Rafferty smiled as if all were well. “Go ahead. Eat.”
Jorge took another mouthful, then straightened in sudden alarm at the sound of stone grinding on stone. Rafferty watched as the earth moved to close the opening to the tunnel, reacting to Donovan’s call.
The aperture was sealed, as surely as if it had never been. Jorge cried out and ran for the place where the opening had been. He ran his claws over the smooth stone walls in a panic.
“He’s sealing us in!” Jorge roared.
Then he turned on Rafferty with a growl. Malice glinted in his eyes and Rafferty could read the
Slayer
’s thoughts clearly.
“May the better dragon win,” Jorge muttered and raised his claws.
“I think I already have.” Rafferty mustered his strength, closed his eyes, and forced his will upon the universe. The black and white ring spun on his hand, burning his skin, but nothing changed.
He knew the moment that a livid Jorge lunged at him.
His talons were extended, and he was breathing fire, his eyes revealing that he meant to shred Rafferty alive. “We’ll die together!” he roared.
“No. You’ll die alone.” Rafferty wished with all his heart to be with Melissa, and the world swirled around him.
His gut churned as he managed the feat once again.
And he heard Jorge scream as his claws closed on empty air.
It was done.
T
he soul of Sophie, the former Wyvern, was stymied.
She sought to be reborn on the earthly sphere. She wanted to have her chance to be with Nikolas again, the chance she’d earned, the opportunity to live with her beloved. She wanted to return to the
Pyr
, not as a
Pyr
but as a human who could help them in their battle against evil. She wanted the
Pyr
to win, and she wanted to be part of that victory.
But forces seemed arrayed against her.
She halfway suspected it was
Slayers
at work.
For each time Sophie found a newly conceived baby in its mother’s womb, it had already been promised as a vehicle to another soul. The one time she had found a possibility, and her hopes had been high, the child had not come to term. Its demise had destroyed her hope.
Sophie was well aware of the passing of time and feared she was losing whatever opportunity she had for happiness. All she wanted was to be with Nikolas. He had returned to the world quickly, son of the next
Pyr
to conceive, and was growing up in Donovan’s household even as she struggled against these constraints.
Was it possible that they weren’t destined to be reunited?
The challenge tried Sophie’s faith. Shouldn’t darkfire change something to the good? Shouldn’t darkfire create the chance she was waiting for?
She had no sooner had the thought than Sophie heard a child crying in the wreckage of the city.
A child who didn’t want to live any longer. There was nothing wrong with her body, but her soul despaired.
And Sophie dared to hope that they could find a solution that suited each best. She followed the sound, straight into a destroyed apartment in London.
The Sleeper was dimly aware that he was being half dragged and half carried through a tunnel. It was like a dream. His body was weak, and still his thoughts were fogged.
How much time had passed?
How long had he slept?
When would he see Pwyll again?
He was being carried by a
Pyr
, the one he did not know. More disconcerting, he could feel the wild ripple of darkfire set loose in the world. It sparked at the edge of his consciousness, its heat emanating from a point far to the east.
How could this be? The Cantor and his line commanded and guarded the darkfire. They would not leave it uncontained. That would be irresponsible.
No. It was untethered because they had lost control of it.
The Sleeper had to go to its source. Though he was not yet himself, he summoned that old shimmer. Pwyll had taught him this feat, and he would use it to finish what Pwyll had been compelled to leave undone.
He focused on the blue shimmer, willing himself to be at the locus of the darkfire’s flame. He sensed a house, the home of Pwyll’s descendant, and saw the stones with their flickering blue hearts that were secured there. The Sleeper knew he would find himself welcomed in that place. He let the darkfire illuminate him, guide him, and carry him to his chosen destination. The tunnel disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.
He knew there would be only a shimmer of blue-green dust on the ground behind him, a mark of his own link to the darkfire. He vaguely heard the other
Pyr
’s gasp of surprise.
Then he was in a bed of welcome softness. The Sleeper sighed and yawned, exhausted again.
He dreamed, quite naturally, of darkfire.
Rafferty opened his eyes slowly.
