Authors: Deborah Cooke
“I don't think that disrespect shown to the dead is just a detail,” Donovan asserted and animosity rose between the two older
Pyr
. “And neither do I think that Delaney's death was irrelevant, or inevitable, or regrettable but unimportant.” He threw himself into a chair and glared at the rest of them. “But maybe I'm biased about losing one of my kin for nothing.”
Quinn could relate to that.
Before argument could continue, Sara cleared her throat. “Well, I appreciate everyone's assistance today. I have no doubt that the one dragon would have happily incinerated me.” She turned to Donovan and her voice softened. “My parents died in an accident last winter, while they were on vacation, so I think I know how you feel. It's hard to lose someone so abruptly, without the chance to say good-bye.”
“'Tis,” Donovan agreed grimly. Quinn felt the mood lighten slightly in the room.
To Quinn's surprise, Sara crossed the room and touched the other
Pyr
's arm. “I wish Delaney hadn't died today,” she said softly. “As glad as I am to be alive, I would never have asked anyone to pay such a price.”
Donovan scowled at his boots and spoke gruffly. “Thanks.”
“I wish they hadn't taken his body,” Sloane grumbled. “It wouldn't have made any difference for them to do the decent thing.”
“
Slayer
s don't do the decent thing,” Erik said.
“Malicious bastards,” Donovan muttered.
But Sara shook her head. “No. That's where you're wrong.” She had the undivided attention of the
Pyr
then, including Quinn. She had a set to her chin that Quinn had already learned was a sign that she knew she was right.
“They took his body to make sure that he stayed dead,” she said.
All six
Pyr
stared at her in astonishment, but Quinn felt pride seeping into his own expression. His warrior princess was turning the tables on his fellows and Quinn liked it.
He liked it a lot.
“What are you talking about?” Rafferty demanded after a heartbeat of silence. He roused himself, his eyes snapping with annoyance as he turned on Erik. “What nonsense is this that we're learning our own lore from a human?”
Erik looked embarrassed. “Much has been lost.”
“Then it should be found!” Rafferty snarled.
Once again, Sara interjected and changed the tone of the conversation.
“It's better to learn it from me than not to know it at all,” she said with her usual practicality. Quinn stifled a smile at Rafferty's obvious shock.
Sara rummaged in her purse, then triumphantly displayed a leather-bound book. “You should have read it before you left it for me,” she told Erik, much to Quinn's confusion and Erik's surprise. “Sigmund Guthrie explains in his book how to make sure a dead dragon stays dead. It's not a pleasant read, but apparently it's informative. And factual.”
A ripple of mingled interest and alarm passed through the group. Quinn was surprised and intrigued himself.
Sara looked around for a seat. Donovan pulled one forward for her. The other
Pyr
sat attentively, waiting for whatever she had to say. Erik looked particularly grim and his gaze was fixed on the book Sara had.
She sat down and fanned the pages of the book. “I thought it was garbage when I read it,” she said, nodding at Rafferty. “But now that Quinn has told me about your relationship with the four elements, it makes perfect sense. I think Guthrie was writing about
Pyr
, not mythical dragons, because he wrote that a dragon corpse has to be exposed to all four elements to remain dead.”
Quinn straightened in surprise.
“Or?” prompted Erik.
Sara looked up at him. “Or the dragon can heal and return to fight again.”
A murmur passed through the group. “That's why they took their own fallen back with them,” muttered Niall. “They're going to heal them.”
“Rouse them from the dead,” agreed Sloane and shuddered.
The others agreed and noisy speculation launched about how that healing might be done. Everyone was talking at once, it seemed, leaning forward and fixing upon Sara.
“Does the book say how to do the healing?”
“What are the conditions?”
“How long does it take?”
“Are there any aftereffects?”
“Well, that part is a bit vague,” Sara said, flipping through the book rapidly. “Let me see if I can find what it does say.”
Quinn averted his gaze, ignoring the conversation for the moment. He was remembering. It hadn't rained on the night that Ambrose had died. That meant there had been fire, earth, and air, but no water. He thought about the golden dragon he'd seen slipping away from the tower on this very day, the one whose scales and rhythm of movement were so reminiscent of his old friend.
He found his gaze rising to meet Erik's and guessed that their thoughts were as one.
“What if Ambrose isn't dead?” Erik murmured in old-speak and Quinn could only shake his head.
It was incomprehensible. It had been more than seven centuries.
How long did this healing take?
It was crazy, and yet, it made a certain sense. He remembered the coin he'd picked up in the arcade the night before, the one he'd changed to his own mark to protect Sara's home.
It had been a gold florin. He'd thought that it had been a message from someone who knew that he was old, but Ambrose had introduced himself to Quinn with a gold florin, all those centuries ago.
Quinn saw the coin now as a message from an old friend.
Or an announcement.
Or a taunt.
Quinn thought again of the golden dragon trying to kill Sara earlier and had to wonder. He had trusted Ambrose implicitly. He'd believed everything Ambrose had told him. Had he been too young to detect an older
Pyr
's guile? He glanced down and saw the redness rising on Sara's arm, a burn that was the result of the golden dragon's assault upon her.
Had that golden dragon been Ambrose?
But why would Ambrose try to kill Quinn's mate? The only logical reason was that Ambrose was a
Slayer
, that Erik had been right, and that Erik
was
true
Pyr
.
