wasn’t up for puking in strange places if it wasn’t entirely necessary. “Tell me something now.”
Donovan flicked a glance between Alex and Nick. “The Sleeper is under Rafferty’s care. I promised Rafferty to help if the Sleeper ever awakened, but that’s only supposed to happen when there’s darkfire. I never thought the darkfire would burn.”
“Darkfire?”
He grimaced. “A really ominous kind of firestorm. And it’s Rafferty’s firestorm.” He met her gaze steadily. “He needs our help.”
“Not fair!” Alex protested, that explanation completely committing her to the cause. “Rafferty gets the rotten kind of firestorm? How unreasonable is that?”
“He might be the only one who can turn darkfire to good,” Donovan said softly. “We have to have faith in the wisdom of the Great Wyvern, Alex.”
Right. Alex had never been much for religion, and she didn’t share the
Pyr
’s admiration of their deity. But she knew when to shut up. And she knew when to hurry. It was entirely possible that she’d be able to help Rafferty, too.
“Okay,” Alex agreed with a nod. “Nine minutes to departure.”
She was ready to go in seven point five.
Just as the cab pulled up in front of the house.
Sloane felt the prickle of heat from a distant firestorm. When he closed his eyes and let himself sense the firestorm, he could see it was tinged with a strange blue-green light.
Like a chemical reaction.
And in a way, darkfire was just that. The blue flames indicated a mythic firestorm, one that changed everything before it was subdued. Surrendering to the sexual demand of the firestorm was less important than accepting the transformation it wrought. Sloane had heard a great deal about this possibility from his mentor, but he had never expected to see it in his lifetime.
Tynan—Sloane’s mentor, father, and the Apothecary before Sloane—had yearned to see darkfire all his long life. He never had. Sloane shared his father’s awe, but not his expectation.
Yet the darkfire had come.
And it had come for Rafferty. It was fitting, in a way, that the member of the
Pyr
most interested in firestorms should have this special one. On the other hand, darkfire posed a challenge that could break a
Pyr
. Sloane hoped it wouldn’t destroy Rafferty with its demands.
Sloane remained at his assigned post, defending the mate and child of the leader of the
Pyr
. He had breathed dragonsmoke, thick and deep, around the hotel. He had piled it against the door and windows, in the vents, in every access he could find.
It felt inadequate, given that he knew some
Slayers
could cut smoke and pass through its barrier.
The old ways weren’t as effective anymore. Would the darkfire change that, too?
Either way, there wasn’t much else he could do. He remained alert, his keen senses attuned to the world beyond the suite, and he hovered on the cusp of change. The tickle of the firestorm already fed the power of his dragon side, making him feel both vulnerable and powerful. It was worse than the sensation of the eclipse; worse than the call of the moon.
It must be the darkfire. What else would it change?
Eileen stood at the window of the hotel suite, watching the parking lot. There was nothing Sloane could say to console her, nothing that would relieve her other than Erik’s safe return. Without the gift of foresight, Sloane couldn’t even predict that.
Zoë played on the floor, happily stacking brightly colored plastic cylinders. When the pile was knee-high, she cheerfully hit the bottom one, laughing as the cylinders scattered.
It was hard, in times like this, to believe that she truly was the new Wyvern—as Erik believed—and not simply a cute child. How could she be so indifferent to the burn of darkfire and the tingle of a firestorm? How could she not be troubled by the uproar in the earth? Sloane was vexed enough to prod her.
“
Do you feel it?
” he asked her in old-speak.
Zoë gave no indication that she had heard him. She crawled after the last red cylinder, then offered it to Eileen. “Mama?” she said, her voice rising in a question.
Eileen smiled, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, and bent down. “Biggest on the bottom,” she said. “What’s next?”
“Orge,” Zoë said, dragging out the soft
g
sound. She picked up the orange cylinder and placed it on top, her smile triumphant.
“
What do you know of darkfire?
” Sloane asked, just as she was putting the orange cylinder on top of the red one. Did she waver for a second before putting it in place? Sloane wasn’t sure. He would have tried again, but found Eileen’s gaze upon him.
“You’re talking to her in old-speak, aren’t you?” Eileen asked. Her disapproval was more than clear, and Sloane felt chided. Most humans disliked the notion of a conversation they couldn’t quite discern. Old-speak sounded like distant thunder to humans. “You needn’t bother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Erik has been complaining that since Zoë started to talk, she doesn’t respond to his old-speak.” Eileen shrugged, and Sloane knew she wasn’t entirely displeased about this. “He’s not sure whether she can’t hear him or she doesn’t want to.”
“When did she start to talk?”
“Just a couple of days ago. She’s late with it, but maybe she didn’t have anything important to say.”
“Mamamamamamamama,” Zoë supplied, intent upon her toys.
“And here I thought you were your daddy’s girl,” Eileen said. “Her eyes have changed color too. They were blue when she was born.”
Sloane had another look. Eileen was right: Zoë’s eyes had become green. Like Erik’s. “Maybe she’s not responding to old-speak because she’s not the Wyvern, after all,” he dared to suggest. Maybe she wasn’t the Wyvern
anymore
.
Had Zoë changed? Or was this another price of the darkfire?
