Fury of Desire (-4

by Coreene Callahan

  And speaking of which? The whole jailbreak thing wasn’t a great idea.

  “You should take me back, you know,” she said, her mind working better as the pain subsided. Which meant… no more room for denial. The dash and dodge through the forest told her all she needed to know. They were on the run. No doubt from cruisers with SPD’s logo plastered along the side. And once the cops caught up with them? Forget about parole. It would be bye-bye freedom, hello extended sentence. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m up for parole in a month and—”

  “Forget it, Jamison.” His grip tightened as he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze narrowed on the back window. “I’m not taking you back to that shithole.”

  Well, would you look at that? More than three words in a row. They were making progress. “But if the police catch us—”

  “Fuck the cops.”

  “Don’t swear at me.”

  He huffed, the sound half-snort, half-laugh.

  And she knew what he meant. Her reaction was ridiculous. She was accustomed to prison life, for goodness sake—the land where harsh language abounded. Still, his attitude annoyed her. He’d given her the brush-off, dismissing her problems, asserting his control, making her feel… well… helpless, for lack of a better word. Yes, he controlled the play, no question. Was behind the wheel, calling the shots, roaring down some stupid dirt road in the middle of nowhere, but this was her life. Hers. Her future on the line. Her freedom hung out to dry. Her ass in the sling. So for him to pooh-pooh her concern, flush all she’d worked so hard to achieve down the toilet? Well…

  The dismissal pissed her off. Pushed all the wrong buttons. Now all she wanted to do was wind up, let loose, and knock some sense into him. Too bad that time had come and gone. With the jailbreak in full swing, she was pretty much screwed. The cops wouldn’t understand or believe the escape hadn’t been her idea. So instead of the scathing comeback he deserved, she said, “I’m serious.”

  Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I can see that.”

  “You know what I said about you being nice before?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I take it back.”

  “I’m relieved. About time you pulled your head out of your…” Dark brows furrowed, Wick trailed off. He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening to something, and J. J. got a bad, bad feeling. “Shit.”

  Bingo. Score one for women’s intuition. The intensity of his tone said it all. Trouble. A lot of it headed their way. “What is it?”

  “Company.” A muscle twitched along his jaw. He tugged his hand away from hers. Each breath sawing in her throat, J. J. clung a moment, then let go. As a whisper of pain returned, he met her gaze. “Whatever happens, vanzäla, keep your head down. Don’t make a sound. It’s about to get rough.”

  “Oh my God.”

  The police.

  Her heart beating an erratic pace, J. J. glanced out the rear window. Nothing yet. No wail of sirens or revolving splashes of flashing lights, but she knew they were coming. It was only a matter of time before the SPD closed in and…

  She curled her arms against her chest. God. She was so screwed. About to be caught, cuffed, and sent back to prison. For a very long time.

  Dread spiraled deep, causing a nasty chain reaction. One that tightened her throat and made panic rise. Tears surfaced in an irrepressible wave. And as moisture pricked the corners of her eyes, J. J. shook her head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Less than a day ago, she’d held all the hope in the world. A chance at freedom and a second start in life. And now? All her hard work lay in ruins. Wrecked by a man she didn’t know, but who clearly had an agenda of his own.

  11

  Shock absorbers working overtime, the SUV sped over another rough patch on the deserted dirt road. Tree trunks and skeletal branches flashed in Wick’s periphery, casting shadows over the forest floor. Headlights turned off, his night vision pinpoint sharp, he scanned the narrow lane ahead, looking for the next turn, and almost snorted.

  Lane. Right. A total exaggeration. God-awful trail was a better description.

  Cursing under his breath, Wick slowed down to wheel around a rocky outcropping. Pine needles played on the windshield, jumping against glass as the front tires dipped and…

  Bam!

  Shit. Another pothole, one of many and—

  A gasp sounded to his right.

  A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. Jamison was in pain, tears welling in her eyes even as she tried to be brave. To ride it out without complaining or distracting him. Wick clenched his teeth, debating. What should he do… reach over? Take her hand again? Or say the hell with it? She was a grown female, for fuck’s sake. Well past the point of babying. More than able to care for herself.

