Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (49 page)

“They look like dragon claws,” she said and he started in realization that she was right.

“And these ones look like dragon eyes?” Lee suggested, showing her the sunflower seeds.

Zoë smiled at him, her green eyes dancing. “You’re planting a dragon garden!”

“I guess we are,” Lee agreed, then showed her how to space out the seeds and bury them in the soil. If this was a dragon garden, it couldn’t hurt to have a Wyvern helping in its creation.

Chapter Seventeen

Friday, April 3, 2015

After two months, Ronnie felt both better and worse. Her voice had recovered and the casts were off her fingers. Six months into her pregnancy, she had an obvious baby bump, and a rhythm to her day in the isolation ward.

She’d used that laptop to advantage, first for getting her life back in order and then to do as much research as she could. She’d filed insurance claims online for the house and car, corresponded with Timmy’s teachers about his school work, chatted by email with Joy Patterson about the boys, and been encouraged by Joy’s stories of Drake’s conquests at cooking class.

Joy thought she’d found a keeper, and Ronnie hoped it was true.

The fact that Drake was a dragon shape shifter was a detail she didn’t want to share. She still had a ton of questions for Drake but Timmy had confided that Drake didn’t use cellphones or email. Drake called Timmy at regular intervals, which pleased Ronnie, and Timmy had declared it was because Drake was deep undercover in a covert op.

She’d dug up all the references to dragons she could find online, particularly the recent stories about the
Pyr
. She developed a profound dislike of Maeve O’Neill, who seemed determined to twist everything about the
Pyr
to make them look bad. She’d watched the YouTube videos, including the new one of the night Drake had tried to rescue her. She could hardly watch the fight between him and Jorge, especially given the beating he’d taken. Every time she heard her own urge to him to intervene, she wanted to weep at her stupidity and what it had cost Drake.

The way he hesitated instead of lunging right after Jorge told Ronnie that he had suspected what would happen.

But he’d followed her request.

She felt terrible about that and wished she could tell him so. She had to wonder whether it was important that she no longer had his scale and hoped he’d grown back another to replace it and complete his armor.

But there was no sign of Drake, only the reports of him talking to Timmy. Dr. Wilcox was increasingly agitated about having him come in for more tests, but Ronnie wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t know where he was. The infected nurse was still in isolation, as well, although they didn’t tell Ronnie much about her condition.

She replayed Melissa Smith’s specials a couple of times and wondered how much that reporter really did know about dragons. There was a kind of intimacy, a comfort, between her and the opal and gold dragon who appeared in her television specials. The woman’s dismay had been clear when that same dragon had been injured on the air in October, and Ronnie wondered whether he’d healed.

The hospital had kept the media at bay until they lost interest, and Ronnie doubted that her testimony to the police had been much help in locating the perpetrators.

She was considering the merit of contacting Melissa Smith herself and maybe offering an exclusive interview about the dragons she’d seen up close and personal, but wanted to confer with Drake about it first. He must try to hide his true nature, and she didn’t want to reveal anything he considered to be private.

She debated the merit of asking Timmy to ask Drake to call her, but surely the hospital was tracking all of her online activity. If not, they could. That was likely why Drake wasn’t contacting her directly.

That morning in early April, Ronnie felt a new restlessness. She spun in the chair in her room, then wiped a bit of perspiration from her lip. It was warm, as if someone had turned up the furnace.

Maybe it was a particularly cold day.

When had she last even seen the outside world? Thanks to the curiosity of the media, the isolation ward had been set up in a windowless area of the hospital. Ronnie yearned to feel fresh air on her face again.

Was she going to die here? It was a horrible thought.

Would they decide at some point that she might remain asymptomatic and release her, maybe with periodic monitoring? Ronnie didn’t want to infect anyone else, but she missed her freedom. Although they were good to her and the food was better, in a way it was just a different prison.

Maybe there’d be a cure for the virus.

Ronnie hoped for and dreamed of that, every moment of every day. She wanted to make a new life with Drake and Timmy, and to have a fresh start.

What were Drake’s expectations, if she did survive? Ronnie didn’t really know. She could understand his desire for a son after losing Theo, and she hoped she would deliver a healthy son to him. But even if the baby was fine, even if she was fine, how did Drake envision their lives together? She couldn’t go back to the way she’d lived when Timmy was born, always waiting on Mark, always solving everything herself. Ronnie wanted far more this time around.

She’d changed.

She was surprised to realize just how much.

Where
was
Drake?

The airlock hissed, a sign of someone coming into the isolation ward. Undoubtedly it was time for her vitals to be checked. To Ronnie’s surprise, it was Dr. Wilcox who came to take the readings.

“Slow day in the lab,” she teased. “Or just looking for company?”

The doctor flicked a glance at her, one that was devoid of amusement. “Your temperature is up. It’s increased a third of a degree on every reading for the past twenty-four hours. I thought I’d make sure there was no mistake.” She offered a thermometer, and Ronnie held it in her mouth until it beeped. Dr. Wilcox frowned at the display, then held up so Ronnie could see.

Her heart sank at the displayed number.

She had a fever.

“I thought it was just a bit warm in here,” she protested, unsettled by Dr. Wilcox’s steady regard.

“Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are glittering. You haven’t eaten much today.”

“I’m not hungry.” Ronnie frowned. “And my stomach is off.” Fear awakened in her that the descent to the end had begun, far too soon for her taste. What would happen to her unborn son? What would happen to Timmy?

“You slept two hours longer last night than usual,” Dr. Wilcox said gently. “Let’s take some blood and see what’s going on.”

