Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  The powerful ping came again.

  Venom’s gaze snapped to the right. Senses ablaze, he banked hard and headed south, hoping to access the source. The air crackled and . . . huh. Weird. He recognized the vicious vibe, and yet, couldn’t place it. A smokescreen maybe, one designed to block know-how and throw him off the trail.

  Lightning forked across the night sky.

  The thin stream electrified, exploding into a magic-fueled fishing net in front of him.

  Venom sucked in a breath. Oh, hell. Shit, shit . . . and triple shit. Not good. He knew what the electrical storm meant and—

  He put on the brakes, wing flapping in an attempt to get out of the way. Too little, too late. The net expanded, then closed ranks, hurtling end over end, enveloping him in electrical burn. Deadly threads enveloped his scales, then contracted, blocking all chance of escape as electricity yanked him out of the night sky.

  Rocketing over the clearing, Bastian cringed as Venom slammed into the ground. Tangled up in the electrical web, his warrior slid into a skull-splitting skid. Tall grass and topsoil flew skyward. Venom’s spiked tail whipped around. Saplings went airborne like a cluster of heat-seeking missiles. Brutal sound cracked through the quiet, exploding across the dell. Ruby-red eyes aglow, Venom cursed and bore down. His huge claws bit, ripping into rock, digging trenches in dirt as he spun into another body-torqueing rotation. Moon-glow flashed off his green scales, joining the blue crackle of the net. Bastian grimaced. Again. For what seemed like the umpteenth time.

  Well, hell. Didn’t that just take the cake.

  He hadn’t meant to hit Venom—or rather . . . take him down—quite so hard.

  Wheeling above huge pines, he circled back around. Cold air blasted him, rattling his midnight-blue scales, catching at the dark webbing of his wings, pushing him sideways into an air pocket. Muscles taut, he controlled the updraft and, gaze locked on Venom, made another pass above the place he’d chosen for the beat-down. The net contracted around Venom, tightening its grip, smashing him into the turf.

  Bastian shook his head. “Fuck.”

  “Christ, B.” Flying in his wake, Rikar huffed. “That’s some wicked shit.”

  Wasn’t it, though? Maybe too wicked. Freaking lightning net. He really needed to practice throwing the stupid thing more often. Maybe take a stab at downgrading its intensity too.

  Evidence of that fact slid to a stop on the far side of the clearing. Black wings bent at odd angles, head half-buried under a mound of dirt, Venom’s interlocking dragon skin clicked as he fought to get his paws underneath him. Cursing colored the frosty air, rising over the tops of ancient trees. With a growl, Venom thrashed, spiked tail flying, struggling to break the electric lockdown. Bastian’s lips twitched as relief rushed through him. His warrior wasn’t hurt. No permanent damage done.

  At least, not yet.

  “You gonna let him go?” Rotating into a sidewinding flip, Mac eyeballed him with shimmering aquamarine eyes. “Or let him rot?”

  “I vote for the latter,” Forge said, brogue thick, a load of pissed off in his tone. Playing fast and loose in the north current, he flew through unstable air. Turbulence rattled his purple scales, shaking the Scot like a passenger jet in unfriendly skies. “Let him stew for a bit, B. We’ll come back in an hour.”

  Bastian snorted. Tempting . . . so very tempting. Under normal circumstances, he might’ve done it—angled his wings, flown in the opposite direction, set up shop a couple of miles away while his warrior stayed locked down. Venom deserved it for leaving the lair alone. The dumb-ass. Of all the idiotic things to do. Particularly right now. Bastian growled. Jesus. Like he didn’t have enough problems already? He was under attack on multiple fronts, for fuck’s sake—the Gage and Haider situation, the absence of rogues in the city, Rodin’s obsession with killing Forge, the possibility of Xzinile for his pack, a pregnant female at home.

  Myst. Bastian hummed. His love, his life, and now his mate.

  Tucking into another turn, Bastian exhaled long and slow. Thank God for her. Thinking about Myst always had the same effect. She calmed him down, helping center him like nothing else could. Now he was ready to go. More than able to deal with Venom’s insubordination and enforce the rules.

  Not something he did often . . . or relished doing.

