Fury of Seduction

by Coreene Callahan

  So strategy time. He needed to figure out a way to let her down gently without—

  “Venom?” The hopeful note in her tone zapped him. “Will you take me there?”

  “Take you where, angel?”

  The disembodied voice drifted in from the corridor. Shitkickers thudding on polished concrete, Rikar followed, crossing the threshold, pale eyes locked on his mate.

  Venom blew out the breath he’d been holding. Saved by the bell. Or rather, the timely appearance of his XO.

  “To the Razorbacks’ old lair.” Expression set, Angela met Rikar head-on. “I need to take a look around...see what they left behind.”

  “No fucking way,” Rikar growled, then turned to glower at him.

  Venom quelled the sudden urge to skedaddle. Jeez, like it was his fault? Rikar was mated to the detective, not him. But considering the PO’d look on his XO’s face, only one thing left to do. Shifting in Sloan’s chair, he tossed Angela back in the hot seat. “Don’t get the wrong idea, man. I offered to get her the info, not take her with me.”

  “Ah, come on.” Giving Venom an exasperated look, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trained for this...know how to work a crime scene. I’ll notice and remember things you guys won’t.”

  Rikar scowled at her. “No.”

  “Please?”

  Venom blinked. Oh-ho. Trouble wrapped in a gorgeous, hazel-eyed bundle with a pretty please on top. Rikar was so cooked. Venom could see it just by looking at him. Yeah, the male had dug in to hold the line—desperate to back up his big-ass NO—but Angela knew how to handle her mate. Smiling softly, she approached on silent feet, got in nice and close, and laid her hands flat on Rikar’s chest. Venom shook his head. Holy God. The bonded male crap was some serious stuff. Why? Rikar—one of the strongest males he knew—was folding, his I-must-please-her gene kicking in with the force of nuclear fallout.

  “Look, Rikar.” Snuggling in, she encouraged Rikar to return the embrace. His XO didn’t waste a second. He wrapped her up, closing his arms around her before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You and the other warriors will be with me. I’ll be armed and—”

  The computer dinged.

  Dragging his attention from the lovey-dovey couple, Venom’s attention snapped toward the wall-mounted computer monitors. Bright blue, a video chat box flashed in the center of the middle screen. Not liking his delayed reaction, the ping turned into a squawk, sounding like a bad version of a fire engine.

  “Christ,” Rikar muttered. “What the hell is that?”

  Venom snorted. Frigging Sloan. Trust him to give a conference call an annoying ringtone.

  Paddling with his bare feet, swiveling in the ugly chair, Venom turned to face the desk that stretched wall-to-wall beneath high-tech computer screens. Hell, another travesty. Burned and blistered in places, with hatchet marks cutting into the wood, the work surface was more than ancient. It was a disaster. Sloan really needed to get a clue. The male was two for two in the design no-no department.

  Venom reached out, ignoring a twinge of pain, to palm the mouse. He double clicked on the link, expecting to see one of the Metallics. Too far away to use mind-speak—the cosmic connection required two things...consent between males and no more than five hundred miles between them to forge the link—Haider had been forced to set up a computer to relay messages from Prague.

  The video chat opened.

  Bronze eyes narrowed on him. “Where the fuck is Sloan?”

  Standing behind the chair, Rikar laughed. “Good to see you too, Gage. What’s up?”

  Never one for niceties, the male said, “Shitloads.”

  “Any of it good?” Venom asked, wanting to make sure. One never knew with Gage. Violent to the point of self-destruction, the male considered what the rest of them labeled FUBARed as fun. “We get any nibbles yet?”

  “Yeah. A big one.”

  “Oh goody,” Venom said, glad his buddies’ trip to Prague had borne fruit. That had been the idea...drop the hook, see who swam out to take the bait. His commander was smart that way. A consummate chess player, Bastian was always fifty moves ahead...a strategist without equal. And the Archguard’s stupid festival? Perfect cover for some serious reconnaissance. Gage and Haider had gotten the job. Smart move on B’s part. Haider was cunning, a smooth talker with wicked diplomatic skills. Hell, the male could charm the ears off an elephant if he wanted to. Anticipation gripping him, Venom shifted in the chair. “Who?”

  “Nian.”

