Fury of Desire (Dragonfury Series #4)

by Coreene Callahan

  “What’s in the journal?” Holding his gaze, Hamersveld raised a brow.

  Ivar hesitated, playing a game of should-he shouldn’t-he with himself. How much should he share? Every detail? Or only the basics? He debated a moment, intuition urging him to take the plunge while logic advocated caution. Up until this point, only one male had known the ins and outs of his plan. A pang hit him chest level as he thought of Lothair. God, he missed the male, but mourning him didn’t change the facts. His best friend was dead, long gone thanks to his enemies. Now he must start over. And Hamersveld—a warrior who was willing to kill his own son? Hell, he might never find a better counterpart in the war he waged against the Nightfuries, and by extension, humankind.

  “How much do you know about science?”

  “Enough.”

  Satisfied with the answer, Ivar nodded and laid it out. As he talked, Hamersveld interrupted here and there, asking questions, making astute observations, affirming his choice to bring the warrior into the fold. The Norwegian was wicked smart with an equal dose of lethal. Happiness sank deep, lightening his mood. Fantastic. The male was more than he had hoped, and everything he needed to continue his work.

  As Ivar finished the rundown, Hamersveld shoved Fen aside and pushed to his feet. With a stretch, he worked out the kinks and plugged him with a thoughtful look. “Why work out of the lab? Why not release a virus directly into a human population? See how it performs in the wild?”

  “I haven’t perfected the viral delivery system yet.” His brows furrowed, Ivar abandoned his seat and paced to the far end of the room. Skirting the bar and a wall of flat screen TVs, he pivoted and strode back toward the bed. “I need to be certain it’ll take before—”

  “What if I can guarantee it’ll take?”

  “How?”

  “You provide the superbug,” Hamersveld said. “I’ll introduce the virus into the water supply. Any human who drinks it will become infected.”

  Hitting the pause button on the pacing, Ivar stopped in the center of the room. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jesus. That was brilliant.

  “But we test it first.” Magic whispered on the air as Hamersveld conjured a map of Washington State. Folded into pamphlet size, he tossed it to Ivar. “Pick a small town. Some place rural with a water treatment plant.”

  “Then we sit back and watch how it spreads.” Excitement spiked, hitting Ivar with a shot of adrenaline. “Record and process the data. Make adjustments as needed.”

  A nasty gleam in his eyes, Hamersveld grinned.

  Ivar returned the smile and unfolded the map. Fucking hell, he couldn’t wait to get started.

  The frosting smelled like fresh strawberries.

  Seated on a stool at the kitchen island, J. J. smiled as she scooped more pink icing out of the bowl. Who would’ve guessed she’d enjoy baking so much? Not her, that was for sure. A little over an hour ago, she’d scoffed at the idea. Now she couldn’t wait to tackle the next cupcake. For some reason, the simple task relaxed her.

  It was strangely freeing. No one telling her what to do or how to do it. Just her, a homemade batch of frosting, and a butter knife. Nothing but scads of mini-cakes to decorate any way she saw fit.

  J. J.’s smile widened into a grin. All the taste testing didn’t hurt either.

  She held up her next victim and eyed the white cake top with consideration. What to do… what to do? Tried and true? Or should she elevate her game and test her new skill set? With a quick twist of her butter knife, she iced the top, leaving swirls in its wake, then glanced at the toppings beside her. Set out in small bowls, the sheer variety blew her away. Colorful sprinkles. Candies and chocolate curls. Marzipan decorations of all shapes and sizes. She perused the selection crowding the marble countertop, then looked at the already finished cupcakes. Sitting on a plate tree with three tiers, her pretty creations made the rounds, filling up most of the available real estate on Sweet Street. Only a few more left to do, so…

  She reached for the piping bag full of chocolate icing.

  “Ah, getting brave, I see.” British accent full of approval, Daimler raised a brow.

  J. J. crossed her eyes, making a funny face at him.

  He snorted and, tapping a wooden spoon on the edge of a huge pot, turned away from the six-burner stove. Like everything in Black Diamond’s kitchen, the range looked expensive. Gourmet on top of gourmet, hard-core gas burners surrounded by steel and stylish designer cabinetry. Not surprising, really. Anyone with eyes could see Daimler was a culinary tour de force. And honestly? The sophisticated white-on-white décor suited him.