  For the most part, the warriors under his command toed the line. Were respectful of protocol and followed it without question. Good thing too. The rules existed for a reason. Going it alone got a male killed. AWOL wasn’t where he wanted his warriors. As commander of the Nightfury pack, it fell to him to see that everyone thrived and made it home in one piece. He loved his brothers-in-arms. Each male brought something to the table—all kinds of cunning, savagery when needed, unique skill sets, and magical aptitudes . . . the bond of brotherhood made leading the pack a pleasure. Well, at least, most nights. Right now landed nowhere near most. Normal no longer applied, which meant Venom was about to get more than he bargained for and everything he deserved.

  Perfect timing.

  Really, it was . . . completely perfect. Particularly since he needed a fight. A knock-down, drag-out to ease the tension and put him back in neutral territory. Maybe then he’d be able to think straight—come up with a new plan before the situation in Prague deteriorated and the Metallics ended up dead half a world away.

  Wings angled, Bastian whirled above the forest. Green eyes aglow, light rushed out in front of him, coating the treetops, casting uneven shadows as he set up his approach. One clearing dead ahead. Time to tuck his wings and set down. Engage fast and hit hard. Quick and clean. The optimal strategy. Venom wasn’t a lightweight. The male was a skilled tactician and, despite his affable demeanor, adored a good brawl. Which meant the faster he put paws to ground, the quicker he’d get what he wanted—a knuckle-grinder with a warrior who could handle whatever Bastian threw at him.

  Clearing the edge of the pinewood, Bastian tucked his wings. Gravity took hold, dragging him out of the night sky. Stars blurred into pinpoint streaks. Fierce moon-glow wavered in his field of vision. Hundred-year-old tree trunks swayed and pine needles jumped, reacting to the blow back. Gaze locked on his warrior, Bastian thumped down in the center of the clearing . . . ten feet from his target.

  Crouched like a cat, horns poking through the net, Venom glared at him through the holes. “Goddamn it, B.”

  He snarled back. “Shift.”

  All kinds of pissed off, Venom obeyed, moving from dragon to human form.

  Yanking on individual lightning strands with his mind, Bastian shut down the light show. The net contracted. Magic boomeranged, blowing through the clearing, making branches creak in protest and . . . snap, crackle ’n pop. The electrical web evaporated into thin air. Both hands cranked into fists, Venom bared his teeth. The show of aggression put Bastian in motion. Toes of his combat boots digging into overturned earth, he ramped into a run. Four feet from Venom. Now three. Fighting stance set, his warrior raised his guard. Eyes riveted on his target, Bastian put his head down and—

  He rammed his shoulder into Venom’s stomach.

  Venom grunted as his lungs emptied. The harsh exhale rang through the clearing. Bastian snarled and fisted his hand in his warrior’s jacket. Shifting left, he jacked him upright. Venom’s feet left the ground. Without mercy, he propelled his friend backward, using every ounce of leverage he possessed. Momentum took over. Bastian dug in and, working with gravity, drove Venom back-first, toward the turf.

  Surprise sparked in his friend’s eyes.

  Adding a nasty spin to the body torque, Bastian held on hard and took his warrior down. With a curse, Venom slammed into the ground. A thud echoed, cracking through the quiet. Satisfaction surged as Venom sucked in a breath. Bastian shoved it aside. No time to gloat. So he’d gotten the upper hand. Big deal. The tide always turned. The most firm grip always loosened, so . . . no question. His warrior might b
e down, but he wasn’t out. Not by a long shot. Which meant . . .

  Time to make his point.

  Planting his knee in the center of Venom’s chest, he cranked his arm back and let loose. His fist shot forward like a piston and . . . crack! He hammered the idiot he called friend with a solid right cross. Venom’s head snapped to the side. Brutal sound splintered the silence. Bastian heard the other Nightfuries land behind him. He didn’t care. He hit Venom again—and then again—driving his point home.

  Double damned jackass. Leave the lair without a wingman, would he?

  He let his fist fly again.

  His warrior countered and, with a vicious twist, blocked the next volley. Off balance, losing his grip, Bastian struggled to land another punch. Reflexes lightning quick, Venom slammed the heel of his hand into Bastian’s solar plexus. Air left his lungs in a rush. His stomach pitched. Bile rushed up his throat. Bastian gagged. Jesus, a direct hit. Precise. No mistakes. In exactly the right spot.

