One kiss will unveil the secrets of the past…

Cast through time with his fellow Dragon Legion Warriors, Orion follows the spark of his firestorm, the sign of his destined mate’s presence. Only when he’s left behind, alone in a different time, does he discover the darkfire’s deception. His firestorm might be a feint, but the woman touched by its golden radiance is one who could capture Orion’s heart forever. When Slayers attack, Orion is determined to defend her and her secrets, no matter the price to himself.

Grad student Francesca is more interested in her career and research than in getting married. But then, she’s never met a man like Orion, a fierce protector whose presence ignites an undeniable desire within her—although the seductive power of his kiss isn’t the only thing Francesca can’t explain. Orion also creates a glow inside the vase said to contain the voice of the Cumaean Sibyl. When that light is released, Francesca hears the voice of the past and is revealed as Orion’s destined mate—making her the Slayers’ target.

On the run, Orion and Francesca join forces to solve the Sibyl’s last riddle. Will success provide the key to their shared future? Or will the unpredictable darkfire snatch Orion away as abruptly as he arrived—along with Francesca’s memories of the dragon shifter who has claimed her heart? How much will either of them sacrifice to save their their unborn son and defend their future together?

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Read more about how Orion’s story fits into the established world of Dragonfire in this blog post.

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I’ve started to gather images at Pinterest for this story: they’re gathered in the Kiss of Enchantment album, but this Pinterest link will probably only take you to the Dragonfire album. It doesn’t seem to support sub-directories. You’ll see all of the subordinate albums, so just scroll down to 16 – Kiss of Enchantment.

An excerpt from Kiss of Enchantment…

Orion had come to hate the darkfire crystal. Each time that the Pyr of the Dragon Legion were bathed in its blue-green light, he braced himself for disaster. The best possible scenario was that he would be tossed through time and space with his fellow warriors, buffeted by wind and cold until all suddenly stilled. The worst, the part he dreaded, was that he would be left behind, abandoned in some unknown place and time.

He stood by his earlier suggestion that the stone should be cast aside, but Drake, the commander of their company, was resolute. The darkfire would take them where they needed to be. They must be steadfast and go where it commanded.

Five men had been lost early from their company of seventeen. He had known three of them—Lidio, Cletus and Milo—as comrades and companions and he mourned their loss. Were they where they needed to be or simply lost?

Orion resented that he did not know.

Then Alexander had recognized his old home and insisted upon seeking his wife there. Drake had granted permission to his second-in-command, but the crystal had heated as soon as Alexander stepped away from the company. Instead of returning to them, Alexander had run, intent upon discovering the fate of his mate. The crystal had swept them away before Orion could see the truth. Had Katina even been there? Had she welcomed him? Or had Alexander been left alone, as well?

It was unsettling to confront a challenge when its result could not be discerned. The darkfire glinted and shone, following its own enigmatic impetus, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

What better reason to despise the stone and the force that illuminated it at intervals?

This time, when the darkfire faded, the Dragon Legion warriors were in a sunny plaza. It was early in the morning, dew fresh on the flowers in the heavy planters that were scattered across the space. One man was watering the flowers and jumped in alarm at their sudden appearance. A large fountain was in the middle of the square, water splashing from it and sparkling in the sunshine. There were buildings around the square, their windows shuttered or dark. It looked modern, closer to the time of the Pyr who had released Drake’s men from Cadmus’ spell. Orion straightened with interest. Was the darkfire crystal finished with them?

The Dragon Legion had manifested in the shadows near what was clearly a restaurant. It was closed now, but the tables and chairs were still set up under awnings on its patio. At Drake’s direction, the company of dragon shifter warriors pulled together a pair of tables and sat down together, flicking anxious glances around themselves. Orion wondered whether the others noticed Drake’s strain.

There were only eight of them remaining: Drake and Damien, Thad and Ty, Peter and Ashe, Orion and Ignatio. Orion missed Aeson, who had been a good friend. He sat beside Damien, who he had known the longest of anyone in the company.

“Aeson,” Ty noted.

“One more lost,” Peter agreed. “Besides Alexander, that is.” He glared at Drake. “You shouldn’t have let him go.”

“I have no wish to deny a man his greatest desire,” Drake said. He held up the dark crystal, then closed his hand over it. “I wish it hadn’t lit so soon. I wish we could have waited for him.”

“He chose to look for Katina,” Ashe said to Peter, his tone defensive. “It’s our responsibility to defend our mates after we’ve had a firestorm. Alexander did what was right.”

“He ran to her,” Ty added. “Making sure the crystal left him behind.”

“Well, I hope she was there,” Ashe said, practical as ever. Drake cleared his throat but the younger man glanced up. “Well, I do! It would be terrible if he’d taken that chance only to find her gone.”

