Fury of Desire (-4

by Coreene Callahan

  Case in point? Jamison needed gentle. He’d never been kindhearted or soft-handed in his life. She required care and comfort. He didn’t have the first clue about how to deliver either. She trusted him to keep his word and be there for her. He couldn’t wait to put her down and beat feet in the other direction.

  The comparisons made his stomach cramp.

  Fucking hell. He deserved to be drawn and quartered. Hung by his entrails. Taken out and shot. Take your pick. The method of torture didn’t matter. Not while he contemplated betraying her trust. Abandonment with the backlash of duplicity. God help him, he hated the mere idea of it. But fact was just that… fact. If he broke his word, he was nothing but a first-class cheat. A betrayer. A coward for abandoning the credo he’d lived by all his life. Granted, the list of principles was a short one, but at the top sat one unbendable dictate—a promise made was a promise kept.

  Wick sighed. Shit. He couldn’t do it. Jamison was too important. Honor demanded he finish what he started. His dragon half concurred, refusing to let him retreat or cause her any more pain.

  So… here he went, veering away from safe and straight into fucked up.

  Adjusting his hold on her, Wick unleashed his magic and engaged the energy shield. Static crackled, prickling over his skin as the cave wall reacted. Solid stone rippled, turning milky white. Wick drew in another breath. Time to face the music and the females on the other side of the wall. Tania and Myst were waiting. He registered their presence inside the lair. Frustration poured off both, sending out a vibe that polluted the air as each paced, ready to tear a strip off him for keeping Jamison out on the LZ so long. Normal, he guessed. From what he knew, females liked to worry. Enjoyed coddling people too.

  Not a bad thing. He was glad they cared about Jamison. But that didn’t mean he wanted either of them in his grill the second he strode over the threshold. So… new plan. One that would provide some breathing room. Enough to get him inside the clinic instead of accosted in the corridor.

  He fired up mind-speak. “Mac.”

  “You coming through?”

  “Yeah.”

  Raising a mental fist, he thumped on the energy shield, requesting safe passage. Another major first tonight. Usually, he blasted his way through, challenging the magic that safeguarded Black Diamond from outsiders. The provocation was a test of sorts—a way to make sure the shield continued to do its job, one that played out the same way. The pissy thing enjoyed taking a chunk out of him every time he walked into the lair. Wick tucked his female closer, hoping the shield would take a pass tonight.

  He didn’t need another lesson. Or any of the spell’s usual bullshit.

  Jamison was already hurting. Was far too fragile to be treated to another round of pain, never mind the magical tantrum the energy shield loved to deliver.

  Rolling his shoulders, Wick got ready anyway. One never knew. The shield had a mind of its own. No sense underestimating the thing. “Make sure the females stay in the clinic.”

  “Already done,” Mac said, a female voice rising in the background. Wick’s lips twitched. Wow, she didn’t sound happy and… Mac cursed. A scraping noise came through the cosmic connection, echoing inside Wick’s head as his comrade grunted. The scuffle continued a moment before all went quiet. “I got her. You’re good to go.”

  Murmuring a “thanks,” Wick knocked on the portal again. Magic hummed. Energy surged, kicking up dust motes in the musty air. Wick kept walking, his pace smooth and even, his gaze glued to the ripple of light in front of the solid stone. One moment slid into another and—

  The shield snarled and stared out through narrowed eyes, locked onto him from within the void. Adrenaline punched through. His heartbeat picked up the pace, hammering the inside of his chest. Looping his magic end over end, he cocooned Jamison, leaving himself vulnerable as he stepped into the breach. A growl rumbled through the quiet, and Wick tensed. Any moment now, he’d see the flash and hear the whistle of—

  Full of fury, the blue flame of a magical whip exploded across the abyss.

  Right on his heels, Venom cursed behind him.

  Upping the pace, Wick ramped into a run. Legs pumping, breath sawing in his chest, he watched the sharp multi-headed lash slice through the air. He turned his back to take the brunt. A second before the magical cat-o’-nine struck, the spell shifted focus, zeroing in on the female in his arms. Oh shit. Not good. The beast didn’t permit outsiders and…

  Jamison twitched against him.