For a moment, he thought he had gone blind—all he could see was white. Then shapes emerged, and he realized he was surrounded by swirling dust. The dust of collapsed buildings. There was rubble all around him, some of it piled on his legs. He worked himself free, brushing off the dust and shaking off the chunks of plaster as well as he could. He was sore, more sore than he had ever been, but he couldn’t see any blood. His hand throbbed where the ring had spun off the outer layer of his skin. At least he still had the ring. There was no sign of the Sleeper or of Donovan.
He wondered what had happened to Melissa.
He glanced around and realized he was in the ruins of a church that had been near his home. The altar was behind him, the stained glass of the window that had been above it shattered all around like colorful confetti. The roof had fallen in, and the altar window now framed clouds and dust. The pews had fallen every which way, and the double doors to the street were open, one hanging crookedly on its hinges. There was a large crack in the floor, if not in the foundation, and Rafferty smelled the crypt beneath. The wet scent of the earth was an undertone to that smell, and he thought he heard running water in the distance.
From the street, he heard sirens and people wailing. He pushed to his feet with a wince, determined to find Melissa. He’d expected to appear directly at her side, as that had been his intent. Was he near her? Or had he simply been too tired for accuracy? He hoped she was in the vicinity.
Melissa was probably in the thick of things, helping others as well as making her reports.
No. She was close. He could feel the blue-green tingle of the darkfire. It must have been his exhaustion that had affected his accuracy.
Rafferty was brushing himself off, feeling every month of his twelve hundred years, when he saw the little girl. She had slipped through the gaping doorway to the street and watched him solemnly, her small figure silhouetted there. Her face was white, either from pallor or dust, and her eyes seemed too large for her face. She was covered in dirt, as he was, and there was a streak of blood on her temple.
“Hello again,” she said.
“Hello,” Rafferty answered quietly. He didn’t want to frighten her. He was certain he’d never seen her before and wondered at her greeting. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, emphatic in her certainty. “I was looking for you, Rafferty.”
Rafferty was confused by that. Who had known he would be here? He hadn’t even realized he’d end up in this precise place. Had she confused him with someone else? But then, how had she known his name?
Or was she simply confused because of the trauma?
Deciding that was it, he smiled at her. “Where are your parents?” he asked.
She turned and pointed, back into the street. “Isabelle’s parents are over there.”
How odd that she referred to herself in the third person.
Or was she talking about another child’s parents?
Rafferty reached her side and crouched down beside her. She watched him, wary but not distrustful. “Does your head hurt?”
“Where?”
“Where the cut is.” Rafferty touched his own forehead. She reached up and touched her own, grimaced, then eyed the blood on her hand.
“Not really,” she said. “You have to come and see Isabelle’s parents. So you’ll know for sure.”
Rafferty assumed it was harmless to humor her. He nodded, and she left the church, skipping down the building’s broken steps. The darkfire sparked a little more brightly, though the child didn’t appear to notice it.
She was in shock, then.
To his relief, Rafferty saw Melissa, out in the street. She was helping an older woman, holding her elbow as they made their way toward an ambulance with an open door and a growing line. Parked nearby was a van, outfitted for broadcast and marked with the logo of a local television station. A cameraman tracked Melissa’s moves.
She’d been right that she’d be safe on camera.
Still, he was very relieved.
“This way!” the little girl insisted, catching at Rafferty’s hand. She tugged him toward a house that had collapsed even more completely than the church, climbed a pile of rubble, and peered through a broken window. “They’re in there. See?”
Rafferty bent down beside her and looked. He saw two pairs of feet in a bed that had a ceiling dropped on it. He frowned, smelling that both people were dead. Then, realizing that the child was watching him, he nodded with purpose. “We had better get some help.”
“No,” the little girl said. “Isabelle’s parents are dead.” She fixed a clear gaze upon him. “Isabelle wanted to die, too. She wanted to go with them. She didn’t want to stay.”
Rafferty thought that perhaps her strange way of expressing herself had to do with the trauma, and he made to reassure her.
“It is how it must be,” she said with conviction. “Isabelle is gone, too. I wanted to stay.” She held Rafferty’s gaze steadily. “So I traded with Isabelle.”
“I don’t understand what you mean. Aren’t you Isabelle?”
“I am now. I look like Isabelle outside.”
“Not inside?” Rafferty asked.
She shook her head. She smiled up at him, and her confidence caught at his heart. “I remember you, Rafferty. You used to call me Sophie, but you should call me Isabelle now.”
