Bastian and the Nightfury first in command were twenty minutes away, taking a night off, getting some well-deserved R & R with their chosen females at Black Diamond. A new occurrence for their pack. Until a month ago, none of them had ever taken a break. But some rules were meant to be broken. Now a new normal reigned. One that included the occasional night off—to rest, recharge, and recuperate.
Not a bad thing, just… different.
The bigger adjustment—at least for him—stemmed from another source altogether. The expansion of their pack.
At first, Venom resisted the change, not liking the paradigm shift, fearing the new members would get one of them killed. But after seeing what Forge and Mac could do… their special brand of kick-ass and how the warriors complimented one another? He’d changed his mind in a hurry. All right, so he still couldn’t resist busting Mac’s chops—razzing the resident water dragon was way too fun to ever stop—but neither could Venom deny that the wonder twins fit right in. The pair were viciousness squared. And honestly? Lethal with a heaping side order of brutal always got Venom jazzed.
Still, no matter how talented, the warriors couldn’t replace their commander.
Bastian had skills. Ones Venom needed right now. Without B in the mix—and his ability to read the enemies’ strengths and weaknesses from a distance—he was flying blind. Were there fourteen or more Razorbacks on the horizon? Experience told him multiple rogues of varying skill levels. But beyond that? He didn’t know. Worrisome. Nowhere near optimal heading into battle. Too bad beggars can’t be choosers. In order to protect his pack and J. J., no other choice existed.
Increasing his wing speed, Venom glanced over his shoulder. He cursed. Rogues at six o’clock, flying in fighting formation, white frost curling from their wingtips… coming down the pipe, right on their asses.
“Listen up, boys.” Watching the circus unfold behind him, Venom assessed the situation. He indulged in a quick head count. Huh. Only eleven rogues on the horizon, three short of two full fighting units. Instinct whispered. Something about the numbers didn’t add up. Neither did their strategy. Frowning, Venom laid it out for his brothers. “The bastards are splitting up. Half are headed our way, but I’ve also got multiple males landing on the hospital roof.”
“Shite,” Forge said, Scottish accent rolling. “They know about J. J.”
“Looks like it.”
Wick growled. “Stupid text message.”
“She sent a text?” Sloan asked.
“To Tania.”
“Motherfuck. Way too resourceful. Just like her sister,” Mac said, a growl in his undertone. As he dropped another f-bomb, the SUV’s engine snarled, the violent rumble coming through mind-speak as the ex-cop put his foot down. “Wick… put J. J. down and get ready to take the wheel. Forge and I need to get airborne.”
Frigging right. Excellent plan. Mac’s strategy hit all the markers. Outnumbered three to one didn’t equal great odds in a firefight, but—
Venom blinked. Wait a minute. Back up a step.
What had Mac just said? Something about… put J. J. down. Venom frowned so hard the space between his eyebrows stung. What the hell did that mean? Was Wick actually touching the female? Holding her in his lap or something? The thought seemed ridiculous. Way off base. His friend avoided physical contact like field mice did snakes. And given the fact J. J. had been sitting in a wheelchair when he saw her last?
No need to inquire further.
Wick always took the path of least resistance. His friend would’ve wheeled the female out, then handed her over the moment he made contact with the wonder twins. Venom would bet his fangs on it.
“Heads up, lads,” Forge said. “We’re making a right onto—”
Yellow flame exploded across the night sky.
“Shit!” Mac hit the brakes.
Tires squealed, shrieking inside Venom’s head as an enemy dragon uncloaked. Wings spread wide, the bastard hung above the cityscape and exhaled. Fire hissed between the rogue’s fangs. And Venom knew they were screwed. The male was a Flame Thrower, able to exhale a continuous stream of fire for minutes on end.
The steady inferno roared, rocketing over building tops, flashing off dark windows, polluting the air with the smell of sulfur.
More cursing came from inside the SUV.
Rage twisted through Venom. No way. Not on his watch. The rogue might be a tricky bastard—flying around the perimeter to come in the backdoor—but that meant nothing with him in the mix. He was faster, stronger, more deadly, and now…
In the prime position.
