Erik stretched out on the bed without getting undressed. He closed his eyes and welcomed whatever vision the world would bring to him. It took a moment to still his thoughts and slow his pulse. He was exhausted. He was frazzled. He felt pulled in a hundred directions, and he didn’t know the right choice to make.

He wasn’t sure there was a right choice.

Erik reached out to the Pyr.

He found Delaney, watchful at home in Ohio. That Pyr stood guard over his mate and son, vigilant at the farm he had chosen to make his home. Erik understood that Delaney would not come to the firestorm. He had a confidence that Rafferty would not need any aid in satisfactorily concluding his firestorm.

Erik believed and feared the same thing. Rafferty, of all of them, would surrender the most to the lure of the firestorm. Would he betray them all in pursuit of his mate’s affection?

That Delaney didn’t imagine his presence being necessary was a change. Did that strange blue-green firestorm give the Pyr unwarranted confidence?

Did it threaten their chances of success? Erik was coming to fear as much, but he sought the other Pyr.

He found Donovan, somewhere in the west of England. That he was traveling west surprised Erik, although Donovan’s purpose was hidden to him. He still could sense that Pyr’s resolve, knew that Alex and Nick were with him, and wondered at Donovan’s destination. At least Donovan was close. He could be summoned if Rafferty needed him.

But would Donovan come? Erik wasn’t as sure as he once would have been.

He found Quinn, still and determined. The fire burned bright on the hearth of the home in Michigan that Quinn and Sara shared, and Sara was curled in Quinn’s lap. Their fingers were knotted together over her belly as she dozed in Quinn’s embrace, and Erik felt her shiver despite the blaze of the fire.

Erik understood. The Seer was pregnant and she was cold. Perhaps she felt the influence of the darkfire. The Smith, though, respected the darkfire enough to be wary of it, especially when his mate carried his second son. Again, Quinn had faith that Rafferty would not need his services to successfully navigate the challenge of the firestorm—and he was determined to not bring Sara close to the darkfire.

Quinn had chosen, and he would not come to Rafferty’s firestorm. Erik was not reassured, although he understood what it was to be torn between one’s priorities. If Rafferty lost a scale over his mate, would it condemn him? The Smith would not be present to repair Rafferty’s armor, which was a troubling prospect.

Erik found Niall, annoyed yet again with Thorolf. At least that was familiar. Erik could understand Niall’s reaction well enough, and he trusted Niall to both guard Rox, his mate, and shelter the inexperienced Pyr.

Erik found Thorolf snoring in the spare bedroom of the apartment Niall and Rox shared. Erik was relieved not to have to worry about that member of his group. The firestorm could spare Niall and Thorolf, if Niall kept Thorolf hidden in the short term.

Erik found Sloane and winced at the heat of the argument that had already erupted between Sloane and Brandt, his cousin. They had fought and injured each other; although both had bled, they had also survived. Erik knew he could have gone himself. He had thought it better to come to Rafferty.

Now Erik wasn’t sure.

At least he’d been right that Brandt wouldn’t injure Sloane.

He felt Brandt’s progress, in his own direction, and he knew his vision of the future had had some merit.

Erik could not find Lorenzo, which was undoubtedly exactly what the other Pyr wished. Irritation grew in Erik, but he dismissed it, trying to maintain the state in which he could see beyond his own circumstance. If ever he had needed his gift of foresight, this was the moment.

Of Drake and the Dragon’s Tooth Warriors, there was no sign. Not so much as a shadow. Erik shivered, for he could not explain their disappearance.

Darkfire burned, tickling at the edge of Erik’s thoughts, incessant and seemingly eternal. It unraveled everything, putting his convictions of how matters should be—and would be—in doubt. The Pyr were scattered and divided, torn between their obligations. They were revealed. They were in peril. Even loyal Rafferty was defying Erik’s council. Erik and Rafferty had disagreed before, but this went deeper.

And it had only begun. Where would it stop?

Why had it started? Erik feared that Lorenzo knew far more secrets than even Erik had imagined, just days before.

That wasn’t good.