  Great argument. One that absolutely worked for him.

  Too bad his dragon half didn’t agree. The bastard kept poking him—with a barbed stick—urging him to do something stupid. Like what? Murmur her name. Bridge the distance over the center console to touch her. Soothe her until she believed he wasn’t the enemy, but her only way out.

  Totally screwed up reaction? No doubt. He wasn’t anyone’s knight in shining armor.

  He was the other guy. The asshole in black. The one who brought death and destruction everywhere he went. The male no female wanted to be near. So the compulsion to reassure her surpassed idiotic to land in laughable. Yet, he couldn’t suppress the urge. And as the beast inside him rose, he did the unthinkable. He reached out and cupped her cheek. Sky-blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, she turned her face into his touch. Her bottom lip quivered, and his heart went tight, balling up inside his chest.

  Shit on a stick. He disliked her distress. Hated her fear almost as much as what he was about to do. And what did that entail? Frightening her again by showing her all his cards.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice less than a whisper. “We’re going to get caught.”

  “No, baby.”

  “Please don’t lie to me.”

  Brushing his thumb over her cheek, Wick shook his head. He should’ve guessed she was astute. Any other time he would’ve admired her for it. He appreciated smart—straightforward too—but not tonight. He preferred she stay oblivious. Or better yet, went back to sleep before she got a look at what hunted them. But inevitable was just that… inevitable. Meant to be, so to speak, so he’d just have to go with it. Make the best of a bad situation while he hoped she didn’t freak out and have a heart attack or something.

  Static buzzed between his temples. One eye on the sky through the towering pines, Wick fired up mind-speak. “Venom.”

  “What?”

  “You busy?”

  “Just a tad.” The shriek of claws against scales sounded. A male screamed. Venom grunted and… crack! The snap of bone echoed inside Wick’s head. “One down… two to go. Whatcha need?”

  “Backup.” Wick cringed as the word left his mouth. He never asked for help in a firefight. He never needed any. Tonight, though, bypassed normal, heading straight into clusterfuck country. So to hell with his pride. With Jamison curled up beside him in the passenger seat, all bets were off. The more warriors to watch his six so he could protect her, the better. “I got a trio of rogues on my ass.”

  “Shite.” Forge snarled and metal rattled, joining a symphony of breaking glass. A wet gurgle sounded as a male choked on his own blood. Wick’s mouth curved. Dollars to donuts, the Scot had just used the sharp side of a building to gut a Razorback. “How much time we got tae get there?”

  Hard to tell. With the forest providing cover, it might take a while for the rogues to find the opening they needed to attack. “A couple of minutes… three tops.”

  “J. J.?” Mac asked.

  Wick drew a gentle circle on her temple. “Scared but alive.”

  “Keep her that way.” Venom growled. Another rogue screamed. “Stall, Wick. Give me a minute to break free. I’ll come after you.”
/>   Stellar plan. Except for one thing.

  The forest was thinning, trees becoming scarcer by the moment. The road dipped, veering into a sloping turn and… fuck him. A clearing. Dead ahead.

  Biting down on a curse, his gaze swept the terrain. Nowhere to go. Which meant he was headed into open space, one the rogues would use to their advantage… if he didn’t do something. Right now.

  “Jamison.” He glanced out the window, gauging the distance. Shit. Three winged shadows off the driver’s side. Thirty seconds out and closing fast. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue.” His grip on her chin firmed. “Do it.”

  Nylon hissed as she pulled on the strap. The buckle clicked home with a snick. Wick nodded and withdrew, letting go of her to put both hands on the wheel. Moonlight shone through a break in the trees, illuminating the trail and—

  Jackpot. A small alcove between a boulder and two huge redwoods. The perfect spot to shield Jamison—and hide the SUV—while he went after the assholes chasing him.

