Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  His sonar pinged.

  Bastian’s head snapped to the right. The tingle intensified, slithering up his spine, then shifted, colliding with the base of his skull. A prickle streamed over his horns. Gaze roaming, he searched the landscape. His ability to dissect a male’s aptitude from a distance coalesced inside his head. He held on to the power for a moment, then unleashed his talent. Magic spread like a net, rushing out in front of him, blanketing treetops and sky to feed him information. He bared his fangs. Oh, goody. Dragonkind males approached from the south end of the forest. He mined the signal. Distance to target—three miles. How many in the mix—two big males. Age, skill level, and type of exhales? Bastian fine-tuned his radar. His senses contracted. One breathed fire-acid, and the other—

  Ah, hell. He recognized the lethal vibe headed his way.

  Mac and Forge coming in hot.

  With a sigh, he threw his XO a sidelong look.

  Rikar grinned, baring huge fangs. “Wonder twins at three o’clock.”

  Bastian snorted in amusement. Wonder twins. He liked the nickname. The handle suited the pair, fitting the newest members of the Nightfury pack like bullets in a gun. “I was hoping for a couple of Razorbacks.”

  “Wishful thinking.” Rikar grumbled, the sound full of frustration. “Bad hunting lately.”

  No kidding.

  Fucking Ivar. The male was screwing with his happy place, keeping his soldiers buttoned up tight. Then again, maybe he needed to readjust his expectations. Especially way out here—in the middle of nowhere. The enemy rarely left the confines of Seattle. The bastards liked the cityscape. Enjoyed the cover skyscrapers and high-rise buildings provided. A shame, really. Having a clear shot at a Razorback in open air would be a whole lot of fun. Just the kind of amusement Bastian craved tonight, but—ah, well. Better luck next time. Which meant . . .

  Time to head for Black Diamond.

  Some quality time with Myst would mend his mood. His female soothed him like nothing else could—knuckle-cracking, ball-busting brawls included. He was lucky to have her. Grateful too. Nothing beat coming home to his mate every morning. Or the privilege of sleeping with her in his arms every day.

  Slowing his wing speed, Bastian glanced over his shoulder. Two shadows morphed on the horizon. A steep bluff rose in his periphery. One eye on the wonder twins, Bastian flew up and over, avoiding the rocky outcropping as the pair rocketed in behind him. Growling a greeting, Forge flew in on his left, taking the wingman position opposite Rikar.

  Settling into a smooth glide above him, Mac opened up mind-speak. “Anything?”

  “Nada,” Rikar said, more growl than actual word. “You?”

  “Bloody hell,” Forge said, Scottish accent thicker than usual. “Nothing. Nary an arsehole to kill. And we went all the way south to Tacoma.”

  Mac shook his head. “Something’s up. The motherfuckers are hiding.”

  “I know,” Bastian murmured. “I’m hoping Sloan has something new for us. Azrad’s supposed to check in tonight.”

  Silence met his statement. Not surprising. Azrad was a touchy subject. None of his warriors wanted to broach it, never mind float the idea Azrad might not be good for the Nightfury pack. Bastian understood his warriors’ reservations. Hell, he shared them. Had a whole trunkful of concerns and more questions than he could answer.

  With good reason.

  Until a week ago, he hadn’t known Azrad existed. Or that his father had sired another son before his death. But DNA results left no room for doubt—Azrad was his brother by blood. A long-lost one who’d finally found his way home. An odd thing to discover after so many years on his own. Dangerous too. The connection pulled at his heartstrings. Made him want to believe in miracles and family ties. All of which clouded his judgment. Not smart or even halfway advisable. Letting his guard down before he possessed all the facts was a bad idea.

  Males ended up dead that way.

  One mistake led to another. Bastian knew it. And yet, he wanted to reach for the gold ring anyway. Trust instead of suspect, and invite Azrad into the fold. Which stopped him cold. Experience dictated the way forward. Caution upped the stakes. Mistrust and acceptance were opposite sides of the same coin. Flip it one way. Turn it the other. Both sides applied to the situation. Which pointed to an unavoidable truth.

  He must play it smart. Ease into the role of older brother. Heed his head instead of his heart and find a way to protect his pack while doing right by his sibling. Azrad deserved a chance to prove himself . . .

