Stupid fledgling. The male had done that on purpose.
The car’s front end dipped into a nosedive. He watched the free fall for a second, then scanned the bridge behind it. Nothing. No red dragon in sight. But he knew Ivar was here. He’d seen the bastard. Would recognize the pink-eyed SOB anywhere. Now all he needed to do was find and take him out. You know what they say: cut the head off the snake and the body died.
Kill the leader, destroy the movement.
Venom hoped that was true. That the Razorback organization started and ended with Ivar. No tentacles. No deep roots planted inside Dragonkind. No breach in his race’s defenses for Razorback ideology to find a foothold. Just a rogue faction working on its own.
Somehow, though, he didn’t think so.
The Razorbacks were hard-core. Motivated. Persuasive. Well able to camouflage their particular brand of crazy with patriotic love. And a lot of males—both powerful and inconsequential—fell for their bullshit all the time. How did he know? The proof was in the pudding, so to speak. In the number of rogues converging on his pack over the small town of Gig Harbor.
Someone was supplying Ivar’s psychotic band of misfits. Someone with money and influence. Someone who wanted humankind as dead and gone as Ivar did. Genocide on a global scale. Extinction at its most lethal. All carefully disguised under the veil of an environmental agenda.
Brilliant. And oh so dangerous.
The trick now? Proving it.
Venom’s night vision sparked. His eyes glowed, throwing a red wash out in front of him as he searched for his prey. Dark green scales glinting beneath the storm glow, he rocketed over the marina. Water churned in his wake. Sailboat masts snapped like toothpicks, slumping over bows as smaller boats capsized in the fury of his wings’ blowback. He didn’t care. He’d trash the whole frigging place. KO every human in sight to protect his pack.
Even Mac, the inexperienced pansy-ass idiot.
Although...
Now that he thought about it, he had to admit the whole drive-and-dive idea was a pretty slick move. An insane one, for sure, but slick all the same. Especially considering the water dragon crap Mac had going on. Venom suppressed a super willy. Even after a month of trying, the ocean thing still unnerved him. Lit him up in ways he didn’t want to contemplate, never mind examine too closely. But no matter how hard he fought it, he couldn’t get the past out of his head. Or his sire’s cruelty.
Which always happened when he got anywhere near water.
So screw the newest member of the Nightfury pack. He’d cling to his objections—his suspicion and mistrust—thank you very much. At least until Mac grew a brain and learned to control the element he commanded...one of the most destructive forces on earth.
Screwed-up fledgling bonehead. The idiot was going to get them all killed.
Venom went wings vertical, rocketing toward the bridge’s support pillars. Or what was left of them. Blown wide open, the structure sagged, listing to one side, fighting gravity’s pull toward the narrows of Puget Sound. A growl came from inside the car, swirling out across the chop and churn of water. The female screamed again. The long, terror-filled sound knotted the pit of Venom’s stomach. Idiot male. Mac was scaring the hell out of her. Oh so not cool, but—
Rivets popped. The Mini’s roof twisted beneath the pressure. Steel groaned, then rolled back and away. Mac emerged in dragon form, one talon cradling the female, eyes aglow, the razor-sharp blade along his spine opening the car up like a tin of sardines.
Venom blinked. Holy hell. Talk about a wicked move and, well...all right. Undeniably cool too. Who knew the blockhead could be used as a can opener?
Red scales flashed in Venom’s periphery.
Already on the other side of the bridge, he tried to compensate, but...God. Ivar had the prime position, hanging over the bridge like a gargoyle, his gaze locked on Mac as he dove toward the ocean. With a curse, Venom put the brakes on. Wings stretched to capacity, he inhaled deep, desperate to unleash his poisonous exhale to incapacitate Ivar, trying to protect—
Mac flipped up and over. One razor-sharp talon curled around his female, the other gripping the car, he hurled the Mini like a baseball. Venom snarled, liking the plan, watching it unfold as he wheeled around. And wow. What a shot: pinpoint accurate with the velocity to match. Blockhead had an arm on him—he’d give him that—and it belonged in the big-time major leagues.
Right on target, the steel skeleton screamed toward Ivar. The rogue leader shrieked and, swallowing his fireball, dodged left. His spiked tail collided with a lamppost. Concrete crumbled. Steel buckled, and the mangled shaft went airborne. Venom cursed and banked left to avoid being stabbed by the flying projectile. The post whistled through the air, then touched down on the roadway, ripping up more asphalt. The Mini sailed past, missing Ivar by inches.
Too bad. Venom would’ve liked to see the rogue leader go splat...while plummeting from the sky with a face full of metal.
Swooping in behind, Venom attacked Ivar’s flank, angling for a shot. His claws met red scales. Muscles along his side pulled as he raked Ivar on the flyby. The smell of blood joined the scent of rain, rising in the night air. Wheeling around, Venom went at the bastard again. No way would he let Ivar retreat behind the approaching wave of his warriors. The maniacal SOB always stayed on the sidelines, rarely coming out to play. And now that he had him in his sights? He planned to make the most of it before his lackeys flew in to save him.
Almost out of time, Venom bared his fangs and—
Splash! Well, all right then. Water dragon away. No need to worry about Mac anymore. Once in the ocean, no one—neither rogue nor Nightfury—could catch him. Which left the playing field wide open.
But it was too late.
