Fury of Desire (Dragonfury Series #4)

by Coreene Callahan

  “What the hell?”

  Concern for his servant followed his outburst, sending him across the mosaic floor. The second he knelt next to Lapier, Nian realized his mistake. But it was too late. The enemy was already inside the gate. As he spun to protect himself, a whistle sizzled through the air. Pressure lanced the back of his shoulder. Two prongs cut through his shirt to puncture his skin. An electrical charge lit him up, making his muscles seize, paralyzing him with the press of a button.

  God help him. A Taser.

  Complete electrical overload. The only thing that could render a Dragonkind male powerless. The smart bastards. They’d used his weakness to effect. No mercy or the slightest hesitation, the male hit him with another forty thousand volts. His body spasmed, tunneling his vision, locking the air in his lungs, stealing his ability to move. Unable to breathe, Nian wheezed, falling facedown on the floor as agony threw him over the edge and unconsciousness reached up to claim him.

  Hidden inside a cloaking spell, Ivar touched down in the parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath his paws, scraping against his claws. The grating sound drew him tight. Worry took him the rest of the way, plunging him into uncertainty. Dependence on another. Not his strong suit. Relying on anyone when it came to his science seemed, well… unnatural.

  A kind of cop-out that sat beneath his skin, irritating itch inevitable.

  A leader in the field of virology and microbiology, he never allowed another to take the wheel. Or rather the microscope. But as the water treatment plant rose in the man-made clearing, standing alongside ancient trees, rising beneath moonlight, Ivar admitted that after two failures in his lab, Hamersveld’s idea held the most promise. The best chance for success, and honestly? After all was said and done, it didn’t matter who hatched the plan. The prospect of unleashing one of his babies—supervirus number three—upon the world outpaced his unease, jazzing him like nothing else had in a while.

  Granite Falls, Washington. Everytown, USA.

  With a population of just over three thousand, it was the perfect target. Rural. Picturesque. Nestled in the shadows of the Cascade Mountain Range, northeast of Seattle… not too far, but close enough. But better than that? The municipality was home to couples and families, a young community full of healthy immune systems. A shiver of excitement skittered through him, rattling the spikes along his spine. So much promise. So much fun. So much to do. If he could infect Granite Falls and get his virus to spread, then he could do it the world over.

  In any city he wanted.

  Humming with anticipation, Ivar bared his fangs. A bona fide test run in the wilds of human society. God. Other than fucking a female while he drained her dry, he couldn’t think of anything better.

  Coming in on a slow glide, Hamersveld landed beside him. The big male wing flapped. Smooth shark-gray scales clicked together, and tribal ink danced, rippling beneath heavy muscle. Shifting into human form, the Norwegian glanced skyward. “Fen… on the roof. Keep watch. Any sign of trouble, give us a shout.”

  The wren shrieked in answer. The terrible sound throbbed in the air, obliterating the quiet, invading his skull, slamming against his temples.

  Ivar cringed. “Jesus, he’s loud.”

  “That’s nothing,” Hamersveld murmured, watching Ivar stomp his feet into his boots. Gravel skittered sideways, pinging off the metal base of a lamppost. “Wait until you hear him in combat. He’ll bring a male to ground, completely disorient him with his cry.”

  “Then gut him?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Good thing he’s on our side, then.”

  “Believe it.” Amusement in his gaze, Hamersveld raised a brow. “Are you ready?”

  “Born ready.”

  As the male laughed, Ivar smiled and, allowing his excitement free rein, strode between two parked cars. His new comrade fell in behind him, following him across the parking lot toward the front entrance. Brand spanking new, the facility was a towering example of technological advancement. Good for him and his plans. Not so great for the humans who called Granite Falls home.

  Not that Ivar cared. The whole idea was to wipe them from the face of the earth. Eliminate the unending strife, the environmental reign of terror their race committed day after day… year after year. A few dead kids along the way didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

  With nothing more than a thought, Ivar swung the front doors wide. The work of seconds, he disabled the security system. As the beep-beep-beeping settled into silence, he scanned the corridor. Not a human in sight. Perfect. Not that it would’ve mattered. Still cloaked in magic, the inferior race would see neither him nor Hamersveld.