Erik had failed as leader of the Pyr. He effectively led them no longer. With that realization, he guessed one more change the darkfire would make. He had believed he could defeat Brandt, if Brandt chose to fight over the broken blood oath, but now, now Erik gave credence to the vision he’d had in the desert.

He’d seen himself in the company of the dead.

In his mind’s eye, the ghost of Sigmund, his lost son, appeared. Erik grimaced at the reminder of yet another of his failures. He’d failed as a father the first time, for Sigmund had turned Slayer. Was Zoë losing her fledgling powers because he was failing her as a father, as well?

He did not want to join his son in any kind of afterlife. He didn’t want to die. But Erik recalled that he had spoken to his dead son once before in a dream. He dared to hope that Sigmund brought him council.

Or tidings.

“The Sleeper stirs,” Sigmund murmured, his old-speak soft.

“I never knew of him before Lorenzo. I thought it was another trick.”

“Not a trick but a spell. The spell is the reason you need to find the crystals.” Sigmund had once collected old secrets and myths. He had an intimate understanding of the lore of the Pyr and had gathered more of it than any other.

Erik trusted his son’s knowledge, but he wanted more. He sat up, casting old-speak at his son, hearing his own urgency. “What crystals?”

“The Cantor’s crystals. Once there were three, a legacy passed from Cantor to Cantor. One created the Sleeper. One held the darkfire. Who has the third?”

“But what power does the third crystal possess?”

Sigmund smiled and shook his head. His figure began to fade away. “Old secrets are the best kind, don’t you think?”

“No!” Erik cried aloud. “You can’t leave yet!”

Sigmund continued to fade, quickly becoming no more substantial than a wisp of fog. “But who is the Sleeper?” Erik demanded, feeling that the rules had changed without warning.

Sigmund didn’t answer.

He simply disappeared.

When Sigmund had completely vanished, Erik threw himself back on the bed in dismay. Then he overheard Rafferty’s words from the kitchen.

“Let me tell you a story,” Rafferty said in the kitchen below, and Erik’s heart sank.

“No,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t tell her more.”

“Rafferty promised to keep the Sleeper’s secret,” Sigmund whispered. Erik couldn’t see him anymore, but his words could have been uttered against Erik’s ear. “But darkfire breaks all vows.”

“But he’s never told me!”

There was no reply. Erik opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, knowing that Sigmund had left him to his fate knowing that a sea change was in progress. He listened to Rafferty.

There was little else he could do.

Did Rafferty know about the three crystals, too?

Where was the third one?

And why did it matter?

 

Melissa sat with pencil poised, waiting for Rafferty to begin. She hadn’t missed that Rafferty was breaking rank with Erik in telling her anything more. She was pleased and excited that he intended to confide in her.

But Rafferty had fallen silent, a frown between his brows. “Well?” she prompted, fearing he was changing his mind.

“I’m trying to decide where to start,” he said with a small smile.

“At the beginning,” Eileen suggested. “And soon, before I fall asleep.” She grinned. “Not to be pushy or anything.”

Rafferty nodded. “Yes. I need something to tell this best.” He left then, leaving the women blinking at each other. Melissa heard him go to the library.

He returned a moment later, holding the same large quartz crystal he’d had in his hand when Melissa had first found him in the library. It was six inches long and a good three inches wide, precisely formed and clear. One end came to a point while the other was ragged, as if it had been broken free of a rocky mooring. It fit perfectly in Rafferty’s hand.

When Rafferty displayed it on his palm, Melissa saw the blue light still flickering in its core.

It looked like a spark, a crackling electrical fire, no more than half an inch across. Now, it burned steadily, never dying, and never flaring brighter.

Why had it blazed so brightly before?

“Is that darkfire, too?” Eileen breathed.

Rafferty nodded. “As guardian of the Sleeper, I was entrusted not only with his defense, but with this stone that reflects his state,” he explained. “For centuries, it has shone only a single dot of blue light.” He inclined his head toward Melissa. “This flare first appeared this morning, while you were sleeping.”

“That’s what you were worried about.”

He stared at the crystal. “It’s even brighter now.”

“Because the firestorm still burns?” Eileen asked.

