Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  “Well, hell,” he said, disappointment in his tone even as he breathed a sigh of relief. The kid had come through okay. Was none the worse for wear. No need to worry. “So much for hoping you’d already thrown the namby-pamby overboard.”

  “Bastian’s call, Gage, so hands off.” Amusement sparked in his friend’s eyes. “Nian stays alive until B green-lights him.”

  Oh, man. Pretty please with sugar on top. He wanted the green light. So fucking badly. Something about Nian put a wrinkle in his radar. Now his dragon senses screamed, warning Gage not to trust the aristocratic prick. Too bad Haider was right. Bastian wouldn’t bring Nian on board without a good reason. Which meant a great scheme was in the works. Gage knew it. Accepted it even, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream about ass-planting the pansy . . .

  Every single day, for the foreseeable future.

  A lovely thought. Something to keep him warm during long winter months.

  Pushing to his feet, Gage stretched out sore muscles. “Does B know we’re an hour out?”

  With a nod, Haider popped to his feet. Shoulder to shoulder with him now, boots planted in the narrow aisle, he flicked at the sleeve of his motorcycle jacket and glanced at his watch. “Wake Osgard and get ready. I’ll rouse Nian. We bail out in five minutes.”

  Heading for the sleep cabin, Gage glanced over his shoulder at the cockpit. Door closed. His dragon senses sparked, reading heat signatures through the wall. Two males seated up front. “You in control of the pilots?”

  “Yeah.” Showing off, Haider leaned left. Magic shimmered in the air around him, making Gage’s skin prickle. The plane turned, banking left as the humans in the cockpit obeyed his friend’s unspoken command. Shifting again, Haider returned to normal, weight evenly distributed on his tall frame. The plane leveled out, flying fast across clear skies. “You strong enough to fly?”

  Gage rolled his shoulders, testing his muscles’ responsiveness. Fatigue poked at him. Discomfort followed, streaking down his spine. Shoving it aside, he gave his friend two thumbs up and continued down the aisle. A narrow door stood at the end. Gaze fixed to it, he reached out with his mind. His magic flared. The latch clicked. He shoved the panel to the sleep cabin open and, dipping his head, crossed into the small space.

  He scanned the surface of the bed.

  Empty. Not a kid in sight.

  “Osgard?” Searching for the male, his gaze bounced around the room.

  Nothing. No response. Not many spots to hide in the tiny excuse for a bedroom either. A total of two—the narrow cupboards bookending either side of the headboard. Skirting the end of the bed, Gage came around the corner of the mattress and—

  Stopped short.

  Ah, hell. Not good. Osgard, curled up on the floor, knees tucked against his chest, sleeping in the narrow space between the curved wall and the wooden frame . . . instead of on top of a nice, soft mattress. Gage’s chest went tight. He knew what the kid’s position meant. Understood what prolonged abuse did to some males. Degraded a kid’s worth. Shredded self-esteem. Obliterated trust until suspicion became the norm, instead of the exception. Made him sleep in tight spaces that offered maximum protection and little opportunity for attack.

  Goddamn Archguard pricks.

  How dare the assholes treat a defenseless kid with such brutality? Gage shook his head. Such senseless violence. A complete tragedy. Absolutely no reason for it. And yet, Osgard’s dysfunction stared him in the face. Rage spiked, rolling through him like thunder. Gage stopped the roll, tucked his fury away, and, watching Osgard sleep, made himself a promise. The Archguard would pay for hurting a helpless kid. And Zidane would die. He would make sure of it. But . . .

  First things first.

  He must get Osgard home. Telling the kid he was safe wouldn’t work. Showing him constituted a better plan. Actions spoke louder than words, and seeing was believing. The youngling needed experience—to live with and be accepted by a normal pack—in order to understand the difference between right and wrong. Give him a month or two at Black Diamond, with him and the other Nightfury warriors, and . . . yeah. Gage nodded.

  The kid would come around. Eventually.

  Hitting his haunches at the end of the bed, he flicked his new ward’s foot. The gentle touch jacked Osgard upright. With a yelp, he scrambled backward. His back slammed into the cupboard door. Gage didn’t move. He stayed still instead, his body language nonthreatening. His intent spilled into the cabin, his message clear—trust me, I mean no harm. Chest heaving, eyes round with terror, the kid stared at him. One minute stretched into another. Gage waited. Slow but sure, Osgard calmed down, ragged breaths leveling out until he relaxed, releasing his death grip on the blanket.

