Fury of Seduction

by Coreene Callahan

  “Brilliant,” Wick murmured.

  Bastian’s mouth curved up at the corners. “Glad you approve.”

  “Hey, fledgling...” His gaze locked on him, Venom’s expression went from worried to intense. “Whatcha got? You locked onto something?”

  Locked onto something? Shit, he was practically throbbing with it. The beacon Tania threw off was so strong, Mac tasted her on his tongue. Still, suspicion lit him up, the cop in him asking questions even as instinct told him to go. To find her and bring her home.

  He retreated a step. His back paw slid off the LZ’s edge. Pebbles fell, pinging down the cliff face, splashing into the aquifer below. Bastian nudged him, urging him to take flight.

  Alarm bells rang inside Mac’s head. “Rikar—”

  “Go, Mac.” White scales flashed, winking in the low light as Rikar transformed, shifting into dragon form. He thumped Mac with the side of his spiked tail. “Sun’s gone down. You got the signal...track it. You lead, we’ll follow.”

  “Motherfuck.” Where had he landed...Bizarroland? An hour ago none of the warriors would’ve signed off on his leaving the lair. Now? All of them were on board and hanging back, waiting for him to take flight. Jesus. What the hell had Daimler baked into that roast beef? PC-fucking-P? “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Go, man.” Meeting his gaze head-on, his XO bumped him again, giving him a gentle shove. “Tania’s waiting.”

  No arguing with that. No liking it, either. He’d solve the mystery later—beat the crap out of Rikar if he needed to—but for now, he spun on his back paws. The blade riding the ridge of his spine gleaming beneath the light globes, Mac launched himself from the ledge.

  “Jeez,” Venom muttered, claws scraping stone as he followed, his eyes trained on the tip of Mac’s knifelike tail. “Still getting used to that shit. Why couldn’t we have adopted a normal fledgling...one without a water fetish and serious blade issues?”

  Wings spread in flight, Mac bit down on a grin. He couldn’t help it. He understood Venom’s reaction. The pack always did a double take when he shifted into dragon form. He wasn’t Dragonkind’s usual fare. No spikes along his spine or ridges on his scales. No sharp barbs on his tail tip, either. Just smooth, interlocking dragon skin, webbed paws, and a razor-sharp tail that could cut a male in half as he flew by. But what he considered ordinary, his new comrades marveled at every time he transformed.

  Normal, he guessed. Despite living hundreds of years, the Nightfuries had never seen anything like Mac. Until him, Rikar had thought the existence of water dragons nothing but a myth. Which honestly should’ve set him back a step...made him feel like an outsider or less of a male. Somehow, though, it didn’t. So he was different. Big deal. Mac liked the webbing between his talons, his smooth dragon skin, and bladed tail. All made him water-dynamic, able to swim with ease, and...yeah, there wasn’t anything better than that.

  Although he could’ve done without the tattoo.

  Angela and Myst thought the swirling navy-blue lines that covered half his torso were cool. His opinion differed. Cool. Ha. Right. Like living with tribal ink he hadn’t consented to getting and didn’t want—or understand—was A-okay. Not that he could do much about it. The tattoo had arrived with his change and stayed.

  Rikar believed it was a water dragon thing...some sort of magical connection to the element he controlled. The problem? His XO didn’t know for sure. And no matter how hard he and Rikar searched in the ancient texts written in Dragonese, on the Internet, human mythology books, they both came up empty-handed on the answers front.

  Beyond frustrating.

  Rocketing around a tight corner, he led the pack, wing tips inches from the jagged side walls. The symphonic sound of rushing water roared through the tunnel. Mac hummed and, angling into the last turn, increased his wing speed. The waterfall lay just ahead. God, he couldn’t wait to—

  Flipping sideways, Mac went wings vertical. His night vision sparked, picking up trace, but it was the waterfall that interested him. Falling in a straight sheet, the cascade tumbled off the cliff Black Diamond called home. Three hundred and fifty feet of roaring perfection, it dove toward the river below, throwing up spray, shielding the tunnel entrance from intruders. He sliced through with a splash, relishing the cold-wet-and-delicious, and came out on the other side.