But Ronnie was afraid they both already knew.

Where was Drake?

“You’re not going to let me see Timmy again, are you? Not even through the glass like last time?” she whispered, her tears rising. “You’re going to send me to Atlanta, and I’ll never see him again.”

“It’s too dangerous for your son to visit you…” the doctor began in her calming tone and Ronnie lost it.

“I don’t mean to infect him!” she raged. “I’m not so stupid that I want him to die because of me!”

The doctor winced and turned away.

“I just want to see my son, and not on a computer screen. I want to give him one last hug. Can’t you arrange that for me?” Ronnie heard her voice break. “Don’t convicted criminals get a last wish before they die?”

“I don’t think it would be responsible,” the doctor said gently, and Ronnie, who wanted so much to be strong, broke down and wept.

* * *

The darkfire crackled in Marco’s apartment.

It slid around the perimeter of the room, its blue-green light putting a static charge in the air along with its fitful light. Its activity was frenzied and grew steadily, as if it would do whatever was necessary to awaken Marco.

He felt it and opened one eye, wary of its presence. The months had passed in a haze of pain and near-delirium and he knew that he was severely weakened. It was all he could do to watch and wonder.

And yearn.

He’d missed the darkfire. He’d missed the way it fed his conviction of what should be, the confidence and the power it gave him. He watched it muster in one corner and knew he should never have turned away from it.

The darkfire knew the greater good and didn’t care what had to be destroyed to make all come right. Maybe Rafferty had to be lost for the
Pyr
to survive the Dragon’s Tail Wars. Maybe it wasn’t his place to argue or to judge, because unlike the darkfire, Marco only knew part of the story.

The darkfire drew itself into a ball in that corner, burning brighter and making a larger orb of light with every passing moment. He wondered how much time was passing, whether his sense of time was accurate, then knew the darkfire was gathering its strength.

For something.

He chose to believe it was right.

He chose, once again, to believe.

The darkfire suddenly flared, like a bolt of blue-green lighting that arched across the room and struck him in the forehead. Marco’s mind filled with blue-green light and heat surged through his body. He felt the power like a jolt to his heart. He shifted shape immediately without deciding to do so, his body responding to the stimulus of its own volition. He reared back in his dragon form and roared with new power, then chose to use the gift he’d been given.

He used the darkfire to spontaneously manifest elsewhere.

He chose to go to Jac, wherever she might be.

The darkfire was a part of him. It was his to command and his to follow. Distrusting it had been the mistake that had led to his entrapment, and Marco wasn’t going to make that error again.

* * *

The night her fever built, Ronnie dreamed.

She dreamed of infernos, of flames and of Hell, of opportunity lost and love squandered. She tossed in her sleep, twisting up the sheets as she tried to escape the torment of her dreams. She dreamed of Timmy, growing up alone and felt tears on her own cheeks. She dreamed of her baby, of Drake’s son, dying before he even came into the world, and tasted the salt of those tears. She dreamed of Drake, being injured because he’d ceded to her request, and being alone again.

Because she had compelled him to intervene.

It was going to end badly, Jorge was going to triumph after all, and it was her fault.

And then she dreamed of an amethyst and platinum dragon. He flew toward her from some distant point, his powerful form reflected in a dark lake as the star-filled sky arched overhead. He could have been a vision or a dream, a portent or a warning.

But Ronnie knew that he was the Dreamwalker.

He landed before her, shimmering blue and shifting shape to become a blond man as she watched.

“Niall,” she whispered in recognition but he held a fingertip to his lips.

She felt him lean over her, as if he were truly there, and heard his whisper in her ear. His voice was low, though not as low as Drake’s, and he spoke more quickly than Drake.

“I bring a message and a question,” he said. “We
Pyr
think we have a cure.”

Ronnie’s eyes flew open, but he wasn’t lying to her. She could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“It can’t be administered here. It would have to be given to you in secret, by the Apothecary of our kind.”

Drake
. Ronnie mouthed his name soundlessly.

“Is the reason we found it,” Niall confided and Ronnie realized that there
was
a reason he hadn’t become infected that day. There was also a reason for his absence. The
Pyr
had done the research Dr. Wilcox had wanted to do. “Tomorrow, they’re going to transfer you to Atlanta to watch the progression of the virus.”

To watch her die and learn what they could. Bitterness rose in Ronnie.

“Drake wants your agreement to come with us instead.”

Ronnie’s heart leapt at the possibility, but she had to ask.
Timmy?

“Will be defended as one of our own. Drake vows it will be so.”

Ronnie felt relief.
How?

Niall smiled and his eyes began to change to dragon eyes. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll come for you, if you agree. There’s nothing else you need to do or to know.” He held her gaze, willing her to trust the
Pyr
.

And Ronnie nodded, knowing this was her sole chance to survive.

* * *

The situation stunk.

Sam couldn’t make peace with it. Once again, she’d given her all and failed. She sat up the night before Veronica Maitland was scheduled to be transferred and drank wine, even though she seldom did. The last time she’d drunk wine had been with Sloane.

And she’d done a lot of other things with him, too.

In fact, pretty much the only time she’d felt good about herself in recent years had been those glorious nights—and days—of sex with Sloane.

But what could she have said to Veronica Maitland?
Seeing you like this will haunt your son for the rest of his life?
The change in her appearance had been marked, and the virus was moving fast.

Sam ordered a large pizza and ate it, just because she never did and it seemed like the right choice when she was feeling sorry for herself.