  Eyes watering, he coughed, but kept a grip on his brother-in-arms. Both hands fisted in his leather jacket, he shook Venom hard, rattling his teeth. He wanted to hit him again. Take the male apart piece by fucking piece, and then hammer him some more. For disobeying a direct order. For being an idiot. For causing him to worry.

  “Okay. Okay,” Venom said, dropping mind-speak. Eyes shimmering, his friend glared at him. “Enough, B.”

  “You asshole. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chest pumping, Bastian leaned in. Nose-to-nose now, his gaze bore into a ruby-red one. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip your head off.”

  “You should.” Venom swiped at the blood running from a cut above his eye. He grimaced, making a face of distaste. “Hit me some more if you want. I deserve it.”

  The statement doused the flames of his fury. Bastian sighed. Freaking Venom. Trust the male to be reasonable while receiving a face full of fuck you. Retreating with a grumble, he removed his knee from the center of his friend’s chest. “Jesus, Ven.”

  “I know. I know. Sorry, but . . .” Remorse in his eyes, Venom blew out a breath and sat up. A furrow between his brows, he dug his heels into overturned topsoil, rested both forearms on his bent knees, and shook his head. “Ah, hell.”

  Ass-planted in the dirt beside him, Bastian waited for an explanation. He knew Venom had one, but well . . . shit. No matter how good the excuse, it wouldn’t be good enough. Nothing overrode the safety of his pack. Nothing. So Venom’s stint outside Black Diamond without a wingman wouldn’t stand.

  Nor would it happen again.

  He knew it. So would Venom after tonight. Or at least, he’d better. Otherwise, the male was in for another beat-down . . . while each member of the Nightfury pack stood in line, waiting to drive the importance of following the rules through his thick skull.

  The image reignited his temper. Bastian threw his friend an exasperated look. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Venom grimaced. “It’s hard for me to stay home while Wick and J. J.—”

  “Ignore you and spend time together across the hall?” Rikar asked, entering the fray.

  The question hung in the cold air, dragging insight into view.

  Bastian blinked. Shit. He was an imbecile. A huge one who needed his head examined. He should’ve realized what sharing Wick with another person would do to Venom. His warrior might be strong, but he was also sensitive. Attuned to others’ needs. Protective to the point of self-annihilation. So bighearted he always put others first. Which meant change, of any kind, threw him. Venom thrived on the status quo. Loads of stability too, not the strange and unusual.

  Which should’ve clued him in.

  All the upheaval the past few months—the escalation of the war with the rogues, the inclusion of four HE females and two additional warriors into the fold, the absence of Gage and Haider—had finally taken its toll. Now the male struggled with a new norm. All of which entailed sharing his best friend . . . with a female. Nowhere near easy for a male as possessive as Venom. Gaze steady on his warrior, Bastian moved past anger, accepting responsibility for his friend’s slide into stupidity tonight. He should’ve paid better attention. Been more attentive to the needs of his pack, instead of preoccupied with the problems in Prague.

  Not that he could fix his mistake now.

  It was over and done. Nothing left to do now but let Venom off the hook.

  Sore muscles squawking, Bastian popped off the cold ground. His boot soles touched down with a soft thump. Brushing the dirt off the seat of his jeans, he flexed his busted-up knuckles and offered Venom his hand. The second the male grabbed hold, Bastian pulled him to his feet. “It’s not going to get any better, Ven. J. J. is a part of Wick’s life now. You need to accept—”

  “I’ve accepted it. And it will get better,” Venom said, an intense look in his eyes. “It already has.”

  The phraseology sparked an emotional switch-up. A half smile on his face, Venom squared his shoulders. Bastian went on high alert. He recognized that expression. Half excitement, half stone cold certainty and . . . huh. Wasn’t that interesting? Venom had new intel, maybe even a secret to share. Glancing sideways, he tossed Rikar a you’d-better-get-ready look.

  Quick on the uptake, his XO raised a brow. “Better? How?”

  “I found her,” Venom said, his half smile spreading into a full grin. “It finally happened. I found her.”

