Osgard took a sharp turn.
Angling his shoulders, the kid dipped his head to avoid the low ceiling and drew Gage into a triangle-shaped corridor. The torque and twist jarred his arm. Bone-piercing pain spread across his chest, then spiraled into his abdomen. Gage winced. Holy fuck, that hurt. His body wanted him to stop. Was begging for rest, a moment or two to regroup, sending out agony like warning shots. He tightened his grip on Osgard and kept his feet moving. Forget the discomfort. Shove it into a dusty corner somewhere. With time running out, he couldn’t afford to stop. So instead of asking Osgard for a second to catch his breath, he stared straight ahead, ignoring his injuries while trying to pretend the tight space didn’t make his skin crawl.
His reaction bordered on idiotic.
The narrow passageway shouldn’t bother him. He’d been in worse places. Locked up for months before Haider busted him out of solitary confinement. The memory jabbed at him. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he shook his head. It had been years. Eons since his stay inside an eight-by-eight-foot holding cell. And yet, contrary to his nature—and a heavy dose of dragon DNA—the labyrinth gave him a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.
He preferred the great outdoors. Fresh air and sunlight. The scent of pine trees and rushing river water through forests and fields. But mostly, the sound of birds singing in the morning. Not the subterranean hovels most dragons took refuge in. Given a choice, he would’ve spent all day, every day, outside. Under the golden glow of a warm afternoon, deadly UV rays be damned. Unlike the rest of his kind, he could tolerate sunlight in small doses. Haider believed Gage’s ability stemmed from his subset’s communion with the sun in ancient times. When the Greeks had ruled the world, before the birth of the Roman Empire.
Born of a long line of bronze dragons, Gage knew his history. His forefathers had believed in the Sun Queen and taken pains to honor her. Had observed the rituals and performed ancient rites, paying homage to Silfer the dragon god and the deity’s love of the sun. He’d only seen it a handful of times, basking beneath the glory of the midday sun just as his ancestors had done. His tolerance levels wavered, depending on the day and his energy reserves. Topped up, he could endure half an hour. Hungry, in need of a good feeding, the time frame dwindled to less than fifteen minutes. Missed opportunity. A lost calling. A terrible shame all the way around. He would’ve been good at it. An absolute pro at welcoming the dawn and serving the Sun Queen, better known as the Goddess of All Things—the touchy deity who continued to curse his kind.
Gage ground his teeth together.
The stupid prick. The dragon god’s greed had ruined them all. Cursed Dragonkind so well the connection between his kind and the Meridian lay shattered. Which elevated FUBAR to whole new levels. A state he should be accustomed to by now as hunger gnawed on him, blooming into a full-blown ache. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva. Fucking hell. Just what he didn’t need—more energy-depleting fatigue. He could feel it slithering through his body, tugging at his muscles, eroding his mind, making his vision blur.
Gage wiped the sweat out of his eyes.
“Where are we?” he asked, sounding rough, more like a train wreck than a flesh-and-blood male. Gage grimaced. God. His voice was shot. Too raspy. Far too thin. No authority in the words at all. Hating the weakness, he forced himself to focus. His night vision sparked, magnifying the chisel marks filled with slimy residue on massive stone blocks, making the walls contract around him. Breathing in through his nose, he exhaled out his mouth and tightened his grip on Osgard. The kid flinched, but didn’t stop. The youngling continued to walk, pulling him in his wake. “How much farther?”
Osgard glanced over his shoulder. Pale eyes met his. “End of the hall. See the door?”
Gage squinted, trying to see that far, making out a glimmer in the dark. A metal handle, maybe. Some ancient hinges too. Yeah, definitely. Something dead ahead. All right, so he couldn’t focus well enough to see the whole of it, but—
“How bad is it?” Osgard asked, voice hushed.
“What?”
“The pain?”
“Manageable,” he said, lying like a pro. Leaning harder on Osgard, he pushed him forward, his gaze on the blurry outline of the door. “Just get me to Haider.”
