Jesus. Just what he didn’t need. A nasty-ass case of the stupids.
Too bad that seemed to be par for the course around her. He could feel the heat, smell his own need as desire ramped him into gotta-touch territory. His dragon growled, coming to attention, 100 percent focused on the woman seated beside him. He breathed deep, combating the urge to lean in and taste her mouth. The sweet curve of her bottom lip. The tender underside of her chin. The baby-soft skin of her throat. Any part of her would do, just as long as he got to linger and savor the beauty of her.
Mac shook his head, hoping to knock a few brain cells together. He needed to get a grip...in the next five seconds. Otherwise he would live up to the dumb-ass reputation, haul her out of the driver’s seat and—
Umm, yeah. Right into his lap.
Oh so not a good idea. Especially considering he was hurtling down the road without a car door, nothing but air between him and miles of skin-grinding asphalt.
The thought sobered him fast. Now was not the time to become distracted, but even as his brain came back online, his attraction to her spiked. Wound tight, he absorbed every detail, his gaze drifting over her. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Graceful hands on the wheel. All smooth skin and sweet curves. Her clutch-and-shift so smooth it gave him goose bumps.
Tania downshifted, propelling them around the next curve. Mac curled his hands into fists, the white-hot energy in her aura begging him to reach out. He glanced at the speedometer instead, trying to distract himself. Eighty-five miles an hour. Around a corner. His mouth curved. Man, she could drive. She was Formula One quality wrapped up in a pretty package, looking way too good sitting behind the wheel: in command of the helm, keeping it together when most women would’ve freaked out.
He smiled a little. Jesus, she was something. And he was in serious trouble, so impressed by her he was headed into dangerous territory. Collision inevitable with his lustier side and at complete odds with his commitment-phobe tendencies. Not something he liked, considering his love of freedom and playboy lifestyle, never mind a trap he ever fell into...at least where women were concerned. But with Tania, he wanted to take his time, explore, play with the idea of keeping her for a while and—
God. He was so fucked, way off his game and out of his mind. Conditions that needed to stop. Right now.
His mission didn’t include a side trip into infatuation. He needed to get Tania to safety. Out of range if the Razorbacks came calling. An imminent possibility, considering the exposé responsible for plastering her face all over KING 5’s nightly news.
The rogues weren’t stupid. They were smart. Ruthless. Well acquainted with technology and human databases, Ivar navigated the information highway just as well as Sloan. So, yeah. Once the Razorbacks got a load of Tania...and made the connection to Myst? Sure as shit, the bastards would come out to play.
Which meant getting Tania the hell out of Dodge. ASAP.
Easier said than done. Why? Number one...his desire for her—and the overactive imagination that drove it—kept distracting him. And two? Tania wasn’t anything like the women he usually dated...urr, rather, had sex with. She wasn’t a fancy piece of fluff. Or accustomed to taking orders. She had a mind of her own and was accustomed to using it, so...
No. She wouldn’t obey without question.
A lot of guys no doubt made that mistake—held her beauty against her while making a whole lot of asinine assumptions—but not him. He saw Tania for who and what she was...well dressed in skinny jeans, designer boots, and a curve-hugging fall sweater; sophisticated, smart, and sassy. Toss in her unrelenting determination along with a dash of curiosity, and yippee, he had a recipe for disaster. With a cherry on top. And no matter which way he sliced it, Mac knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with half answers. He could see it, the formidable force of intellect shining in her burgundy-flecked eyes as she threw him another sidelong glance.
Locked and loaded, she took aim in his direction. Mac tensed as she made eye contact. Bull’s-eye. She nailed him right in the rings...KO confirmed. It was only a matter of time now. The questions were a nanosecond away and—
“This has something to do with Myst’s disappearance, doesn’t it?” Shifting like a race car driver, Tania roared past the city sign into Gig Harbor. WELCOME! it said. Yeah, right. Something told him the next few minutes wouldn’t be fun or anywhere near welcoming. Not with Tania gunning for information. “What’s going on? Is she all right? Have you seen her?”
Mac opened his mouth to answer.
