Just a cold, dark, watery grave.
And Mac. Whatever had happened to him, it couldn’t be good. She’d felt the car explode around them. Heard her poor little Mini shriek as steel tore open and—
Wait a minute.
Pressing her bruised palms against the wall, Tania frowned. Something wasn’t right about that memory.
“Think, Tania,” she whispered to herself. “Think.”
Hitting the pause button on her brain, she rewound the mental reel. Her eyes narrowed. He’d been right beside her in the passenger seat. Talking to her. Soothing and reassuring her with his beautiful voice. Had cupped her cheek while he promised everything would be all right. She remembered the hard turn, the screech of tires, the red dragon’s sudden appearance, the explosion and—
Holy crap.
Tania sucked in a quick breath. Something about going over the side of the bridge wasn’t right. Mac had done...something.
She closed her eyes to search her memory banks. Sifting deep, Tania rubbed her upper arms, combating the chill. Wet wool scraped her palms as she shivered in the dark, wishing for dry clothes and the answer.
Mac. Something about him. Something...
Her eyes popped open. “Oh my God.”
Blue-gray scales. Aquamarine eyes. A big claw-tipped paw wrapped around her.
Shock clogged her throat for a second. A wave of relief followed. Which was just plain stupid. Mac was one of them. A monster with fangs and freaky body art. Yes, she’d seen the tattoo a second before they’d splashed down together. A swirling pattern like that was hard to miss. Especially with it shimmering against her cheek. Still...
Relief was a stupid reaction to be having. No way should she be happy about finding out Mac could turn into a dragon...or that the pink-eyed, red-scaled one didn’t own the bubble she sat inside.
How did she know? Well, she didn’t. Not really. But it made a certain amount of sense...in a freaky, crazier-than-crap kind of way.
Still kneeling on the hard floor of the bubble, Tania hugged herself and forced herself to think. Clearly. No fear blurring the truth. No panic clawing up her throat. Just clear, run-of-the-mill reason leading the charge into intellectual clarity. She took a deep breath. Then another.
All right. Good. Almost there.
She reached the point of no return fast. Maybe she’d lost her mind. Maybe she needed to be admitted for a round of drug therapy with antipsychotics, but the Mac/dragon angle worked for her. She couldn’t fault logic or what she’d seen. Okay, so she could. Eyewitness testimony wasn’t the most reliable, but imprisoned inside a snow globe with two options—Mac or the scary red dragon coming to get her—she decided in favor of her own sanity, choosing door number one and the man behind it.
Mac, after all, was the better bet. He wouldn’t hurt her...Tania blinked...would he?
Oh, snap. She hoped not. But a dragon was a dragon, and considering he’d trapped her underwater, she couldn’t be sure...of anything.
Fear took another turn, circled deep to stir suspicion. As self-preservation reared its head, she shuffled forward on her knees. Running her hands over the smooth walls, she slid around the interior of her prison, checking for cracks, seams in the clear sides, any weakness at all. She didn’t find one. The bubble was perfect, designed with one purpose in mind...to keep her in until whomever controlled it decided to let her out.
“Mac!” She glared at the domed top, then smacked the globe with the flat of her hands. The slap echoed, bouncing around the inside as her palms stung and her temper sparked. The big jerk. Who did he think he was...trapping her down here, scaring the hell out of her? “You nutbar...let me out!”
Calling the guy who held her prisoner names probably wasn’t the best strategy. Tania didn’t care. The chief idiot-in-charge deserved far worse—like a knuckle sandwich upside the head—for making her trust him. And as her terror morphed into anger, she yelled at him, “I mean it, Mac. Get me out of here, or I’ll...I’ll...”
Crap a frickin’-frackin’ crumpet. She didn’t know what she would do, but it wouldn’t be good for Mac. Would be overflowing with bucketfuls of nastiness and involve her kicking his butt while she revoked the trust card she’d handed him earlier.
Trust. Ha. Like he rated as trustworthy? A lying homicide cop–cum–dragon guy?
God, she should never have made that leap of faith. Should’ve ignored instinct—the need to believe in him—and stuck to her usual aphorism...the one entitled Never Trust a Man. For any reason or any one thing. Hadn’t she learned anything from her mother? From the jerk who’d called himself her father?