  Ancient trees on either side of the road tunneled, branches curving overhead. Wick stamped on the gas pedal. The Suburban responded, rocketing toward the lip of the clearing. Small shrubs pressed in, scraping along the running boards. Jamison flinched. Wick murmured, hoping the sound of his voice would calm her. It didn’t work. He smelled her fear. Felt each frantic beat of her heart. Heard each breath she took, the rasp and draw, the hitch in the back of her throat, and watched her curl into a ball in the passenger seat.

  Fucking hell. The Razorbacks would pay for that. For scaring her. For causing her more pain. For the folly of hunting him while he protected a female.

  A snarl locked in his throat, Wick rechecked his sightline. So far, so good. If he timed it just right, the rogues wouldn’t know what hit them.

  The trailhead widened into a V, opening into a field. Long grass undulated, moving with the wind.

  The lead rogue wheeled overhead.

  Wick bared his teeth, half smile, half snarl. Come on. Come on. Almost there. Another few seconds, and he’d have the male right where he wanted him… in prime strike position and at the end of his talons.

  Bright scales flashed at the end of the roadway. Eyes aglow, the enemy dragon spread his wings, stopping his flight to hang in midair, obliterating the view of the field beyond. Black horns curled over his ears, the rogue snarled. Wick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and counted off the seconds. Three. Two—

  “Oh shit!” Jamison’s startled cry echoed inside the truck. Her eyes went wide. Panic struck, making her scramble on the seat as she stared at the Razorback through the windshield. “Oh… my… God… Wick!”

  The rogue inhaled past razor-sharp fangs.

  One!

  He hit the brakes and cranked the wheel. All-terrain tires bit, swinging the rear of the truck around. The vehicle rocked side to side. Dirt flew, arching in a circle, loam and pine needles raining against the SUV’s rooftop. He heard Jamison gasp in alarm. Ignoring her, he slammed the truck in reverse and gunned the engine. Steel shrieked against stone as he sandwiched the vehicle between the boulder and the redwoods. A stream of acid flew through the air. The dragon’s toxic exhale splattered the ground, then splashed over the front bumper. Bark crackled and sizzled, smoldering into smoke. Noxious fumes puffed against the SUV’s grille, then rolled toward the windshield.

  A millisecond—that’s all it took—and Wick exited the truck.

  Out. Up. And over. He landed with a thump in front of the SUV. Magic exploded, swirling around him as he shifted into dragon form. Black amber-tipped scales flowed over his body to reach his spiked tail. Dragon talons took up the cause, turning his hands and feet to razor-sharp claws. In full battle mode, he slammed the driver’s door closed with his mind, enclosing Jamison inside. Her scream echoed inside his head, filling him with regret. Too bad for her. For him too. He didn’t have time to go back and coddle her. Not with the Razorback poised to strike again.

  In less than a second, he closed the distance. The enemy dodged, wing flapping to avoid his upward surge. Wick wanted to snort. He snarled instead. The dumb-ass. Like a complete idiot, the male hung in the kill zone, hemmed in by trees, immobile in midair, prime pickings with nowhere to go.

  Tucking his wings, Wick spiraled into a sideways flip and lashed out. Halfway through the revolution, his claws caught. Dragon blood splashed up his arm. He grinned and dug in, claws cutting through scales to find muscle and bone. The Razorback flailed, fighting the lockdown and… oh, Nelly. The screaming never got old. Neither did inflicting the pain.

  The rogue bastard. Asshole male. Threaten a female, would he?

  No fucking way.

  He wouldn’t permit Razorback filth anywhere near Jamison. Or allow her to be hurt. Not anymore. Never again. The male deserved every ounce of agony. And as the stink of his enemy’s desperation rose, Wick showed no mercy. Clamping down. Claws ripping at the rogue’s throat. Ignoring the backlash of claws against the wall of his chest. The pain was nothing, but killing the rogue? That was everything. And as he took the male apart scale by scale, he reveled in dominance and, for once, honor. Tonight he fought for something greater than himself. To protect. To serve. For a female who needed him to shield her.

  A death rattle rose on the night breeze.