  Wick bared his teeth. No way. Not going to happen. If the shield so much as touched her, he’d make it pay. Just KO the motherfucker. Rip it apart without conscience or mercy… Black Diamond and his brothers-in-arms’ reactions be damned. But as he held the line, threatening without words, the spell paused. Magic cracked like thunder. Wick felt the shift in intention a second before the beast reversed course. The whip swung wide, missing him by inches, and whirled away. The fiery tendrils vanished with a loud pop as it shoved him out the other side.

  Light flared. The scent of pine floor cleaner reached him. His feet thumped down. Fighting to keep his balance, Wick cursed as his combat boots slid on polished concrete.

  “Holy shit.” Shifting mid-stride, Rikar scrambled out of his way.

  Breathing hard, Wick skidded to a stop in the middle of the corridor. Shock riding shotgun, he stood rooted to the floor. Holy shit, indeed. Crazy too, considering the energy shield had left him untouched. He glanced down at Jamison. Relief rolled through him. Fast asleep in his arms, she was none the worse for wear. He tapped into her bio-energy anyway, wanting to make sure. Heartbeat steady. Energy levels good. Each breath soft and even.

  Thank God.

  “Christ, I hate it when you do that.” The grumble came from his right.

  Glancing away from the top of her head, he met Rikar’s gaze.

  A sour look on his puss, his XO glared at him. “Stop provoking it, and the bastard might let you through without trying to kill you every once in a while.”

  “That work for you?”

  “Never mind.” Amusement sparked in Rikar’s pale eyes. His mouth curved in response. He couldn’t help it. Despite the fact his XO enjoyed razzing him, he liked the tough-minded SOB. He was lethal in a fight and loyal to a fault, the kind of warrior a male wanted watching his six. “Nasty fucking thing. Always will be.”

  With an “uh-huh,” Wick put his boots to good use and headed for the clinic.

  “How is she?”

  “Alive.”

  Rikar huffed. “Always a bonus.”

  No kidding. A big one too, considering the alternative. The idea of her dead, laid out on a cold slab somewhere, made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to imagine the possibility, never mind entertain it.

  A few hours ago, it hadn’t mattered.

  Rescuing her started out as a lark. A challenge in the form of a jailbreak. Now, though—after meeting her, holding her… talking to her—it mattered a whole hell of a lot. More than he wanted to admit. Which cranked his screw the wrong way. His fixation on her couldn’t be healthy. It was too raw. Too intense. Smacked too much of obsession to be anything other than bad. And yet, even knowing the danger, Wick couldn’t shake the fascination. Like a moth to a flame, he yearned to move toward the inferno—feel the heat, touch the flame, experience the burn—instead of doing the smart thing and back away.

  The very definition of insanity.

  Bypassing Rikar in the corridor, Wick strode up the slight incline. Roughhewn walls led the way, moving him past scarred stone toward his salvation. The clinic lay just ahead. Soon, he’d be able to put her down. To relinquish his responsibility, set Jamison in capable hands, and reclaim his sanity. He needed to leave her behind. Balance. Peace. A lot of quiet. Severing their connection—all the energy flowing between them—would provide all three. Retreating into the silence of his room—isolating himself from the others—would help too. But even as he acknowledged the wisdom of the plan, Wick battled the urge to hold on tight and…r />
  Never let her go.

  God, he was messed up. Beyond confused. And as Rikar kept pace alongside him, Wick considered asking the male for advice. The warrior knew a lot about females. He was mated to one, for Christ’s sake, and well… Angela seemed happy enough. So yeah. Rikar would no doubt make an excellent mentor. His XO wouldn’t bullshit him, but as Wick opened his mouth to ask, his throat closed, and he clammed up. He didn’t know how to broach the subject, never mind word it right. Shit, he was an emotional illiterate—stunted, unsure of himself, incapable of reaching out for help—so instead of asking, he shut it down, abandoning difficult in favor of easy.

  “Myst ready for us?”

  “Triage is set up,” Rikar said, his boots thudding in concert with Wick’s. Running a critical eye over Jamison, he raised a brow. “Not sure the female’s gonna need it, though. She looks pretty good, all things—”

  The energy shield snapped behind them.