  An elegant space for an elegant elf.

  Bridging the distance between stove and island, he examined her handiwork. “Well done, my lady. I had a feeling you would make a wonderful baker.”

  The compliment pleased her. The title on the other hand? J. J. fought the urge to cringe. My lady. Right. As if she deserved to be called such a thing. “Daimler, for the millionth time, please call me J. J. I’m not comfortable with—”

  “These are gorgeous, my lady!” His exclamation rolled over her request. J. J. sighed. She couldn’t win the argument. No matter how many times she objected, he ignored her wishes. Something told her that was typical behavior. His claim to fame… politely disregard anything he didn’t like and go on his merry way with every intention of doing whatever he wanted. Like now, while he twirled the cake stand in a circle on the countertop, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, gushing compliments… making her want to hug him so hard his head popped off. “It’s such a treat to have you here.”

  Uh-huh. And there it was… distraction in the form of a compliment.

  J. J. knew she shouldn’t fall for it. Should stand strong in the face of obvious manipulation, but… well, crap. Just crap. She enjoyed the way he treated her—how quickly he had accepted her, despite her shady past. Her chest went tight under the weight of heavy-handed thankfulness. God, it felt good: to be valued, to be welcomed, to be included. A novel experience after five years of receiving the complete opposite.

  “Thanks for letting me do it,” she murmured, listening to the low hum of female voices in the adjoining room. Beyond the wide timber-beamed archway, a long table occupied the center of the dining room. A magnificent chandelier hung above the mahogany surface, cut crystal reflecting the light, casting an ethereal glow over the three women in its circle. Her gaze landed on Tania, then bounced, sweeping over Myst and Angela. Busy doing Daimler’s bidding, the trio circled like sharks in a holding pattern, laying plates, cutlery, and wine glasses in prearranged places. “It’s a lot more fun than setting the table.”

  “Complete selfishness on my part, I assure you.” Gazing at her like a proud papa, Daimler watched her pipe fancy chocolate trim around the edge of the cupcake. He grinned, gold front tooth winking at her. “You’re a natural, my lady. I’ll make a master baker out of you yet.”

  J. J. huffed. “And I’ll end up gaining three hundred pounds.”

  He laughed, and she fell head over heels for him. He was just too cute with his elfin face and pointy ears peeking through his dark hair. Daimler was a definite keeper.

  With a steady hand, she set a marzipan flower in the frosting. A little nudge. A slight adjustment and… perfection. Now all she needed was some well-placed sprinkles. Maybe even a few leaves to propel the cupcake past pretty into gorgeous. “What are all these for anyway?”

  “My wedding.”

  J. J. jumped in surprise, squishing the candied leaf in her hand. Her gaze snapped to the left. “Jeepers, Tania. Sneak up on a body, why don’t you?”

  “Ah, back to the good old days.” Brown eyes gleaming with mischief, her sister threw her arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

  “Better be careful, Sis. You know I’ll get even and—”

  “Ten times worse, no doubt.”

  “Exactly. So watch your ass,” she said, enjoying the taunt and tease, ’cause… yeah. Tania was
right. It did feel like old times. “And while you do… fill me in.” J. J. raised a brow. “Wedding?”

  “A double feature.”

  J. J. frowned, meeting her sister’s gaze while she racked her brain. Although, she hadn’t met him yet, she knew all about Mac. Tania couldn’t stop talking about him. Or rather… singing his praises. Every time she mentioned him, her brown eyes sparkled and J. J. smiled. She couldn’t help it. She loved her sister. Wanted to see Tania happy and fulfilled. And after a lifetime of listening to her fantasize about Mr. Right? It pleased her beyond anything to see her sister’s dream come true as Mac stepped into the role.

  She pursed her lips. But back to the original puzzle. A double feature meant…

  Ah, yes. “Ange and Rikar too?”

  “Mac and Ange are best friends, so it only makes sense to do it at the same time.”

  “Thought you always wanted a lavish ceremony?”