  Particularly since he’d gone to so much trouble to impress him.

  Bastian’s lip twitched. God love his little brother. Azrad was straight-up brilliant. He’d made himself useful from the get-go, providing what Bastian couldn’t obtain on his own—insider information by infiltrating the Razorback pack. A spy inside the enemy camp. What a concept. One he liked without question. No one else could’ve slid into the enemy hive with such efficiency. Azrad had succeeded where Bastian had failed. And no wonder. After years of imprisonment inside Tanzenmed—a Dragonkind prison sanctioned by the Archguard and run by Rodin—the male didn’t walk or talk like a Nightfury. No one would suspect him as long he kept his personal agenda off the table and played it smart.

  A long shot. Predictability, after all, didn’t apply to his brother. So nothing to do now but wait. Cross his fingers. Hope and pray Azrad kept it together long enough to get out alive.

  Baring his fangs, Bastian rocketed into the last turn. Cold air rushed over the razor-sharp points of his teeth. Mist rolled into his mouth as the waterfall came into view. Falling in a straight sheet, the cascade plummeted toward the river from three hundred feet up. Wet air frothed into full bloom, rising up like a cloud to hide the half moon. The heavy vapor screwed with his visibility. Not that it mattered. His night vision sparked, and with his sonar up and running, he saw everything. The frozen reeds on the river bank. Each frost-laden pine needle. Every grain of bark on tree trunks standing too close to the water’s edge.

  Almost there.

  Thirty—maybe forty—seconds until he went wings vertical, splashed through the cascade and into the narrow tunnel beyond. Hewn from solid granite, the jagged entrance lead to the LZ and into the underground lair. After that, he’d be home, sweet home. A hop, skip, and jump away from his female. In Myst’s arms. Kissing her mouth—tasting her deep, greeting her as he always did—before heading to the computer lab to get the information he needed to round out the night. Sloan would be hard at work, mining data fields, keeping tabs on—

  “Bastian.” Sloan’s voice came through mind-speak on a low growl.

  “Whatcha got?” Water wicking off his scales, Bastian leveled out and, eyes on the waterfall, set up his final approach. “Anything from the Metallics?”

  “Nothing yet,” Sloan said. “But I just received a message from Azrad.”

  “What’s it say?” Flying in from behind, Rikar bumped Mac out of the way.

  “Motherfuck.” Mac wobbled, seesawing mid-glide. Magic flared as the male unleashed his inner water dragon and hurled a handful of cold-wet-and-chilly at Rikar’s head. The load slammed into his XO’s face. Rikar sputtered. Mac bared his fangs. “Watch it or I’ll drown you.”

  Wearing a shit-eating grin, Rikar retaliated, throwing flurries toward Mac. Ice and snow exploded in all directions. Forge cursed, then dodged, avoiding the whiteout. With a snarl, Mac spiraled into a flip and swiped at Rikar’s tail. Scales rattled. The wind rose on a gust of icy swirl. His friend laughed at the playful attempt to maim him. Bastian sighed, then shook his head, wishing he could get in on the game. He could use the exercise along with a little stress relief right now. And a fight? Oh, man, that would feel so good. Would help release the tension before the sun chased him inside for the day. Too bad he didn’t have time to mess around. Not with dawn approaching, and Gage and Haider still in the wind. So forget kicking warriors�
�� asses in a friendly round of dragon combat training.

  Or letting them blow off steam by playing pin the claw on Rikar.

  Time to shut it down and get back to business.

  Mac made another attempt to catch Rikar.

  “Shelve it, you two. Save it for another time,” he said, admonishing his warriors, killing the possibility of a wrestling match before it got serious. “Sloan—what’s the message?”

  “Two words—Granite Falls.”

  “What the hell is that supposed tae mean?” Twisting into a sidewinding flip, Forge fell into line, bringing up the rear of the procession. The wind kicked up, clicking against his dark-purple scales. “Person, place, or thing, lad?”

  “Place,” Mac said, putting knowledge of the state gleaned from years as an SPD homicide detective to good use. “Small town in the Cascades, close to the Canadian border.”