  Handy, wasn’t it? Invisibility. The calling card of his kind.

  After a series of twists and turns through labyrinth-like hallways, past advanced filtration equipment and pipework, Ivar stood where he wanted to be… in front of a holding tank. Full of purified water, the contents were good to go. A mere turn of the tap away from being pumped into a human’s home. Unleashing his magic, Ivar conjured the hermetically sealed test tube. As smooth metal settled against his palm, Hamersveld stopped beside him, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder.

  Black eyes rimmed by light blue met his. The male held out his hand.

  Ivar’s stomach clenched. Time to pay the piper. With a nod, and a boatload of trust, he handed his baby to his new buddy. “Just like in the lab.”

  “No deviation. A walk in the park,” Hamersveld said, his voice hushed. Full of reverence, the Norwegian’s quiet tone put things into perspective. They were about to make history. Change the trajectory of the planet’s future for the better. “I’ll infuse the water molecules with the viral load, magically fusing the two. Any human who comes into contact with it will be infected. Then we’ll—”

  “Sit back, record the RO factor, and see how fast the disease spreads.” Ivar knew the plan. He’d helped put it together, for Christ’s sake. Had spent the better part of twenty-four hours testing the delivery method alongside Hamersveld in his lab. But now that he stood on the precipice, nerves got the better of him. Jesus. He hoped like hell it worked outside a sterile environment. Blowing out a breath, Ivar gave the go-ahead. “Do it.”

  With a nod, Hamersveld pivoted. Leaving Ivar standing beside the holding tank, he walked to a large pipe running the length of the room. He stopped in front of a raised hatch embedded on top of the water mainline. The warrior unleashed his magic. Prickles exploded across Ivar’s skin, raising the hair on his nape as the airlock released with a hiss. Purified water bubbled up through the opening. With a murmur, his new friend controlled it, making it rise like a cobra from a basket. Plunging his hand into the wet swirl, he relinquished the test tube. Hamersveld pulled his hand free of the water. Ivar watched the stainless steel casing float in the waves for a moment, then cracked the cryogenic seal.

  The microorganism entered the stream. Hamersveld bared his teeth and, unleashing magic, tweaked the spell. The deadly virus fused with H2O molecules, becoming one with the water supply.

  Wonder picked Ivar up and carried him along. Finally. After all this time…

  “It’s done.”

  “No going back now,” Hamersveld murmured, Norwegian accent thicker than usual. Pride in his eyes, he watched the water retreat into the pipe. Metal hinges whined as the hatch swung closed and the valve spun, sealing the mainline. “We should celebrate.”

  “Hell, yeah.” Elation tightened his chest. He’d done it. Really done it this time. Slapping Hamersveld on the shoulder, Ivar cupped his new best friend’s nape. A grin. A hardy jostle. A howl of triumph threatening, he asked, “What do you feel like, Sveld… Deuce’s?”

  Eyes gleaming, Hamersveld gave him a playful shove. “Deuce’s will do.”

  Fantastic. One superbug unleashed and on its way. And the promise of multiple females to fuck inside his club. The night couldn’t possibly get any better.

  Set up on the rooftop across from Deuce’s, Venom crouched behind a low wall.
Out of sight. Undetectable. His mouth curved. The quiet before the storm. The Razorbacks didn’t have a clue he’d descended on their little patch of heaven.

  Just the way he liked it. Exactly the way he wanted to keep it too.

  At least, for now. Later—after all the recon was in the can—would be soon enough to send a wake-up call… in the form of a firestorm.

  Rotating on the balls of his feet, he shuffled left, gaze narrowed on the building opposite him. Stone face awash with moonlight, the nothing-special facade looked innocent enough. No awning out front to welcome visitors. No bouncers or doormen either. Just a plain black door emblazoned with a gold plaque. Venom huffed. Smart ploy. Big payoff. A passerby would never guess the private club existed, never mind that it catered to upscale, wealthy people with bizarre tastes.

