Flashfire (38 page)
The drapes—of navy Fortuni velvet with light-blocking linings—had cost a fortune, but Lorenzo had wanted to ensure their privacy. Now he was glad to have them. At the touch of a button, they rode on an automated track, too heavy to be simply tugged across the glass.
He liked how precisely and neatly they closed.
Centered on the opposite wall was the enormous painting of his mother and her place of business.
This same property.
Although Lorenzo had bought adjacent buildings and expanded upon the footprint. He’d been quietly restoring it, as L. Rossi, waiting for the chance to make his escape.
It had turned out far better than even he’d hoped.
The massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling glittered. They were gilt and hung thickly with glass drops, as well as each being six or eight feet across. He’d scoured half of Italy for them, and they were perfect. There were nearly a thousand bulbs burning in this room and he appreciated every one of them when the
Pyr
began to shift shape.
This was the true spectacle.
The light caressed the sapphire and steel scales of Quinn, the Smith. It danced over the lapis lazuli and gold scales of Donovan, the Warrior. It gleamed on the ebony and pewter hide of Erik, the leader of the
Pyr
. The light flashed on the amethyst and silver scales of Niall, the Dreamwalker. It lit the emerald and copper scales of Delancey. It glimmered on the opal and gold scales of Rafferty, the new Cantor. It twinkled on the brilliant tourmaline scales of Sloane, the Apothecary, highlighting the way the color shifted over his length from green to purple and gold. It flickered on the orange and yellow scales of Brandt, making him look like a dragon made of flame.
Stacy’s eyes were round.
Lorenzo roared and shifted shape, knowing the light would glow on the hammered gold of his own scales. He cared only for the way Cassie’s eyes shone as she stood before him.
“Show-off,” she teased, and he grinned. He caught her in his embrace and reared back, baring his chest to the Smith. Quinn breathed fire, heating the scale that he held in his talons; then he cast a glance at Cassie.
Lorenzo was appalled to realize that he didn’t know what the Smith wanted.
Quinn put out a claw.
Cassie knew, though. She offered him a pearl as big as her thumb, which was set in a gold pendant.
“A gift willingly given from the mate is required to heal the scale,” Quinn said.
“I saw it in a shop here,” Cassie said. “It reminds me of those earrings your mom is wearing in the painting.”
Quinn reared back and breathed more fire, heating the gold setting of the pendant, then fusing it to the scale. He worked deftly and quickly, his older son watching raptly as he worked.
Then Quinn turned to Lorenzo and lifted the glowing scale toward the gap in his armor. “Fire,” he said, heating it again.
“Earth,” the
Pyr
and their mates cried, pounding their feet on the floor. The kids enjoyed this part and continued to stamp.
Lorenzo bared his teeth and growled as the scale was pressed into place and his skin seared.
“Air,” the
Pyr
said and Cassie blew on the wound.
Lorenzo held her close, his throat tight with the goodness she brought into his life. He had the definite sense that he’d finally arrived home, after a long journey. He glanced up at that painting and thought he saw Angelina smile and nod approval.
He knew he saw her glance over her shoulder, her smile filling with satisfaction. He followed her gaze and found a younger, more handsome version of Salvatore lounging at a table, watching her. The room was empty, save for the two of them, the heat of their smiles telling him everything he needed to know.
Lorenzo shed a tear, a tear of relief that his parents were united in some dimension. He felt Cassie lift it from his cheek with a gentle fingertip.
“Water,” she murmured and put that tear on the repaired scale. It sizzled on contact. She looked up at him and he saw the tears shining in her own eyes.
She was the treasure he’d sought all his life.
And winning her heart was the greatest feat he’d ever performed.
“Kismet,” Stacy pronounced with satisfaction and not one soul in that room would have dared to disagree.
Lorenzo shifted shape and caught Cassie close, kissing her soundly as the others hooted approval. The future was everything he’d ever hoped it might be.
Because of the firestorm.
Because of Cassie.
Author’s Note
Balthasar’s rental car, the red Ferrari 360 Spider, is available for rent in Las Vegas from Dream Car Rentals. At this writing, the going rate is $750 for five hours or $1,050 per day—probably not inclusive of taxes and insurance. Lorenzo’s prize Ferrari—the 1963 Ferrari 250 GT Berlinetta Lusso—is the same as one owned by Steve McQueen, which sold for $2.3 million dollars in 2007. Only 350 of these cars were made, and the V-12 engine (even if it burned oil) would be the stuff of a car lover’s fantasy. I have to think that Lorenzo’s car would be a more flashy color than the metallic brown “Marrone” of McQueen’s.
Read on for a peek at the next exciting installment in the Dragonfire series by Deborah Cooke,
Ember’s Kiss
Coming from Signet Eclipse in October 2012.