“I don’t know,” Rafferty admitted. “I do know that it means the Sleeper stirs. It means the rate of his pulse and his breath has changed.” He pursed his lips, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It means he is closer to wakefulness than he has been in centuries, if not wide awake.” His voice dropped low. “My grandfather called him Cysgwr.”

“Is that his name?” Melissa asked.

Rafferty shook his head. “It’s his state or maybe his role. It means Sleeper in Welsh, the only language my grandfather spoke.”

He turned the crystal in his hands, frowning as if lost in memories. Melissa had seen that expression on his face before and guessed the direction of his thoughts. She’d glimpsed before that he was fond of his grandfather. Maybe that made the story hard to tell.

“Your grandfather gave you the crystal, didn’t he? He entrusted you with the role of guardian of the Sleeper.”

“No,” Rafferty said, to her surprise. “He tried to give me that task, but I refused him. It was the only argument we ever had, and those words of anger were the last words we exchanged.” He put the crystal down on the table, as if unable to hold it any longer.

Melissa could understand the burden of having parted badly. She’d been there and done that. She stretched out a finger to touch the crystal and found its surface slightly warm. Eileen was thoughtful as she sipped her coffee and rocked Zoë.

Rafferty swallowed. “I fear this is the root of everything. It is a keepsake of my pride and my error, and that argument is perhaps the reason the darkfire found me.”

“What do you mean?” Melissa asked.

Rafferty impaled her with a glance. “You cannot bear a son to me. The firestorm, which I have awaited for so long, is bereft of its purpose, which means that the dark-fire cannot be halted by conventional means. I have to wonder whether this is reparation for my mistake.”

Melissa wasn’t going to let him blame himself. “Maybe it means you’re the one who can think outside of the box.”

Eileen smiled. “Who better than the greatest romantic of the Pyr?”

Melissa was startled by this bit of information about Rafferty. “Really? A romantic?” That Rafferty appeared to be discomfited just added credence to Eileen’s claim.

Here she’d thought they had a lot in common.

Including a very basic pragmatism.

Was it possible that Rafferty wanted more than a sexual relationship? Melissa had assumed their interaction was all about instant gratification.

But had she only assumed that he shared her view?

“Absolutely.” Eileen put down her coffee mug. “Rafferty is the one who persuades each of the Pyr to make a permanent relationship with his mate, to go for the long term and to create a rewarding union. Rafferty is our forever Pyr.”

Melissa pushed back from the table and tried to make a joke. She’d been here and done this, and she wasn’t planning to live it again. Strange to have something in common with Erik.

She tried to keep her tone light. “Well, then it’s too bad I don’t believe in forever anymore.” She felt flustered beneath Rafferty’s warm gaze.

“Why not?” he asked quietly.

“There’s only now. The present is what counts. The future can be torn away in a heartbeat, leaving you with nothing at all.”

“And the only legacy of merit is the truth?” Rafferty asked with a piercing gaze.

Melissa nodded. “Absolutely.”

Rafferty reached over and took Melissa’s hand in his. His grip was warm, his hand large enough to envelop hers. “Firestorms are often about healing,” he said with quiet intensity. “Maybe your view of the future is one more thing the darkfire intends to change.”

“Amen,” Eileen said.

Melissa stared at Rafferty in shock, the heat of desire pulsing through her body from their entwined hands. She could lose herself in his eyes, in his conviction, and in his faith that the world was a good place.

Or that he could make it better.

She could love this man.

That was perhaps the most terrifying prospect of all.

Rafferty watched her, seeming to read every single one of her thoughts, then turned back to Eileen without releasing Melissa’s hand. “I know where to begin,” he said with conviction. “I will begin with the firestorm. With a story of destiny and love that endured long after that firestorm was sated.”

“Goody,” Eileen said, settling into her chair.

Melissa understood that Rafferty was going to try to persuade her to his view. With his hand locked around hers, and his attention bent upon her, she had a feeling he might just manage the deed. The darkfire danced around their locked hands, its blue light leaping high, apparently echoing Rafferty’s intensity. It also warmed her right to her core and made her want him all over again.

And yes, for the duration.

Melissa and her protective barriers were in deep trouble.

“Once upon a time,” Rafferty began in that melodic voice.