The kid nodded. Footfalls nothing but a rasp on uneven stone, Osgard stopped in front of the narrow door. Faded by time, the graying oak screamed of neglect. Pock marks marred the face, matching a set of beat-up hinges and the rusty metal studs holding individual planks together. Even the bottom of the wood took up the cause, the plank ends eaten away by the damp, looking like jagged teeth snarling at the floor they no longer touched. A soft glow slipped through the gap, tumbling out of the chamber beyond to surround his feet.
Osgard reached for the ancient handle.
“Don’t.” With a firm tug, Gage drew his new charge backward. Away from the door. Out of range. Out of the line of fire and the possibility of hidden dangers. He didn’t want the male in the thick of it. Hadn’t agreed to take the youngling with him—to protect him—only to thrust him into the middle of a fight. Maneuvering in the tight space, he planted his palm in the center of the kid’s chest and shoved him back another foot. “Any guards?”
“No, but—”
“Stay behind me. If shit gets critical, you run. Understood?”
Shoulder blades pressed to the wall, Osgard frowned. “I can fight.”
“I know you can,” he murmured, lying again to assuage Osgard’s pride. Young males were an interesting breed. A delusional bunch. Each liked to believe he was invincible—all balls, no brains in high-octane situations. Gage understood, but knew better. He’d been just like Osgard long ago. Full of piss and vinegar, willing to throw himself into the fray without thought to the consequences. “Hold the line, kid, but stay out of my way.”
“As you wish.” Pushing away from the wall, Osgard shifted behind him. Gage shook his head. Fucking male. The move was all about watching his back, positioning himself as a warrior would in preparation for combat. “But I’m not running.”
He stifled a snort. Mouthy little whelp. Too tough for his own good, which . . . well, just made him like the kid even more.
Gaze pinned to the door, Gage rolled his shoulders. Agony murmured. He ignored the sting. Distraction wasn’t a good idea. Neither was stalling. The situation required stealth and speed. Not something he had much of right now. He pushed past the pain anyway, forcing focus, calling on aggression and muscle memory. His body knew what to do. His nature picked up the slack, unleashing the rage buried deep inside him as he reached for the door.
Icy metal touched his palm.
Steel clicked against steel.
Rusty hinges squeaked as the door swung inward on a slow glide. Light slipped through the widening gap, illuminating stone and wood. Not waiting a second, he stayed low and slipped over the threshold. Quick. Smooth. Fury filled. His body language spoke volumes—bring-it-on peppered with a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe. His gaze started to glow as he bared his teeth and raised his fists. The hum of electricity crackled in the quiet. With a low snarl, he searched the shadows. His gaze swept left to right. Stone walls. Slimy rock. A single bare lightbulb hanging from a timber-beam ceiling.
Not much else so far.
No soldiers hiding in the dark corners. Not a guard dog in sight. Nary a whisper of sound or—
“About time you showed up,” a deep voice rasped, drifting on stale air.
His attention snapped left.
Shimmering silver eyes met his.
Gage exhaled in relief. “Alive and well, I see.”
Haider shrugged. “More or less.”
No kidding. His friend looked more than just a little worse for wear. He looked wrecked. Clothes ripped ragged. Pale skin smeared with dirt and blood. Back propped up against the back wall. Legs stretched out in front of him. Trapped inside a steel cage charged with ele
ctricity. High voltage snapped around the vertical struts, forming an impenetrable maze around his friend, warning him away.
Dragging his gaze from Haider’s, he examined the cage. “Been waiting long?”
“Didn’t I say it was about time?”
He huffed and, eyes on the prison cell, moved farther into the chamber. Uneven stone scraped the bottom of his bare feet. He ignored Haider’s pissy tone in favor of finding the cage’s weakness. From six feet away. Despite the urgency, it was safer that way. At least, for the moment . . . until he figured out how to get his friend out from behind bars charged with electricity. He focused on the single door. Thin bands of lightning arced off the steel, protecting the hinges, handle, and lock, lying in wait, daring him to come closer.
Heart thumping, he studied the setup more closely. “Better late than never.”