  “Exactly.” The rapid sound of keystrokes came through mind-speak. The clickety-click-click meant one thing. Sloan was planted in front of his computer, doing what he did best—mining data, busting through firewalls, hacking into secure servers to pull pertinent information off the cyber highway. “Not sure what it means yet. I’m just getting into it, but that’s not why I pinged you.”

  Bastian tensed. The edge in Sloan’s voice spelled trouble. Whenever his warrior used it, problems followed. Guaranteed. “Tell me.”

  Springs squeaked as Sloan swiveled in his chair. “Daimler came to get me. He can’t find Venom anywhere. He’s gone, B.”

  “What the fuck?” Blue-gray scales flashed in the gloom as Mac broke formation. He treated Bastian to a worried look. “He left the lair alone?”

  “Yeah,” Sloan said.

  Rikar growled. “Christ.”

  “Shit.” Oh, so not good. A total breach in protocol. One Bastian couldn’t get behind. Venom knew better than to leave the lair without a wingman. Flying solo was dangerous. Alone equaled vulnerable. And vulnerable often led to dead. “Where’s Wick?”

  “With J. J.”

  Bastian bit down on a curse. “Go get him.”

  “No way.” The click of computer keys stopped mid-stroke. The pause meant one thing. Sloan was scrambling, thinking up an excuse to stay clear of Wick. “I’m not pulling him out of bed and away from his female on his night off. I don’t have a death wish.”

  With a growl, Bastian dropped another f-bomb.

  Rikar sighed.

  The wonder twins stayed silent for once.

  Thank God. The last thing Bastian needed was more trouble. Or backlash from the pair’s warped sense of humor. “Got any ideas, Sloan?”

  “One.” Leather creaked. Chair coils squeaked. The thud of boots on concrete sounded as Sloan started to pace. “The Luxmore Hotel. Really upscale. Lots of females. Good feeding. I told him about it last week.”

  Bastian nodded even though his warrior couldn’t see him. “Address?”

  Sloan rattled off a street name, pointing him toward the north end of Seattle. Putting on the brakes, Bastian wheeled around. The others followed, moving into flight formation, rocketing over the forest alongside him. Good thing too. He needed all hands on deck. The extraction would require some finesse. The kind that came with a truckload of brute force. Venom wouldn’t come quietly. He never did when it came to females. His warrior loved the fairer sex too much. Liked to take his time. Enjoyed the slide into ecstasy more than most males. Wanted a female to call his own, which—ding-ding-ding, give the man a prize—was no doubt why he’d ignored the rules and flown out alone tonight.

  He was hunting for a female.

  A forever one? Or just sex with one of his flavors of the week?

  Hard to know. But one thing for sure? The second he caught up with Venom, mayhem would ensue. And the beat-down would get under way. He swallowed a growl. Idiot male. Flying out solo. Such a dumb-ass move. One he refused to leave unchallenged. Rules existed for a reason: to ensure the warriors under his command kept on breathing. So . . . time to put the hammer down. Venom needed his ass kicked along with a reality check. Bastian snarled as he flew over Interstate 90. Just his luck. He was in the mood to give his warrior a shitload of both.

  Chapter Six

  Venom sighed as Evelyn settled in his arms. Hmm, she was exquisite. So warm in his embrace. So incredible pressed up against him. So beautiful with her dark hair and soft mocha skin. Everything about her lured him in. Strung him tight. Made him fixate on the smallest detail—the sensual curve of her hips, the generosity of her backside, the arousing stir of her scent. Inhaling deep, he indulged, drawing her into his lungs and . . . oh, baby. Another gift. He loved the way she smelled, summer sweet, like dew-soaked skies and warm, sultry nights.

  All natural. One hundred percent female. Not a hint of perfume.

  Slipping his hand beneath her shoulder-length curls, he cupped the nape of her neck and dipped his head. His jaw brushed her cheek. She gasped. The soft inhalation strung him tighter as the Meridian hummed, opening a link between them. Her bio-energy flared, expanding around her. Setting his mouth to her temple, Venom took a sip and . . . glory, glory, hallelujah. She tasted amazing. Was beyond good—everything he needed, yet hadn’t expected. Not surprising. He’d never experienced anyone like Evelyn. Her uniqueness—the sheer beauty of her energy—shocked him, locking him in place against her. Her potency kept him there, tempting him to take more as he fed from the source that nourished his kind.