She jumped in, leveling him with a verbal hammer. “What is it, witness protection? Are they after me now to get to her? Is she testifying against someone? A serial killer...a mob boss?”
A serial killer? Mac’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. She was so damned adorable. No one would accuse her of lacking imagination. Or suspecting the truth. Thank fuck. He really didn’t want to get into the truth. At least not right now. Introducing her to Dragonkind would come soon enough, but something told him Myst needed to be present when it happened. Otherwise Tania would freak out. And despite everything—or maybe because of it—Mac didn’t want to frighten her. Kind and gentle was the better way to go...the only way he wanted to be with her.
Flanked by rows of town houses, Tania slowed down. The Mini lurched as she whispered, “Please just tell me she’s safe.”
Mac nodded as, unbidden, an image of Bastian surfaced. Like snapshots in a slideshow, the pictures flashed in his mind’s eye: of B spoiling Myst, making her happy even as his overprotective nature reared its ugly head. Mac snorted. The male never said quit when it came to Myst. So...safe? Talk about a serious understatement. The Nightfury commander wouldn’t have it any other way.
Holding Tania’s gaze, he murmured, “In good hands.”
She breathed out, the sound one of relief. “Can I see her?”
“That’s where we’re headed.”
Happiness sparked in her eyes a second before it spread across her face. Flipping her blinker on, she turned right onto the town’s main drag. Storefronts and the glow of neon signs kissing the illumination of streetlamps flashed past, and she smiled at him. His heart went jackrabbit, slamming the inside of his chest as his mouth tipped up, following her example. Goddamn, that felt good. Giving her what she wanted. Making her smile. Being the cause of her happiness. And as he shared the moment with her, Mac wondered if he’d found his calling.
“Yo, Mac?” Amusement in his tone, Forge mind-spoke, “You’re awfully quiet, lad. Having fun down there?”
“Shut up.” Breaking eye contact with Tania, Mac glared out the back window. “Mind your own fucking business.”
Rikar snorted with laughter.
Ah, shit on a stick. He was in trouble now.
He should’ve kept his yap shut. Let the silence lead and made the dynamic duo flying in his wake believe there was nothing going on...that he wasn’t starstruck by Tania. ’Cause Forge? The male was like a dog with a bone, and once he touched on something embarrassing he cranked the shit out of it. And that was before Rikar tossed his hat into the ring.
As if on cue...
“Nifty move, man,” Rikar said, the rattle of scales coming through the mind-speak. “She pissed about the door?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“No thanks. I prefer my mate.”
In other words? Angela...his self-declared little sister. “I’m so kicking your ass when we get home.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
“Ask Forge about my kind of trying.”
“Kung fu, Rikar,” Forge murmured. “Watch your arse.”
Mac clenched his teeth to keep from laughing. He couldn’t help it. Despite the teasing, he loved these guys. Each made him feel as though he belonged with them, deserved to be inside the Nightfury pack. It felt good. Felt right. Felt like the rarest of gifts. One he refused to take for granted, even while getting razzed by his new buddies.
Blocking his friends out for a second, he tuned back into
Tania. He frowned. What had she just said? Something about Ted Bundy? Jesus, she had a thing for serial killers. Or at least had the history of psychopaths down pat.
“So you see,” she said, speeding by the drugstore, “he wasn’t really a—”
A prickle ghosted across the nape of his neck, cutting off her monologue as his dragon senses tingled. Half listening to her, he latched onto the signal. More vibration than sensation, the buzz came again. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end. Alarm bells went off inside his head. The static got louder. Mac’s skin crawled, muscles fisting up hard.
Fuck him. Razorbacks. Coming in fast: locked, loaded, with a shitload of vicious riding shotgun.
Instinct and the territorial need to protect cranked into overdrive. He glanced at Tania. Still talking, the methodical sound of her voice reached him over the rush of wind. She’d moved on to the Green River Killer. His brows furrowed. Jesus H. Christ. How much did one female really need to know about serial killers?
Everything, obviously. The woman was a walking, talking encyclopedia on the subject. And judging by the static hammering his temples, she was about to get up close and personal with a whole new breed. Human killers, after all, had nothing on rogues.
