The air bubble’s velocity slowed. Water whirled against it with white swirl. Tania swayed with the movement, feeling the bump as she stared into the inky depths, watching, waiting for—
A blue-gray dragon materialized next to her.
With a yelp, she sucked in a sharp breath and jumped backward. She landed with a thump, her behind now aching as much as the rest of her. “M-Mac?”
Aquamarine eyes aglow, he reached out with a huge talon. Tania cringed and scrambled, pressing her back against the opposite wall. But even as she put distance between them, she couldn’t look away. Incredible. Weird. Astounding. He was power personified, a freak of nature with his horned head, webbed claws, and knifelike blade riding the ridge of his spine.
She sucked in a quick breath, dismay running hand in hand with fascination. Which was just plain stupid—the fascination part, not the freaked out part—’cause...holy crap. No way should she be looking at him and wondering about all kinds of inappropriate things. Like how he could breathe underwater. Or how he transitioned from a man to, well, that.
Tania frowned, her mind sharpening as she looked him over. Good lord. He was enormous, just flipping...huge.
Palming her prison with a webbed paw, he grabbed the bubble like a baseball, smooth scales glimmering in the near darkness. The curved points of his claws clinked against the globe. The sound echoed, pinging like silverware against glass. “Hold on, mo chroí. I’m gonna bring you up.”
Up was good. A dragon talking to her? Not so much. Except...
She wasn’t afraid anymore. A surprising reaction. Way off the wall considering all she’d seen tonight, but...God help her. She was so glad to hear Mac’s voice, relief shoved fear aside. He’d kept his word and come after her, and, like it or not, that made all the difference. Needing more reassurance, she reached up and pressed her hand into the center of his talon.
Tania blinked. Yes, he was real. She wasn’t imagining things. Or him...scales, fangs, and all.
With the thin barrier separating their palms, she rasped, “I want out...please, just get me out.”
“Another minute and we’ll be on the surface.”
She nodded, her gaze riveted to him, taking comfort in the aquamarine of his eyes. Strange, she knew, but the color calmed her. Made her believe it was Mac instead of a stranger. Instead of a monster with every intention of harming her. And as he propelled her upward—swimming through ocean currents, blowing by schools of fish and the rocky side of a jagged reef, bladed tail swishing like an alligator’s—Tania wondered when she’d lost her mind.
Somewhere between the bridge and here, certainly.
Proof positive lay in the fact she trusted Mac to keep her safe. To help her instead of hurt her. Crazy talk? No doubt. Gentle and dragons, after all, weren’t normally synonymous. But as the surface of the ocean rippled above them, winking in the glimmer of Mac’s gaze, Tania couldn’t deny the truth.
Everything had changed in the space of an hour. Imploding her life. Sending her reeling. Catapulting her into the unknown.
One in which dragons existed.
Now she needed to decide which way to jump and where to go from here.
Tania hardly made a sound as he broke the surface of the water with her in his arms. Her shoulder blades bumped the wall of his chest. Mac hugged her from behind, drawing her in, keeping her head above the swelling pitch of ocean waves. Water streamed from her dark hair, smoothing the long strands flat. Gasping, she tilted her face toward the night sky. The long, indrawn breath sounded painful, more wheeze than actual inhale.
She filled her lungs again, shivering so hard Mac heard her teeth chatter. He wrapped her tighter against him, lending her his body heat, and summoned hot water. The warm flow swirled, then washed in, making Tania sigh. As her tremors lessened, satisfaction rolled through him, dragging pride with it.
Holy shit. He’d done it. Gotten the job done and her out in one piece, away from rogue claws and off Ivar’s radar. No small feat. The unfortunate causality, however, was Tania. Regret lit Mac up like a war zone. His conscience dropped bomb after bomb until he imploded on a mental minefield.
Ah, who was he kidding? Good job, his ass. He’d scared the hell out her and...
Mac’s brows collided. He hated that it had gone down that way. With her stuck in the middle: being driven off a bridge, screaming and crying while he trapped her in an air lock deep underwater, propelled her out to sea, toward safety and away from the fighting.