  The second the male evened out, Gage pushed to his feet. “Come on. Time to go.”

  He didn’t wait to see if the kid obeyed. He turned and left the room instead. After a moment of hesitation, Osgard followed him into the main cabin. Standing beside Nian, one hand on the lever that opened the outside door, Haider tipped his chin. Gage nodded, giving him the go-ahead. With a grunt, his friend slammed the latch into the unlocked position and shoved. The door pushed out, then opened wide.

  Wind raged into the plane.

  Cabin pressure dropped.

  Gage braced himself as the jet wobbled in mid-air. Steel wings seesawed. Newspaper blew off a nearby tabletop. Haider growled and took control, leveling the plane as Gage grabbed Osgard and headed for the open door.

  Fresh air hit him in the face.

  Osgard sucked in a startled breath.

  Gage didn’t stop. One arm around the kid, he leapt from the plane into the night sky. The kid flinched. Gage shifted into dragon form, snarling as stiff muscles stretched and relief came calling. His bronze scales rattled in the wind rush. He bared his fangs. Osgard laughed, free-falling with him an instant before Gage tucked the younger male into his paw, folded his wings, and dove toward mountainous terrain. Speed supersonic, the spikes on his tail hissed in his wake.

  Haider growled behind him.

  Gage glanced over his shoulder and watched Haider and Nian clear the jet’s underbelly. The plane banked into a wide turn, veering south high above him. Both males transformed—Haider flashing silver scales, Nian sporting burnished gold. Gage’s mouth curved. Hmm, it felt so good to be flying again. To be free and clear. No threat in his rearview mirror.

  Night vision sharp, he searched the horizon. Forty-five minutes tops, and he’d land at his front door. Eagerness punched through to reach his heart. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. Gage blinked the moisture away and stayed on course. Less than an hour, and he’d be home. Surrounded by his pack and safe with his brothers. Back in the only place he’d ever truly belonged.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Talons planted in a deserted parking lot, Venom settled on his haunches and stared at the building less than fifty feet away. He folded his wings, tucking the black webbing against his sides. The familiar move should’ve made him feel better. His spiked tail twitched instead, elevating nervous tick to whole new levels. Swallowing the bad taste in his mouth, he wrapped the scaled length around his front paws. Classic move—very catlike, and one that normally helped him relax. No such luck. Comfort wasn’t in the cards tonight. He grimaced. Forget comfortable. He would’ve settled for painful to get rid of screwed.

  A muscle along his jaw twitched as he looked over the setup again.

  Venom sighed. Goddamn. Guess that made it official. His mission had just gone from doable to difficult in under three seconds flat.

  He should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy. Hell, he had known the moment he flew into town. The toxins in his blood reacted that quickly, locating the source of the virus without effort. Tipping his chin up, he put his nose in the wind and inhaled. His lungs filled. His nostrils flared, filtering chilly night air. Ultrafine olfactory senses twitched. He snorted, the sound
full of disgust. God, that stunk. Putrid and thick, the odor hung over Granite Falls like fog, slithering in to spoil everything it touched.

  Not that any of his brothers could smell it.

  Choking on the stench, Venom glanced skyward. Bright stars looked down from a blanket of black, telling secrets, revealing patterns, keeping time with the moon. As he watched, the rest of the Nightfuries rocketed overhead. Night air warped, jetting white off multiple wing tips as his pack fanned out, looking for threats, setting up a security grid, waiting for him to call the play and pull the trigger.

  Venom returned his attention to the building.

  Of all the horrible luck.

  Trust Ivar the Asshole to do the unthinkable and contaminate Granite Falls’ water supply. Infection via precious resource. Viral load delivered via drinking glasses. Crank the tap, let it flow, take a sip: instant health issues packaged inside nature’s purest offering—something every living thing needed to survive. It was brilliant. A plan with long-reaching consequences and loads of bite. Venom shook his head. Scales ruffled like feathers, sending a symphony of clickety-click-click through the quiet.

  The familiar sound settled him down.

  He scowled at his target.