“Motherfuck.” The whole situation was headed south, and not in a good way. He’d hoped to break the whole dragon thing to her gently. But that wasn’t going to happen now. Not with a boatload of fangs, claws, and scales riding their asses.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing, mo chroí.”
Tania threw him a startled look. “Mo...what? What did you just—”
“Forget it.” He wanted to. Shit. Had he really just called her my heart...in Gaelic?
Mac gritted his teeth. Not the best time to remember his roots. Or the tough, trash-talking neighborhood he’d grown up in. But some things couldn’t be exorcised. The Irish blood in him appeared to be one of them, the way he thought of her another. No matter how he sliced it, the truth reared its ugly head. His dragon half liked Tania...way too much. And much as it chafed him, the endearment fit. Felt right and sounded good when directed at her.
“Hey, Mac?” Worry in her voice, her hands flexed on the wheel. “Could you just—”
“Hang on, honey.” Eyes narrowed, he held up a hand, asking her to be quiet. He needed to concentrate to pinpoint the signal and...
Mac growled, cursing his fledgling status. He could feel the rogues, but thanks to his fucked-up magic, couldn’t judge distances. Didn’t know how far away the Razorbacks were or how much time he had to get Tania out of the line of fire.
Fear for her slammed into him. He hit up his XO. “Rikar...how far out are they?”
“Three miles. The first wave just broke through the fighting triangle.”
“The first wave?” Motherfuck. That didn’t sound good. “Tania, turn left.”
“But—”
“Just do it. We’ve run out of time.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
Holding her gaze, he said, “Trust me, honey, and...turn!”
Her knuckles went white a second before she cranked the wheel. The engine growled. The back of the Mini slid as she took the turn too fast. He curled his hand over the lip of the roof and, hanging on tight, reached out with his mind. He needed more information. Longs and lats of the enemies’ approach. Direction and trajectory...the number of Razorbacks headed their way. Anything. Everything. Whatever he could scrape up to help him navigate the best way out of town.
His sonar pinged, casting a wide net. Like an invisible blanket, his magic settled over the terrain: trees and rocks, tall buildings and compact houses, shifting through all the electrical interference. He sorted through the intel rapid-fire, reading the smallest vibration, taking what he needed, tossing the rest.
Two minutes out. A measly 120 seconds before the rogues attacked en masse.
Calling on his magic once more, Mac conjured a matched set of Sig 40s. The ammo came next, landing in his lap. Not wasting a second, he flipped the cardboard top open, ejected the magazine clip from the first weapon, and started loading it.
“Jeepers!” The bullets rattled. Tania flinched. The car swerved, bobbing on the tiny tires. “Good God...what...how...”
As she trailed off, Mac finished with one clip and loaded the other. “Floor it, Tania. Head for the bridge.”
“But the hotel. My bag. I need my—”
“Forget about your stuff.” Ramping the second magazine home, he chambered a round in each gun. The clickety-click made her eyes widen another notch and...shit. He should apologize for that: for frightening her, for not explaining, for deliberately keeping the truth from her. And he would...later. Right now, all he wanted to do was get her out in one piece. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
“Bigger...” She paused, her expression a combination of confusion and panic. “You don’t understand. I need a phone. I did something stupid...an interview that will hurt my sister if it gets out. I need to reach the reporter and stop—”
“It’s too late.” Taking his eyes off her for a moment, he glanced out the back window, listening to the chatter on frequency Nightfury. The guys were airborne, flying in fast to protect them. Close. The enemy was way too close, and his brothers-in-arms still too far away. Night vision pinpoint sharp, he scanned the sky again. “It already aired...was all over the evening news. Why do you think I’m here?”
“Oh my God.” Devastation surfaced in her eyes.