  Rikar’s mouth fell open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  Yup. That about summed it up. Nian was a big fish, with even bigger family history. One that included his sire murdering Bastian’s father—and becoming sole guardian of B before his change—to take control of the Archguard. Not that anyone could prove it. The sly male had been careful, leaving no trail of evidence for anyone to follow. Supposition upon supposition, that was all they had. Not enough to go after the head of one of the dynastic families that ruled Dragonkind.

  And certainly not now. Nian hadn’t even been born when that crap went down.

  “You need to tell Bastian.” One hand planted on the desktop in his hotel room, Gage leaned in, getting so close to the webcam Venom saw the stubble on the male’s cheeks. “Protection in exchange for info. That’s the bastard’s game.”

  “Is he legit?”

  “Fuck no,” Gage said. “The little prick’s power hungry. Wants to be top dragon, just like his sire. Haider’s sniffing around. I’ll let you know what he turns up.”

  “Good,” Rikar murmured, one arm wrapped around Angela. “Next check-in?”

  Gage glanced at his Rolex. “Forty-eight hours. Make sure B’s in on the call.”

  As they nodded and Gage signed off, Venom’s eyes narrowed. Well, well, well. What a very interesting turn of events. Nian...in their back pocket. How serendipitous, not to mention fun.

  Venom hummed, the sound full of satisfaction. The set of circumstances almost made him wish he was in Prague...where he could witness firsthand the payback every Nightfury itched to deliver. And as he stared at the black computer screen, mind churning over the facts...heart filled with vengeance...he could hardly wait for the moment Bastian gave the order, and Gage ripped the Archguard idiot into tiny little pieces.

  The digital clock read 5:47—p.m. or a.m.? Tania didn’t have a clue. She was still fuzzy around the edges. Sleepy and warm. A gritty-eyed mess cocooned in cotton cling and fluffy feather down. Curled on her side in bed, she sighed and snuggled deeper, enjoying the soft covers and radiating heat, content to stay put and dream. To do something she rarely if ever did...

  Relax and be lazy.

  Hmm, yes. Without a doubt. Heaven. Angel clouds must feel exactly like this.

  With another sigh, she let her eyes drift closed. A few more minutes. Just a little longer, then she’d force herself to get up and face the day. Or night. Whatever. The time didn’t matter. Tackling her to-do list, however? Yup. That needed doing. Letting things slide wasn’t her style. So five more minutes. After that, she’d do what she did best. Brave the chilly air and cold floors outside the nest of feather down to check her e-mail. Call her clients. Keep everyone happy while she made all the problems go away.

  The thought made her smile.

  She loved her job. Adored creating beautiful gardens and intricate landscapes. There was something about seeing her designs go from paper to reality; the pride, the joy, the sense of accomplishment never got old. She made a difference in someone’s life every time she went to work. Tania snorted, the sound soft against the sheets. A difference. All right, maybe that was overstating it a bit. She wasn’t a brain surgeon, after all. Didn’t save people the way doctors did, but she improved their lives just the same, giving each of her clients a retreat. An oasis where stress took a backseat and happiness restored the balance a busy schedule obliterated.

  Sort of a game changer on the health front. Restorative in a way everyone needed...right?


  Tania yawned, then indulged in a mental nod. No question. Psychotherapy via backyard redesign. Her lips curved. Hey, she might be onto something there. A new marketing strategy to try at the next board meeting. She harrumphed. Uh-huh. Sure. And wouldn’t all the suits and ties get a kick out of that one?

  No doubt. But Tania didn’t care. She felt too darned good right now to worry about what they thought. Which was, well...odd. Especially since worrying was her go-to game. And she excelled at it. Little. Big. Concern knocked the ball out of her park every day.

  Home run. Round the bases. Go! Go! Go!

  Like an addiction, the vicious cycle never quit. Part of her makeup, she knew. A condition brought on by growing up hungry and never having enough. Well, boo hoo. Whatever. The therapists could slap all the labels they wanted on her. She’d survived: her father’s abandonment, her mother’s string of scuzzy boyfriends, J.J.’s fall from grace. Now she was stronger than she’d ever been, so...