  Unable to help himself, he indulged in another sip.

  His fingertips tingled with renewed warmth.

  Shivering in his embrace, Evelyn shifted against him. Tipping her chin up, she nestled closer, strengthened the connection, giving her energy and him more access. The current intensified. Venom groaned as her aura pulsed, surrounding him in glorious heat. Another round of pleasure prickled through him. His heart picked up a beat, slamming against the inside of his chest. Blood roared in his ears. The rush thrummed through his veins, pushing arousal into full-blown need.

  Or toward complete desperation.

  Venom didn’t know which. Primal drive wiped his mind clean. Now deep-seated instinct ruled, rousing his dragon half, pushing compulsion to the forefront of his brain. He sucked in a breath. It didn’t help and . . . oh, shit. Giving the beast inside him free rein wasn’t a good idea. Females ended up hurt that way. At least, while standing next to him. His venomous nature didn’t compromise. Neither did male needs. Both urged him to abandon his scruples, rush the foreplay and raise her skirt—spread her thighs and love her hard. Without preamble or mercy and—

  Venom tensed. God help him. He wanted to do it. To touch and taste, tease until she moaned his name. Until she begged for him and all the pleasure he yearned to give her.

  An excellent plan. But for one thing . . .

  Rushing her would be tantamount to forcing her.

  Something he refused to do.

  A strange thought considering her willingness. But despite everything—his ravenous reaction to her, her profession, and the money on the table—he sensed her unease. Mistrust infused the air around her, drawing him in, making him aware of her upset. Evelyn teemed with emotion, her confusion driven by uncertainty. The tempest bubbled just beneath the surface of her skin—in the place modesty lived and integrity thrived.

  Venom understood. He really did. She didn’t like her reaction to him. Was fighting the push-pull of attraction. Hell, so was he. The difference between him and her? While she fought to preserve her professional veneer and stay in control, Venom wanted to accept the turmoil and let go. To be free for once. To make love to a female who made him feel something—anything—instead of indulging in a meaningless romp in a dark corner of a club somewhere. The idea grabbed hold, enslaving him with possibility.

  A whole host of interesting scenarios streamed into his head.

  He’d love her more than once. Twice, perha
ps. Maybe even a third time before the venom in his veins took over and forced him to leave her. So, time to decide—down and dirty the first round? Or a long, luxurious loving? Both held real promise, but . . .

  Venom shook his head. No. Not this time. No rushing. It wasn’t going to be quick and clean. Not with Evelyn. For the first time ever, he wanted to linger and enjoy. To savor a female. To prolong her pleasure until he couldn’t delay fulfillment any longer.

  He growled. Oh, yeah, incendiary and slow sounded better. Like Christmas morning come early. And no wonder. Holding Evelyn was the best kind of torture. Pure bliss wrapped up in a curvy bundle. She felt so good against him. So enticing. So sweet. More than just pretty, she was sheer perfection. A feast for the senses. Without thought, he drew on her energy and, drinking deep, fingered the clasp at the back of her dress. A quick flick released the button hook. He tugged on the zipper. Metal teeth resisted a moment, then released, breaking the silence with sensual sound.

  His hand slipped beneath the fabric, grazing soft skin.

  Evelyn inhaled hard as his fingertips slid along her spine. He sighed and, attuned to her tension, nipped at her earlobe. She twitched, rebelling a little, resisting his touch, shifting away instead of toward him. Venom murmured her name, then waited, hoping his voice reassured her, and . . . bingo. Sweet, sweet victory. Evelyn surrendered and, exhaling a shaky breath, relaxed into his caress. And he continued, sliding the zipper all the way down. The back of her dress gaped, exposing her to the chill in the room. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Shifting focus, Venom set his mouth to the corner of hers. Her breath hitched. He tempted her with a gentle kiss. A barely there caress. Not much of a touch at all.

  But it was enough.

  His patience paid off. Between one moment and the next, she fell into trust and, fisting her hands in his shirt, tipped her chin up. Her lips parted. The movement told Venom all he needed to know. Evelyn wanted him. Wasn’t shutting him down or tense in his arms. She’d moved past denial. Now she welcomed him, asking for more.