Eileen met his gaze, her own steely. “Maybe being a smart little girl is good enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s too much of a burden upon a child to have everyone waiting for her to become the next Wyvern. She needs to just be a child, and if it is her destiny to become the next Wyvern, that will happen of its own accord. Having all of you watch her like hawks doesn’t help. It’s not healthy for any child to bear such pressure and expectation.” Eileen exhaled after her impromptu lecture and visibly composed herself. “Not that
my
opinion has anything to do with it.”
Sloane caught a whiff of an old battle, undoubtedly one between Erik and Eileen. Eileen might not be
Pyr
, but she had a ferocity and determination—particularly when it came to defending her daughter—that Sloane wouldn’t want to face.
She averted her gaze with care, perhaps sensing that she had said too much. “What did you say to her, anyway?”
“I asked her what she knows about darkfire.”
Eileen glanced up, her confusion clear. “What’s that?”
“It’s a special kind of firestorm. It’s characterized by a bluish green flame and is said to change everything before it’s done. It’s supposed to come in a period of great trial for the
Pyr
.”
“Why doesn’t that sound like fun,” Eileen murmured, bending to put the lime green cylinder in place on the stack. Zoë scattered the blocks again, unconcerned. Oblivious.
Had darkfire stolen her fledgling gifts?
Even Sloane could sense Erik’s agitation, and he was no Wyvern.
He heard the tires of the Maserati only seconds before Eileen did. She was at the door in a heartbeat and opened it as Erik strode closer.
The leader of the
Pyr
looked grim.
Sloane understood that his meeting hadn’t gone well.
“Lorenzo refused to join you,” Eileen said, no question in her voice.
“Worse,” Erik said with a nod of agreement. “He compelled me to speak of things I had vowed never to reveal.” His intent gaze landed on Sloane. “You must go to Brandt.”
“Brandt?” Sloane took a step back in his shock. “But I promised him….”
“As did I.” Erik spoke tersely. “You will go.”
“No.” Sloane frowned, aware that he was defying the leader of the
Pyr
, but knowing he had no choice. His honor was at stake. “I gave my word to leave him be.”
“As did I.”
“But I swore it in blood!”
“I have inadvertently revealed him,” Erik acknowledged, every line of his body taut. Sloane could see that Erik was angry that Lorenzo had worked this information from his lips. He was even shimmering blue, on the cusp of change, so great was his agitation. “I fear Lorenzo’s intent, for I do not understand him.” Erik’s lips tightened into a hard line. “
He
hides his thoughts very well.”
“He beguiled you again?” Eileen asked.
“I don’t know what he did. I only know that I couldn’t keep from answering his every question.” He flicked an imperious glance at Sloane. “Go, now.”
Sloane didn’t. “Why me? Why can’t another
Pyr
go, one who hasn’t sworn an oath to leave Brandt in peace?”
“Because he is your cousin,” Erik said with heat. “Because he will receive you.”
“I’m not certain of that!” Sloane flung out his hands. “In his place, I wouldn’t receive an oath breaker!”
Erik’s voice dropped to a low hiss, and he stepped closer, eyes blazing. “Would you have Brandt die for that? Or worse, be turned to Lorenzo’s will—whatever that is?”
“I promised,” Sloane insisted. In some part of his mind, he was incredulous that he was defying the leader of the
Pyr
.
In another, he believed Erik should have known better than to ask this of him.
Erik inhaled sharply; then his words softened. “Recognize that I understand what I am asking you to do. I ask it because I fear for Brandt’s safety.” He sighed, his frustration clear. “I wish with all my heart that it might have remained unnecessary, but whether he follows me or not, Brandt is still
Pyr
, and that makes his welfare my responsibility.” He swallowed visibly. “Since I cannot command you to follow my order, then I
ask
you to go to him. For his own safety.”
Sloane shoved a hand through his hair, seeing Erik’s point, but not looking forward to the exchange. “You’re really afraid.”
“I am.” Erik’s lips were a tight line. “I saw something in the future, something I would avoid at all costs.”
“What?” Eileen asked.
“I will not speak of it. I have already said too much on this day.” Erik eyed Sloane. “Please go.”
“And if I am too late?”
Erik averted his gaze, his throat working. “Then his son may need you more than I do.” He met Sloane’s gaze steadily. “Go,” he urged softly. “And may the Great Wyvern be at your back.”
With those words, Sloane knew Erik wasn’t sure what he might find when he reached Brandt, much less what Lorenzo might be able to do. To see uncertainty in the eyes of the
Pyr
he had revered for so long shook Sloane to his marrow.
And it had him on his way to his cousin’s side.
As he left, Sloane recognized that this was the work of the darkfire, changing everything, challenging assumptions, reassigning precedence—not just for Rafferty, but for all of the
Pyr
.
Where would its influence stop?
What would be left of them afterward?
Niall was on the phone in his office in New York City, getting help to his tour groups. Heavy rains had caused flooding and mud slides in Bhutan, the like of which no one had ever seen. A violent snowstorm in Mongolia had those on his Silk Road trip trapped in a rustic caravansary. Mud slides in Peru imperiled the group at Machu Picchu. The Galápagos group was facing tsunamis, caused by the earthquake in the South Pacific. Iceland’s volcano was erupting, and there was sudden new violence along the border of Morocco and Algeria. Ocean levels were rising fast, and the sea was roiling. In London, they had shut the Thames Barrier and were hoping it would hold against the deluge.