Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (14 page)

Timmy turned around and interrupted him. He didn’t realize that he stood exactly as Drake did, nor that they looked like partners. “Drake’s going to find my mom, and Drake’s going to protect me. I think that’s wise enough.”

He felt Drake’s hand land on the top of his head, even as Dashiell’s dad bit back a smile. “Show grace under pressure, Timothy,” Drake murmured.

“But thanks anyway,” Timmy added.

Mrs. Patterson was looking at Drake as if he was six kinds of awesome, and Timmy totally agreed with her.

“I don’t see any harm in it,” Mr. Patterson said. “It reassures Timmy and that’s good enough for me.” He winked at Timmy.

“I’ll have to get authorization,” the cop grumbled, but he could say whatever he wanted. Timmy knew that Drake would send his friends, no matter what the cop said, and he knew that Drake would find his mom.

He felt movement and turned to see Drake offering his hand.

They were going to make a deal, like men of honor.

“I’ll stay here and do what you said,” Timmy said, putting his hand in Drake’s much larger one. “I hope it doesn’t take long to find her.”

“As do I, Timothy,” Drake said and he looked grim again. “As do I.”

* * *

Ronnie awakened in an unfamiliar room.

There were bars on the windows and rubble on the floor. It smelled like mold. The walls were peeling, both plaster and paint coming off like large scales. There was a dark oily puddle on the floor on the other side of the room and the temperature was frigid.

She was lying on a mattress that appeared to be new, but had only a thin blanket. She shivered then got up, rubbing her arms to warm her skin as she investigated the confines of her prison.

Because that was undoubtedly what it was. There was only one door, which was steel and new, with a small viewing window at eye height. She didn’t doubt that it was locked from the other side, but she checked anyway.

It was.

There was a small table beside the door and a straight chair. There was a pot in the far corner with a lid that looked new. Ronnie guessed it was a chamber pot. She wasn’t in a hurry to use it, but the fact that it had been provided wasn’t a good sign.

Ronnie looked out the window, discovering that the bars were on the outside of the glass. She rapped at the window hard, then pounded on it, but it must have been tempered glass. It barely even vibrated.

There was clearly no heat in the place, which might have been an old institution. The building emanated a damp chill. The glass in the window was grimy, but she could see scrubby trees, like an untended woodlot. They were devoid of leaves and she had the sense that the forest was reclaiming the territory. She listened and thought she could hear traffic at a distance. She might have been dropped into a forgotten corner of the world. The sky was getting dark, like it might be the end of the day.

Where was she?

What did these dragon shifters intend to do to her?

Ronnie could think of many options, given their assault on her home, none of which filled her with optimism. She supposed the townhouse was as trashed as her car. Everything she’d worked to build was in shambles, and if Drake was right, she was going to have a child. Ronnie pinched herself hard in the hope that she’d awaken from the nightmare, but nothing changed.

Surely the bad dragons hadn’t gone after Timmy? She listened, but couldn’t hear any other signs of life. Had they killed her son? Abducted him and drugged him?

Ronnie realized that any other prisoner listening to the building wouldn’t be able to tell that she was there, either. She went to the door and peered out the small opening.

All she could see was a cinderblock wall, peeling with as much enthusiasm as the walls of her cell, and maybe ten feet away. It was covered with graffiti in bright colors. A corridor seemed to extend to left and right, but she couldn’t see any other doors.

That didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Hello?” she yelled. “I’m Ronnie Maitland. Is anyone here?”

The sound of her voice echoed back to her.

Then silence.

She realized she must be alone in this place and tried not to panic.

Had the attacking dragons killed Drake? Did he have any idea where she was? He’d said he would defend her and he certainly had tried, even with the odds so stacked against him. She had to believe that he’d try to save her, if he was alive, and if he could discover her location.

That seemed to be too many “ifs.”

Ronnie began to pace her cell, her mind filling with questions for which she had no answers. She fingered her grandmother’s pearls, a nervous habit that made her realize that she still had them, at least.

Even if everything else she owned was gone.

Ronnie’s fingers closed around the pearls. Thank goodness Drake had asked her to leave them on. Of everything in her life, the only things it would break her heart to lose were the pearls and Timmy.

She paced the cell, praying that her son was well.

* * *

Ronnie wasn’t sure how much later it was that she heard thunder. She returned to the window, but the sky was clear. It looked like early evening, because there was a smear of orange in the sky, off to her right.

That wasn’t what made her catch her breath, though. A red and gold dragon descended from the sky, right outside her window. She saw that he was carrying another dragon that could have been his twin. That one was wounded, though, black blood flowing from the points where his wings should have been rooted.

To Ronnie’s amazement, the injured one began to shimmer, as if surrounded by pale blue light. That reminded her of the light she’d seen before Drake and the intruders had changed shape. The light sparked and flickered, giving enough illumination for her to see that his eyes were closed.

He changed shape abruptly, becoming a stocky older man with fair hair. She gasped, because he could have been one of the intruders in her home.

He didn’t appear to regain consciousness, but continued to shimmer. He became a dragon again, then a man, switching between forms with increasing speed even as that blue light faded in intensity. The dragon who had carried him watched impassively, his eyes glittering in the blue light. He stopped switching forms in his dragon form and was very still.

Ronnie heard a door slam and three men who also looked just like the intruders to her townhouse strode out into the wasteland. One had a bandage on his right shoulder, and she decided he must be Leftie, the one who had had his arm ripped off by Drake. They didn’t help the fallen man, just stood and watched with as much disinterest as the dragon.

Leftie took a step forward, his expression alight with what might have been anticipation.

