Authors: Deborah Cooke
Quinn walked quickly, his steps quiet on the pavement. Sara couldn't help thinking of a predator on the hunt. They strolled up one street and down another, and Quinn said the trail had been muddied.
“Too many tourists,” he complained.
Sara wondered whether the other
Pyr
had left a confused trail on purpose. She was pretty sure Quinn had thought of that, too.
It was falling dark when they turned down a quiet street, one where Sara knew a boutique hotel was located. Cars were parallel parked along the curb and there was an exotic black car parked right in front of the hotel.
Quinn strode directly to it, then past it. He made a little sound of disgust as they walked past the car, which was a gleaming black Lamborghini.
“Cocky,” Quinn muttered.
Sara glanced back at the car, uncertain what he meant. Then she saw that the car had Illinois custom plates.
PYROMAN
.
Quinn was looking up, scanning the tops of the buildings, seeking something. “What's that?” he asked, gesturing to a tower.
“The Burton Memorial Bell Tower,” Sara said. “They play the bells thereâ¦.” She wasn't able to finish her description because Quinn moved immediately in that direction.
“Perfect,” he said under his breath.
“But you can't go up there at night. It's locked.”
Quinn smiled as they walked across the small park to the entry to the tower. “Is it?” he mused and she had a feeling he was going to pick the lock.
Great. Now she was breaking the law. Another thing she would have thought impossible just twenty-four hours ago.
But Quinn didn't have to pick the lock. When they drew alongside the tower, he bent, the shadows making them invisible to passersby, and whispered to it. Sara saw him exhale, saw a little puff of smoke curling into the keyhole. By the time Quinn straightened, the tumblers were rolling. He gave her a triumphant smileâone that made her wonder who was cockyâthen opened the door.
“How did you do that?” she whispered, when he ushered her inside. They stood in the darkness, Quinn holding her hands so that she couldn't reach for a switch. Sara couldn't see anything but she felt the cold stone surrounding them.
“It's metal,” Quinn murmured, as if it was obvious. “I sang its song.”
“But that's impossible.”
“Not for the Smith.”
She felt the weight of his glance, heard the amusement in his words. Even though she was impressed by his powers, she felt the need to tease him. “What if it had been a computerized lock?”
His chuckle echoed in the dark space, making Sara shiver in a pleasurable way. “Then we would have been out of luck. Silicon doesn't hear my songs. I sing for iron and steel and brass.”
The metals closest to the earth. Sara was beginning to understand why Quinn seemed to have such a primal strength, why her desire for him was so strong. She was with a man in touch with ancient mysteries and possessed of old powers.
She should have been frightened, but she wanted to know more.
“What now?” she whispered. “It's too dark to see anything.”
“Not for me,” Quinn said.
“You have X-ray vision?”
“No. We're more sensitive to sensory data.” He bent and whispered in her ear, the fan of his breath making her even more aware of his proximity. She wanted to touch him, or have him touch her. “You have goose bumps right now,” he whispered, his voice low and rich again. “Dancing down your back and legs.”
Sara swallowed because it was true. She could feel the heat emanating from his skin and the clean smell of his skin. She was thinking of chocolate again and not really wanting to stop.
“I can feel them rising,” Quinn continued, his melodic words awakening a heat in Sara's belly. “I can smell your skin from twenty feet away, and I can tell the color of your eyes, even in this darkness.”
“That's easy,” Sara said, hating that she sounded breathless. “They're hazel.”
“No, they change,” he said with such complete certainty that she didn't doubt him. “They turn greener when you laugh and more brown when you're angry. And they turn gold whenâ” He stopped abruptly.
Sara swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. “When?”
“First things first,” Quinn said, his manner businesslike. “We have something to do.” He caught her hand in his and she followed him across the dark foyer. “Ten stairs to the first landing, about six inches high each. All right?”
“All right,” Sara said, amazed that she trusted him. She lifted her foot, following just behind Quinn, and found the first step exactly as he had said.
It became brighter as they climbed, the streetlights casting their light into the open arches that surrounded the bells. Quinn kept to the shadows and Sara remained at the top of the stairs while he chose a vantage point. He tucked himself into the darkness in one corner, then beckoned to her to join him.
Quinn pulled her in front of him. “Down there. You see his car?”
Sara could see the polished black of the sports car. She nodded, but before she could speak, Quinn folded her between himself and the stone pillar at the corner. “I told you I'm not that kind of woman,” Sara teased, knowing that he was shielding her.
“Keep your eyes open,” Quinn said, not sharing her humor. “Something might happen.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get someone's attention.”
“How?”
“By starting a fire close to his heart, such as it is.”
Quinn's eyes narrowed as Sara watched and his gaze fixed on the car far below. Sara felt his concentration and saw his eyes glitter again. His lips set in a thin line and she knew his attention was completely diverted. She twisted to peek around the edge of the pillar, but for a long time, there was nothing to see.
Suddenly flames leapt inside the black Lamborghini, orange dancing against the lines of the roof. She saw Erik running down the street toward the car in the same moment that she heard Quinn chuckle.
“Coffee cup left on the dash,” Quinn muttered. “Fool.”
“You started a fire in his car?”
“Just a little one. Here he comes.”
Erik looked up, straight at the bell tower, and Sara was sure she could see the blaze of his eyes even at this distance. He jumped off the curb, shouting something. He changed shape in midair, becoming a pewter and onyx dragon right before her eyes. His dark wings beat hard to carry him skyward.
If Sara had been hallucinating when Quinn changed shape, her delusions were getting worse.
Much worse.
