Midnight Moon (Vampire for Hire #13)(60)

Ready, Sam.

Breathing fire always felt a bit, well, orgasmic. And I was sure this was the case even now, except this time I didn't notice. What I did notice was the welling of energy in my chest. What I did notice was that something magical-something alchemical-was happening inside of me. Air was turning to fire, much as the rock had turned to water.

The four elementals, I thought briefly.

Yes, Sam, I heard Talos say, and then I wasn't listening to anyone or anything else, for now, something great was burning for release. And release I did, opening my mouth wide and thrusting my head forward: a great explosion of fire erupted out of me, searing Talos's throat and mouth and tongue and lips. I knew that after each burst of fire, the big fellow had to recuperate and heal. Breathing fire wasn't something he did every day-only when needed. And these days, it was mostly needed by me.

Luckily, my flying friend could also heal rather quickly. Maybe I had that effect on him. I didn't know.

But for now, fire shot forth down the underground tunnel, roiling and twisting and lapping. The wingless dragon let loose with a blast of its own, but, I suspected, its own fire had mostly been spent, if that was possible.

It's possible, Sam, came Talos's thoughts.

Which was a good thing in this case, too, for Talos's own blast overcame the dungeon dragon's effort, and soon the fire-fire that was still erupting from my now-burning lips-encompassed the creature completely.

As its own flame sputtered out, the creature twisted its now-glowing head this way and that. It clawed the air, screeching. The ungodly, hideous, ear-piercing screech wasn't of this earth. Literally. Most important, it retreated. And by retreating, it did something that seemed to defy physics: it turned in place, contorting its fluid, apparently boneless body. My last image was of its still-smoking tail as it dashed away.

Did I just have an honest-to-god dragon fight? I asked.

You did, Sam.

With the dragon gone, I thanked Talos and returned to my human form-and was as naked as the day I was born. I saw the queen running toward us. She had missed the show, I think, which was probably for the best. What couldn't be missed was that I was now butt-naked. Luckily, the injured Rory occupied most of her attention.

Once we were together again, I took hold of the baby's little hand in my own and placed another on Rory's bent back. I told the others to grab one of my shoulders. The queen did, looking confused as hell. I didn't blame her one bit.

Especially when we all reappeared in the forgotten little room with the magical wardrobe.



***



Sir Rory had met the business end of one of the dragon's claws.

Allie had used a bit of her magic to cauterize the wound enough to keep it from bleeding out. But there was more going on here than just the open wound and resulting internal damage. The skin had turned a bit green and looked, if anything, rotten. Although the bleeding had stopped, the poison seemed to be spreading. Myself, I was covered in a sheet that now formed a shawl. I was going to miss those Asics.



       
         
       
        

With Sir Rory still propped in Allison's lap-and her own clothing covered in blood and the queen nearby clutching her baby-I found the closest sentry and compelled him to fetch the closest healer, a number of whom, according to the queen, resided in the castle.

A short time later, I led the portly man back into the queen's private chamber. Once there, the man's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he spotted the kidnapped princess returned once again to his mother. He nearly asked about the babe, until he saw the realm's greatest knight lying injured in Allison's arms.

The physician magician asked for a pillow, which I fetched, and soon the big knight was lying on the stone floor, just a few feet in front of the wardrobe. The healer asked for some space, and we all gave it to him, including the queen. I next watched a series of potions being produced from the folds of the man's robe. Many of them bubbled and steamed. He mixed a number of them together into a smaller vial, stopped it with a cork, shook the hell out of it, then uncorked it and poured the contents over the knight's wounded head. Steam hissed. Green steam, and Sir Rory spasmed and roared, and then fell silent.

Later, the physician came to us and took the queen aside. I saw him look at us as he spoke, and she shook her head sternly and he nodded. After that, a number of solemn knights appeared and took their fallen leader away, off to the castle infirmary. Word was, the big guy would probably make it, although the poison might have lasting effects. Rory, I suspected, was tough enough and big enough-and in love enough with the queen-to power through and still be damned near the greatest knight the realm had ever seen. Earlier, there had been a brief, quiet moment when the physician had stepped out to fetch the knights, when the queen found herself mostly alone with Sir Rory. Mostly, because Allie and I were standing off to the side. The queen had leaned over him and patted his great chest and kissed him softly on the cheek. The knight had smiled.