Kiss of Fury

by Deborah Cooke

  Then she heard them smashing the Green Machine in the lab. The sound infuriated her. Alex had worked years on this project and was within an increment of loosing it on the world. She had forfeited everything; Mark had mortgaged everything; they had begged and borrowed, and it was within a single hair of paying off.

  But someone was trying to destroy that dream.

  Alex wasn’t going to let that happen. She ran out of her office and her first breath burned her lungs. The carpet in the corridor was in flames. The file room had become an inferno.

  None of it stopped her. She ducked her head, darted into the fire, and headed for the lab.

  Mark screamed. It was a wrenching cry of pain, a sound unlike anything she’d ever heard him make before.

  Alex ran faster.

  The laughter grew louder, more malicious. Alex rounded the last corner in the corridor, confronted a wall of flames, and braced herself for the worst.

  But what she saw in the lab was beyond any vision of hell she could have imagined. . . .

  Alex awakened abruptly. Her heart was galloping and there was a cold trickle of sweat running down her back.

  She wasn’t at the lab.

  She was in a cold and unfamiliar room. She was lying in an elevated bed and the lighting was low. Darkness pressed against the large window to her left. The walls of the room were a pale mint green and the furniture was stainless steel.

  There were no flames.

  She looked again, then exhaled shakily. Judging by the darkness outside the windows, it was the middle of the night.

  But what day was it?

  An IV hung at her side, the needle buried in the back of her left hand. There were bandages on her palms and she could feel her skin sticking to the gauze. She was sore, as if she had been bashed and bruised all over.

  But she was safe. Alex forced herself to breathe slowly.

  She was safe.

  There was no fire.

  Even better, there were none of them.

  Alex surveyed the unfamiliar room. It looked like a hospital. There was a band on her right wrist with her name and the name of a doctor she didn’t know.

  Mark was dead. Alex knew that with complete certainty, although she didn’t want to think about why or how she knew. And the hidden lab of Gilchrist Enterprises, the focus of her life for the past five years, had been destroyed by fire. The Green Machine had been trashed, right before its big moment.

  The fire hadn’t been an accident.

  That made her furious. Only someone evil could have destroyed something so good. Only a truly awful person could care more about money than the planet itself. An image of that evil rose in Alex’s thoughts, but she shoved it aside.

  She might be down, but she wasn’t out yet.

  Before she could look for a calendar or chart, Alex heard voices approaching. She did what she had always done when there was trouble brewing: she feigned innocence. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

  “She’s had a quiet day today, at least,” an older woman said, compassion in her tone. “Although she usually has her nightmares around three in the morning.”

  “Every night?” asked a man. There was no real interest in his tone.

  “Every night,” the woman replied. Alex felt a stroke on the back of her hand. “It’s wearing her out, poor thing.”

  “It says here that she talks about dragons,” the man said, and Alex’s breath caught at the word.

  Dragons. Her breath hitched and she struggled to remain impassive. The hair was prickling on the back of her scalp.

  Dragons.

  “She does,” the woman said softly. “She screams and thrashes, and she shouts out for Mark. Then she cries.” The nurse stroked the back of Alex’s hand. “It’s terrible to watch.”

  “Well, she needs sleep to heal,” said the man crisply. “We’re going to kick up the dosage on the sedative. Put it in her drip tonight and see if we can avoid tonight’s nightmare.” Alex heard him scribbling. “And I’m going to move her over to Psych for observation.”

  “But you can’t transfer her to the psych ward! She’s just traumatized, and who wouldn’t be—”

  “When I want your opinion, Nurse, I’ll ask for it,” the man interrupted. “It’s the twenty-eighth already. Her burns are healed and we need the bed.”

  It had been October 14 when she and Mark had driven to the lab and found it burning. The fire had happened on a Sunday, the first Sunday they’d taken off in years.

  Alex knew sabotage when she saw it.

  She’d lost two precious weeks. If this was midnight on the twenty-eighth, there were only three full days left before the Green Machine’s big chance.