  Wick growled as the Razorback disintegrated in his grip. Ash flew like snowflakes, covering his talons, whirling over his horned head—as he searched the sky. Oh goody. There they were… assholes number two and three flying in fast. Leaping straight up, he unfurled his wings. The rogues attacked in tandem, tag-teaming him. He spun in midair and nailed asshole number two with his barbed tail. The rogue’s head whiplashed. Using his momentum, Wick whirled around and grabbed him by the throat. He jerked his arm back. The fucker’s larynx ripped from the front of his neck, coming away in Wick’s talon. The rogue plummeted out of the sky, ashing out before he hit the ground. Wick pivoted, hoping—

  Ah, hell. No such luck.

  Asshole number three was bugging out, hauling ass over the forest, no doubt praying Wick decided not to give chase. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone after the pansy-ass. Not tonight, though. Murder and mayhem weren’t the top priority. Too bad. He could’ve used the exercise. But with Jamison curled up in the SUV less than a hundred yards away, killing anything else tonight didn’t seem like a good idea. Wick sighed and, folding his wings, set down in the middle of the field. Shit. He’d probably traumatized her. Scared her so badly she would no doubt freak out if he came anywhere near her now.

  A green blur flew overhead. “Wick… you clear?”

  Wick bit down on a curse. Not even close. He still had Jamison to deal with. “Two dead. Last rogue bugged out.”

  “The female?”

  “Still in the truck.”

  Ruby eyes aglow, Venom dropped out of the sky. Scales rattling from the free fall, his friend’s talons thumped down, flattening the field grass a few feet away. “I’ll get her.”

  “The fuck you will.”

  Venom’s brows popped skyward.

  Wick ignored the show of surprise. He didn’t want to explain. Couldn’t begin to either. What the hell could he say? That his wires were crossed—tangled up, on the fritz or something—and he didn’t want another male anywhere near Jamison. That if Venom approached her for any reason, he’d be forced to tear his best friend a new body orifice. Wick shook his head. Right. Like that would go over well. The entire Nightfury crew would ask questions. Razz him about his need to protect her. Demand he explain the compulsion. Not something he wanted to get into with the other warriors when he didn’t understand it himself.

  “Stay here.” He eyeballed Venom, warning him with a look. “Give me a minute with her.”

  His best friend grimaced. “She saw?”

  “Front row seat.”

  “Goddamn it.”

  Uh-huh. That about summed it up.

  Shifting into human form, Wic
k conjured his clothes. Worn jeans and a T-shirt settled on his skin, and stomping shitkickers on his feet, he crossed to the dirt road. His chest went tight as the front of the SUV came into view. Her bio-energy thrummed, pulsing in her aura, making the inside of the cab glow with fiery light. The muscles along his spine tightened with each step he took. The closer he got, the more awareness expanded, folding around him, telling all he needed to know.

  She was scared shitless. And he was to blame.

  Approaching the passenger-side door, he glanced through the window. Ah, hell. Not good. Tucked into a fetal position, Jamison lay curled in a ball. But worse? She trembled so hard his leather jacket shivered around her. Remorse struck him chest level. Wick smothered the reaction. Emotion was a bad idea. And feeling sorry about something he couldn’t change? Complete folly. It wouldn’t help him, never mind her. He needed to get her moving—and head to Black Diamond.

  “Jamison.” Reaching out, he popped the truck door open.

  Her head snapped toward him. Wide, terror-filled eyes met his. “D-don’t! Don’t touch me!”

  “Easy.” Standing in the V—between the open door and the truck frame—he held his hands out to the sides, the move one of reassurance. “It’s just me… Wick. Remember?”

  “W-wick.” Huddled inside his jacket, a tear spilled over her bottom lashes. “You… I saw y-you. You’re not… n-not…”

  “Human?”

  Another tear fell. “What are you?”

  “Dragonkind. One of the good guys.”

  Incomprehension in her gaze, she shook her head. Wick didn’t blame her for not believing him. He’d never been one of the good guys. Didn’t look or act the part, so… she was right on the money. It was only natural for her to fear him. But that didn’t change the facts. Or what he must do. And yet, he wanted to give her a moment to acclimate. A chance to understand. To come to terms with the idea that he intended to touch her again.