  Tania took her psychological temperature one more time. Yup. Definitely lukewarm. No worries today. The realization made her giddy as the urge to jump up and yell, “Free at last. Free at last. Praise God, I am free at last!” streamed through her. She smiled, laughing at herself. Good Lord, she really had lost it. Well, either that or getting the recommended number of Zs really was a cure-all.

  Hurrah for her GP. He’d nailed that prediction.

  With a mental eye roll, Tania shook her head, then took a deep breath and got ready. Time to brave elements outside in No-covers-ville. Ugh. This was not going to be pleasant. The cold air told her so, nipping at her nose. She grabbed the edge of the duvet anyway, girding herself for the chilly rush, and—

  Something shifted behind her.

  Tania flinched as a low growl curled against her ear. Glorious heat followed, radiating along her spine. Another rumble rolled over the quiet. She froze, afraid to move, refusing to breathe, never mind look over her shoulder...

  Just in case.

  ’Cause, God. She wasn’t 100 percent sure, but that felt like a man snuggled up against her. One she couldn’t remember. At all. Which meant...what? One word. Tequila. Too much Jose Cuervo always resulted in bad decisions. Although, she’d never ended up in a stranger’s bed before. Had never wanted to, either, but...

  She shifted, wiggling to confirm her suspicions. Solid and warm, the body nestled closer and...oh, snap. Not good. That was definitely a guy. A big one with long limbs roped by a serious amount of muscle. Tania cursed under her breath. She was so screwed, way out in deep six territory with no idea how to handle the situation. Should she make a quick getaway? Slip out of bed? Hope he didn’t notice? Put her clothes on and—

  Wait a minute. Hold everything. Clothes?

  She scissored her legs beneath the sheet. Relief hit her in a blinding wave. Definite separation. No skin on skin, just blessed too-big sweatpants and a thank-you-God hoodie covering her from ankles to chin. Hurrah for her modesty. It was easier to make a mad dash for the door, after all, when you had clothes on.

  Releasing the lockdown on her lungs, Tania exhaled and, preparing to move, opened her eyes. The clock face glowed, staring at her through the darkness, illuminating the edge of the bed. One hand flat on the mattress for leverage, she slid toward it, praying she didn’t wake him. Her slight shift jostled him. Whoever-he-was hummed, the sound half growl, half purr. Tania froze, simply stopped breathing to bargain with God.

  Oh please, let her make a clean getaway.

  All she needed was thirty seconds...flat. That was it, and she’d be gone. Halfway home before Mr. X woke up and—

  A big hand settled on the curve of her bare belly.

  Heat flared. Static electricity zapped her. She jumped, shock wreaking havoc as his hold firmed. With a quiet snarl, he reeled her in, pulling her back into his arms. Flush against him now—bum to groin, back to his chest—his calloused hand roamed, moving up beneath her shirt. She gasped and made a grab for it. He whispered her name. Her breath caught, the sound of his voice dragging recall front and center.

  She twisted to look over her shoulder. He blocked the movement, imprisoning her against him. A tussle ensued as she tried to turn in his arms. She lost. He won, controlling her completely. His fingers slipped beneath her waistband, teasing the sensitive skin on her belly. Tania swallowed, each breath coming harder and faster. God, she knew him. Recognized the hard body spooning hers now: the calloused heat, the wicked sensation, the way he made her nerve endings stand at attention while she waited for him to move lower. And his scent...oh jeez, someone help her. He smelled clean, spicy, more exotic than skinny-dipping at midnight.

  “Mac?”

  “Mine.” Edged by slumber, his voice came out low and deep...possessive.

  Tania blinked. Mine? What kind of answer was that? Not a very good one. Especially since his hand was on the move again. She twitched as he dipped into her belly button, then reversed direction. His palm slid up, pushing her sweatshirt above her rib cage. Pleasure licked through her. Tania tensed and told herself to do the right thing. To wiggle free and give him hell, but...oh crap. Sound the alert. The ship had already landed. Or rather, Mac’s large hand, curling around her breast, brushing over her nipple, arousing her so fast surprise took a nasty turn into disbelief.

  Oh boy...oh boy, oh boy. He was...was...

  He stroked her again.