Men lied. All the time.
Tania curled her hands into fists as the certainty of conviction rushed through her. Her nerves settled along with it, then shifted, turning on a dime to fan her fury. The lying toad. The conniving jackass. He’d misled her on purpose...had jumped into her car (uninvited!), sat beside her (looking like a cover model and smelling like Calvin Klein cologne...the heavenly one she couldn’t resist!), and used that smooth-as-silk voice to persuade her to go along without a fight (the knee-jerk ass-funkle!).
Well, she was done trusting. Sick to the gills of being scared. Tired of being stuck inside a stupid bubble traveling at breakneck speed while waiting to die.
So forget about denial and plausible explanation. Forget about possible versus improbable. She’d seen what she’d seen...crazy fire-breathing dragon stuff aside. Now it was time to buck up and be brave. She refused to ignore the truth and bury her head in the sand. Not now when her life depended on it.
And honestly? Being pissed off at Mac helped. It gave her a target, something to aim at. And somehow, that made all the difference: settled the dread churning in the pit of her stomach, stripped away the band of pressure roping her rib cage, allowing her to take a deep breath, making her feel more in control and better able to handle what came next, scales, sharp claws, and all.
And if she got it wrong and the red dragon showed up to kill her?
Tania swallowed the bile threatening the back of her throat. The awful taste lingered as terror flew in for another visit, forcing a brutal case of the shivers down her spine. Right. Wrong. Friend or foe. It was just a matter of semantics. Of who reached her first.
Either way, she would go down fighting. Courage, after all, was a better option than crying.
Chapter Ten
Deep underwater in the center of Gig Harbor, Mac watched his comrades bug out in different directions. Smart move. Divide and conquer. It worked like a charm too, forcing the Razorbacks to scramble. His eyes on the night sky, he saw the enemy split into smaller packs to follow the other Nightfuries. He conjured another water javelin. The smooth, weighted shaft settled in his talon, the urge to throw it and KO another rogue jabbing at him.
Patience, though, wasn’t a virtue for nothing.
Ivar was still floating around, watching from somewhere. Waiting for the moment he broke cover. Too bad for the asshole, though. Mac wouldn’t be coming out of the ocean anytime soon. Still he played wait-and-see, poised to strike the second the rogue leader took flight from his hidey-hole.
Mac swam in a circle, webbed claws and blade tail propelling him forward with more efficiency than a boat motor. Not surprising, really. He’d always been a strong swimmer, the best in his navy unit. Which was saying something. Especially since SEALs thrived in all things water. Tonight, though, he had an added advantage. For the first time ever, his magic worked with him, not against him, merging his two halves—dragon and human—into a whole.
And surprise, surprise. A wicked benefit came with the abrupt about-face. Invisibility. He’d gone silent under the surface of the water. Was 100 percent cloaked and more deadly than a nuclear submarine at DEFCON Delta. Locked. Loaded. Lethal amount of kick-ass at the ready.
Halle-fucking-lujah. It was frickin’ about time.
Satisfaction ghosted through him. His tattoo tingled, throwing sensation over his shoulder and down his arm. Mac adjusted
his grip on the water spear, wondering if maybe the tribal ink had something to do with his disappearing act beneath the surface. Not that he gave a rat’s ass. Later would be soon enough to ruminate about the reasons. Right now he needed to make sure the Razorback leader stayed neutralized and off his trail. No way would Mac go after Tania until he knew for sure.
Splitting his attention, he kept his eyes on the night sky as he checked on her. Linked to her bioenergy, he scanned her vital signs. Elevated heart rate. Harried breathing. Pissed-off attitude. Mac blew out a long breath, relieved by the spike in her temper. Scared but okay. Thank fuck. Most women would’ve passed out by now...or had a heart attack from fright. But oh no. Not Tania. She reacted with a load of “I’m going to skin you alive.”
Literally. He could hear her yelling that exact threat at him through the connection he shared with her.
“Easy,” he murmured, pushing the word through mind-speak, hoping Tania would hear him. “I’m coming for you, honey. Easy.”