Speed supersonic, Venom torqued into a full-body twist. His wingtip grazed the surface of a top-floor window. Glass rattled. He set his sights on the rogue, lining his enemy up for the kill shot. Bull’s-eye, right on the male’s chest. The idiot should know better. An immobile dragon was a dead one. Good for him. Not so great for the Razorback trying to kill his best friend.
The frigging asshole.
Rising like a viper over rooftops, Venom exhaled hard. Luminous green fog shot from between his fangs. Like a pulsing wave, the venomous froth ate at the air, devouring the oxygen in a toxic curl. The rogue squawked. Too late. The glowing toxin engulfed the bastard, settling into his lungs, making him grab his throat.
The stream of flame ceased, turning off like a tap.
Talons deployed, Venom broadsided the male. He dug in, sinking his claws through scales to reach muscle and bone. The rogue screamed. Warm dragon blood flowed over his talons as the Razorback flailed. Showing no mercy, Venom bared his fangs and increased the pressure. Pain, oh the pain. Great fun to deliver to the male in his grasp. Well deserved too. The asshole had tried to scorch his brothers, so… yeah. He wanted to take his time, make it last, hear every last scream as the rogue begged for death.
Not that it would happen that way.
With multiple rogues converging on him from behind, he didn’t have time to screw around. Adjusting his grip, he pinwheeled, spinning the rogue full circle. An instant before Venom let go, he grabbed the bastard by the throat. A quick slash. A sharp upward thrust, and…
Eureka! One dead rogue. Nothing but an explosion of dragon ash.
The gray cinder flew, colliding with a building facade. The puff swirled like smoke, coating the glass as another Razorback attacked from behind. An instant before enemy claws touched him, Venom tucked his wings. With a grunt, he rotated into a somersault and scanned the street below. Blistered from the flames, tar bubbled up through the asphalt and—
Thank God. Cherry-red SUV dead ahead.
Ass end smoking from the almost charbroil, the Suburban roared toward the other end of the street, heading toward an intersection. Both the driver and passenger side windows opened. Mac and Forge slid out. Shitkickers planted on the running boards, the pair made like a couple of natural born surfers.
Relief grabbed Venom by the balls as Forge left his perch. As the Scot leapt skyward, he shifted, purple scales flashing, his growl loaded with nasty undertones.
On the move behind his buddy, Mac’s feet landed on the truck’s rooftop. Aquamarine eyes aglow, his gaze narrowed on a spot over Venom’s shoulder. “Ven… hard right.”
Muscle torqueing, Venom banked wide, and Mac unleashed. Water hissed through the air with violent intent. Forming mid-throw, a triple-headed javelin whistled toward him. Venom ducked. The rogue behind him squawked, then wing flapped, pulling up short, but—
Crack!
The water spear struck, piercing scales to reach the enemy’s heart.
The rogue gurgled, choking on his own blood. Another round of ash swirled in a wind-filled updraft.
Forge hoorahed, and claws leading the way engaged three rogues at once. “Top marks, lad. Keep that shite coming.”
“Will do,” Mac murmured, his eyes on the sky.
Venom grinned, showing fangs as he swiped at an enemy dragon on the flyby. Blood splashed up his forearm. Mac hurled another javelin and… thud! Match. Set. Game. Anothe
r Razorback down for the count. Goddamn. Top marks was right. Mac owned a first-class arm. One that would make the Seattle Mariners drool. But just this second? He was glad his buddy played for Team Nightfury, not in the human world. That water spear crap was wicked.
“Mac, move your ass,” Wick growled from behind the wheel. Hitting the brakes, he locked the tires. The SUV’s ass end swung around. Rubber pulsed against asphalt as the truck went into a controlled skid, snaking onto 23rd Avenue. The second his best friend cleared the corner, he gunned it. Big V8 screaming, huge trees from a municipal park casting shadows across pavement. “Get airborne, for fuck’s sake.”
“Wick…”
“What?”
Balanced on the SUV’s roof, Mac slid on steel as Wick changed lanes. “Get ready to pop the hood.”
“Say when.”
“Now!”
The cherry-red panel flipped up.
