The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2012 Coreene Callahan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781612182964
ISBN-10: 1612182968
To Mom and Dad: As always, thank you for being You.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sneak Peek: Fury of Desire
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Sleep always eluded Mac. Night, day...it didn’t matter. A solid eight hours of REM never made it onto his schedule. He’d tried everything: swapping his firm mattress for a softer one, kitting the thing out with silk sheets and the best pillows money could buy. Stretching out in his La-Z-Boy recliner. Hard-core sex before bedtime. Nothing helped. No matter what he did, the most he ever got was three hours in a row.
Which explained a lot.
Like why he stood by himself in the gymnasium he shared with the other Nightfury dragon warriors instead of tucked in his bed getting the recommended number of Zs. Seven stories belowground, their lair, Black Diamond, boasted the best of everything: state-of-the-art workout equipment, a basketball court, and a room full of tools used to sharpen dragon claws. The fact he was alone said it all. None of his brothers-in-arms suffered from insomnia. All were no doubt deep in la-la land, laid out under feather down, getting hot and heavy with an imaginary dream girl. Which...
Made Mac the sole patient in the sleep deprivation department of chez Nightfury.
Damned annoying. And even more of a problem today.
Combating a boatload of pissed off, Mac rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. He couldn’t afford to screw up. Or let his new family down. Not again. The other warriors were counting on him. Trusted that he’d learn to master the magic he commanded as a Dragonkind male to become a solid member of the Nightfury pack. Did it matter that he’d only just learned he was half dragon? That the magic encoded in his DNA had jump-started the change—allowing him to shift from human to dragon form and back again—just over a month ago?
Not even a little.
Time didn’t wait for anyone or give a shit about ability. And neither did Mac.
To fight alongside his brothers, he must prove he belonged with them. So, yeah. He needed to pull it together...right now.
Too bad the plan was goat-fucked six ways to Sunday.
His dragon half was AWOL, getting in his face, fucking up his flow, denying his will to control it. Cajoling didn’t work. Neither did babying the bastard. And threatening it? Shit, he’d gotten zapped with nasty-ass energy shards the handful of times he’d tried that approach. So what did that leave him?
Begging.
Mac blew out a long breath. Just the thought gave him a raging case of no can do—the obstinate SOB belonged to him, after all, not the other way around—but desperate times called for desperate measures. If he continued to screw the pooch, he wouldn’t get what he wanted. Hell...make that craved. He needed the Nightfuries’ acceptance. Without it, he wouldn’t get his warrior status rubber-stamped in the war against the Razorbacks, a rogue faction of Dragonkind whose endgame included the extermination of the human race.
He glared at the weight machine nearest him. Steel rattled, picking up the vibe he threw off, and shifted against the rivets that kept it bolted to the floor. As the calamity got going, clanking out a rhythm, industrial-grade fluorescents flared above his head, crackling through the quiet. A second before the lightbulbs exploded, Mac shut the energy overload down, more disgusted with himself than ever.
KOing gym equipment wouldn’t get him anything but more attention. The kind he didn’t need from the crew still asleep upstairs. He snorted. Now there was an understatement. Bastian, his new commander, would deep-fry his ass if he wrecked anything else this week. Especially since he was still on the hook for putting his fist through a wall.
Raising his arms, Mac cupped the back of his head and pressed down, pushing his chin toward his chest. Taut muscles pulled, and pain screamed up his spine. As agony slammed into his skull, he frowned at the real estate between his bare feet. The Velcro of the exercise mats lined up, connecting the whole, not even a millimeter off as each clung to its counterpart. Any other day, he would’ve appreciated the precision. Enjoyed the tidy corners and neat edges. Today, the sight just made him sick.
So together. So on the same page. So perfect in every way.
Unlike him. He was a total frickin’ catastrophe. The only guy in Black Diamond who didn’t have his shit together.
Mac’s headache morphed into a full-blown throb, pounding between his temples. The whole thing was a total mind-fuck. The failure. Each defeat. The fact his magic defied him. And as fear and uncertainty came calling, he shook his head. It shouldn’t be this difficult. He’d always excelled at everything—school, sports, the military, and martial arts. Nothing had ever pushed him to the edge of what he could endure...until now.
Why was he having so much trouble? Was it the water angle? Most dragons hated water and spent their lives avoiding it. Not Mac. True to his water dragon roots, he preferred to be in the ocean. The deeper the better, but any body of water would do. Give him a lake, river, or Olympic-size swimming pool, and he was good to go. The difference between him and the other Nightfuries, though, didn’t explain why his magic refused to obey him.
He frowned, turning the questions over in his mind, searching for answers. None came. No clever explanation. No aha moment. Just another big doughnut hole in an information string full of them.
Inhaling deep, Mac filled his lungs to capacity, getting back in the game. Surrender wasn’t a word he ever used, and as he held the breath, relishing the burn, he prayed the last time was the charm. He needed to connect with his dragon side like he needed legs to stand on. Letting the air go, he drew another lungful and released it.