  “I don’t care about that anymore.” Tania gave her another squeeze, then let go to settle on the stool next to her. “All I want is him.”

  “You love him that much?”

  “More.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Tania. Proud of you too. You found him… held out for the right one,” she whispered, emotion filling her heart so full the words came out raspy. Tears filled Tania’s eyes. Hers followed suit. J. J. breathed through the emotional heave-ho, and fighting to stay even—breaking down in the presence of candy and frosting, after all, seemed counterintuitive—used the only weapon at her disposal. “Here. Have a cupcake.”

  Wiping beneath her eyes, Tania huffed. “I’ve had two already. There won’t be any left for later if we eat them all now.”

  “Screw it. We’re celebrating.” Picking the prettiest one off the plate, J. J. handed it to her sister. “Daimler and I will just make some—”

  “Speak for yourself, my lady.” Made a little teary-eyed by their exchange, Daimler tried to pull off a stern look. He ended up sniffling instead. “You eat all the wedding feast cupcakes, and you’re on your own. I’m not explaining their absence to my boys.”

  Her sister rolled her eyes. “Boys. You do realize you’re talking about grown men, warriors who…”

  Tania’s breath caught on the last word, stealing the rest of her sentence.

  Perplexed, J. J. stared at her sister, then flinched as a tingle ghosted over the nape her neck. Awareness expanded, morphing into a signal inside her head. Her focus snapped toward the hallway leading toward the front door. Wick. He was close… so very close she felt his proximity as sensation prickled. The heated curl clung a moment, then changed course, swirling down her spine in a—

  “Oh!” Tania whacked her on the arm with the back of her hand. As J. J. said “ow,” her sister hopped off the stool and made a beeline across the kitchen. A second before she disappeared into the corridor, she said over her shoulder, “Come on, baby J. They’re home.”

  No doubt as to who “they” were.

  Her first clue? Her sister’s excitement and speedy exit. The second indication? The clang of dishes from the dining room as Myst and Angela abandoned table-setting duty and, skirting the end of the massive table, made tracks in her sister’s wake. Watching the mass exodus, J. J. slid off her perch but stayed put. No sense jumping the gun. Or making a fool of herself when she didn’t know where she stood…

  Or if Wick wanted her to greet him.

  The assumption seemed like a stretch. But then, everything did when it came to him. It was an odd state to be in… wanting to get to know him better without having any clue how to go about it.

  Balancing on her good leg, J. J. nibbled on the inside of her lip, debating what to do. Go or stay? Be safe or bold? She glanced toward Daimler, hoping for a bailout. An expectant expression on his elfish face, he raised a brow. Well, wasn’t that a kick in the pants? As helpful as the Numbai had been over the last few hours, he refused to give her any clues. Instead, he remained silent as stone, no doubt waiting to see which way she would hop.

  J. J. glared at him. Flipping elf. He looked as though he was enjoying—

  “Ah, Master Wick,” Daimler murmured, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Welcome home.”

  A death grip on the edge of the countertop, her attention snapped toward the opposite end of the kitchen and… oh my. Lord have mercy. Wick in all his glory, looking better than the cupcakes she’d made, and twice as sweet. His golden gaze raked over her. Her heart went AWOL, dipping low only to rebound into her throat. He skimmed her again, making her feel as though she’d just been strip-searched. Stripped bare within a blink of an eye… all without him touching her.

  Dear lord. She’d never experienced anything like it. Or him. He made her burn just looking at him, and in that moment, she understood primal attraction. Grasped the magnitude and rawness that pulled her into his orbit. Accepted the need. Reveled in the want. Felt the underlying tug as fate locked her into place.

  Completely ridiculous? Nothing but hocus-pocus infused balderdash?

  Maybe. Maybe not. All J. J. knew was that she didn’t want to fight it. Exploring it sounded way more fun.

  Drawing a deep breath, J. J. opened her mouth to greet him and—

  “I’ll be in my room.”

  She blinked.

  Daimler nodded. “Very good, Master Wick. I’ll see to your supper.”

  And just like that, he was gone, heavy footfalls echoing as he turned and strode into yet another corridor.