  Without thought, he climbed, gaining altitude in the night sky, stars twinkling above him, the river and forest floor falling away below him. Forty minutes and some fast flying later, Mac leveled out over Highway I-5. Headlights blurring into a long tail, the highway snaked into the city of Tacoma. Almost there. A little farther now.

  His sonar pinged, directing him in midflight. He banked north toward the Narrows Bridge spanning the narrowest part of Puget Sound. Storm clouds gathered behind him; heavy rains and the rumble of thunder rolled in his wake.

  No surprise there.

  The wild-and-wet thing always happened to him. Everywhere he went, water followed as though the element knew he owned it. Most nights, though, he controlled it better. Directing the flow. Dispersing the molecules. Condensation nothing but an afterthought. Too bad it wasn’t working for him tonight. He was too distracted, all his attention focused on Tania, not the torrential downpour rushing in his wake.

  “Bloody hell.” Coming down out of cloud cover, Forge rolled in on his left side. He shook his head. Water flew, arcing off his dark purple scales. “You mind getting a handle on the waterworks, lad? Otherwise, I’m going tae need windshield wipers installed on my eyebrows.”

  Thunder boomed overhead. Mac threw his mentor an apologetic glance.

  “No worries.” Forge swiped at the water running into his eye. “Just tell me you’re still locked—”

  “Goddamn it.” Green scales gleaming beneath the storm flash, Venom torqued into a full body spin, coming up on his other wing tip. He shook like a dog in midair, sending raindrops flying. “Could you tone it down a bit, fledgling?”

  “Shut yer yap, Venom, and deal.” Angling his head, his mentor glared at Venom over Mac’s head. A second later, he snorted. Fire-acid flew, flaring bright orange against the night sky. With a curse, Venom ducked, avoiding singed scales and a trip to the lair’s medical clinic with a bad case of ow-ow-ow. “Unless you want a tidal wave tae go with that...knock it off.”

  Mac’s lip twitched. God love Forge. The protective SOB made him laugh. Was bang on too, ’cause...yeah, treating Venom to a face full of tsunami sounded like a helluva lot of fun.

  “What do you say, lad?” Forge threw him a hopeful glance. “You up for drowning the wanker?”

  Venom shut his yap in a hurry.

  Mac swallowed his snort of laughter. Vindication in the form of silence. Sure, Venom might not trust him—might be convinced that he’d get one of the Nightfuries killed with his fucked-up magic—but at least Mac’s ability as a water dragon backed the male up a step.

  Mining Tania’s signal, Mac banked right, heading away from Tacoma. True to their word, the other warriors stayed on his six, letting him set the pace. Which freaked him out. He’d never led a fighting triangle before and...

  Fuck. There went suspicion again...getting inside his head, mucking up his flow until he couldn’t wait any longer. The need to know was simply too strong.

  “Hey, Rikar?”

  “Here.” Little more than a streak, Rikar rocketed out of the cloud cover. Water streamed across his white scales, turning to ice a second before it blew back in his wake. Frigid air turned frosty as his first-in-command tucked his wings, then flipped into position over Mac’s bladed spine. “You still got a lock on her?”

  “Yeah. She’s on the move, though. Nine miles out, but...” The signal grew stronger, making Mac twitchy. Shit. That wasn’t good. His scales felt like they were two sizes too small...as though he’d been shrink-wrapped or left to dry out in the sun. “I shouldn’t know that, should I?”

  Energy zapped him. The beacon throbbed through him, tunneling into sinew and muscle,
torquing him into a full-body twist. He lost altitude, urban lights winking below him as he went topsy-turvy in midair. Forge cursed and dodged right, getting out of his way.

  “Motherfuck,” Mac growled, flinching as the pain moved from gut-wrenching to manageable. Leveling his wings, he exhaled long and smooth, combating the discomfort. “Tell me what happened?”

  Silence met his demand.

  Venom looped up and over, staying on task, following Mac’s rapid descent toward human houses. Aligned in neat suburban rows, bungalows and two-story walk-ups sat together, coexisting peacefully, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of blacktopped roads and twinkling street lamps.

  Nice. Normal. Nothing to get in a twist about.

  Mac didn’t care. He wanted to know everything no one wanted to tell him. “Come on, guys.”