Draw. Hold. Release.
Mac repeated the sequence over and over, using the breathing technique he’d learned in the navy. After a while, his heartbeat slowed. His body calmed. As the chaos in his mind receded, a sinking sensation grabbed hold and pulled him deep. A snick echoed as something unlocked inside him, releasing a flood of energy. The Meridian. Mother of God. He’d found it, tapped into the electrostatic current that fed Dragonkind.
And, oh man, it was beautiful.
Power personified, magic rushed through his veins, making his muscles contract and his he
art thump, lighting him up from the inside out.
“Come on, beautiful,” he whispered, nursing the fragile connection. “Stay with me.”
His words swirled through the quiet, echoing in the gym, reminding him he was alone. Good thing too. He didn’t want anyone witnessing the train wreck if he failed again. Call it pride. Call it ego. Call it a severe allergy to ridicule. Whatever. It didn’t matter, just as long as he caught hold of the magic and mastered the cloaking spell. The ability wasn’t optional. If he couldn’t cloak himself—go dark and invisible against the night sky—he couldn’t fight alongside his brothers. And if he couldn’t contribute as a warrior, he wasn’t worth the space he occupied.
Deep in the zone, Mac closed his eyes. As he shifted mental focus, he drifted toward the energy stream, afraid to lose the thin thread if he moved too fast. On the brink, he reached out with his mind, eager to touch and taste it while—
“You still at it?”
The rich brogue startled him, and Mac flinched. His dragon recoiled, turning away, causing the magic to whiplash. With a curse, Mac struggled to hold on, clinging to the fragile connection as he coaxed it to stay with him. The magical tether fractured, then faded, leaving him standing empty-handed in the darkness. Opening his eyes, Mac glanced toward the main entrance and snarled at the newcomer.
One shoulder propped against the doorframe, Forge raised a brow. “Not going well?”
“Son of a bitch,” Mac gritted between clenched teeth. His hands curled into fists, ready to open a can of whup-ass on Forge for interrupting. “What does it look like?”
“It looks tae me like you need a break.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Forge leveled a no-nonsense look in his direction. “And some sleep. When did you last eat?”
Good question. Mac didn’t know the answer. Didn’t much care, either. “Motherfuck. You screwed me up. I was seconds away from—”
“Touching the Meridian?”
“Yes, goddamn it.”
“You’re not ready for that, Mac.”
He threw his new friend a load of fuck you.
“I’m not saying it tae fuck you up,” Forge said, sounding so sincere Mac wanted to rip his head off. “You’re rushing things...pushing your magic tae dangerous levels. ’Tisn’t safe, lad. You went through the change just over a month ago. No way you should be trying to conjure a cloaking spell. You’ve a shitload to learn before we get to that. Need to be a helluva lot stronger too...which is why you should be eating and sleeping between training ops.”
The “we” in the sentence pissed Mac off, even though it shouldn’t. Every Dragonkind male was assigned a mentor after going through the change—a full-fledged warrior to teach him the ropes and get him through dragon combat training. Forge was his, and, honestly, Mac was thankful for the lethal SOB most of the time. But after screwing with his flow a moment ago, the male was officially on his shit list. “Go away. I need to get a handle on this before the others get up for the night.”
“Everyone’s already awake and in the kitchen.”
Mac gritted his teeth. He was out of time, and with the evening meal on the table, out of luck too. In another hour, the Nightfuries would ramp up for a night filled with their favorite activity...hunting and killing Razorbacks. Where would that leave him? Climbing the walls as he got left behind. Again.
“B send you to get me?” Mac asked, trying to stem the flow of disappointment.
“Bastian wants the entire pack together,” Forge said, pushing away from the doorjamb. “Something about a shared meal.”
Stretching out his shoulders, Mac nodded. Probably not a bad idea. The Nightfury pack had suffered a shake-up in recent days as everyone adjusted to the fact he and Forge were now in the fold. Accepting new members into a tight military unit was never easy. Mac knew it from experience. His time in the human world—first as part of SEAL Team Six and then as a detective for the Seattle Police Department—had taught him a few things. First among them? Trust was imperative to solidify a group. ’Cause, yeah: if you didn’t trust a guy, no way you wanted him protecting your six in a firefight.
The fact Bastian not only understood the principle but was taking steps to rectify the problem wasn’t a surprise. The Nightfury commander was tight in the head, solid in the heart, and wicked smart with a shitload of vicious up front and center. The pack’s cohesion and the health of each member was priority one for him. Especially considering the volatile mix of personalities and short tempers that called Black Diamond home.
“So...” Mac raised a brow. “We gonna have a love-in or something?”
“I wouldnae go that far.” Forge flashed straight white teeth, the grin devilish. “Frosty’s still pissed at me.”