  Or so he’d heard. But after laying eyes on the place? Seeing slid into believing, ’cause… oh yeah, there were plenty of Dragonkind inside. He could feel the bastards. Not hard to do. The magical trace each male left in his wake sent out a clear signal. So did the scent of sex in the air. Hell, he could smell the coital heat from all the way across the street.

  A rogue playground in the middle of Seattle.

  With a hum of anticipation, Venom pinged his comrades. “We’re good to go. All’s quiet on our end so far.”

  “Here tae.” Hunkered down with Mac a couple miles east of the club, Forge sighed, the sound one of exasperation. “Shouldae brought a pack of cards tae pass the time. I’m bored tae tears.”

  Mac grumbled, seconding the opinion.

  Clenching his teeth, Venom swallowed his amusement. No sense laughing at the wonder twins. The pair might take it personally. Which would suck. Particularly since he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not while stuck on outlook without any hope of kicking their asses when they mouthed off. Besides, his heart wouldn’t be in the squabble. He understood their impatience. Stakeouts weren’t his favorite thing either. He preferred to start shit, not sit around waiting for it to happen.

  But a plan was a plan. Three fighting units: Rikar and Bastian to the north; the wonder twins to the east; while he, Wick, and Sloan kept eyes on the prize. The setup was a good one, providing three avenues of attack if Azrad screwed them over…

  And the rogues came out to play.

  “Stay sharp, boys,” Rikar said, the crackle of frost in his undertone. “Let it play out.”

  “Fifteen more minutes.” Heavy footfalls came through mind-speak along with B’s voice. As the thud-thud got going, Venom realized his commander was pacing. Unusual for Bastian. The male was rock solid, as calm as they came under normal circumstances. But with Azrad in the mix, B’s edge was sharper than usual. “If Azrad proves trustworthy and doesn’t show, we go in. KO every rogue inside. Burn the fucker to the ground.”

  Venom rolled his shoulders, beyond ready for the green light. He adored the seek-and-destroy missions. The covert ops—the thrill of the hunt—jazzed him like nothing else could. Anticipation prickled through him, cranking him tight. He wanted to go right now. Just leap over the roof edge, put feet to asphalt, and cross the street. The work of seconds, and he’d be through the outer door, in prime put-the-screws-to-the-enemy position while Wick set fire to the club. An excellent strategy, but for one thing…

  He glanced to his right. Yup. No change there. Wick was still distracted as hell.

  Crouched a few feet away, Wick stared at his knuckles instead of the target. Not a good sign. Venom frowned as unease spiraled into concern. He’d never seen Wick act like this before, so… well, he didn’t know exactly. Unfocused. Oblivious to his surroundings. In a world of his own, mind on something other than the mission.

  Which scared the hell out of Venom.

  Wick might not say much, but he always… always… paid attention. He never missed a thing and saw more than most. So, yeah… a not-so-present Wick was cause for concern. No one wanted to go into battle with Wick’s focus split. Their most vicious warrior, Venom and the others needed him onboard, raring for fight, not lost in thought. Thinking about what? Venom cursed under his breath. Making the leap from supposition to certainty wasn’t difficult. Jamison Jordan. Goddamn it. The female was screwing with his best friend’s head… all the way from the frigging lair… messing with Wick’s ability to concentrate.

  A serious problem, considering the game plan.

  Worry made Venom glance over his shoulder. Perched on a chimney in dragon form, scales clicked as Sloan shook his head. He registered his buddy’s tension, and the disquiet that drove it, all the same. The male knew what was up with Wick and didn’t like it either.

  “Wick,” he growled, his tone harsh. His best friend flinched. Shimmering golden eyes snapped in his direction. Thank God. Wick might be acting dumb, but at least he wasn’t deaf. “Pull your head out of your ass. I need you focused… in the here and now, not half back at the lair.”

  His brows furrowed, Wick nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

  “When it comes to the female?” Venom raised a brow, his expression all about “damned right you are.” No matter how much he disliked it, he saw no reason to lie. Wick didn’t need coddling. He needed to be dropkicked into reality. In the same way he’d been when he realized his friend had bonded with a female. But denying the truth never worked, so forget about sticking his head in the sand. It had happened. It couldn’t be undone. Time to accept it. “Yeah, you’re totally screwed.”