But no other choice had existed.
The mission was goat-fucked from the word go. And Tania? She suffered the consequences, a casualty in the ongoing war with the Razorbacks. Although she’d done well, all things considered. Most people would’ve curled up and died down there. Yet she’d yelled at him instead, threatening him with...
Well, a shitload of things. Not the least of which was damage to a certain part of his anatomy. Mac cringed, the male in him reacting to the imagery. He liked his package exactly where it was, thank you very much. No need to switch up the arrangement. So, yeah, he wouldn’t be reminding her of that particular promise anytime soon. Or...ever.
Another soft swell rolled past, sending them bobbing on the surface. Tania twitched into a full-body quiver. He hugged her closer, using his voice—and a quiet tone—to soothe her. It didn’t go well. She was too tense, her lungs locked down, working hard to draw each breath. With a murmur, Mac breathed in her beautiful lily-soft scent, cuddling her with an eye to her comfort, even as his body reacted to her proximity.
Par for the course with Tania around. But that didn’t mean he would act on it. She deserved better from him.
A death grip on his urges, Mac shoved his arousal aside. He was stronger than that. The territorial beast inside him might not understand the difference between giving comfort and appeasing sexual need, but he did. No way would he add that insanity to the mental bag of WTF Tania no doubt already carried around.
So he held her instead...and waited. Tapping into her bioenergy, gauging her level of anxiety, he talked her off the ledge, using each murmur to ease her from frightened to calm and even. Little by little, her muscles unlocked, releasing the tight coil of tension, helping her to take deep breaths. Cresting another wave, Mac kept them buoyant, floating together inside the sickle-shaped cove of the small island. His gaze scanned the shoreline, night vision picking up trace along craggy outcroppings and the T-shaped dock jutting into the bay.
His mouth tipped up at the corners. Private. Beautiful. Remote. The island sat fifty-seven nautical miles from Puget Sound’s outer marker.
He’d won it fair and square in a poker game from some rich asshole in Boston seven and a half years ago. Perfect timing as it turned out. With his honorable discharge from the navy rubber-stamped, he’d needed somewhere to go...a new place to make a fresh start. The deed to the island had given him the incentive to pull up stakes, head west, and lay claim to the only land he owned.
Home sweet home. One he came to every chance he got.
And now Tania was here...in the spot he loved most in the world. Fitting that she would be the first to visit what he considered his oasis. Not even his partner had rated a look-see. He’d kept Ange in the dark, refusing to invite her in. Which was how he liked it: part of his secretive, isolation-loving MO. No one needed to know where he went every weekend or how he spent his vacation time.
All that would change, though, when he pinged Rikar with his location.
His secret would be out, prompting an invasion in more ways than one. First the Nightfuries would show up. Second? Ange would hammer him with questions and encroach upon the privacy he’d tried so hard to maintain.
Mac sighed. Things changed. Some for the better, some...not so much.
Giving Tania a gentle squeeze, he raised his head from the curve of her neck. She was calmer now, able to breathe without the awful hitch in her throat, but—
She twitched against him.
The rolling shiver wound Mac tight, setting
off his internal alarm system. Shit. She should be yelling at him by now. But contrary to his expectations, she hadn’t said a word. Not one peep since he’d uncloaked and started dragging her up from the ocean’s depths. Which scared the hell out of him. She should be on the rampage, pounding him with accusations along with her fists.
“Tania?” Cupping her shoulder, he turned her to face him. The smell of salt water swirled. He wrapped her up tight again and, his mouth pressed to her temple, asked, “Are you all right?”
Unresisting, she settled into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin.
“Honey, I’m sorry I scared you. I can explain everything, but Jesus...please talk to me,” he said, feeling her bioenergy dip into fatigue. “I need to know if you’re hurt.”
Still shivering, she drew her arms up. Her hands pushed against his chest. Stuck together, her lashes rose like dark spikes, and he got his first glimpse of her face. Jesus. She was so pale, and her gaze? Unfocused. Full of shock, which...God help him. Made his heart ache.