More yelling. Then a slapping sound and—
Another round of swearing came back at him.
Mac’s lips curved. He couldn’t help it. Despite her fear, she came at him full throttle. Add in her incredibly inventive vocabulary and...Jesus. Had she just called him a maggot turd?
“Tania. Hold tight,” he said, reassuring her the best he could from a distance.
He felt her go still, could almost see her tilt her head as his voice reached her. Propelling the air bubble out to sea with his mind, he checked its velocity. Stable and moving steadily. Next he tested the air quality, gauging oxygen levels and temperature. Too cold. He cranked the magical thermostat inside his head to keep her warm.
“Mac!” Muffled by layers of water, her voice wavered but still came through.
“You’re safe, mo chroí. You’ve got lots of air, and—”
“Let me go!” The signal faded in and out, lengthening each syllable. “I w-want out.”
Salt water washing over his scales, he cringed, regret sliding through him. Ah, God. He could smell her tears, feel her fear...and hated every second. The problem? He didn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t liked sticking her in the air bubble any more than she liked being locked inside it. But keeping her off rogue radar was priority one. He needed her alive. Wanted her safe. Cared about her well-being more than he did his own. And whether she liked it or not, her happiness took a backseat to saving her life.
Still, his heart ached for her as he said, “Just a little longer, Tania.”
“M-Mac...” She paused on a hiccup, and the hitch in her voice almost killed him.
“You’re all right, love,” he thought at her, asking for her patience. “Give me a minute to make sure it’s safe, then I’ll come for you. I’ll get you out...I promise.”
Static disrupted their connection, washing out her words. As it washed back in, he heard, “...donkey head...you can stick your promise up your—”
The signal faded out again.
But Mac didn’t require a road map to read the signs. She yelled another threat. He cringed. Motherfuck. She was creative and...yeah, retrieving her wasn’t going to be any fun. In fact, the antithesis of fun sounded about right. Particularly since she was now swearing a blue streak, piling on all the nasty things she planned to do to him when he came within striking distance.
Not that he blamed her.
“Mac,” Rikar growled, interrupting his tête-à-tête with Tania. “What the fuck are you doing? Move your ass.”
“Give me a sec,” he said, staring up through 150 feet of water. “Ivar’s still here somewhere. I think he’s laid up, waiting for me to break cover.”
“Christ.”
Wind whistled through mind-speak, the sound all about ass-hauling as B said, “We’ll circle back.”
“Don’t bother.” His night vision sharp, breathing underwater, Mac flipped onto his back and stared at the thunderclouds overhead. The rippling swirl of whitecaps rolled on the surface of Gig Harbor, disrupting his view as he swam beneath the busted-up bridge. He murmured a command. The waves calmed and the bay went still, smoothing out into a glass-like sheet of dark blue. Better. He didn’t have time for bullshit or one of Mother Nature’s temper tantrums. He needed a clean sight line to check the other side of the channel. One never knew. The asshole rogues might be hiding in plain sight, hanging off the structure like gargoyles or something. “He can’t see me down here. I’m cloaked.”
Silence met his announcement.
Bastian was the first to recover. “Fucking A.”
Pride in his tone, Rikar murmured, “You see anything?”
“Not yet.” His tail swishing in long, slow motions, Mac propelled himself through the water, cleared the underside of the bridge and—
“Motherfuck,” he said through clenched teeth.
Would you look at that? Frickin’ gargoyle was right. Make that plural, though—as in multiple bogies. He counted seven rogues, gazes aglow, all focused on the surface of the water. No doubt searching for him. Mac clenched his teeth as he found Ivar, pink eyes shimmering from the back of the pack. The lily-livered asshole. The Razorback leader was hiding behind his soldiers, using the bridge’s twisted concrete and the rogue pileup as a living shield.
Typical. And fucking annoying.
No way could he get a clear shot at Ivar through all those bodies.
Mac searched anyway, looking for a hole. Nada. No opening. No chance of nailing the psychotic SOB without jeopardizing his own position. Which left him where? Pretty much screwed. If he hurled his water spear, the Razorbacks would hammer him...all at once. Yeah, he might be deep under a load of cold-wet-and-delicious, but that didn’t mean the rogues couldn’t blast him out of the water with the combined fury of their exhales.