There was thunder again, then the blue shimmer became brighter. The three men shifted shape, becoming red and gold dragons, and Ronnie heard them stomping down the dry growth of the forest. It was like looking into a mirror, because the three dragons appeared to be identical to each other—except for their various wounds, which were mostly superficial.

To her surprise, though, Leftie’s right arm wasn’t completely gone anymore. It seemed to be regenerating itself from the shoulder and had grown back to a stub. Ronnie knew it had been completely missing just the night before.

Even more worrisome, there were five very similar dragons outside her window, except one had no wings and one had only part of his arm. The wingless one also appeared to be dying, while the other four seemed to be indifferent to his fate. Leftie and the triplets, she decided to dub the ones watching. It sounded like the name of a band.

The wingless one’s eyes opened and he moaned. He tried to crawl away from the others, and Ronnie wondered why.

Then the one that had carried him breathed a brilliant plume of orange fire, roasting the wingless one while he was in his dragon form. He howled in pain. The second dragon had flipped the wingless one over and was holding down his tail and legs.

Leftie threw himself at the fallen dragon, teeth bared, but a tussle ensued. Ronnie heard even louder thunder, and the dragon who had brought the wingless one fought with Leftie. The last dragon bit into their victim’s gut, disinterested in the fight, ripping and shredding the flesh with relish. The wingless one groaned in agony as he was devoured alive.

He didn’t protest for long.

Leftie snarled, apparently resenting that he was being denied a feast. His opponent flung him against the wall of the building, two dragons fighting while two savored their meal. Their victim was silent and still now. Leftie made another attempt to score a bite, but two of the triplets breathed fire at him. The other was too busy eating.

Ronnie blinked at a shimmer of blue light, then realized Leftie had vanished into thin air. At the same time, the first dragon spun and breathed fire to set the woods aflame. The forest was dry and the fire spread quickly up a network of deadened vines, lighting the gruesome scene. Did she hear a human shout? Ronnie pressed her face to the glass.

It started to rain then, which maybe explained the thunder. The rain started suddenly and fell in sheets, extinguishing the fire in the forest. The scales of the red and gold dragons glistened with water, but they appeared to be oblivious to the change in the weather.

She turned her back on the scene and leaned against the wall, shivering. Maybe nothing could have turned them away from that feast. As much as she hoped that Drake would come for her, she didn’t want him to share that fate.

* * *

The third clone of Boris Vassily liked to think of himself as Boris IV. It had been a surprise to spring forth from an egg, his memories of his life as Boris as clear as crystal in his mind. His memory of his defeat at the talon of Erik Sorensson made him burn with a lust for revenge.

It was invigorating to be given a second chance.

It had been disconcerting to be flying with four mirror-images of himself.

It had been more disconcerting to have the
Slayer
Jorge seize them all and whisk them through space and time. Boris had enjoyed the sight of the terrified humans below them and would have happily indulged in a little ruthless slaughter. These were the beings responsible for the death of so many of his kind, after all, and his father’s call to dragon shifters to defend themselves against humans still rang in Boris’s memory. He could recite the entirety of the speech that had created the rift between
Pyr
, the division that had resulted in the kind known as
Slayers
.

His father had left his mark, and Boris wanted to leave his own.

It wasn’t going to be as a minion of Jorge, that was for sure.

No, he was the only son of Mikhail Vassily, the first leader of the
Slayers
. He’d be the next leader himself. It was his birthright.

Boris IV knew what had to be done to win the Dragon’s Tail Wars. A blood duel incited by the exchange of challenge coins was never left unfinished, so he would go to Erik. To his dismay, Jorge dispatched two of his fellow clones to hunt Erik. Boris IV had argued briefly with Jorge, but the younger
Slayer
hadn’t listened to him.

Jorge wasn’t even smart enough to heed good advice.

Boris IV had been dispatched to take the lead in destroying the firestorm of Drake. Jorge wanted to capture the mate, but Boris IV knew that was ridiculous. He’d intended to kill her outright, but Drake had severed Boris IV’s arm and Jorge’s more obedient minions had taken control of the battle. They would have left him behind if he hadn’t recovered enough to fly with them, and Boris IV knew it.

Then Jorge had taken his vengeance, by ensuring Boris IV had none of the Elixir from the body of his fallen fellow.

Even though his injuries were more severe and the Elixir would help him heal.

Even though he was the only clone of Boris Vassily who seemed to remember the truth and the one best qualified to take command.

Boris IV seethed at the disrespect shown in this injustice. Boris had centuries of experience in leading
Slayers
, while Jorge had been alone or a minion. Jorge’s ability to plan for the future had already shown his shortcomings as a leader: Erik had been saved, thanks to the intervention of Delaney and Donovan, while Drake and his mate had survived. To have only injured the
Pyr
in these surprise skirmishes was pathetic.

To attain his rightful place, Boris IV had work to do.

Disappearing, leaving Jorge with one less talon to serve him, had been the first step.

Next, he had to locate the second batch of eggs. He had almost six months to do it and a keen desire to find them. Being there at the hatching would give him first pick of the new clones. Eating one would restore him physically, given the infusion of the Elixir he’d consume. The newly hatched clone would be disoriented and easy prey.

After that, Jorge would pay.

And finally, once all the details were arranged, Boris IV would pay a visit to his old adversary, Erik, and finish what had been begun.

It was such a perfect plan that it couldn’t fail.

* * *

Drake finally had to admit defeat.

Only when there was nothing else to be done immediately did he report. Erik, as leader of the
Pyr
, had to know about Veronica’s abduction and the appearance of three
Slayers
. Theo was right that it would be news better delivered in person, but Drake didn’t want to spend the time to fly to Chicago.