Oahu, Hawai’i
Friday, December 9, 2011
T
he sun was setting over the ocean, painting the sky in rich shades of orange and indigo. Brandon was standing outside his favorite beach bar in Kane’ohe with a few buddies, talking about the best curls of the day, when four cars pulled into the dirt lot. The guys turned as one, curious about any new arrivals, and watched the group spill out of their cars. Brandon and his friends had made the drive to Kane’ohe, after all, because Matt had insisted they needed new scenery. Their usual haunts on the quieter North Shore were filled with familiar faces.
About half of this group were in their thirties, as was Brandon, but were conservatively dressed, as he and his gang were not. Many of them didn’t know each other, judging by their body language, and they exchanged a lot of polite smiles. More than half of them wore glasses. The rest of the group was older and had a scholarly look about them. There was one older woman with gray hair wearing a vivid pink Hawaiian shirt who seemed the most gregarious. She put her arm around a dark-haired woman who may have been the youngest of the group and shepherded her toward the restaurant.
Brandon noticed immediately how pretty that woman was. She was wearing a lei of yellow plumeria, black capris, and a white top. He guessed from the lei that she had just arrived on the island. The woman in pink must be trying to make her feel welcome. He smiled at that and noted that she needed a pair of flip-flops to even begin to blend in.
The younger woman was slim with curves in all the right places, was taller than most, and had de
licate hands. Her hair was long and thick, with just a hint of wave to it. He thought it might curl more in the island breezes. She would be stunning when she got a bit more of a tan, and he wondered whether she’d brought her bikini.
“Fresh bait,” Matt teased, as crude as usual.
Brandon gave him a poke. Matt was a good surfer, but a jerk with women. “Don’t be a pig. It’s not just about sex,” he said.
Matt and Dylan laughed. “What is it about, then?” Dylan demanded.
Brandon shrugged, watching the woman. “I don’t know. Romance. There’s got to be more going on to make it special.”
“From thirty feet away, it’s about sex,” Matt concluded, then finished his beer. He was cocky, the way he usually was when he’d had a couple of beers and wanted to show off. “Tell you what—let’s square it off between sex and romance. Let’s see who gets results first.”
“What are you talking about?” Brandon asked, although he already could guess.
“Let’s go for your brunette. She can choose sex or romance. Whoever gets lucky doesn’t have to buy tomorrow night.” Matt stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
The very idea annoyed Brandon. He had been raised to respect women, and the brunette’s quiet manner made him feel particularly protective of her. “You really are a jerk, aren’t you?”
“Either that or you know you’re going to lose,” Matt countered with a grin.
Dylan started to laugh.
Meanwhile, the party moved into the bar. Josie, the waitress, pulled tables together for them, and there was a lot of jostling as they chose seats. The older woman in pink seemed to be in charge, or at least she bossed people around in a genial way. The brunette hung back, indecisive. Her gaze flicked to Brandon and he impulsively smiled at her. She blushed and averted her gaze, then took a seat in a hurry.
“She’s not going to know what hit her,” Dylan commented.
“I’ll tell Josie to give her the extra large mai tai,” Matt said with satisfaction. “On me. It’ll smooth the way.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t just target her,” Brandon objected. “That’s not right.”
“Right?” Matt seemed to be amused by this idea. “Look at her—she just got here. For all we know, I’m exactly what she wants on her vacation. All those mainland girls are looking for action.” He preened a bit and smiled at the brunette.
Her eyes widened slightly and she shook her head, as if disinterested in Matt’s attention. Her gaze flicked to Brandon again and he rolled his eyes, as if despairing of his buddy.
She smiled then, a real smile, one that brightened her features and made her look young and pretty. Brandon’s heart thumped and Dylan chuckled. “You’re on,” Brandon said to Matt, who moved to the bar to order that drink for her.
Brandon didn’t even know this woman, but he was annoyed by Matt’s behavior. He was going to defend her from his friend, whether she was ultimately interested in him or not.
It was just the right thing to do.
One thing was for sure—the men were gorgeous in Hawai’i. Liz couldn’t believe how many hunks were at the beach bar, lounging around with their shirts open, looking fabulous. They were all tanned and handsome, completely built. She’d never been in a place so filled with gorgeous men.
“Surfers,” Trudy confided with a sniff. She was a contemporary of Liz’s mentor, Maureen, who had invited Liz to the islands. Maureen had blossomed here, but apparently Hawai’i hadn’t made Trudy relax at all. Her dark hair was tightly pulled back and she spoke more quickly and decisively than the others. “Completely self-indulgent,” she added, then sipped her mineral water.
Liz found herself sneaking a peek at the auburn-haired guy again, the one who had smiled at her a couple of times already. Unlike the others, he didn’t seem predatory. She found his confidence appealing, as if he was comfortable in his own skin—exactly the way she was not. There was a tattoo on his chest, although she couldn’t fully see what it was, and she glimpsed part of another on his arm. He was drinking beer, chatting with his friends. She heard him laugh and liked the rich sound. His eyes twinkled when he caught her looking and he toasted her with his beer before he took a swig.