  J. J.’s brows collided. A moment later, she scowled at the empty spot where he’d stood. “What the heck was that?”

  “Go after him, my lady. But before you do, I would ask one thing of you.”

  “What’s that?” Frustration riding shotgun, J. J. limped around the end of the island.

  “Be patient with him,” Daimler said, giving her pause. “He’s had a hard life, one I believe you will understand better than most. Better than any female, in fact, so… please, be patient, my lady. He needs you more than he knows.”

  The entreaty settled her down.

  She understood hardship. Had lived with the reality day in and day out… and now with the memory of it. She would never forget its effects. Or the chaos it left in the aftermath. So, no problem. She could be gentle—tough, patient—whatever Wick needed. Forbearance, after all, was her friend. But as she hobbled out of the kitchen and into the corridor, doubt came calling. What if he turned her away? Not an improbable outcome considering he’d just taken one look at her and run in the opposite direction.

  Wick registered her presence long before she approached his bedroom. Standing in front of his easel, his gaze riveted to the door, he wiped his hands on a rag that had seen better days. Stained with old paint, frayed around the edges, the cotton served as his catchall. Something he used while painting during the day. Tossing the scrap of cloth on the table beside him, he plucked his favorite brush from a large mason jar. Wood rattled against the glass rim. The familiar sound did nothing to break his fixation. His senses were too attuned… on fire for a female he craved, but knew he didn’t deserve.

  He should turn her away. Be safe. Act sensibly. Do the right thing and leave her locked on the other side of his door. As far away from him as possible.

  Sounded like a plan, but for one huge problem.

  He wanted her too much. Needed to know what made her so different from other females. Yearned to touch her again and discover if it was all in his head. Or if Jamison was as incredible as she seemed, able to banish his phobia—stoke his appetite, interest his dragon half by the simple virtue of existing.

  Drawing his thumb over boar-hair bristles, Wick frowned at the painting he’d been working on for days. Almost finished, the urban landscape called for a few more details. The final touches, a series of well-placed highlights that would take it from good to great. As he studied the piece, he brushed his hand over his bare chest and waited, heart thumping, half holding his breath, hoping the knock would come. Would she be
brave enough? Did she really want to know—about him, about them, about what it meant to cross the threshold and enter his domain?

  Wick blew out a long breath. No mercy. That’s what it meant. What she would get. What he would give her if she chose to walk toward him instead of away. Unfair? Probably. But he didn’t care. Despite his phobia, he wasn’t a coward. And with curiosity running rampant, Wick refused to back away. He wanted to explore. Take a closer look at the growing connection between them and identify the variables.

  Which… yeah… put Jamison in the hot seat.

  The soft thud of uneven footsteps stopped outside his door.

  The muscles bracketing his spine tightened. The moment of truth. Would she? Or wouldn’t she?

  Knuckles struck wood, the sound hesitant yet somehow certain at the same time. His mouth curved even as he shook his head. And there it was… the answer. Bold, beautiful Jamison had just gone all in, playing her hand, dealing him his, sealing her fate. The realization made him nervous. Yet even as his stomach dipped, excitement circled too, making him buzz with sensation. On a precipice. He stood on the edge, the need to jump battling the fear of falling.

  The soft knock came again.

  “Go easy.” Rolling his shoulders, he attacked the tension, forcing himself to relax. But it was hard. The brief glimpse of her in the kitchen had wound him tight. “Don’t scare her.”

  Sound advice. A good strategy going forward too.

  Wick heeded both and unleashed his magic. With a sharp mental flick, the dead bolt flipped open. A moment later, the door swung wide and… oh fuck. Could she be any more beautiful? Even in too-big sweats and a faded T-shirt, she looked incredible. Fresh-faced without an ounce of makeup to hide her beauty. Strong. Sure. Beyond sexy with her dark hair cascading around her slim shoulders.

  Eyes bluer than a cloudless sky met his. His heart rebounded, trying to escape through the center of his chest as she looked him over. Gaze traveling, she showed no mercy, skimming over exposed skin to move to his paint-splattered jeans. She stared at his bare feet a moment before her lips tipped up at the corners.