Mac’s heart clenched. Jesus. He couldn’t stand it or ignore her pain. Murmuring her name, he ditched one of his Sigs. Metal thunked against the center console as he reached out to cup her cheek. The softness of her skin grazed his palm. Stress made her energy spike. The powerful wave shivered through him and Mac swallowed, fighting his reaction to her. Tears welled in her eyes. He wanted to kiss them away, soothe her into comfort. He drew on her energy instead, took some of the anxiety to calm her. “Stay with me, mo chroí. Just a little longer. Trust me a little farther. I promise it’ll be all right.”
When she nodded, he murmured, “Atta girl” and, breaking eye contact, pinged his commander. “Bastian...how many you got?”
“A shitload,” B growled, aggression and something more—worry, maybe—in his answer. “Too many to track.”
Not good. The situation had just been upgraded from critical to goat-fucked. Bastian always acted as a sounding board, picking apart a male’s abilities from a distance. The skill was a rare one and came in handy in a firefight. Thanks to B, the Nightfuries always knew what to expect—the age and skill of the rogues, what poison each breathed—before the enemy flew into range.
So, yeah, the outnumbered thing? Not good. If Bastian couldn’t keep track of the bastards, it meant a platoon of Razorbacks could be headed their way. And seven against twenty-something males? Not great odds in battle.
Adrenaline hit Mac like a body shot. The need to fight amped him up, but...no way he could do that. Or leave the car to join his comrades in the fight. Tania was his responsibility. She needed his protection. He refused to leave her. Not until he knew she was secure.
“Listen up.” Magic pounded through his veins as he connected to each one of his brothers-in-arms. “New plan. We’re heading over the bridge into Tacoma. Once we’re in the city, I’ll find a safe place for her and come back for you.”
Rikar growled. “No fucking way.”
“Stay with your female,” Bastian said, his tone brooking no argument. “Get her out, Mac. We’ll hold the line until you do.”
“Shit,” Mac muttered as they reached the ramp onto the Narrows Bridge. Deserted, nothing but double lanes, concrete, and big-ass pole lamps, the bridge stretched out in front of them. “Floor it, Tania!”
She put her foot down. The car jerked, and his magic rolled. Thunder rumbled overhead. The smell of rain in the air, the first drops splattered the windshield. Almost there. Another five hundred yards and—
A fireball streaked across the nigh
t sky.
Orange flame roared, eating through the gloom. Ravenous, it hammered the center of the bridge. Asphalt and bits of steel exploded, mushrooming into a thick cloud. Shrapnel peppered the front of the car, blowing the hood off as the road gave way, caving in toward the water.
A red dragon, pink eyes aglow, materialized out of the darkness.
Wings spread in flight, sharp fangs flashed in the storm glow. Ivar inhaled, drawing air past his fangs. Pink flame gathered in the back of his throat. Tania screamed, feet churning as she tried to retreat. But neither of them had anywhere to go. Except...
With a snarl, Mac unclipped her seat belt and hauled Tania over the center console. The second she landed in his lap, he grabbed the steering wheel and cranked. The Mini swerved, tipping dangerously on two tires. Another fireball lit up the night sky. The inferno roared toward them. The car’s front end hit the guardrail, twisted metal acting like a ramp and—
Fucking A. Mission accomplished.
They were airborne. Hurtling through thin air. In a Mini Cooper–cum–death trap. Heading straight toward the choppy surface of the harbor below.
Chapter Nine
“Ah, hell.” On point and ahead of the others, Venom flew in fast, battling a case of WTF as a load of red with white racing stripes launched off the side of the bridge. “He’s overboard.”
Bastian growled. “Shit.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rikar said, white scales gleaming, snow flying as he rocketed out of thick cloud cover. “Never a dull moment.”
“God love the lad.”
Venom glanced overhead. He caught a flash of deep purple scales and glared at it. Frigging Forge. Trust that male to back up Mac’s decision to perform a swan dive in a tin can with wheels. In a month, the two had become inseparable, the mentor–student racket forming an unbreakable bond between males. Not a bad thing. Optimal in many ways. Still, Venom couldn’t get behind the become-a-projectile-in-a-Mini-Cooper thing. He seconded his commander’s motion instead, ignored Forge’s “atta boy,” and jumped on the beat-the-hell-out-of-Mac bandwagon.
Fury of Seduction Page 9