That had been precisely Orion’s concern. Alexander was a warrior who could be relied upon in any battle. He didn’t want to know that Alexander had been disappointed. He wanted to imagine him happily reunited with Katina.

The trouble was that he was beginning to wonder whether any of them would have happy endings. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The firestorm was supposed to lead each one of them to a destined mate, a chance to conceive a son, and a future worth paying any price.

No doubt Alexander had believed that.

“Alexander might have ended up alone,” Damien said and Orion realized he’d missed some of the conversation and speculation.

“That would suit you,” Iggy said to Damien, obviously trying to lighten the mood of his fellows. “Love them and leave them, that’s our Damien. Mr. Heartbreaker.”

Damien smiled, untroubled by the accusation, probably because it was true.

“Do you even have a heart?” Ty joked. “I remember that one in Paris.” He whistled through his teeth and Iggy grinned. “She could have had my heart and soul just for the asking, but not Damien.”

“He takes what they offer and leaves them behind,” Iggy concluded.

“And we’ll refrain from commentary on how that serves the good of mankind,” Peter muttered.

“They’re happy for a little bit,” Damien said. “It’s not like I trick them. They know what they’re getting.”

Orion watched as a pair of older women came into the square at the opposite end, unlocking a door and moving inside. Their clothing looked similar to the time when Drake’s men had been awakened by the Pyr. Maybe they were getting closer to that era. Orion had found it challenging, because of the tremendous change from the world they had known, but there had been other Pyr there, gathered together to fight Slayers. A bigger company of dragon shifters on a quest to improve the world had been comforting.  

“It’s a bakery,” Ashe whispered, watching the women. “Get ready for temptation when they get that oven going.”

There was an almost-silent groan from the men. “If we’re still here, we’ll go see if we can buy something,” Drake said.

“Or make a deal.” Iggy nudged Damien. “If our money’s no good, maybe Mr. Charm can get us some breakfast.” Iggy and Ty began to tease Damien.

“By Zeus, maybe that’s the point,” Thad said suddenly, interrupting the conversation. The others turned to look at him. “What if the darkfire crystal isn’t as unpredictable as we think? What if it’s got a plan to fulfill?”

“Such as?” Peter demanded. “What possible reason could be behind this insanity? Every time it flashes, we get picked up and flung down somewhere else. We don’t know where we are…”

“We don’t know when we are,” Ashe interjected.

“I’d say Italy, roughly 1972,” Damien murmured.

Drake peered at a church tower and shrugged. “Rome.”

Peter flicked a look at the pair of them that spoke volumes, then shoved a hand through his silvered hair. “We can’t eat, we can’t sleep, we don’t dare wander away from Drake and the stupid crystal in case it lights when we’re too far away and we get left behind. What kind of plan could there possibly be?”

Thad looked untroubled by the older man’s scathing tone. “Maybe it’s not an accident. Maybe the crystal is returning each of us to the place we belong. Scattering us like salt through the ages.”

“But how would it know?” Peter demanded.

“The firestorm,” Drake murmured, and the other warriors looked at him.

Orion frowned. “You mean that the darkfire crystal took us to Alexander’s village, precisely so he could be reunited with Katina?”

Thad nodded with enthusiasm. “It makes sense! Darkfire doesn’t have to be irrational. It’s disruptive and it’s unpredictable, if you don’t understand what it’s doing or why, but mostly, I think it makes unlikely things happen.” He nodded at the others. “And it’s linked to us. It’s a force associated with the Pyr. Why wouldn’t it enable the firestorm?”

“So, it sent Alexander back in time more than two thousand years to be with his wife and son,” Ashe said thoughtfully.

“So, he could keep his duty to defend them,” Iggy agreed. “Makes sense to me.”

“If they’re there,” Peter said. “If she still wants him.”

“That’s all well and good,” Orion said, getting up to pace. He wanted to do something, anything other than sit and wait. “But what can we do? How can we guide it? How can we guess where we are and why, or control where we go next?”

“Who else has had a firestorm?” Ty asked. “If Thad is right, the crystal will take us back to the mate.”

“I left a wife and son,” Drake admitted, his words soft. “Theo was a little older than Alexander’s son and Cassandra…” His voice faded and he stared into the distance.

“I don’t think you should tease yourselves,” Damien said flatly.

“Why not?” Iggy demanded.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Orion said.

“Because now one of you is thinking that your destined mate must be here,” Damien said, his tone harder than usual. “And each of you who hasn’t had a firestorm is going to want to break rank, no matter where we end up. You don’t know what the darkfire crystal is planning, if it’s planning anything. You could end up doing something stupid.”

Peter gave him a hard look. “Did you have a firestorm?”

“Yes,” Damien admitted. “And no power is ever going to take us to where she is.”

Orion averted his gaze, remembering the spark of Damien’s firestorm and how potent it had been even to be in its proximity. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how overwhelming its force would be, if connected to him.