  Forge stepped into the circle. “And who might that be, lad?”

  “My mate.”

  “Your mate?” Mac frowned as he joined the party.

  Bastian frowned. “You sure? You’re toxic, Ven. Females can’t tolerate your touch for long, so . . . be sure. Very, very, sure. Otherwise we’ll end up with a mess on our hands.”

  “A dead female too,” Rikar said.

  “I’m sure.” Excitement in his eyes, Venom cleared his throat. He rolled his shoulders, shuffled his feet, and flexed his fingers, fidgeting as though the mere thought of his mate made his skin prickle. “She’s not like the others, B. She’s immune. My touch doesn’t hurt her.”

  Blowing out a pent-up breath, Bastian stared at his warrior. He needed to be sure. Was hoping like hell Venom wasn’t out of control, creating a fairy-tale connection, believing he’d found his mate for no other reason than he wanted it to be true. Desperation did strange things to a male, and Venom wasn’t immune. None of them were, but as he held his friend’s gaze, he saw the truth in his eyes. Flat-out conviction. Perfect certitude. No fairy tale in sight. Venom believed he’d found the one with intensity that didn’t lie. Which meant so must he.

  Palming his friend’s shoulder, he squeezed. “Okay, then.”

  “Well done.” With a quick shift, Mac raised his fist and lashed out. The punch/love tap nailed Venom in the bicep.

  “Ow—goddamn it.” Rubbing the sore spot on his arm, Venom threw Mac a dirty look.

  Mac grinned. “Congrats, man.”

  Rikar looked around, searching the tree line. “So—where’d you stash her?”

  “I didn’t.” His expression wary, Venom shrugged. “I let her go.”

  “You what?” Forge’s brows popped skyward. Bafflement winged across his face. “Are you mad, lad? No one in their right mind lets his mate go.”

  “Not without him along for the ride anyway,” Bastian murmured, watching his warrior closely. Venom glanced his way, a quiet plea for understanding in his ruby-red eyes. And he got it. Bastian knew exactly what had prompted Venom to allow his mate to leave without him. Bastian’s lips twitched. Freaking Venom. The male never took the easy way out. He had standards instead. An elevated sense of integrity that more often than not got him into trouble. “You didn’t want to abduct her. You plan to pursue her instead.”

  “We have a dinner date tomorrow night.”

  “Well . . .” A teasing light in his eyes, Rikar grinned. �
�I guess that confirms what we’ve known all along. You’re insane, brother.”

  “Asking for trouble as well,” Forge said, sounding more pissed off than usual. “Bring her home, Ven. Given enough time, she’ll accept you.”

  Venom shook his head. “I’m not going to force her. Evelyn deserves better and . . . hell. Might as well admit it.” He blew out a long breath. “I like the idea of dating her . . . spending the time. I want to give the whole wooing thing a try.”

  “God save us all.” Forge sighed. “You’re a bloody romantic.”

  Rikar’s lips twitched. “Try it sometime, Scot. You might like it.”

  “No chance of that.” A shuttered look in his violet eyes, Forge glanced away. Expression set, a muscle jumped along his jaw line as he stared across the clearing, gaze fixed on the sway of thick field grass. “I’ve no need for that bullshite.”

  The harsh comment stalled the conversation.

  Winter wind tousled the treetops. Pine needles lost the battle and tumbled, playing in the breeze as everyone focused on Forge. A natural reaction given the vehemence of his denial. Message sent and received. Loud and clear. No chance for misinterpretation. Bastian cleared his throat, his heart aching for the Scot. He couldn’t imagine the pain Forge lived with day in and day out. Or having to deal with that kind of grief. Losing a female in childbirth never got easier. The passage of time made no difference. Horrific memories stayed with a male forever. And never faded.

  So fresh. Too raw. Just months old. The loss was hardly behind Forge at all.

  The fact the Scot’s son had survived didn’t lessen the grief. Or ease the agony. Bitterness and guilt picked Forge apart instead, sealing him up tight, driving him away from connection and the anguish that kind of vulnerability could cause. Healing would come, but until then, Bastian knew the new addition to the Nightfury pack needed to be handled with kid gloves.