  The water treatment plant rose like an eyesore in the large clearing. Square construction. Solid design. Set on the outskirts of town in a spot most humans would’ve enjoyed building a house. Dragon senses seething, he scanned the tree line again. Tall pines sat alongside huge cedars, lording over the human facility, giving the place an ancient, lived-in look. Venom swallowed his distaste. Pretty spot. A total travesty given what lay inside the state-of the-art death trap.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, internal alarm system flickering.

  Taking a deep breath, Venom shut down his unease. Freaking out wouldn’t solve the problem. Or get him home any faster. But God, it was hard not to react. To forget a lifetime of fear in favor of moving forward—into the teeth of something that still made his skin crawl. Not surprising considering what he’d been through, but . . .

  He suppressed a shudder.

  Of all the rotten luck. A building full of water—tons of it. His least favorite thing in the world.

  Memory surged, forcing him to remember. His stomach clenched. Bile sloshed into the back of his throat. Venom swallowed the acrid taste. Against his will, he relived the sheer force of sensory burn. Could still feel the scrape of rough rope around his wrists as his sire tied him to the pole at low tide. The chilly crush of ocean waves rolling in. The smell of brine as salt water filled his lungs. The slow rise of suffocation and the awful panic that followed.

  A shiver rattled through him.

  Rolling his shoulders, Venom shrugged it away. Time to go. He couldn’t stay in the parking lot all night. His brothers-in-arms were counting on him. So were the humans who called Granite Falls home, so . . .

  Enough. No more hesitating.

  The past didn’t belong in the present. And he needed to move on. Champion the cause. Do his duty. Face his fear, once and for all. Otherwise his sire would win, and Venom would never be able to let the hurt go.

  Raising his paw, he flexed his talons. Black razor-sharp claws winked in the moonlight. The sight unlocked his lungs. With a snarl, he shifted into human form and conjured his clothes. His favorite leather jacket settled across his shoulders. Heavy. Familiar. Perfect as Evelyn’s scent drifted from the collar, teasing his senses, calming him down, helping him relax. His mouth curved. Hmm, so good. His female always smelled so damned amazing.

  An image of her rose in his mind’s eye.

  Resolve settled deep. His gaze narrowed on the building. “I’m going in.”

  “Not without me.”

  A black blur streaked into view.

  Wick banked hard and circled around. He folded his wings. Gravity took hold, yanking his friend out of the sky. Black amber-tipped scales rattled as he landed with a thump in front of him. Gravel skittered sideways, pinging off the base of a lamppost.

  “No need, Wick,” he murmured, hoping his friend stayed out of it. “Stay outside. I’ll holler when I’m done.”

  Excellent plan. He didn’t want any help. Any witnesses either. It was safer that way. Easier on his pride too. No matter his resolve, it would take him a while to work up enough courage to hop into one of the tanks. Total body immersion would equal victory. Or, rather, a dead contagion instead of a live one. Contact with his skin combined with the manipulation of his magic would strip the contaminant of its core components. Break down the bug. Kill the disease one molecule at a time by pushing the antidote through the network of pipes into human homes and . . .

  Presto. Safe, clean, filtered water—that he would be standing up to his gonads in. Then again, maybe he’d have to go deeper. Chest-deep? Chin-deep? Venom cringed. He really didn’t know. Didn’t want to think about it either. But as he strode across the parking lot toward his best friend, nerves got the better of him, making his mind scream and him imagine the worst.

  Water filling his lungs. Death by drowning.

  Golden eyes narrowed on him. “Venom—”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Bullshit.” Magic sparked. Wick transformed. Inferno-like heat blew into the sky, killing the cold air as his friend nailed him with a pissy look. Venom growled at his best friend and set a course to the front doors. Wick snarled back and, with a quick pivot, followed him across the lot. “I’m going in with you.”

  “And that makes three.”

  Venom cursed under his breath. “I don’t need your help, Mac.”

  “Double bullshit.” Smooth, blue-gray scales flashed in his periphery. Tucking his wings, Mac landed on top of the building. Sharp claws shrieked against steel. Venom clenched his teeth, stepped onto the walkway, then glanced up. Hanging over the roof edge like a gargoyle, the male frowned at him. “I’m a water dragon, dumb-ass. You’re about to fuck with water, ergo . . .”