  She could make it happen.

  A piece of paper tore and Alex heard footsteps as the man walked away. “Who’s next?”

  “Poor thing. I would have given you another couple of days.” The nurse gave Alex’s hand one last pat. Then she strode after the doctor, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.

  Alex had seen enough movies not to be thrilled about a move to the psychiatric ward. She wasn’t going to be able to get anything done when she was drugged up and tied down, and she sure wasn’t going to be able to make her presentation from a big padded room.

  The best way to avoid the transfer was to leave, and to leave when her move was least expected.

  The nurse was getting more sedative to put in her drip.

  Now looked like a really good time.

  Donovan strolled the quiet corridors of the hospital, striving to look as if he belonged there. He was wearing green scrubs and there was a fake identification card pinned to his pocket. He tried to mimic the resigned exhaustion of the other staff he encountered in the ward, tried to look purposeful but not agitated.

  He was looking for room 767. Erik had gotten the room number and a status report from the hospital computers that very afternoon. The Pyr had been waiting for Alex to be healed enough to leave the hospital, watching vigilantly for intruders who might have plans similar to their own. There had been nothing suspicious, not a whiff of smoke.

  Donovan didn’t trust the silence. He was on full alert.

  After all, the Pyr had found the secret lab of Gilchrist Enterprises one day too late. The Slayers hadn’t killed Alex in their attack on the lab, even though she’d been there.

  Which meant they had a two-phase plan.

  The sooner she was in the Pyr’s protective custody, the better. Donovan sauntered down the corridor of the seventh floor and hoped Alex didn’t have a roommate. It would make his job simpler.

  He also hoped she was sedated.

  He snagged a gurney as if he’d been sent to fetch it and mumbled a few words in Spanish to the other orderly loitering by the elevators. He eased down the hall and began to whistle tunelessly.

  Room 767 would be on the window side of the hall. He counted the doors and narrowed his eyes to check the number from a distance.

  That one. Unfortunately, the room was near the nurses’ station and three nurses were doing their paperwork at the desk. The older one glanced up and Donovan hid his trepidation. She looked like a rule keeper.

  “You’re new,” she said with suspicion, and he shrugged.

  He mumbled something in colloquial Spanish.

  “Figures,” she said under her breath to the younger nurse beside her. “All the good-looking ones are illegal.” The cute nurse bit back her laughter, then winked at Donovan.

  He winked back. Some things were universal.

  A couple came out of room 767 just then and he halted to stay out of their way. The nurse followed the doctor in his lab coat, both of them taking notes.

  “Have her transferred to Psych before the shift change,” the doctor said. “Call so they know she’s coming. They can watch her for the rest of the night.”

  “It’s tough to get a gurney during the night.” The nurse spoke with a disdain that revealed her opinion of the doctor. “Lots of morgue traffic
this month with that flu.”

  The doctor gave her a look so poisonous that another woman would have flinched. This nurse, though, just looked right back at him. Donovan pretended to need to tie his shoelace so he could keep his head down.

  “There’s one right there,” the doctor said, pointing to Donovan and his gurney.

  “Where’s that going?” the nurse asked Donovan.

  He decided he spoke only Spanish, and was inclined to be quiet. He shrugged, as if it wasn’t his problem.

  “Solved,” the doctor said with satisfaction, and turned away.

  The nurse sent the dark glance this time, aiming it for the doctor’s back, then called to the station. “Maria? Can you finish up for me? I’m just going to get this patient transferred.” The cute nurse left the desk, smiling at the doctor.

  The one who had accompanied the doctor meanwhile beckoned to Donovan. She indicated that he should take the gurney into room 767, then gave him instructions in Spanish. He nodded his head, shuffled his feet, and hoped like hell that it was Alex they were planning to move.

  If not, he would have to make a mistake.

  Maybe he was illiterate, too.