 

What he had to do was perfectly clear to Rafferty. Melissa had been wounded, and that wound shaped her view. Rafferty knew it as well as he knew his own name, just as he knew that he was the one to persuade her to believe in forever again.

Her healing would be the gift of the darkfire.

Giving her hope in the future, helping her to dare to believe in forever, might extinguish those flames of chaos. It might be the whole point. He would begin by entrusting his story to her, by baring his own truth to this woman who would pursue truth anywhere.

It felt absolutely right.

“Once upon a time, there was a land populated by both dragons and men. While beautiful, it was a hard location for any creature to live, given the meager wealth of the soil and the length of the winter. Those who lived there loved their homeland beyond all expectation. They fought brutal wars in its defense, they survived the reigns of all conquerors, and they created marvelous epic poetry. That part of the world eventually became known as Wales, and it is my birthplace.”

“Big source of dragon stories,” Eileen said with approval.

“You were one of the dragons?” Melissa asked.

“My entire family hailed from Wales. But by the time I was born some twelve hundred years ago, our numbers were vastly diminished.”

“Twelve hundred years?”

Rafferty smiled and nodded.

Melissa frowned at her notes. “How many firestorms have you had in that time?”

“The Pyr get only one,” Eileen said. “Usually.”

“This is the first.” Rafferty spoke with conviction, for it was the truth, and saw that Melissa believed him. “By the time I was born, the exploits of my family had become legends. But they were real, as real as I am, though perhaps not so fortunate.” He glanced into the darkfire, watching the blue flames leap and seeing another fire, one fed by peat, in a lost place and time. He recalled his grandfather’s voice, his stories, and his poetic gift, and Rafferty smiled at the memory.

“My grandfather was named Pwyll. I never knew any other name for him, and I didn’t realize as a child that he was as powerful as he was. I met him when I was eight summers of age. We Pyr come into our abilities at puberty—until that point, I was indistinguishable from any other child. I didn’t know I was anything but a human child. I had been raised by my mother, who did not speak of my father. It was my understanding that he was dead, although no one ever said as much.”

Rafferty paused, and he appreciated that Melissa watched him with care. “You might imagine my surprise when a spry older man came to me. I was sowing seeds in our garden. He knelt down beside me, told me he was my grandfather, and said he had come to teach me of my truth. I thought he was crazy, but I do remember how wonderful his eyes were. They glittered like jewels and were unlike the eyes of any person I’d ever seen. Like a dutiful child, though truly I was frightened, I insisted upon asking my mother. She took one look at him, and even I saw her relief.”

“She knew what you were, then.”

“She knew. And with one look, she recognized him. When he told her his name, she said, ‘Owen hoped you would come.’ Then she kissed me, made me put on my best coat and boots, and gave me a bundle with bread and cheese and apples. She looked into my face and told me to be good, to listen to my grandfather, and to let her know once in a while that I was well. She did not cry, not until we were gone. I heard her weep when we left the village. I would have gone back, but Pwyll put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Men cannot hear women’s tears at such a distance,’ he said. ‘Here is proof that you are different, that you are Pyr, and that you have need of what I can teach you. Trust your mother’s wisdom in this.’ And so I did.”

“It must have been hard for her.”

Rafferty nodded. “Yes and no. It was hard for her to lose me, but on the other hand, she had less burden without me.”

“One fewer mouth to feed,” Eileen said.

Rafferty nodded. “She worried less about the future, and that brightened her countenance. She stopped thinking of what she had lost—for she saw Owen each time she looked at me. The first time I went back, I was as astonished by the change in her as she was in the change in me. I had grown up, while she had fallen in love again and married.”

“She was happy,” Melissa said.

“She was. Pwyll knew the gift he was giving her.”

“Could he see the future?” Eileen asked.

“Not exactly. He understood people, almost as well as he understood Pyr, and he was better than most at seeing the shadow cast by choices made. At any rate, he became my mentor and my guardian. He lived in a cave high in the hills, hidden from the sight of men. It extended far down into the earth. I never did travel the whole length of it. He liked to light a peat fire near the mouth of the cave each evening and talk. He told stories, wonderful stories about the Pyr and our kin and the past, and I wish I could remember them all.”