Rafferty gasped. He stared. Was she truly telling him that the soul of Sophie had taken the body of this Isabelle? That they had traded to each get their desire? It was incredible, but the little girl watched him with knowing eyes.
“Isabelle’s parents are dead,” she said, as if she were the one explaining something simple to a child. “I want to live with you now, Rafferty.”
“It’s not that simple,” Rafferty said, his words falling quickly. “There are authorities and procedures and…”
He fell silent when she reached out and almost touched the white and black ring on his finger. Did she know what it was? Could she know what it was?
She looked up, and he was sure she did know. She smiled a mysterious smile, one that reminded him very clearly of Sophie.
“I want to live with you,” she insisted, then dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But you will have to call me Isabelle now.”
Rafferty didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. He looked around and saw emergency crews trying to make sense of the disaster—a city in ruins, a couple dead in their own bed, and a little girl with a curious surety. His mind doubted what she was telling him, questioned whether it was possible, warned him not to be credulous.
His heart, though, was convinced.
She had recognized him on sight and knew his name.
Sophie.
“There are procedures,” he told the intent little girl, “and there are people who must agree to this, but I will try. You must remember everything and answer all the questions.”
“You can’t leave me, not now.”
“I will do my best.” Rafferty offered his hand to her, and she put her small hand trustingly into his. They climbed down the pile of rubble together, and she turned to look back at the shattered apartment.
“Good-bye,” she said, waving at the window. “Goodbye and thank you, Isabelle.” She smiled up at him. “She’s happy now. She wanted to go with her parents.”
Rafferty wasn’t sure what to say. His thoughts swirling, he led the little girl toward the ambulance where Melissa was helping the injured. He watched Melissa’s care and compassion, watched how she made every person feel so special, and knew she had done the same for him. He was honored to have her as his mate, and he knew their partnership would stand the test of time.
“That’s the television lady,” Isabelle said, awe in her voice. “I saw her on the television today.”
“That’s my lady,” Rafferty said. “I’m hoping she’ll be my wife.”
“She’s the television lady,” Isabelle said sternly. “You can’t make up stories about people, not ones that aren’t true.”
Rafferty smiled, enjoying that the child thought he was lying. “I’ll ask her. You’ll see.” He extended his hand and she gripped his fingers, her trust tearing at his heart.
Could this truly be Sophie, in a new skin?
Could he manage to adopt her? Rafferty wouldn’t beguile anyone. He wouldn’t use his powers to manipulate others, even to get what he wanted. He’d follow the official protocol and hope that all would come right.
He had to believe he wasn’t the only one who wanted Sophie to have another chance at love.
Melissa was both exhausted and invigorated by the time the crew called it a day. The damage reports had slowed, and the victims seemed to be mostly under care. She thanked the anchor and removed her wiring, thanking the crew for their help. The cameraman gave her a thumbs-up as they packed everything away. When they drove away, her shoulders sagged.
But she felt the shimmer of the darkfire, the heat of the firestorm growing at her back. Knowing exactly who was there, she turned to find Rafferty standing about twenty feet away. He looked tired and dusty, that wound scabbed on his throat. But his eyes glowed, and his smile gave her new strength.
The darkfire had been a gift on this day, telling her that he was alive even when they were apart. She realized it had been her real anchor in the earthquake that had consumed London; Rafferty’s presence in her life was not something she wanted to lose.
She noticed then that a little girl stood beside him. She was solemn, her chestnut hair long and wavy, her eyes as dark as Rafferty’s. She must have been about five years old, and she was dusty, as well.
“This is Isabelle,” Rafferty said. “She has suggested that we adopt her.”
Melissa’s heart skipped at the implications in that sentence. Isabelle would never be a son, much less a dragon shape shifter. Would her presence in their lives satisfy the firestorm, though? Would it satisfy Rafferty’s desire for a child? Melissa dared to hope that adoption could be a solution for her and Rafferty, just as it was for so many people.
Plus the notion of raising a child with Rafferty and making a life with him was very, very appealing. She liked that he was prepared to compromise. He wanted her enough to accommodate her reality.
And she was more than ready to accommodate his.
Melissa cleared her throat. “We should talk about this later.”
“You’re on,” Rafferty said with a smile, and extended his hand to her. Melissa went to his side, more than glad to feel his hand close protectively over hers. He kissed her fingertips, his eyes shining.