  Sucking in a quick breath, she arched against her will. Ah, nuts. Rampaging attraction. Pitiful willpower. Beautiful ever-loving bliss. He felt so good. And she was so cooked, unable to deny desire as she pressed her bottom against his groin. She bit down on a moan. Oh, but he was incredible: long, hard, so ready to please her. Memories of the first time—the pleasure of having him deep inside her—nudged her, egging her on. Red-hot need seconded the motion, and—

  What the heck was wrong with her?

  She should be stopping him, not encouraging him. But even as her internal alarm bell clanged and she told herself to stop—to shove out of his embrace and get the heck away from him—Tania shifted, rolling her hips with erotic precision. He groaned, responding so well and...oh yes, please. Full-on contact: his hands beneath her shirt and on her bare skin, his erection pressed against her bum, the heat of his mouth on the side of her neck.

  She swallowed past her sudden case of dry mouth. “Mac?”

  “More,” he said, the word slurred, his voice husky and sleep filled. “All...everything.”

  Tania frowned. He sounded odd, not at all like his usual self.

  A quick twist. A tidy shift, and...bingo. She turned the tables, loosening his grip, and spun in his arms. He retaliated by taking control. With rough hands, he pushed her onto her back and into the mattress. Cotton sighed. Tania moaned as he shackled her wrists with one hand and settled between the spread of her thighs. Mac pressed in, erection to core, and circled his hips against her. And she lost her mind. Just a little bit, ’cause, holy jeez, he knew what he was doing. Turning her on. Holding her down. Dominating her the way she liked...craved. Needed him to.

  She’d never been into BDSM. But with Mac? The idea of being tied up and made to submit took on new dimension. Silk bonds and fur-lined handcuffs? Oh baby. Bring it on.

  With a gasp, Tania arched, prolonging the contact, so sensitive already each coil and release of his hips shoved her closer to the edge. Both hands trapped above her head, sweatshirt riding beneath her breasts, she gazed up into his face and...

  Froze.

  Good God. He was fast asleep. Deep in the grips of a dream, eyes closed and moving rapid-fire behind his lids. Whispering his name, Tania tugged against his hold, hoping to wake him up. A no go. He was enthralled, so far under he responded with heat, rolling his hips, pushing her into pleasure one wicked thrust at a time. A purr locked in her throat, she struggled to stem the bliss-filled flow. It didn’t work. The body rush was too strong. And he was too damn good, cranking her so high temptation urged her to let go. Give in. Accept the orgasm he was about to give her and thank God.


  But oh, that was just so wrong. Bent in a very serious way considering he wasn’t quite himself. God, she’d heard of sleepwalking before, but...sex while fast asleep? How ridiculous was that? Very. Way beyond abnormal.

  “Mac...” Another wicked wave of delight washed through her, interrupting her good intentions, filling her with bad ones. Desperation spiked, and riding a wave of oh baby just...like...that, she gasped, “Holy God...wake up! Mac, you need to wake—”

  “You’ll take me,” he said, ordering her around in his sleep, giving her shivers. “All of me.”

  Blessed be the saints. Yes. She would. Forget right. Wrong felt way better, and she was diving in...headfirst. No holds barred. No safety net.

  Watch out below!

  “Sorry,” she gasped, apologizing while wrapping her legs around his hips.

  The rub and tease through her pants—the scent and feel of him—pushed past her limits, and chained by his hands, Tania submitted, gave herself up to him, and closed her eyes. Tipping her head back on the pillow, she matched him thrust for thrust, pressing up, egging him on. Greedy. Beyond the pale of good behavior. She berated herself with each pulse-pounding stroke of pleasure. But after weeks of waking up needy—of living with the frustration—she couldn’t stop him. Refused to say no. Took all he gave, half praying he woke up, half hoping he didn’t.

  “I’m sorry. S-sorry, but I need it...I...God, I need it.”

  Cupping her bottom with his free hand, he murmured to her, controlling the tempo, riding her so well tears formed, then fell. A pleasure cry. Something that never happened to her. At least not before. But ecstasy overload was par for the course with Mac. He stroked, and she cried, begging for release. He didn’t deny her, pressing deep, circling hard, the rub and tease through her clothes hitting all the right notes. And as the tears streaked over her temples, glorious oblivion came. With a hitching sob, she exploded, tensing around him, his name on the tip of her tongue, guilt for taking advantage like a thorn in her heart.