  “Rikar...dish. No use hiding it,” B said, the regret in his tone putting Mac on high alert. “He’ll find out eventually. Better now than later.”

  “Shit,” Rikar said, pale eyes glowing like twin spotlights above him. “How close are we, Mac?”

  “Seven miles...give or take.”

  “B, peel off,” Rikar said.

  His commander nodded. “Meet you on the flip side. Venom, Wick...you’re with me.”

  “On your six.” Wick banked left, breaking formation to follow Bastian. Venom followed suit, taking the opposite wingman position.

  Leading the kick-ass trifecta, Bastian turned south toward Gig Harbor. “Sloan tracked her credit card to a hotel. We’ll set up there. If you intercept her en route, give us a shout.”

  Rikar um-hmmed. “Holler if company comes calling.”

  “Will do.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Mac growled, his gaze ping-ponging between Forge and Rikar. “Stop screwing around. Tell me why I can feel her. I’ve never touched her, so no way I should be able to track her.”

  “Not true,” Rikar murmured, his tone tinged with chagrin—and something more. Shame, maybe? “I...Christ, I know you don’t remember. No male ever remembers going through his change, but...”

  As his XO trailed off, Mac’s throat went tight.

  “Fuck it.” Rikar sighed. Frost shot from his nostrils. “No easy way to tell you. You needed a female...would’ve died without one to stabilize your energy stream, so we used what we had and...” Rikar glanced at him sideways. “You can feel her because she fed you.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Mac wobbled in midair before righting himself. Mother of God. Tania had fed him. Fed him. And he didn’t remember? How in the hell could he have—

  Wait a minute.

  “The dreams.” Mac’s brows collided. “I’ve been having dreams about her.”

  Rikar shook his head. “Residual memories.”

  “Did you—”

  “No one watched. We hid out in the bathroom until it was over.”

  “Did I hurt her?” Jesus, what an awful thought. “Did I...?”

  “No.” With a growl, Rikar glared at him. “You didn’t force her. She was willing...wanted you badly. We tried to separate you...had the escort Sloan called all lined up, but Tania wouldn’t let you go. It was either injure her to get her to release you or let her have you.” His XO paused. Silence and more hung in the space where words wouldn’t suffice. After a full minute of torture, his friend said, “You needed her. She wanted you. We let her have you.”

  Mac’s heart throbbed in his chest. God help him. He’d never...hadn’t ever...Jesus. How was he supposed to live with that? With the idea that Tania might not have been 100 percent—

  “A rock and a hard place.” Lightning struck overhead. Lit up by the flash, his mentor flipped up and over, rotating into a slow spin. As he settled beside him once more, Forge’s brogue grew thicker as he said, “Damned if you do...”

  “Damned if you don’t,” Mac rasped, finishing the sentence, his voice so hoarse it was almost nonexistent. “Will she remember?”

  “B mind-scrubbed her afterward, but...probably. High-energy females have strong minds. Most recover the memory when a male touches them again. It happened to Angela and me,” Rikar said, his tone as soft as Mac’s had been. “I’m sorry it played out this way. I know it’s an ass-kicker, and I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Jesus, the apology didn’t begin to cover it.

  The problem? A catch-22 never came calling without leaving a load of trouble in its wake. It was always messy. Unwanted. Hard to clean up. And as much as Mac wanted to deny it—and kick Rikar’s ass in the process—he understood his XO’s dilemma. In the heat of that moment, Rikar had made a choice...let him die or get him what he needed to live.

  Rikar had made the hard call and saved his life. Thank God, but...shit. Mac despised the fallout. The aftermath that left him swimming in guilt, facing the possibility that Tania would hate him on sight.

  Mac shook his head. How selfish was that? Very. Incredibly self-centered.

  How he felt didn’t matter. None of this was about him. It was about her. All about keeping her safe from bastards who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. So fuck it. He could live with her hate, if it came to that. But man, he prayed he wouldn’t have to. Hoped with all his heart that she remembered she’d wanted him too much to let him go...that she’d forgive him for touching her even though he couldn’t remember his part in it.

  Not clearly anyway.