  “Goddamn it!”

  Wick grinned. Things were about to get interesting. About time too. Venom had been right behind him upon entry. He should’ve come through the portal long before now.

  Venom snarled as the beast spit him out. Velocity set to breakneck, he flew into the corridor, head and shoulders leading the way. Twisting in midair, arms and legs pinwheeling, he struggled to get his feet under him.

  “Christ.” With a wince, Rikar grimaced. “Did I say nasty earlier?”

  “You did,” Wick said, watching his friend’s free-for-all scramble.

  Cursing a blue streak, Venom landed with a thud. Forward momentum made him slide. Wick winced as he collided with the stone wall. Rolling belly-up on the floor, Venom groaned, “Son of a bitch.”

  “Whatcha think, Wick?”

  “Eight out of ten. He didn’t stick the landing.”

  “Nice,” Venom said, sarcasm out in full force. Looking ready to kill something, he pushed to his feet. As he dusted himself off, he grumbled, “How can I hate that thing, yet love it at the same time?”

  Rikar laughed.

  Wick fought an eye roll, but as he continued walking, the contrast wasn’t lost on him. Love and hate. Polar opposites that created one helluva combination. One he now owned when it came to Jamison. Not that he hated her. Far from it. The way she made him feel—confused, uptight… out of control—wasn’t her fault. She’d done nothing wrong. The defect belonged to him. He was the damaged one, not her.

  And yet, he continued to feed her… even though he knew he shouldn’t. It would only bring him more grief in the end. Too bad his dragon didn’t care. Despite his will to control it, instinct won out over common sense, and he submitted, allowing her to take from him. Without ever putting up a fight. She needed him too much, and as strange as it seemed, he couldn’t deny her, increasing the flow of healing energy the moment she asked for more.

  Awful. Complicated. Undesirable.

  All three applied, turning him inside out.

  Throat gone tight, Wick shook his head. He was in big trouble, the kind that came with a label… energy-fuse. The realization cracked him wide open, making him feel sick. But even as his stomach clenched, he rejected the truth. Impossible. The conclusion couldn’t be right. He was a soulless bastard, well past the point of saving. Intimacy wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want it to be either. Every ounce of kindness—along with the instinct that drove a Dragonkind male to mate—had been beaten out of him years ago.

  And honestly? He liked it that way.

  Detachment allowed him to do his job. Had shaped him into the kind of warrior his brothers valued, needed, and expected him to be—a natural born killer without conscience or mercy. He didn’t want what the other Nightfuries shared with their chosen females. Juggling a relationship and his responsibilities as a warrior didn’t belong in his lexicon. The first would distract him from the second, ensuring he failed at both.

  It all came down to one thing…

  Choice.

  He’d made one years ago when he joined the Nightfury pack. His brothers—his vow to protect each—came before all else. Bewitching females included. So enough foolishness. His attraction to Jamison must die a swift, unholy death. No good would come from straying from a path already taken.

  Air hissed as the glass door to the medical clinic slid open.

  In a state of complete panic, Tania shot over the threshold. Time slowed as she pivoted toward him, spinning into an endless stretch. Horror darkened her brown eyes. Wick wiped his expression clean, preparing for the worst. Mac’s female didn’t like him. She’d made it clear that he frightened her… even though he hadn’t done a thing to make her fear him. He was who he was: quiet, reserved, so baffled by social situations he never knew what to say, never mind how to make someone like him. Wick understood the truth of it… accepted it too. Most females reacted to him the same way, but as tears pooled in Tania’s eyes, Wick suddenly wished he wasn’t so inept.

  A few well-placed words would no doubt reassure her, but—

  “Oh my God… oh God. Mac!” Her terror-filled rasp wrung Wick out, twisting his insides into knots as Tania froze in the middle of the corridor. Her gaze glued to him, both feet rooted to the floor, she shook her head. “She’s dead, isn’t she? You… you… oh God, you—”

  Wick growled, cutting her off mid-accusation. How typical. Tania thought he’d killed her fucking sister. Her reaction pissed him off, even though it shouldn’t have. The conclusion wasn’t a bad one considering his reputation and temperament. Toss in his propensity for violence, and…

  Ah, hell. Her assumption made a certain amount of sense.