“With good reason,” Mac murmured, fighting a smile. Rikar (aka Frosty and the Nightfury first-in-command) wanted his pound of flesh, and Forge topped his list of I’m-gonna-rip-your-head-off. Thank Jesus. Mac had enough to worry about at the moment. Getting his face rearranged by Rikar for leaving the guy’s mate unprotected during a showdown with the rogues was something he didn’t need. “Ange’ll bring him around.”
“Shite, I hope not.” A twinkling in his eyes, Forge grimaced, feigning alarm. “I’m looking forward tae the fight.”
Mac shook his head, enjoying his new friend’s cocky attitude. He shared it most of the time. Too bad the strain of the day had sucked the swagger right out of him.
Returning his gaze to the gym mats, Mac said, “Go eat, man. I’ll be up in a bit.”
“Mac—”
“Give me another hour. I’ve almost got it.”
Movement flashed in his periphery, and Mac cursed under his breath. Fucking Forge. The male had no intention of leaving him alone. Planned to drag him out of the underground lair by his balls and haul him topside for the meal. Mac knew it like he was standing there, bare feet planted, heart pumping, and fists clenched. He could smell Forge’s concern as the soft thud of footfalls echoed across the gym, ping-ponging off cinder block walls, coming closer by the second.
His head down, Mac tracked the sound, his peripheral vision sharp. Black combat boots came into view. Forge stopped at the edge of the exercise mats. Mac tensed, waiting for the male to cross into his airspace and get in his face. Fuck him, but he hoped Forge made that mistake. He needed a fight. Yearned for a ball-busting, knuckle-grinding brawl. Maybe then he’d feel whole again. Less like a failure and more like himself.
Mentor or not, it didn’t matter. A target was a target. And if Forge decided to accommodate him and slap a bull’s-eye in the center of his forehead, all the better.
Chapter Two
The only thing Tania Solares hated more than ugly shoes was being late. The first problem, after all, a girl could fix. Improve. Improvise. Whatever. The second, however, meant she was screwed. Which, come to think of it, pretty much summed up her day. And as far as mistakes went? Not her favorite in the perpetual string of crap that had been thrown her way over the last few weeks.
Forget about running on empty into emotional and mental overload. She was in quicksand territory, waist-deep and sinking fast. No life preserver to grab onto or rescue crew in sight.
Blowing out a long breath, Tania raked the hair out of her eyes and downshifted into the S curve. Her ’64 Mini Cooper purred and swung around the bend, catapulting her into the next turn. Oh yeah, she loved this stretch of highway. It was fun to drive. Made her feel powerful, like a Formula One driver racing for the finish line.
Not today, though. The usual feel-good vibe was 100 percent absent, leaving her feeling empty inside. Nothing but one big ache as she thought of her sister...the entire reason behind the solitary road trip. Tania did it twice a month, opening up her baby’s performance engine around curves and down straightaways on the drive from Seattle to Gig Harbor.
Which was just plain awful.
She really needed to make the trip more often. Should visit her younger sister every weekend, not twice a month. Thank God J.J. understood the demand
s of a busy career. Always wanted to hear about her job and the cool projects she worked on.
A landscape designer at a prestigious firm, Tania had plenty of stories to tell: project management, design problems and solutions, clients with more cash than brains sometimes. The subject didn’t matter. J.J. soaked up every tidbit. But that didn’t make it right. The demands of her job shouldn’t come first. Not when her sister needed her. She was all J.J. had—her sister’s only lifeline to the outside world, so...no, the long stretches between visits weren’t okay.
But God help her. She couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t swallow her fear or push back the feeling she wasn’t doing anything right. No matter how many pep talks Tania gave herself—or how many lists she made—something always fell through the cracks. Too many balls in the air. Too many demands on her time. Too many opportunities to screw up.
And joy of joys? Today qualified as a big, big, big one.
She was late. So very late. Now her sister would be waiting...wondering...worrying she wasn’t coming.
Her throat went tight. Classic. Another ball dropped, more guilt to throw on the ever-growing pile. Another thing to apologize for...’cause, yup: it was her fault. She should never have picked up the phone on her way out the door. That had been her first mistake. And the second? Being too nice, getting suckered into answering a bunch of survey questions about her shopping habits. Tania grumbled and, shifting gears on a winding incline, shook her head.
Curse her gung ho “Sure, I’ll help...no problem” nature. She really needed to learn to say no. And mean it.
And while she was at it, refusing to take no for an answer might be a useful skill to master. The perfect example? The flipping Seattle Police Department. They kept blowing her off. No matter how many times she went to the precinct—being a superpest was fast becoming her specialty—and asked them to do something, no one ever listened. And the detectives in charge of the case?
Total jerks.
Tania swallowed past the lump in her throat. Ah, nuts, not again. She needed to keep it together. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. Lord knew the waterworks hadn’t done anything but mess her up all week, but...
Fury of Seduction Page 1