“How old was he?” Melissa asked.

“I never knew. In human form, he looked like an older man. His hair was silver, but he was still strong and agile. Dates were not in such common use then as now. He said he was an infant when the Romans invaded.”

“But he had a firestorm?” Melissa asked. Rafferty liked that she needed to clarify all the details and that she kept making notes in that shorthand of hers. He doubted anyone could interpret it other than his mate.

“He did. That was why his hair had turned silver. We age very slowly until our firestorms, until we create an heir. It has always been thus. Even so, we can long outlive our mates. My grandfather found purpose in passing his knowledge to the young, although I know he missed my grandmother a great deal. He had a lock of her hair that he treasured beyond any other prize in his hoard.”

“Where did they meet?” Eileen asked while Melissa scribbled.

“They met because of the firestorm. He followed its heat, only to find that she had retreated from the world to a community of women. We would call such a place a convent, although it was not quite the same as our convents.”

“Why not?” Melissa asked.

Eileen spoke up, sounding like the academic she was. “Most of the women would have been illiterate. No study of the scriptures. As aristocrats, they brought wealth to the establishment. In the early medieval era, cloistered women lived much as secular women, involved in needlework and music and contemplation, but in the absence of men other than a visiting priest.”

Melissa nodded, then frowned. “But how could she have been your grandmother if she was in a convent? Did she leave?”

Rafferty smiled. “No. My grandfather slipped into the convent at night, went to her, and introduced himself. He said they talked that first night, as well as the second and the third. I expect he told her some of his stories, but it doesn’t matter—she surrendered to him on the fourth night and conceived his son.”

“Did anyone know he was there?” Eileen asked.

“Apparently not, for there was a great uproar when her pregnancy was revealed. It was deemed miraculous, or the work of a demon.”

The women laughed together. “Was she tossed out?” Melissa asked.

“I’ll bet not,” Eileen said. “If she’d left, whatever wealth she’d brought would have left with her.”

“Exactly,” Rafferty agreed. “She stayed, and her son was raised within the walls.”

“And your grandfather?”

“Went back. Repeatedly, from what he admitted to me. He had fallen in love with his mate and could not stay away. No wall could keep him from her; that was his claim, for his love was too potent to be denied.”

“So you come by your romantic inclinations honestly,” Eileen said with satisfaction.

“My grandmother conceived again, but on that occasion, the priests tried to exorcise the demon that haunted her. My grandfather wasn’t so easily deterred, my father remained resolute in her womb, and so she was evicted. The convent wanted nothing to do with a woman so attractive to demons.”

“Even with her money.” Eileen raised her eyebrows.

“Where did she go?” Melissa asked.

“She did not want to live with my grandfather, in his cave in the hills. I think he was surprised by her independence. She remained in town, in Carmarthen, and he regularly visited, taking gifts to her from his hoard. She never married another man, and her neighbors claimed her sons were fatherless.”

“Then they never saw your grandfather, either,” Melissa said.

Rafferty frowned, never having considered this. “Apparently not. At any rate, my grandfather was quite taken with his sons and visited them often. He told them the stories he later told to me.”

“But he didn’t follow that same course with you,” Melissa noted. “Why not?”

“Because it all went awry. I never knew my uncle, but he was said to have special gifts. My grandfather was the Cantor of the Pyr—he could cast spells with his songs—and his firstborn had the same gifts but multiplied a hundred times. My uncle had a phenomenal memory, he was a poet, and he had foresight. He also had talent with spells. He was the one conceived during the firestorm, the glint in my grandfather’s eye, a bright light that burned out fast.”

“What happened?” Melissa asked.

“There was much war in that time, and there came a party of men to the town. My uncle was playing with his friends while my father was on some errand. There was a dispute in the game between my uncle and another boy, and that boy became scornful, insisting that no one could take the cause of a fatherless boy. The visiting men overheard this. It turned out that they were on a quest, in search of a fatherless boy, and had feared they would never succeed.”

Eileen sat straighter. “I recognize this story,” she murmured, but Rafferty ignored her.