As if he had summoned it with his thoughts, Orion felt a spark. Warmth spilled through his body, like light running through his veins, making him feel alive and vital—and aroused. He caught his breath, inhaling deeply of the golden heat of what had to be his firestorm. He lifted his hand and felt his eyes widen as fire began to glow around his fingertips. The flames grew, becoming a dancing halo of flame.

She was here!

“Great Wyvern,” he whispered in awe. “So, this is what it feels like.”

Then he looked. Sure enough, a woman had come into the square and was knocking on the door that the older women had unlocked. Her hair was dark and long, and he guessed she was in her mid-twenties. Her shoes were flat and her skirt short. Even at a distance, she was beautiful, and he would have noticed her without the firestorm’s heat.

A spark exploded from Orion’s fingertip and arched through the air toward her. An answering spark rose from the woman, and the two sparks collided in a brilliant burst of yellow light over top of the fountain.

She turned to look in astonishment and he saw that she was carrying a backpack. She had it cradled against her chest, as if there was something precious inside it.

His mate.

“She’s the one,” Orion said and began to march across the square. He watched her stare at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Her eyes were hazel with thick dark lashes. She retreated a step, holding that backpack close, as the golden glow of the firestorm caught her in a halo of light.

Then she pivoted and ran.

“Stop!” Orion called, then wondered whether she even understood the Greek of his homeland. He wished he had learned more of the language of the modern Pyr, though there was no guarantee she would have understood it either.

He felt rather than saw the flash of the darkfire crystal behind him, and turned as a wind stirred the dust in the plaza. He saw his fellows illuminated by blue-green light, but like Alexander, he raced away from them.

She was his mate.

This was his firestorm.

And no matter where and when this was, it was exactly where Orion was meant to be. He only hoped he could outrun the darkfire’s reach.

* * *

It didn’t take Francesca long to reach her destination. The square with the bakery was still pretty empty. There was an older man cleaning the fountain in the center, absorbed in his task, and many of the windows were still shuttered. A group of men sat on the chairs of a closed restaurant on the other side of the square. Most of them looked to be in their twenties and thirties, except for one who could have been their leader or boss. They were dressed casually but even at a distance, Francesca could see that they were really fit.

A soccer team, maybe?

If they were tourists, they had to be European. Maybe Greek, given their dark coloring, olive skin and quiet intensity. They didn’t seem to be talking to each other—just watching her. It could have been because she was the only person moving in the square, but Francesca guessed that it was because of her gender. She shot a glare across the piazza, which made exactly no difference to anything, hugged the backpack with one arm and tried the door of the bakery. It was locked, so she knocked.

Then she froze at a tinkle inside the backpack. Had she broken the vase? Terror shot through her as she remembered Mr. Montmorency’s warning, then the hair prickled on the back of her neck.

As if a storm was coming.

But it was early in the day and the sky was perfectly blue.

Francesca glanced over her shoulder and saw a bright orange spark. She stared in astonishment as it sailed through the air, bright against the vivid blue sky, a plume of yellow-orange heat on a mission—and headed right for her.

One of the men was on his feet, his hand raised as if he had flung it toward her. She opened her mouth to tell him off just as a second spark erupted from the backpack. It launched into the air like a rocket and the two lights collided over the fountain, sending a shower of sparks down into the plaza. Some of them sizzled as they landed in the water of the fountain. The older man watering the flowers flinched, but seemed unhurt. Francesca took a stumbling step backward, unable to explain her sense that she was surrounded by a halo of golden light.

Cradled by its warmth.

Turned on.

Oh.

The guy who’d been on his feet was crossing the piazza when she looked again, his determination evident in every step. He wore khaki pants and a dark T-shirt, one that didn’t hide the fact that he was completely ripped. His gaze was fixed upon her, his resolve so evident that she shivered.

Strangely enough, there was a blue-green shimmer of light sliding across the ground and his companions had completely vanished.

Francesca stared at him for a moment, unable to make sense of what was happening—then she realized he had to be a thief.

Dr. Thomas had warned her to be careful, but she hadn’t believed anyone would want Mr. Montmorency’s vase until this moment. She knew that even without the story of the Sibyl, old Roman glass had value to collectors.

She also knew that if this man caught her, he would overpower her easily. He had to be over six feet tall and all muscle. He marched toward her with the vigor of a trained athlete, so intent upon catching her that she felt the universe might be on his side. He looked both purposeful and relentless, so much so that she doubted that anyone successfully denied him anything. He had dark hair and a killer tan, shoulders that stretched his dark T-shirt taut, but his eyes were an unexpected silvery-blue.

Like the ocean in sunlight.

Now she was going crazy.

Or being mesmerized, maybe just as he planned.