  Alex’s scheme was foiled before it began. Within moments of deciding to escape, she was strapped to a gurney, still pretending to be out cold, and gliding down the corridor.

  This was so not a part of her plan.

  Even worse, she didn’t feel well. There was a sizzle of heat beneath her skin, one that had started when the attendant had moved her to the gurney. She felt feverish and excited and agitated, as if she were burning up.

  And aroused.

  This was not good.

  What was she going to do? Her situation was only going to get worse. She had to act now. But could she even walk? She didn’t remember being on her feet at all—she was probably weak and might be dizzy.

  That eliminated the chance of running.

  Or at least, of running and not getting caught.

  The nurse remained behind, only the attendant with his strong arms escorting her. Alex felt as if her blood were humming. Was it the drugs? Or was it an effect of shock? She didn’t like it, either way. The gurney was guided into an elevator.

  “Main floor?” asked someone else.

  “Sí,” agreed the attendant. It was the first sound he had uttered and Alex was surprised at the deep resonance of his voice. It seemed to vibrate within her and awaken a desire she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  She opened her eyes a slit and caught him studying her. Her heart skipped and she closed her eyes again.

  He had auburn hair and green eyes.

  He was tall, muscular, and handsome.

  And he knew she was awake. She could tell by the glimmer of mischief that had danced in his eyes. She could have sworn that if she’d kept looking, he would have winked.

  Alex tried not to panic. He’d tell them in Psych that she was conscious, and they’d give her a sedative immediately. She’d never get out of here in time, and those who had destroyed the Green Machine would win. Alex couldn’t let that happen.

  Even if she wasn’t sure what she could do about it. She wasn’t good at standing aside. Alex liked to solve problems, fix things, leap in and do her best to change the course of the world. Her hand clenched on the rail of the gurney in her frustration.

  To her astonishment, the man steering the gurney stroked the back of her hand with a fingertip, as if to reassure her, although Alex didn’t know why he’d bother.

  She also couldn’t understand why heat emanated from his touch, making her skin sizzle. She let her hand fall limp in her surprise. Her breath caught in her throat just as the elevator dinged for the main floor, covering the sound of her dismay.

  The other passenger left the elevator first and strode to the right. The attendant pushed the gurney to the left.

  How far was it to the psych ward?

  Could she trust him to help her?

  Could she ask?

  She wished suddenly that she’d learned Spanish.

  Alex peeked through her lashes to find that they were leaving the lobby. He turned into a quieter corridor and picked up speed. Alex couldn’t see anyone in this hallway and it didn’t look as if it went anywhere important.

  Did they lock the psych patients in the basement? She gripped the railings again.

  “Just stay cool and don’t move,” he said through his teeth. Alex was shocked by his vehemence and his words. He did speak English. “Leave everything to me. I’ll get you out of here.”

  Before Alex could say anything, he tossed a sheet over her face, then turned another corner. Alex couldn’t believe what she had heard, but when they got into another, smaller elevator, she smelled formaldehyde.

  Then she knew where they were going.

  She caught her breath and her apparent savior tapped one fingertip on her shoulder in silent warning. She felt the sizzle of a spark, heard him swear under his breath, but knew what he meant.

  She shut up. Corpses, after all, weren’t known to be chatty. Was he really going to help her?

  The elevator doors opened and the air was cold. Alex refused to shiver. He moved faster then, pushing her down a narrow corridor. Alex had a vague impression of other gurneys parked on either side; then her driver was challenged by someone else.

  He explained himself rapidly in colloquial Spanish.

  She was sure there were some cuss words in his response.

  He didn’t slow down while he talked, compelling the interrogator to run beside him to continue asking questions. Alex could hear the other man’s footsteps. His voice rose in protestation, her driver’s assurances seeming to fall on deaf ears.

  Alex held her breath.

  There was a squeak of hinges and a waft of cold air that smelled of freedom. Her attendant kept talking, his tone low and persuasive. Alex heard a car door open—no, it was bigger than a regular door. A gate on a truck maybe.