But what about the other deaths? What about the assassination of Quinn's parents and brothers? What about Elizabeth? Removing one crime from Erik's list didn't make that dragon innocent.
“Don't you know this lore?” Quinn asked Erik in old-speak as the others talked aloud.
The other
Pyr
shook his head slowly, with more than an increment of regret. “It must have been lost to us.”
But the
Slayer
s had the knowledge. The fact that they had taken the corpses with them was proof of that. They had advantage on their side in the old battle.
Quinn stared at the floor, feeling for the first time in centuries the burden of his responsibility to his kind. He knew that it was his obligation as the Smith to aid his fellows, but having been betrayed, he had focused on self-reliance instead.
It would have been easier to join the
Pyr
if Quinn hadn't had such mixed feelings about Erik Sorensson.
It would have been easier if he'd had only his own safety to consider. But there was Sara and she was vulnerable, and his first responsibility had to be to her.
“You saved my mate,” Quinn said, continuing their conversation in old-speak.
“That puts you in my debt,” Erik said and Quinn knew he didn't imagine the other
Pyr'
s smile of satisfaction.
Had Ambrose deceived Quinn in the past?
Or was Erik trying to deceive him now?
“Perhaps not, since you then cast her to what might have been her death.”
Erik shrugged. “You needed a shock to return to the battle at hand. I chose one.”
“You chose mercilessly.”
“No. I had no doubt of the outcome.”
“You sacrificed one of your own.”
For the first time, Erik looked pained. “I had no choice. Your mate could not die, not if the Smith and the Seer are to unite right now.”
“You can't believe that prophecy.”
“You can't disbelieve it.”
“I do. Prophecies are inaccurate nonsense.”
“No.” Erik shook his head. “They are infallible, once you understand them.”
“And you claim that you do?”
“I do. The union of the Smith and the Seer is the key to our survival and to our victory. Without your mate, you cannot become what we need.”
Quinn was dismissive of this attempt to draw him into a conflict he didn't want or need. “The
Pyr
do not need me, and I do not need the
Pyr
.”
Erik shook his head. “That is where you are wrong, Quinn Tyrrell.”
“I say
you
are wrong. I take care of myself and my own, and the rest of you are welcome to do the same.”
Erik shook his head again. “You can take care of your own only by embracing what you are destined to become.”
“I don't believe it.”
“And so we disagree.” The pair surveyed each other for so long that it was Quinn who was obliged to blink first.
But that didn't mean that he was convinced. Quinn still believed Sara was at risk and that her protection was his primary task.
No one, not even the self-proclaimed leader of the
Pyr
, would convince him otherwise.
The rest of the meeting in Erik's hotel room passed in a jumble for Sara. She had the definite sense that there was more going on than she could hear. She sensed another level of communication, one in addition to the words she could hear and the body language she could see.
Maybe the
Pyr
practiced telepathy.
Maybe she needed to read more of the stock in The Scrying Glass. She'd never imagined that the day would come when she'd think such a thing, but here it was. She wondered whether Magda was laughing somewhere.
Quinn became very quiet after she revealed what she had read in Sigmund Guthrie's book. At first, she'd wondered whether her contribution had displeased him, but he seemed more introspective than annoyed. It was as if he were trying to solve a puzzle of some kind, and Sara wanted to know what it was.
She had a feeling that he wouldn't tell her about it until he was ready to do so.
Meanwhile, she tried to answer the questions of the
Pyr
. It wasn't really fair, to her thinking, as she had a lot more questions than they did. On the other hand, the stakes were higher in their battle than her satisfaction of her curiosity.
It sounded as if they were fighting for their survival.
She was sure she'd have a chance to ask questions of Quinn afterward, but he seemed tired and preoccupied. They ate a light dinner together and he drove her home. She knew she didn't imagine that he checked every intersection and shadow thoroughly.
“Are you going to tell me that you need to stay over, to protect me?” Sara meant to tease him, but her question didn't sound as light as she'd wanted it to.
The truth was that she didn't want to spend the night alone. She wanted to do more with Quinn.
But she'd known him only a day.
Sara decided that she was more nervous than she'd realized and that it was affecting her judgment. Almost being fried can do that to a person.
Quinn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, which only drew her attention to the strength of his hands. It was all too easy to remember how he had touched her, and yearn for him to do it again. “You have to know that I'd prefer to be close, Sara.”
Sara swallowed. “Will you sleep tonight?”
He smiled, as if the idea was ludicrous. “No. No matter where I am.” He turned to meet her gaze, his own serious. “But the choice of where we go from here is all yours.”
There was heat emanating from his skin and a promise in his eyes. Sara doubted she would regret anything she did with Quinn, on this night or any other.
His presence, his steady gaze, his surety all combined to mess with her mind.
Sara tore her gaze away from his and considered the darkened house. It looked lonely and she wondered how jumpy she'd be alone. “Did you make your territory mark?”
“Several times.” Quinn said with a decisive nod. “And I'll add to it before I sleep.”
“Is it enough?”
“Yes.” He spoke with such confidence that she believed him. “It's freshly breathed, deep and well woven. I've been breathing smoke for a long time and this is as good as it gets. Once you get up the stairs and through the door, you'll be safe.”