  The dreams weren’t enough. All the heat and pleasure. All the yearning and relief; his need to please her, to touch and taste her until she came apart in his arms; the welcoming sounds she’d made, the way she’d moved against him, ridden him, her small hands in his hair. God. She’d been perfection in his arms, but as memory spilled through him, Mac frowned. The dreamlike quality persisted, muddying the water, mucking with his recall until—

  Was any of it real...her response...his reaction? Or was his mind playing tricks on him, inventing things he wanted to be true?

  Wrestling with self-recrimination, Mac thought back, replaying the scene, looking for clues. Shit. He wasn’t sure.

  He’d seen what happened to a woman when a male fed. Heat and need always turned to uncontrollable lust. How did he know? Forge. His mentor believed in thoroughness, never leaving anything to chance. So, yeah, the male had taken him into town—to a Seattle nightclub one night last week—and taught him how to tap into the Meridian’s electrostatic current...all while satisfying a female in the best possible way. Willingness was a prerequisite for a Nightfury. Woman were to be cherished and pleased, not used.

  Still, an awful suspicion burrowed deep inside him, unearthing terrible questions. Had Tania really wanted him? Or had the Meridian surged, ensnaring her in a magical web...one too strong for her to resist?

  Mac didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. Especially since it painted him with a black brush. But as he flew over the narrows, watching whitecaps kick up as open water gave way to beachfront, then the dark green of an ancient forest, Mac knew he couldn’t avoid the inevitable. He needed to know. Felt Tania with every breath he took, so...

  No contest. He would find her first and somehow, someway, make it right for her again.

  His heart aching so hard his chest hurt, Mac came up over a tall rise of weathered pine trees. Two lanes of asphalt, yellow lines reflecting in the weak moon glow, stretched out below him. The rural route snaked through rocky terrain, high bluffs reigning supreme along one side. A car engine whined, the smooth downshift of gears held aloft by gusts of frigid wind. Night vision pinpoint sharp, Mac’s head snapped right. Red with white racing stripes, a Mini Cooper swung around an S curve.

  His eyes narrowed on the car. Tania. The aura of her energy hummed, calling to him, washing the Mini’s windows with soft blue light. The hue of the ocean, his favorite color in the world.

  “Inside the car,” he murmured, giving his boys a heads-up.

  “The tin can with wheels?”

  Forge snorted. “It’s vintage, Rikar. A fucking classic.”

  “Looks like a death t
rap to me.”

  Mac hoped not, but conceded the point. The Mini might be beautiful, but it was tiny. Not something anyone wanted to ding up in a fender bender, never mind a crash. And looking at the terrain—rocky, inhospitable, thick redwoods and towering pines lining the narrow roadway—not a place he wanted to startle Tania, either. She might lose control and roll her car. Which would put him where? In Deepshitsville, playing the Jaws of Life with his talons as he pried her loose from a collision he’d caused.

  Oh so not even close to what he wanted.

  All his concentration on his female, Mac banked in behind her car. Gliding above the road now, he mind-spoke, “Forge.”

  “Aye?”

  “Jam up the asshole in the truck. He’s tailgating her.”

  “Do you want the prick dead or just damaged?”

  Rikar huffed with laughter.

  He glanced sideways at his mentor, then back at the truck. Mac wanted to say “dead.” Lights off, practically riding Tania’s bumper, the impatient SOB needed a lesson. He debated a moment, seriously considering it, but then...

  The cop in him kicked in, hitting him with a damnable dose of the law and fair play. He drilled Forge with a look, one that said behave.

  “Just saying.” Forge shrugged and flew toward the pickup. “Dead’s a lot more fun.”

  “Just keep him busy. Stop him. Mind-scrub him...whatever.” His eyes glued to the car, Mac heard the engine rumble as Tania headed into another winding turn. He came in low, wings spread, adjusting his speed, and settled into a glide over her. He needed to time it just right. “Heads up. I’m getting up close and personal.”

  Frost dragon out in full force, Rikar rotated into a slow flip. The raindrops that followed Mac turned to snowfall in his wintery wake. “Need any help?”

  Deep in the storm swirl, Mac shook his head, thunder rumbling behind him, snowflakes curling off his wing tips, a whole lot of “hands off” banging around inside his head. As stupid as it sounded, he didn’t want another male anywhere near Tania. Not even Rikar, a guy he trusted with his life.