  Another man joined her attendant, the two of them unlocking the stretcher from the gurney. She slid horizontally and guessed that she’d heard the back gate of a hearse.

  The interrogator began to shout.

  “Madre de Dios,” muttered Alex’s attendant.

  “Beguile him,” commanded the other man, his voice even deeper.

  Alex felt her gurney driver turn away, felt the absence of his attention as if she’d turned her back on a fire. His tone was low and urgent, yet strangely melodic.

  The other man argued with him persistently.

  The deep-voiced companion meanwhile pushed the stretcher all the way into the hearse. Alex heard him walking around the vehicle. She eased back the edge of the sheet as he got into the driver’s seat of the hearse and started the engine.

  She could see through the back of the hearse that the hospital employee was more agitated.

  Alex’s auburn-haired attendant shook his head curtly. “That’s it,” he muttered, and the other man fell silent in surprise at his English.

  “But . . .”

  Her attendant decked the smaller hospital employee, who disappeared from Alex’s view. Her ally bent over the fallen man, before giving his companion a thumbs-up.

  “He’ll have a shiner, that’s all. And we’re out of here.” His confidence did dangerous things to Alex’s equilibrium. He reached for the gate to the hearse.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, her words coming slowly.

  He grinned and winked at her, the gold stud in his earlobe glinted wickedly. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

  “We’re saving you, Alex Madison,” he said, his eyes filled with dangerous lights. “Saving you and the Green Machine. Hang on.” He slammed the back gate with a decisive gesture as his companion put the hearse into gear.

  He knew who she was.

  He knew about the Green Machine.

  Alex knew she’d gone from the frying pan into the fire. She was being kidnapped, probably by two men working with the ones who had torched the lab.

&nbs
p; Dragons. Her mind shied away from that last image of Mark.

  Alex worked her hands free beneath the sheet and pulled out the IV drip. She willed herself to wake up.

  She wasn’t kidnapped yet.

  Erik had set him up.

  Donovan seethed with the realization. Erik had chosen Donovan to capture Alex because Erik knew that she would be Donovan’s destined mate. He didn’t know how Erik knew, but he was convinced he did.

  Well, Donovan wasn’t going to fall for the manipulation of the leader of the Pyr as easily as that.

  It was a dangerous and daring choice—exactly the kind of thing Donovan might have done—but a plan that could have gone badly awry. He’d been startled by the firestorm. He could have made a mistake. He could have been unlucky—instead of glancing up to find the nurse too absorbed in her charts to notice the spark dancing between himself and her patient.

  And he needed to work on his beguiling talents. He was jangled at the abrupt arrival of his firestorm, infuriated that Erik had set him up, and had only just barely gotten them out of there without serious trouble.

  He and Erik would have to have a talk.

  It wouldn’t be a friendly one.

  Rafferty ignored Donovan’s sour mood, which could mean only one thing. Donovan’s mentor was complicit. Donovan folded his arms across his chest and glared out the windshield.

  It didn’t help matters that he was strongly attracted to Alex. She was precisely the kind of woman he most admired: tall and athletically built. Dark hair was his particular favorite and he had a weakness for clever women. The inventor of the world’s first eco-friendly car couldn’t be anything less than brilliant.

  The hearse had mushy suspension and lousy acceleration. Donovan was impatient with its stately progress. The windows were tinted, so no one would be able to recognize them, and Donovan had smeared mud on the license plates. There was a barrier between the front seats and what Donovan thought of as a cargo bay, but Alex would be safe enough there until they got to Rafferty’s car.

  She seemed to still be sedated, anyway.

  She was his mate.

  Donovan tried to avoid the truth, but the truth wasn’t having any of it. He could still feel the spark that had leapt between his fingertip and her shoulder in the elevator, could still feel the heated shimmer of his body awakening to her presence as he moved her to the gurney in her room. He was still simmering, just because she was mere feet away from him, and his protective urges were redoubled.