  “She’s isn’t dead, female.”

  Tania blinked. “But—”

  “Motherfuck.” Mac growled, stepping out of the clinic behind his female. “Tania, I told you to stay put.”

  “I can’t… I couldn’t,” she whispered. “Why isn’t she moving? Why does he have her? You promised… you said she was okay.”

  “She is, honey. Your sister’s been injured. She’s exhausted… sleeping hard, that’s all.” Throwing him an apologetic look, Mac cupped her shoulders and tugged Tania into his arms. As her back met his chest, he wrapped her tight against him. “Wick saved J. J.’s life tonight. He’s taken good care of her. You owe him an—”

  “Thank you,” she said, cutting off her mate mid-scold. Eyes still huge in her small face, she met his gaze, and Wick blinked. Wow, would you look at that? Tania had never looked at him before, never mind spoken to him. Both were huge firsts, and she didn’t stop there. “I’m sorry, Wick. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to… it’s just I’ve been so worried and…” Tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing her home.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured, reciprocating for once, giving Tania her due. It was only fair. Courage, after all, deserved acknowledgement. “She’s all right, Tania. A little banged up, but it’s nothing time won’t heal.”

  A lie. Boldly told and beautifully delivered.

  No one knew better than him that time didn’t heal all wounds. Jamison would heal from the physical trauma, no question. The healing energy he shared with her would see to that, but five years spent in prison damaged a person. Readjusting to being on the outside—to the real world and her newfound freedom—would take more than just time. Pile on surviving a vicious knife attack and witnessing a dragon battle on top of that and… yeah.

  D-day. Detonation inevitable. Psychological scarring times ten.

  Movement flashed in his periphery.

  Glancing through the open door, he spotted Myst inside the clinic. Snapping her rubber gloves in place, B’s female tilted her head, inviting him inside. “I’m ready. Bring her in.”

  With a nod, Wick crossed the threshold. Shitkickers rasping across the industrial-grade hospital floor, he eyed the examination table. Warrior-sized, the surface stretched beneath the bright overhead lights. Stainless steel cabinets rose beyond the setup, hugging the back wall, framing the female who
now stood alongside the stretch of cabinetry. The scent of antiseptic soap added to the medical ambiance, making his nose twitch and his heart hammer.

  Different night. Same story.

  Except that wasn’t quite true.

  The medical supplies laid out in tidy rows on the rollaway cart weren’t for him. Or one of his brothers. Not right now. Tonight, each plastic-wrapped package—all those metal tools along with the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff—belonged to Jamison. The thought bored a hole through his breastbone, piercing his heart. All of a sudden, Wick couldn’t breathe. Jesus. He didn’t want to put her down… or leave her here all by herself.

  Totally ridiculous, considering who stood in the room.

  Myst would take good care of her. Treat her with kid gloves and gentle hands, ensure Jamison received all she needed to heal. But as Wick stopped beside the table—seeing all the bandages and other packages up close—something snapped deep inside him. He felt the splintering shock wave. Heard the roar of denial along with the blood rush in his ears. The throb hammered his temples. Wick shook his head, fighting the buzzing surge of awareness, and waged an internal war. Logic told him to put her down. The territorial bastard inside him overrode the system, unleashing a torrent of possessiveness.

  Shit. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t relinquish—

  “Wick.”

  The sharpness of Myst’s tone brought his chin up. She nailed him with serious violet eyes. “I need you to put her down.”

  Holding onto Jamison like a greedy two-year-old, he shook his head.

  “Trust me… I know what I’m doing.”

  “I know,” he rasped, not doubting her skill for a moment. The female possessed a shitload of know-how. She sewed up the Nightfury warriors on a regular basis. Hell, Venom owed his life to Myst and her talent with a needle. But relinquishing Jamison wasn’t about that. It was about something more. Duty, maybe. Honor, certainly. A strange sense of entitlement too, ’cause… God. After caring for her the last couple of hours, abandoning her to another’s care seemed, well… wrong. “I’m just…”