“True.” Haider coughed, the harsh sound full of pain. “Expected you sooner, though.”
“Like a princess waiting for rescue?” The old tease and taunt. The usual thing with him and Haider—even now, with the stakes high and possibility of death looming. Strange as it sounded, the return of routine—the bitchy exchange—reassured him. His friend might be banged up, but nothing had changed. Haider was all right. So was he. The realization focused him further, clamped down on worry, settling him like nothing else could. “Aww, how sweet, Haider. I had no idea I’m your Prince Charming. Should’ve told me sooner.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Gage grinned.
Haider smiled back. Not a lot, a slight curve at the corners of his mouth. But Gage got the message, and it was enough. A silver dragon with unequaled negotiating skills, Haider liked to talk, the more words the better, and telling Gage off? His lips twitched. Razzing him qualified as his friend’s favorite pastime. Eyeing a bundle of cables, Gage stopped a few feet from the door. He followed the wires across the top bar. Clamped together, strung across steel, a thick power line made the jump from cage edge to stone wall. Pivoting, he turned full circle, going where the mess led him and . . .
Eureka. X marked the spot.
A junction box next to an electrical panel. State-of-the-art circuitry. A complicated setup mounted to the wall behind the door. Turning his back on Haider, he ignored Osgard hovering on the threshold and limped toward the steel-gray box. Time to pray. With the panel door shut tight, he couldn’t see the breakers, but knew it contained complicated electrical circuits. As in multiple. The heavy cable running into the top of the panel box gave the game away. Which meant the bastards might have armed the thing with a security system. One set to go off the instant he started tampering with the circuitry. Stranger things had happened. Zidane might be an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. More’s the pity, so . . . yeah. Mucking around inside the box might trip an alarm and bring the Archguard death squad running.
“Hang tight a second.” Facing off with the electrical panel, Gage studied the framework, then raised his hands. Cold metal slid against his palms as he gripped the sides of the large, metal box. Nothing happened. No alarms. No laser sensors protecting the thing. He exhaled long and smooth and, fingering the latch on the side, swung the door open and . . .
He blinked. Holy shit. Talk about complicated.
Trained as a structural engineer, good with his hands, he understood how individual components of complex projects fit together to ensure the whole served its purpose. Hell, he could visualize, design, and implement any structure he wanted. Toss in his passion for auto mechanics—and the fact he loved taking engines apart just to see how they worked—and his know-how rivaled genius in most circles. But as he faced off with a panel packed full of circuits, unease came calling. So many cables of varying thickness, candy-coated every color of the rainbow, jammed into a very small space.
No easy fix.
Gage cursed under his breath. “Give me a second to figure this mess out.”
“By all means,” Haider said, sarcasm out in full force. “It’s not as though we’re pressed for time or anything.”
“Guess it’s my turn to tell you to fuck off.”
“No different than any other day.”
“Comforting to know nothing’s changed, isn’t it?”
“Hey, Gage?”
“Yeah.” Fingering a green and blue wire, he glanced over his shoulder.
Haider met his gaze. “I’m having some trouble. I can’t see anything out of my right eye.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” Pressing a palm on the concrete floor, Haider struggled to his feet. He swayed, then stumbled sideways inside the cell. Electricity crackled, reacting to the shift. With a curse, his friend doubled over and, fighting to stay upright, gasped. With a growl, Gage turned back to the electrical panel. Fingers flying now, he sorted through each wire, looking for the magic bullet . . . the one pairing that would cut power to the cage. “Might need some help, though.”
“I can help,” Osgard said, stepping over the threshold and into the room.
Haider sucked in a breath. “What the—”
“Picked up a tagalong,” he said, cutting off his friend’s question.
“I can see that,” Haider murmured. “Probably should tell you I picked up one of my own.”
“A tagalong?”
“More like a brother-in-arms.” The sound of uneven footfalls echoed. Focus still on the wires, Gage multitasked, playing electrician, testing cables, listening as Haider made his way to the other side of the cage. “Nian, man—I know you’re hurting, but you need to get up.”