“The men took my uncle and my mother to Dinas Emrys. Here, a man named Vortigern was having a stronghold built, but the foundation was destroyed each night. His masons had instructed him to mingle the blood of a fatherless boy in the mortar to ensure that the foundation stones remained.”

“And so the quest.” Melissa’s lips twisted. “They probably didn’t know what was wrong and didn’t think this solution could ever be found.”

Eileen’s eyes were shining, her expression rapt.

Rafferty kept his gaze fixed upon his mate. “Quite likely. My uncle knew exactly what was wrong, because he recognized the hill from my grandfather’s stories. He knew Dinas Emrys was the hill under which two fighting dragons had been secured, in order to spare the world their violence.”

“And the scream they made, each May Day, which echoed through the world and was reported by Llud to Llefelys,” Eileen said.

“What?” Melissa asked.

“It’s in the Mabinogion,” Eileen said. “An old dragon story.”

Melissa shrugged and Rafferty continued. “So he told Vortigern to excavate the hill, that the masons would find a pool beneath it that was undermining the foundation. In that pond would be two large stones, and in each of those stones would be a dragon. Each night, a red dragon would emerge from one stone and a white dragon from the other, and they would fight until the dawn. This battle destroyed the tower each night. Each day, they retreated to their stones and healed, in order to fight again. Each day, the men rebuilt the tower, only to find it destroyed the subsequent morning.

“My uncle said more though, his foresight giving him a clearer view of the situation. Vortigern had usurped the power of his king, who had been one of three sons of a deceased king. My uncle compared the white dragon to one of the king’s surviving two sons and Vortigern to the red one. He prophesied that they would fight until only the white dragon survived.”

“So what happened?” Melissa asked.

“Vortigern commanded the hill to be excavated. They found the pond, they found the stones, and that night, they saw the dragons fight. It was a vicious battle, but at dawn, the dragons crawled back into their stones to heal. The men rolled the stones away while the dragons slept, drained the pond, and built the foundation. It held this time.” Rafferty smiled. “But Vortigern was burned to death within it when the king’s sons came to take their vengeance upon him for his treachery.”

“What happened to your uncle?” Melissa asked.

“One of the king’s sons heard the story and took my uncle as his adviser. My uncle repeated his warning that only one brother would survive, and he was ignored. The third brother killed my uncle’s patron, seized the crown that was no longer contested, and then he took my uncle as his adviser.”

“And his name was Uther Pendragon,” Eileen said with a smile.

Melissa looked between the two of them. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that part of the Arthurian legend?”

“All old stories have their toes in a truth,” Rafferty said, and Eileen chuckled, toasting him with her empty mug.

“What was your uncle’s name?” Melissa asked.

“Myrddin.” Rafferty let his smile broaden. “And yes, it was modified to ‘Merlin’ in the old French stories. Can you guess why?”

She shook her head.

Eileen laughed out loud. “Because otherwise it would have been Merdinus in Latin, which has an unfortunate connotation in French.”

Melissa laughed in her turn. “Merde means ‘shit’ in French. I remember the French crews swearing in Baghdad.”

“And so it does,” Rafferty confirmed.

He loved how she looked when she smiled, as if a flame had lit within her. She seemed younger and softer, more approachable.

He sobered then, thinking of the toll life could take on an individual and remembering his grandfather’s stories. “My grandfather believed his son had been found only because he had remained in human society. He believed that interaction had led to Myrddin’s downfall, and to his comparatively short life. He took Owen away then, to teach him, even though Owen never had Myrddin’s natural gifts.”

“Which was why he’d warned Owen that he would do as much for Owen’s son, and how your mother knew to expect him,” Melissa concluded.

Rafferty nodded. He watched her review her notes, looking for loose ends in his story.

“What happened to your father?” she asked.

“He was killed, within days of my conception. I never knew him, save through Pwyll’s tales.” Rafferty looked at the fire again. “Those were dark times for us, when the hunting began.”

The silence stretched between them.

But this time, it was Melissa who placed her hand on Rafferty’s. “I know what it’s like to have something else running your show,” she said softly. There was compassion in her eyes and, seeing it, he knew he had made the right choice.

He also believed they could make a partnership for the duration.

Even if Melissa wasn’t yet persuaded.