  Mac trailed off, the duh in his tone unmistakable.

  Okay. Fine. The guy had a point. Maybe he did need Mac on standby. “Jesus, you’re both major pains in the ass.”

  “Fuck off,” Wick said, using his favorite phrase.

  With a grin, Mac somersaulted off the roof. Halfway down, he shifted into human form. His boots slammed into the ground beside large windows. Glass shuddered in steel frames, vibrating in protest. “Lead the way.”

  “Perimeter’s secure. Nothing’s moving out here. We’ll stand post,” Bastian said, deep voice rolling through mind-speak. “Yell if you need us.”

  Venom nodded and, pace steady, strode up the walkway. Concrete pavers led the way, rolling out like a red carpet, pointing toward the front entrance. He slid to a stop and grabbed one of the door handles. Icy metal grazed his palm. He yanked. The door flew open and unease squawked. He kept his feet moving and crossed the threshold, his chest so tight it hurt to breathe. Pressure banded around his rib cage. Acid swirled in the pit of his stomach. Ignoring the churn-up, he paused in the foyer to get the lay of the land. Locked up tight for the night, an office-slash-reception area sat to his left, rubbing shoulders with the corridor running alongside it. A picture gallery of the facility in different stages of construction sat to his right.

  He scanned each one, looking for the layout.

  A photo of two rectangular water tanks caught his eye. He stared at the pair a moment, trying to make his brain work. Right size. Perfect shape. Full of running water. The tanks would do. He’d be able to hop in, get good and wet, then—

  His heart clenched, shutting down reason.

  “Relax.” Stopping next to him, Wick bumped his shoulder. The love tap made Venom sway on his feet as his friend met his gaze. “Don’t worry. If it goes wrong in there, I’ll pull you out.”

  “I know,” he said, dropping mind-speak, coaxing his lungs to unlock.

&nbs
p; Oxygen rushed into his body. His muscles shuddered, then released the clampdown. Flexing his hands, Venom forced himself to move. One foot in front of the other. Shoulders rolling. Knees bending. Stride after heart-pounding stride down the wide corridor. Pale walls raced past. His friends’ footfalls thumped in his wake. Boxy fluorescents buzzed overhead, lighting up industrial-grade floors, making his skin crawl, as he paused on the lip of an intersection. Only two options—turn right, or go left.

  The reception photo flashed in his mind’s eye.

  Venom turned left and headed for a set of solid double doors. Raising his hands, he hammered both panels. Well-oiled hinges swung inward, dumping him into the large rectangular room. A walkway ran around the outside, hugging the exterior walls, only to drop away in the center. The gurgle of rushing water joined the hum of machinery. Gaze on the sturdy railing bolted to the edge of the mezzanine, Venom moved in for a closer look. Reaching out, he grabbed the steel banister and glanced down. His stomach dipped. His muscles twitched. The old fear struck, closing his throat as he stared at two long trough-like tanks made of concrete. Water churned along each length, pouring into a narrow spillway sitting between the two.

  White-knuckling the rail, Venom glanced over his shoulder. He met Mac’s gaze. “Stay out of the water. Don’t come in unless I ask you to.”

  Mac opened his mouth to argue.

  Wick shut him down. “He’ll be pure poison in there, Mac.”

  “Could he kill me?”

  “Probably.”

  “Definitely,” Venom said, his voice overlapping Wick’s. “Give me some time. Make sure no one interrupts. This may take a while.”

  Both males nodded.

  Gritting his teeth, Venom leapt over the rail. Chilly looking water swirled eight feet below, taunting him with its movement. Damp air slapped him in the face. Sucking in a quick breath, he braced for impact. Four feet to go. Now three, two, and—

  Splashdown!

  He plunged into the tank feetfirst. Heavy water dragged his boots into the swirl, then flowed over his legs. His waist went under. And then his chest. A load of cold-wet-and-nasty hit him in the face. Off balance, Venom struggled to plant his feet. His soles slid on the slimy bottom. With a curse, he thrashed. Waves splashed up and out, arching through the air, rolling over the lip of the tank and into the narrow spillway. His feet slipped again, then found traction. Hammering his internal gearshift, he put himself in reverse. Water dragged against his back. One second ticked into the next and—