“What?” Dulled by pain, thickened by sleep, the male’s voice rose in the quiet. “W-where—”
“Still with me. You’re safe,” Haider said. “But not for long if you don’t move your ass. Come on, Nian. Get up. We’re getting out of here.”
A scraping sound slithered on damp air. “How?”
“Prince Charming’s arrived.”
The comment might’ve been funny had Gage been in the mood. Being near members of the Archguard, however, never put him in a joking frame of mind. Under any circumstances. And Nian didn’t qualify as a laugh a minute. As the youngest member of the high council, the male was not only dangerous, but untrustworthy.
“Damn it, Haider,” he said, sounding pissed off, unable to help it. “We’re not taking that prick with us.”
“Yes, we are. He’s solid, Gage. He’s been targeted by Rodin for helping us.”
Examining another wire, he scowled. “So?”
Haider sighed. “Gage . . .”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to. Bastian’s given his support. Our pack is backing Nian.” His friend paused, letting the nasty tidbit sink in. “He’s coming with us.”
Gage grimaced. Talk about bad news. He’d been dying to kill Nian for weeks. Ever since he’d first laid eyes on the namby-pamby aristocrat. Now his pack was supporting the prick and his screwed up agenda? It was worse than bad news. The turnabout equaled catastrophe. Fucked up on a grand scale.
“All right,” he said, refusing to go against his commander. Bastian was solid. The male always knew what he was doing. Although, this time Gage wanted to bet against the bank. Forget protocol and flout B’s authority, ’cause . . . Nian inside the Nightfury pack? Just the thought gave him a raging case of indigestion. Isolating the junction he needed, Gage yanked on the green and orange cable. The tug gutted the breaker. Copper wiring shrieked against metal, coming away in his hand. Electricity buzzed around the cage an instant before it powered down. Spinning around, he nailed Haider with a warning look. “But don’t expect me to be nice to him. One wrong move, and I rip his head off.”
“Fair enough,” Haider said, amusement in his tone. “Better behave, Nian.”
“No kidding.” Battered and bruised, in no better shape than Haider, Nian hugged his rib cage and shuffled forward. Gage sig
hed. Well, hell. Would you look at that? Zidane had done a number on Nian too, beating him so badly both the male’s eyes were swollen shut. “And not a problem. I can hardly move at the moment.”
Crossing the chamber, Gage met his friend at the cell. With a flick, he lifted the steel bar locking the door in place and swung it open. Haider sighed as he stepped out of the cage. Running his gaze over him, Gage reached out and cupped his brother’s nape. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Still pale, but steadier on his feet, Haider nodded. Relief in his eyes, he palmed Gage’s forearm. The warm weight of his hand spoke volumes—of relief and urgency, but mostly gratitude. “Let’s move.”
Returning the gentle squeeze, Gage dropped his hand. “Osgard.”
“Yeah.”
“Best way out?”
“Underground garage,” Osgard said, reaching out to steady Nian as the male stumbled across the chamber. Without missing a beat, the kid slung Nian’s arm over his shoulder, then turned and half carried, half walked him toward the door. “Rodin keeps a car there. Blacked-out windows so he can travel from place to place in daylight.”
“He’s handy,” Haider said, gaze glued to Osgard’s back.
Gage’s mouth curved. “Isn’t he, though?”
Best split-second decision he’d ever made. No question. He had a feeling the kid would more than earn his stripes. Now and in the future. First things first, though. He needed to slip past Rodin’s sentries. Get the hell out of hostile territory with everyone’s arms and legs still attached. A tricky proposition with three injured. Toss in a sketchy, underground escape route inside a lair full of enemy soldiers. Compound the problem with a member of the Archguard high council, aka potential traitor material, playing tagalong and . . .
His gaze narrowed on the back of Nian’s head.
The namby-pamby prick. The male was slowing them down. Gage frowned. All right, that wasn’t quite true. Not really. Nian was moving—not well, granted, leaning on Osgard, struggling to keep his feet under him—but . . .
Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) Page 16