Liz developed a fascination with the menu.
“The shrimp are good,” Maureen said, bossy and kind, just as Liz remembered. “They’re farmed locally.”
Before Liz could answer, the waitress put a large drink in front of her. “With the gentleman’s compliments,” she said, gesturing to a dark-haired guy at the bar. He also was incredibly handsome, but his smile had a roguish tinge that reminded her a little too much of her ex, Rob.
Liz pushed the stem of the glass. “Thanks, but no. Please give the gentleman my thanks.”
“You sure, honey?”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s the jumbo mai tai, house specialty.”
“I’d just like a glass of white wine, please.”
The waitress shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She picked up the drink and the guy at the bar scowled. Liz peeked and saw that the auburn-haired guy was debating something with his blond friend, as if he hadn’t even noticed. He turned and gestured to the sky beyond the beach and she admired the breadth of his shoulders, the unruly tangle of his hair. It was long, long enough to tempt her to touch it. And that tan . . .
She was losing her mind. Liz took a gulp of her wine as soon as it arrived.
She finished the glass before the food arrived and Maureen ordered her another before she could argue.
It tasted even better than the first one.
The party loosened up as it got later. They didn’t drink much, Brandon noticed, but what they did drink loosened their inhibitions. They laughed more and were obviously having fun. The brunette kept glancing his way, but he wasn’t in that much of a hurry to make a conquest.
She seemed different from the women he usually met. She looked like she had a job, like she had it together in a way that the girls who hung out at the beach seldom did. She looked as if she were serious about life, something that he didn’t see often. She wasn’t interested in Matt—she’d made that clear—which also set her apart.
He wondered what she was looking for in a guy.
He wondered whether he had any chance of delivering it.
When her group spilled out onto the beach in the wee hours, he trailed behind them.
“I tell you, we’ll be able to see the eclipse,” insisted one guy, tapping his watch. “Any minute now.”
“It’s supposed to be quick this time, just an hour from start to finish,” added another guy.
Brandon remembered that there was supposed to be a total lunar eclipse, and there was no better place to see one than on a beach. The night was clear, the dark sky filled with stars and the glowing orb of the full moon. He stood with his feet in the warm sand, listening to the lap of the waves, and stared at that radiant moon. The warm wind tousled his hair and he could smell the plumeria in the brunette’s lei. His heart was filled with an affection for this island where he had chosen to live.
“There we go!” cried one of the women, and Brandon saw the first increment of shadow slide over the full moon. The group stared upward, enraptured.
Brandon would have happily stared as well, but he felt something strange. His hand was warm, but tingling. He glanced down to find orange sparks dancing over the fingers of his right hand, the hand closest to the brunette’s group of friends.
At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but the flames grew larger, becoming orange tips that outlined his entire hand. The fire slid up his shoulder, spreading over his skin like a bonfire. At the same time, a warmth slipped through his body, turning his thoughts to pleasure.
Brandon glanced around, but no one else had noticed the fire.
And no one else had the same corona of flames around his body.
What was going on?
When the flames danced down his side, he felt himself become sexually aroused. He spread his hands, looking down at his feet as they were illuminated by the strange orange fire; then a spark leapt from his fingertip.
It cut a blazing arc through the air, colliding with the shoulder of the brunette. She jumped, then turned to look at him. Her eyes rounded in surprise and her lips parted. Their gazes locked and held, and he felt as if they were all alone, standing outside of time, as the flames cavorted between them.
And that was when Brandon knew what was happening. He was having his firestorm. He’d heard about it, but only vaguely, from his parents. He’d never really thought it would happen to him—or that if it did happen, it would be centuries from now. But as he stood and felt the burn of the firestorm, he felt everything become clear.
This woman had seemed special and different to him because she
was
special and different. She was his destined mate, the one human woman who could bear his son. He had a duty to fulfill the firestorm, which meant he had to seduce her.
Without spooking her by revealing the truth about his other nature.
The firestorm gave Brandon purpose.
He smiled and stepped toward her, offering his hand. She stared at those flames, glanced at her friends—who were so busy staring at the moon that they hadn’t noticed anything odd—then took a cautious step toward him. Brandon felt like they had a secret, a magical connection, and then realized they did.
The firestorm.
She frowned slightly as she surveyed the dancing fire; then her hand was in his. The flames spread over her skin, dancing over her, making her eyes brighten in awareness. She would have asked a question, but Brandon didn’t want to risk the loss of the magic.
He tugged her so that she was against his chest. Her hands fell on his shoulders and she looked up at him, his desire mirrored in her blue eyes. That was all the encouragement he needed to bend his head and claim her lips with a kiss.
And the firestorm surged through his veins, filling him with commitment and desire, persuading him that it knew best.