Shifting into dragon form, Mac leapt up and out, clearing the truck as he grabbed hold of the steel shield. Two Razorbacks attacked. Venom snarled and, flying in fast, grabbed the second rogue by the tail. Sharp spikes bit into his palm. He hauled him backward in midair. Idiot number one squawked. Venom ignored the outcry. With a quick twist, he snapped the enemy’s neck while Mac shit-canned the other, treating the rogue to a face full of steel. Another smash with the sharp edge of the hood and—
Dragon teeth flew through the air. The splatter hit Venom in the chest, spraying across his scales. “Ugh.”
“Suck it up, Ven.” Flashing a grin, Mac attacked another rogue.
“Easy for you to say.”
Course set to intercept, focus riveted on a bright-blue Razorback, Venom rocketed over a high-rise. Stone dust flying in his wake, he reached out and grabbed the tip of the male’s wing. Enemy claws raked his chest. Venom clamped down, ignoring the pain along with the Razorback’s freak-out routine and… crack! Bone snapped, disabling the asshole as his wing’s webbing tore.
“You don’t have…” Already looking for his next target, Venom sent the bastard into a free fall and growled, “… teeth stuck in your scales.”
Mac laughed.
Sloan streaked past, chasing a pair of rogues.
“Ven,” Wick said. “Heads up. I’m getting off the road.”
“Headed into the park?”
“Going to lose ’em in the trees.”
Good plan.
With Razorbacks in full swarm, and only four of them to hold the line, finding a safe place to hide the female sounded about right. Excellent strategy—really, it was—but for one teensy-weensy problem. Wick lived to fight. Hated to be left on the sidelines. Which meant… what? His friend would be hard-pressed to stay put while he and the others cleared the sky. The knowledge gave Venom a bad case of indigestion. But then, that tended to happen with a male as unpredictable as Wick in the mix.
J. J. woke up like an astronaut shooting into outer space, with gut-wrenching velocity. Surging awareness sliced through her. Sensation cut deep, making sound explode inside her head. Somebody cursed. Something high-powered rumbled. And the wind. God, it was howling, whistling against…
She frowned. Where the devil was she exactly?
Good question. With her sense of bearing shot to hell, she couldn’t tell. Too bad, really. She could’ve used a clue, particularly since she kept getting jostled. Each sway rolled her forward, then back. Surge and release. Bump. A lot of noisy rattling. More bone-jagging shudders and—
Her stomach clenched. Ah, crap. Not again.
The nausea, though, didn’t care what she wanted. The sick feeling spread, scalding her insides, tightening her throat, making her stomach heave. An awful taste washed over her tongue. J. J. gagged, but refused to give in. Nothing but pain lay in that direction. Raising her hand, she cupped one hand over her mouth. Bad decision. With her arm raised, her side squawked and agony swirled, joining the party, pulling at her ribs, forcing her to remember…
Everything.
The attack at the prison. Her injuries, all the stitches, the god-awful drugs, and something else too.
A guy. There had been a man at the hospital. A stranger, an angel with a compelling voice and calming presence.
J. J. frowned. God, that voice. Deep. Sure. Beyond incredible. Something about it called to her, making awareness spike and her interest turn. She wanted to hear it again. Needed the rich timbre to ground her in the here and now. Maybe then her mind would clear. Maybe then coherence would return. Maybe then she would remember.
Concentrating hard, she chased the soft sound of his murmur through her mind, hunting for the truth. Recall played a cruel game of keep-away. She dug deeper, needing to know. Fragmented pieces bubbled to the surface. J. J. shook her head. None of it seemed real and yet she couldn’t dismiss him. He’d been so warm. So powerful. So present and potent that the impression he left clung like seaweed in sun-warmed shallows. He’d done something to her. Saved her somehow. Soothed her while he took the pain away. And, hmm, that had been nice. The rush of sensation. The warm curl of comfort. The intense heat of his body along with his scent as he carried her away.
J. J. drew a soft breath. Carried her away? Now wait just a minute. Was she imagining that or—
A low curse interrupted her train of thought.
The scraping sound came next, then the bumping thump over something big.
She cracked her eyes open, and… wham! Instant recognition. Not to mention full-on alarm. Holy moly. She wasn’t in the hospital anymore, but in the front seat of an SUV. The backrest cranked all the way back, she lay curled on her side, snug inside a leather jacket with a blanket covering her legs, facing…
An angel. A man she now remembered with total clarity.