He cursed under his breath. It was his fault...the look in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty. All of it.
“My hands,” she whispered, her hoarse rasp telling him all he needed to know. She’d screamed her throat raw down there. Choking on remorse, Mac massaged the tense muscle bracketing her spine. “I t-think...”
As she trailed off on a hiccup, Mac glanced down. Jesus H. Christ. He needed to get her inside his cabin right now. She required medical attention. Or at least her hands did. Raw at the tips, her fingers were bleeding, nails torn to shreds.
With a muttered curse, Mac clenched his teeth, hating himself for causing her pain. Now, however, was no time to dwell on his stupidity. “Keep your hands above the water, okay? It’ll sting less that way.”
When she nodded, Mac hooked one arm under both hers. The Coast Guard lifesaving technique worked like a charm, his shoulder supporting her head as he towed her through the water. Powerful strokes took him across the cove toward the dock. Wispy clouds parted and moonlight glowed, glinting off inky waves, lighting the way toward the pier.
“How’re we doing?” he asked, worry biting deep when she started to shiver again.
And no wonder. She was losing heat fast. He’d kept her warm while they floated, but with each hard draw and pull of his arm, cold water washed between them while frigid autumn air rushed over her damp skin exposed above the surface of the water.
Goose bumps broke across the nape of her neck. Mac growled, disliking the sign of her bone-deep chill. Shit on a stick. Next time he’d heat the whole frickin’ bay, but...
His brows collided. Next time? Not frickin’ likely. There wouldn’t be a next time. Not if he could help it.
Each one of his strokes fast and true, Mac swam up to the dock edge. He didn’t bother with the ladder. With a murmured command, the sea obeyed, bubbling beneath him. On a quick inhale, Tania panicked, squirming in his embrace. He tightened his hold on her and—
Splash!
The water thrust up, launching him skyward, up and out of the inky chill. Holding on tight, he swung Tania against his chest midflight, one arm hooked under her legs, the other supporting her back. She gasped. His bare feet touched down, contacting with the wide planks of the dock. Wood groaned as the pier went topsy-turvy, and the tendrils of water receded, releasing them one wet finger at a time.
The second he was free, Mac put his feet in gear and ran down the pier toward the limestone steps that climbed the steep embankment and led to the cabin overlooking the bay.
Twisting in his arms, Tania’s teeth chattered. “I can w-walk.”
“I know you can,” he said, soothing her pride while refusing to let her go. She was out of luck, and he was out of time. No way could he put her down. Not with his dragon riding shotgun and his protective instincts up and running. “But this way’s faster.”
More efficient too.
Racing up the staircase, heart pounding, legs pumping like pistons, Mac reached out with his mind. His magic flared, rolling toward the cabin sitting at the top of the rise. Electricity crackled and industrial batteries—fed by the high-tech solar system—powered up. Interior lights came on, along with the LEDs flanking the footpath. He crested the last step. Another thirty seconds and he’d be inside.
Flipping open the double dead bolts with nothing more than a thought, he swung the front door wide. Within seconds, he crossed the threshold into his home, only one thing on his mind. Tania needed his care. And no matter how much she protested, that was exactly what she would get.
Chapter Eleven
Venom wobbled in midair, squad buildings and narrow alleyways blending into indistinct blurs below him. Circling overhead, looking for a safe place to land, he stretched his wings wider, trying to compensate. The north wind didn’t cooperate, buffeting him into a downdraft, making him work harder to stay airborne. He bit down on a groan as pain took him for a ride, tearing at the numerous cuts crisscrossing his torso.
Goddamn, that hurt. But worse? The gash bisecting his abdomen.
Venom sucked in an agonizing breath. Trouble didn’t begin to describe the situation. He was in crisis country, still bleeding like a sieve. Plasma flowed like rivulets of water, coating his dark green scales from lower belly to knee. Fatigue pulled at him. A sick wave of nausea joined the party, teaming up with the holy hell brigade already pounding on him.
Down. He needed to get his paws on the ground. Right now. Before he lost consciousness and kamikazied into the nearest building.