Francesca pivoted and ran, hugging the backpack to her chest. The jar seemed to have heated from the impact of the spark, which made no sense at all. It got hotter with every step, and she interpreted that as a sign that he was gaining on her. It could have been glowing like a coal fire, but she wasn’t in a position to unwrap it and have a look.

She could hear his footfalls gaining fast and ran faster. She flung herself down an alley, not daring to look back and see whether he followed, then through a crowded morning market. At least she knew this part of the city like the back of her own hand, after her time studying here. She was sure she’d evade him, then she heard his voice.

Low and soft, as intense as he was, as deep as the ocean.

“Stop, I beg of you. Stop. I can explain.” His voice was melodic, almost musical, and seductive as hell.

Because he was calling to her in Ancient Greek.

Francesca frowned as her steps slowed. No one spoke Ancient Greek any more, especially not in Rome. Well, except for her, Larry, and Dr. Thomas, and Larry’s Greek was dubious.

None of them spoke it like this, so beautifully. It was like poetry to listen to him chastise himself, even when he cursed.

“How can I tell her? How can I convince her to trust in the power of the firestorm?” he demanded with quiet heat. “I am a fool! I do not deserve such fortune.” Francesca glanced back, then realized a bit late that she’d turned into a dead end.

How could she have been so stupid?

She’d been entranced by his voice.

She spun to face him, the backpack against her chest as if it would protect her. The walls rose four stories high on either side of the alley and there was a high brick wall behind her. Shutters and blinds were closed on every window and there was no one else in the alley.

Except him.

He halted, silhouetted against the open end of the alley, then pushed a hand through his hair. There was a golden glow between them, one that Francesca couldn’t explain at all, and it brightened as he took a step closer. It also burned a little hotter, making the backpack so warm that the inside of her arms had to be burning.

If that wasn’t strange enough, a languorous heat spread through her body from the backpack. She felt aroused, which made no sense, and she was sure her nipples had tightened. Her heart skipped, but not from the effort of running, her breath came quickly and she felt herself flush. It was a flush that came from deep inside her, one that made her toes curl and her mouth go dry.

One that made her realize how long it had been since she’d had company at night.

One that kept her rooted to the spot, watching him. 

He walked closer, moving slowly as if he was afraid of startling her.

And he kept talking, even as he stretched out a hand in entreaty.

It was the Greek that melted Francesca’s resistance, though, not his good looks or even his gesture.

“O, curse of my days and nights,” he said. “How did I come to be in this time, where I cannot speak to my destined mate, let alone court her favor? How could the darkfire so betray me, by delivering me to a firestorm that can never be satisfied? What have I done to merit such cruelty?”

Absolutely, undoubtedly, Ancient Greek. She hadn’t been wrong. There was no iotonisation in his vowels: he was speaking as they had in the second century BC. And so fluidly! The words flowed from his tongue with an elegance that Francesca envied. She’d never heard anyone speak the language like this.

She was transfixed.

He stopped two paces away from her, his gaze searching her face. His expression was one of wonder and despite his size and power, Francesca was convinced he meant her no harm. In fact, he looked to be shaken by her presence.

His hand shook as he stretched that hand toward her, then he stopped, as if he was daunted by her.

Those eyes with their ethereal blue seemed to see to her very heart. Francesca couldn’t even take a breath.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze roving over her, his admiration clear. Oddly enough, Francesca felt flattered, not ogled. “So precious and such a gift unexpected. And yet, and yet, Zeus might have made this jest upon me by ensuring that I cannot tell her of our entwined fates. How am I to convince her of the merit of the firestorm?” He lifted his hand and a radiance glowed from his palm, a flurry of sparks leaping toward her, the light so bright that Francesca narrowed her eyes.

They inhaled sharply in unison and their gazes met.

“Maybe you should tell me about the firestorm,” Francesca said in Ancient Greek.

His eyes lit with understanding and he smiled, a smile so dazzling that Francesca could only stare. He had to be the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He closed the distance between them with a purposeful step and caught her face in his hands. His grip was gentle, his hands warm, his expression so intense that Francesca couldn’t look away from him. He was studying her as if she was the greatest marvel in the world and it was hard—no impossible—to steel herself from responding. Francesca couldn’t even summon her usual skepticism, not when he looked at her like that, not when his thumbs slid across her cheeks in a slow caress.

“You understand,” he said with satisfaction, then chuckled a little. It was a dark sexy sound, so intimate that it could have melted her knees. “Of course. The firestorm leaves nothing to chance.”

And then, before she could ask any of the obvious questions, he bent and captured her mouth beneath his own.

He kissed her.

His was a perfect kiss, compelling, gentle, persuasive and demanding, thrilling. A complete stranger kissed her in the street—and he did it so well that Francesca could only kiss him back.

An excerpt from Kiss of Enchantment
©2023 Deborah A. Cooke