“Get down!” Quinn commanded but Sara didn't need the warning. She didn't have to be psychic to know that trouble was coming. She crouched on the stone floor and backed toward the center of the tower. At the same time, Quinn leapt off the half wall, shimmered, and shifted in midair. He reared back as he hovered, his leathery wings beating powerfully. The silver and blue of his scales glinted against the night. He looked like a large jeweled beast, made of metal and armored against assault. He snarled, ready to meet his opponent, and Sara was awed again by his strength and confidence.
Although she did wonder what had happened to his clothes. It was as if they had folded away in the blink of an eye and disappeared.
Sara peeked over the lip of stone and caught her breath in fear. An emerald and gold dragon was airborne behind Erik, smoke streaming from his nostrils as he ascended.
Two against one! No fair!
But Erik and his friend were the least of Quinn's troubles. Sara glanced around, wondering who else had noticed the strange doings in the sky. She couldn't believe what she saw. Five dragons were closing fast on the bell tower from the other side. They didn't look friendly.
Seven to one. Sara's heart pounded with fear. Quinn was outnumbered and there was nothing she could do to help him.
Quinn had been right: he did hear Sara decide to scream.
He felt her agitation and glanced away from Erik, who was climbing fast. He saw Erik's second cresting the buildings on State Street. That wasn't the source of Sara's fear, though. Quinn surveyed the night sky and found five more dragons, all flying furiously toward him.
It had been a long time since Quinn had seen so many of his kind in one place and he could have done without it at this particular point. He didn't think he knew any of them, although the golden one conjured memories of a golden dragon in his past.
There was no time for sentimentality. Quinn turned away from Erik, taking care of the most critical business first.
He had to protect Sara. Even if he was wounded, his territory mark would keep the others at bay for a while.
If he was killed, that was another problem, but he wouldn't think about it. Quinn had no intention of dying just yet.
Quinn exhaled silvery smoke, cursing the slow speed at which it emanated. Marking territory was intended to be a leisurely pursuit. It required concentration and contemplation, precisely the opposite frame of mind as fighting to the death.
His desire to rip out Erik's throat slowed Quinn's smoke production, there was no doubt about it. He tried to push himself to produce more quickly and knew the line of smoke would break if he went too quickly.
He forced his breathing to slow as he curled the smoke around the interior of the bell tower, between the perimeter of the tower and the bells hanging in the middle. He struggled to encircle Sara completely as quickly as possible. He had to leave enough space that if she moved, she didn't leave his protection.
On the other hand, he didn't have a lot of time.
Erik bellowed and broke Quinn's concentration. The line of smoke snapped and he started another, anxious to close the circle. He'd have to go back and weave in the ends at the break to make Sara's protection complete.
He was attacked first.
“Curse the Smith!” roared a ruby red dragon in old-speak as he erupted around the corner of the tower. Quinn was startled by his appearance. The leader of the band of five had flown more quickly than Quinn had expected.
The ruby red dragon landed on the railing of the bell tower and flicked an appreciative glance at Sara. His scales seemed to be edged in brass, like garnets set in gold. He was impressive and clearly quite old, and Quinn was wary.
“Fresh meat tonight,” he said in old-speak, grinning with anticipation. Sara couldn't hear him, Quinn knew, but she understood her peril. He could tell by the way she was nearly hyperventilating. “Princess? Virgin? Or just your routine damsel-in-distress?” His tongue flicked. “I do like the tang that adrenaline gives a fresh kill, don't you?”
Quinn's tail moved with lightning speed and caught his assailant across the side of the head. The ruby red dragon choked and took a step along the parapet to correct his balance so that he didn't fall into Quinn's smoke. Quinn roared dragonfire at his attacker, forcing him to step backward off the ledge.
The ruby red dragon swore in a language Quinn didn't know as he stumbled off the wall. He dropped a good ten feet before his bronze wings began to flap. Quinn lunged after him.
His attacker was old and wily, though, and made a miraculous recovery when Quinn was within range. He raged upward at Quinn, his eyes shining with triumph. The pair locked claws, thrashing their tails at each other as they tumbled toward the ground.
Quinn was vaguely aware that the ruby red dragon's fellows were locked in battle with Erik and his second, a fact that made him wonder whom he was fighting. If Erik was a
Slayer
, as he'd suspected, then who were these five?
He'd worry about that later.
Quinn felt the strength of his opponent and decided to save time by playing the same trick on him. He grunted as the ruby red dragon scored a strike with his tail, and pretended to be failing.
“You've spent too much time in your lair, Smith,” the ruby red dragon chuckled, exuding smoke into Quinn's face.
Quinn coughed as if overwhelmed. “While you've spent too little time tending your teeth,” he replied, letting his voice sound weak.
The ruby red dragon's eyes flashed. He swung his tail and Quinn went limp when he took the hit, as if it had been more fatal than it was. He groaned and stopped flapping his wings.
He thought he'd be left to fall, but his opponent snatched him out of the sky. Quinn stifled a smile as the ruby red dragon carried him upward. Quinn was all muscle: lifting him would exhaust his opponent and give Quinn an advantage in addition to surprise.
“You have been lazy, Smith,” his attacker said, his voice strained even in old-speak. “Who would have imagined it would be so easy to eliminate you? I had hoped for a better fight.”
Quinn listened while he played dead. The ruby red dragon must be a
Slayer
, because no true
Pyr
would have wanted to kill the Smith. If he was as old as that, Quinn should have known him, but his voice was unfamiliar. It had a Russian cadence and Quinn couldn't remember any
Pyr
from the East.