Frustration lit him up as he mind-spoke, “I’ve got a full fighting unit. And no shot.”
Bastian dropped an f-bomb.
“Mac...get the fuck out of there,” Rikar said, his firm tone all about being his XO.
“Live to fight another day?”
“Something like that,” B said.
With a growl, Mac rotated into a swirling flip. Cold water and ocean current slithered over him, wicking along his spine as he put himself in gear. Bladed tail working overtime, the water spear dissolving in his talon, he rocketed through the water. Leaving Gig Harbor—and Ivar the asshole—in his wake, Mac swallowed the bitter taste of defeat.
He disliked it. Immensely.
Retreat had never been his thing, but he knew his commander was right. He couldn’t take out all seven by himself. He needed a boatload of backup, which...shit on a stick...wasn’t available right now. The rest of the Nightfuries were a tad busy, playing hopscotch across Seattle with a horde of Razorbacks on their tails.
And him? His mission didn’t include getting dead.
Tania needed him. She’d waited long enough, and he couldn’t wait another second. Sonar pinging, he tracked her location, picking up the trace energy she left in her wake. The tingle slid around the horns on his head, and he growled, loving her vibe as it lit his senses on fire. God, he wanted to see her face. To make sure she was really all right. To soothe her fear, untwist her temper, and atone for her hurt feelings.
Sounded like an excellent plan. Only one problem with it, though.
Anger was unpredictable, and Tania’s was beyond volatile. And he deserved every ounce of her venomous response. Mac only hoped she forgave him when he explained the reasons behind his actions. Otherwise he could kiss his ass—along with his balls—good-bye.
Out of breath from yelling threats, Tania paused to refill her lungs. Her chest inflated, renewing her resolve even as her stamina wavered. God, she was tired, aching so much from hammering the barrier that her muscles quivered. And no wonder. Being trapped inside an air bubble was the craziest kind of workout. One of champions, not for the faint of heart or someone who lacked upper body strength.
Frickin’-frack. She really needed to spend
more time in the gym. With a tyrannical trainer and a handful of free weights, because her arms were giving out, along with her will to fight.
Muscles throbbing, her hands nothing but twin balls of pain, she swallowed the panic closing her throat. No way would she go there. The place called terror expanding deep inside her could go to hell. She refused to let fear win. Not again. She’d been there, done that earlier (and would have the T-shirt printed later if she survived to see another sunrise).
“Courage, remember?” she whispered to herself. “Courage.”
The pep talk didn’t do much good. Time was slipping away, making her question her own mind. And the sound of Mac’s voice. Had she really heard him talking to her? Had he really told her he was coming for her? That he was within striking distance...somewhere out there...swimming to rescue her from wherever she was in the middle of the godforsaken ocean?
Well, that had been...what? Five minutes ago? Ten?
Tania couldn’t tell. Couldn’t make her mind work well enough to count off the seconds to keep track of passing minutes. Blood rushing in her ears, she looked around, scanning the darkness outside the globe. Where the heck was he? She didn’t think she could take much more without breaking down. Without starting to cry again. Or scream as anger lost its power and the soul-rampaging terror returned.
Tania started to shake, the trembling no longer about the cold. For some reason the bubble exuded warmth now, soothing her bone-deep chill one shiver at a time. And still she shook, physical exhaustion and mental fatigue taking a terrible toll. Combating the next quiver, she hung on, trying to be strong.
Her resolve lasted half a second before she shouted, “Mac!”
“Here.”
His voice came out of nowhere, a beautiful, deep baritone full of promise. With a quick inhale, Tania spun on her knees in the center of the bubble, searching the abyss behind her. A glow cut through the darkness, coming at her like twin laser beams. Her breath caught. Shuffling to the other side of her prison, she pressed her injured hands flat against the curved wall. Ravaged by her rampage, her torn nails squawked and her fingertips throbbed. She ignored the agony as hope picked up her heart.
Fury of Seduction Page 11