Odd, to say the least. With the drugs mucking up her mind, she’d doubted he was real when she saw him in the corridor. Now, with the effects of the Demerol gone, lucidity returned, helping her catalog the details. J. J. licked over the cut splitting her bottom lip. Tall. Strong. Amber-gold eyes set in a too-handsome face. Big, bad, and brawny. He owned them all, sporting each one like a junkyard dog wore spikes, razor-sharp teeth at the ready.
Ignoring the discomfort, J. J. swallowed past her sore throat. “Wick.”
“Shit.” He glanced sideways at her. “You’re awake.”
“Not an angel.”
His mouth curved. “Not even close.”
Good to know. Better to remember. Why? Something about him wasn’t quite tame. He was too intense to be considered safe. But even as instinct squawked, warning her of the danger, J. J. couldn’t muster an ounce of fear. He wouldn’t hurt her. Crazy to believe it? Probably. But for some reason, the observation didn’t change a thing.
She wasn’t afraid of him.
“Where are we?” Excellent question. One that needed answering—fast—considering her companion and his lead foot. Jeez, he was driving at breakneck speed… heading God only knew where. Glancing out the side window, J. J. forced her eyes into focus. Tree trunks raced past, galloping in the opposite direction. The engine roared. Wick cranked the wheel, spinning the truck around a tight corner. Dirt flew, spraying the undercarriage. Moonlight pierced the darkness as branches raked the SUV like gnarled fingernails. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe,” he said, eyes on the road, big hands on the wheel, expression set. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.” More insistent now, anguish throbbed against her side, working its way down her leg to beat on her broken ankle. “I’m hurting.”
“I know. Hold on, vanzäla. I’ll get you help.”
Not soon enough. It wouldn’t be soon enough. She needed something right now. A something she knew from experience he could give her. “Can you…”
He arched a brow. “What?”
“Hold my hand?”
Throwing her a startled look, he shook his head. “No.”
“Please?” She hated to beg—she really did—but touching him would help. Or, at the very least, g
et her through. Did it matter he was a stranger? Or that he didn’t want to touch her (yeah, that came through loud and clear), but… no. Forget logic. Only one thing mattered. She needed him, for some bizarre reason. So like it or not, he was going to hold her hand. “It’s getting worse, and I think touching you will help.”
A muscle twitched along his jaw.
“Please, Wick?”
Agony tightened its grip, snaking around her rib cage. As she gasped, silence stretched, one second lengthening into the next. J. J. drew her knees closer, curling into a fetal position, tucking her face into the collar of his leather jacket as she struggled to waylay the pain. A no-go. Brutal sensation told her all she needed to know. The last of the Demerol had worn off, leaving her unable to do anything but feel. Fighting the onslaught, her teeth started to chatter.
“Fuck.”
The growl swirled in the cab a second before his hand left the steering wheel. He held it aloft a moment, poised in midair, then laid his forearm across the SUV’s center console. J. J. didn’t hesitate. She reached out and, with a whispered “thank you,” slid her hand into his much larger one. Skin on skin, his unbelievable heat spread. Warm prickles ghosted up her arm, chasing her chills away. She sighed in relief. Wick flinched and, white-knuckling the wheel, cursed again.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound convincing.
She didn’t pull it off. Lying wasn’t her forte. Neither was faking it and—
A warm curl of sensation swirled through her. Something clicked, opening a channel deep inside her. Relief rolled in, breaking like a wave against a beachhead at high tide. The siphoning rush picked her up, blissed her out, relaxing her completely, and… oh wow. Thank you, God. That was unbelievable. An instant reprieve from the pain.
Her eyes grew heavy-lidded. His fingers twitched against hers. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
True. Then again, he didn’t say much of anything. He liked short answers, one to three words at a time. Not a problem for her. Quiet by nature, she appreciated silence—along with concise answers—more than most people. She’d learned that skill in prison. The more silent she became, the less others noticed her. An excellent skill to embrace when surrounded by violent offenders with impulse-control issues. Dum-Dum Daisy was proof enough of that.
Fury of Desire (Dragonfury Series #4) Page 14