He had lots to choose from...unfortunately. The human ghetto was full of rundown-and-unlivable, the dilapidated housing units the norm instead of the exception. But worse, at least for him, no one seemed to have gone beddy-bye tonight. The street was way too busy: females working on corners, males milling around with heavy-duty bling displayed over dark hoodies pulling meet and greets, supplying product to customers. Music thumped too, bass pounding from stereo speakers as humans trolled, looking for drug action or asking a female’s going rate in the predawn hours.
Frigging hell. Too many witnesses with camera-equipped cell phones. Too many humans to mind-scrub, never mind avoid after he face-planted into the side of a building. Which...God give him strength...was looking more and more plausible with each passing minute.
Another wave of weakness rolled through him. A terrible yearning followed. He wanted to go home to Black Diamond. Craved the safety of the underground lair and the medical facility that sat in the middle of it, instead of this BS. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Not now. Or anytime soon, either.
He couldn’t fly anymore. His body was failing. The injury he’d sustained too serious to fight anymore. And after roof hopping most of the night to screw with the enemy’s head? The twenty-minute flight home through fresh mountain air and pine-scented forests wasn’t doable. Not for him.
God. Talk about screwed with a capital S.
He’d always been the strongest warrior. Not in the magic department. B and Rikar took top marks for that, but physically he outdid them all. Was the biggest, fastest, the most deadly in a physical fight...in a pack renowned for its prowess. And that was before he tossed his stamina into the ring, in battle, while on covert operations...wherever. The other males in his pack admired him for it, counted on him in tight situations. So the fact his strength—the very thing he prided himself on—had abandoned him?
Not cool. Or even a bit fun.
He growled, grinding upper fangs against lower. The gritting noise sent his head sideways. As his brain ping-ponged, banging around inside his skull, another round of weakness hit. Blinking rapid-fire, Venom watched the flickering red glow of his gaze light up the gloom in front of him. Pain throbbed through his abdomen, dialing him down another notch.
No doubt about it. Time to land.
Throwing a Hail Mary pass in a losing game, he mind-spoke, “Wick.”
Nothing came back. No answer. No growled response. No f-bomb or the rushing flap of wings
.
Venom wasn’t surprised. Wick didn’t talk much...even to him. And hell, he was the male’s best friend. Not that it mattered. He understood Wick. Knew what his friend had suffered and the conditioning that made him the way he was, so it was a no-brainer. His quiet nature and one-syllable responses never bothered Venom. But right now? He wanted to hear Wick’s “fuck off, Ven” so badly his head hurt.
He hoped his brother-in-arms was all right. Was on his way back from leading the Razorbacks away. The second Wick had gotten a load of his injuries, the vicious SOB went supersonic, attacking four rogues to protect Venom. A wicked strategy. One that worked like a charm and was not only a testament to Wick’s sharp intelligence and quick thinking but the enemies’ stupidity. They’d taken the bait and flown after his friend, leaving Venom to escape in the other direction. Now, though, Venom worried his friend was injured.
Why the hell wasn’t Wick back yet?
Forcing his sonar to work, Venom sent out a ping, trying to lock onto the magical signal Wick left in his wake. The energy signature was unique to the individual. Each male carried one, Dragonkind’s equivalent of fingerprints. When nothing came back, concern lit him up, but...
He was just so damned tired. Too far gone to search via sonar, never mind go after his buddy.
With a reedy exhale, Venom let exhaustion take him and, tucking his wings, dropped through the thin space between rooftops. His paws thumped down. The rough landing made him wince and asphalt crack beneath his talons. Dumpsters jumped, leaving their wheels before coming back down with a clang. Shifting to human form, he used the last of his strength to conjure his clothes. As leathers settled against his chilled skin, Venom hugged one arm around his middle as his strength gave out. His legs buckled, knees connecting with the debris piled in the center of the alley.
The foul smell of garbage rose. He pinged Wick again. The cosmic connection they shared flared. Swallowing the bad taste in his mouth, he rasped, “Wick.”
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