  Wick dropped another f-bomb.

  “Energy-fuse is serious stuff, Wick. I know it scares you. Hell, I don’t like it either. Change sucks, and much as I don’t want to say it, I’m going to…” Eyes aglow, a red wash rolled out in front of him, staining the icy patches on the roof as Venom shuffled sideways. Wick’s gaze narrowed on him. He glared back. It was so much bullshit: clinging to the past, being selfish, refusing to share his best friend with anyone. But no matter how much he wanted things to stay the same, they never did. J. J. was here to stay. Wick couldn’t go back, and neither could he. “Stop being such a pansy. Accept her. Love her. Take her to mate and be happy.”

  “Screw happy,” Wick growled, cracking his knuckles. “This is about her, not me. She deserves more… someone better. I can’t give her what she needs long term.”

  “How do you know?” he asked, playing devil’s advocate. “You haven’t even tried.”

  “Fuck off, Ven.”

  Ah, and there it was. Wick’s favorite comeback, the go-to that heralded the end of a conversation.

  Sloan didn’t get the memo. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “You know he’s right, Wick. Man up and grow a pair. I’d give my left nut to find what you—”

  A burst of magic detonated, sending out shockwaves. As the pulse rippled, the night air warped into a wormhole. Gaze narrowed on the anomaly, Venom tensed, getting ready to move. A dragon materialized over Deuce’s, red scales flashing, pink irises aglow, power shimmering around him. And on his tail? Hamersveld, along with a miniature dragon.

  Wick snarled. “Ivar.”

  “Wick, don’t—” With a quick twist, he reached for Wick. His fingertips brushed leather, but… goddamn it. He missed by a mile, catching nothing but cold air. “Bastian… man overboard.”

  “Shit.” The rattle of scales rippled through mind-speak. “Hold on. We’re airborne. ETA… sixty seconds.”

  Claws snicked as Mac and Forge took flight from their hidey-hole.

  But it was too late.

  Ivar was already on the wire, sending out a distress call, rousing the rogues inside the club. As Venom felt them rise and head for the exits, he shifted into dragon form. Hands and feet turning to talons, he zeroed in on Wick and… ah, hell. No way would he catch him now. His friend was already out of range. Exploding over the roof edge. Black amber-tipped scales flashing, golden gaze aglow as he painted a target on Ivar’s chest. With a muttered curse, Venom bared his fangs and leapt after him. Goddamn it. So much for the element of surprise. Wick had
destroyed their advantage with one clean swipe. A dumb-ass move. One that might get his friend killed if Venom didn’t move fast.

  As a squadron of Razorbacks took flight from Deuce’s roof, Wick called himself an idiot. Straight up, stone-cold, dead to rights, he’d just earned the Boy Scout’s imbecile badge by breaking cover too soon. Shit… shit… and triple shit. Impulse was a bitch, making him move before his brain entered the equation.

  Not his usual MO.

  Mistakes didn’t happen around him. Ever. Then again, there was a first time for everything. Now happened to be a perfect example. Had he used the sense God gave him, he’d still be hunkered down, waiting for Ivar and his posse to land. The trio would’ve made one hell of a target sitting on Deuce’s rooftop. Instead, the rogue leader was in full flight, hauling ass in the opposite direction with his new buddies—the river-rat and company—while enemy soldiers closed ranks around him.

  Fucking hell. Had he said idiot earlier? Well, strike that. Asshole made way more sense.

  Tucking his wings, he rocketed into a spiral, threading the needle between two rogues. The pair snarled and lashed out. Enemy claws raked his side. Blood welled on his rib cage. Wick embraced the pain, let it expand, knowing he deserved it. For not thinking straight. For making a mistake. For dragging his brothers-in-arms into his fuck up. And as his pack flew in behind him to engage the enemy, Wick wanted to kick his own ass. Or ask Venom to do it for him.

  His best friend was bang on. Dumb-ass move was right. Idiocy to the next power. Especially since what drove him had nothing to do with the mission.

  Anger. Doubt. Despair. All those fit the bill, explaining the why behind the what, pushing him to the brink, sending him into the fray without thought to the consequences.