The wave of rogues hit, collapsing the pocket around him. Cut off from Ivar, Venom tucked his wings and went supersonic, rocketing into a spiral. He broke through the Razorbacks’ front line. Into the middle of the pack and away from his own.
Ah, hell. Not good. Not the brightest idea, either. Now he was cut off. No wingman. No one to watch his back. A thick wall of scaly muscle between him and his Nightfury brothers.
“Venom,” Wick growled. “Get the fuck out of there!”
Great advice, buddy. Like he wasn’t trying?
Ducking his head, he swooped beneath the underside of an oncoming rogue. Front talons spread wide, the asshole lashed out. Enemy claws flashed in the weak moonlight. Venom twisted into another spin. The rogue nailed him, ripping a bloody trail along his shoulder. Pain flared, then spiraled into an agonizing burn. Venom ignored it. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not with multiple rogues on his tail and more closing in fast.
Gritting his fangs together, Venom lashed out with his spiked tail. The barbs struck a bright blue rogue and sank deep. With a snarl, he flipped and yanked hard, ripping through rogue scales as he hauled the male sideways in midair. Thunder rumbled overhead. Raindrops fell, and more rogues flew in, frigid night air curling from their wing tips. With a curse, Venom dodged two more sets of enemy claws and, setting up his approach, calculated the best angle. It needed to be perfect. Just the right trajectory to inflict maximum damage.
One...two...three, and...
Go!
His fangs bared, he inhaled hard and exhaled smooth. Fast acting, filled with killer neuro-venom, green poison shot from his throat. Like a wave of luminous electricity, the contaminant traveled, spreading on a disastrous undulation of throbbing light. The rogues flying toward him squawked, wing-flapping to get out of the toxic path. One male dropped. Then another. Both clawed at their throats, airways closing up tight.
Hoorah. Anaphylactic shock had nothing on him.
Too bad it wasn’t enough. The rogues were everywhere. Thick as frigging flies, engaging his brothers-in-arms, hemming him in, keeping the Nightfuries away as they fought to reach him. Wincing hard, Venom took a glancing blow. And then another. A third male hammered him on the flyby. His head snapped to the side. A cut open
ed beneath his eye and...
Goddamn-son-of-a-bitch. He was toast. In critical point-of-no-return territory without a lifeline. Talk about FUBARed. The situation had all the markings. And getting out alive? Pretty slim chance of that, considering—
“Venom...bank hard right,” Mac yelled, voice wavering through salt water.
He shifted in midair, complying without thought. The Razorbacks adjusted, staying on his tail. Water roared. He glanced down and—
Good God. What the hell was that?
Venom’s heart stopped, just hung inside his chest as an arsenal of kick-ass shot from beneath the surface of Gig Harbor. Three-pronged, the water spears hissed like rocket fuel, lighting his senses on fire. Venom ducked. The first one struck, skewering the rogue behind him like a shish kebab. As the asshole ashed out, dying in a flaky mess, four other sea javelins punctured scaled chests, taking out the Razorbacks surrounding him.
“Mac...”
More spears flew.
“Don’t thank me,” Mac said, voice muffled by water. “Just get the fuck out.”
Another round of javelins.
Desperate to avoid Mac’s carnage, the rogues parted like the Red Sea. Venom didn’t hesitate. Blood streaming down his side, he flew hard and fast, picking through the violence, following the trail Mac left for him like bread crumbs. Breaking through the guard, Venom growled his relief and locked onto Wick. Outnumbered three to one, and still the male held his own: claws deployed and doing damage, black amber-tipped scales flashing as he took another body shot.
“Wick.” Rounding a lamppost, he mind-spoke to his best friend, “Right flank and coming in hot.”
“About fucking time.”
Rikar seconded the motion. “Dig in, Ven.”
With pleasure. Flying over Wick’s spine, he latched onto a blue dragon’s head. Sharp horns scored his talons. The male squawked. Venom showed no mercy. With a twist, he snapped the male’s neck, severing his spinal cord. Ash blew into his face, and he rounded on another rogue. The bastard put on the brakes, trying to change course. Venom bared his teeth. The idiot. Hanging in midair. He’d just put a bull’s-eye on his forehead.
Exhaling, he hit the SOB with a lethal dose of neuro-venom.
As the rogue plummeted toward the harbor, B said, “Bug out, boys. There are too many of them.”
“The plan?” Wick asked.
“Lose the fuckers in the city?” Nothing but purple flash, Forge breathed out. Fire-acid flew from his mouth, lighting an enemy male on fire. The smell of burning flesh obliterated the fresh air.
“God, that stinks.” Dark brown scales glittering, Sloan rounded on a Razorback. Low light played against the yellow-tipped spikes along Sloan’s spine, then turned to glint off his multipronged, venomous tail. Putting the poisonous barbs to good use, he slashed an enemy dragon, sending the venom deep before grabbing another. Bone crunched against bone. His brother-in-arms twisted, ripping the male’s throat wide open. Blood flowed, coating his snow-white talons. “Pair up...split into twos, divide their attention. Meet back at the lair at daybreak.”
“Sounds good. B...you’re with me,” Rikar said, frost crackling through mind-speak. “Mac...how’s your female?”
“Freaking out, but alive.” Mac hurled another water spear. Huh. Venom raised a brow. The fledgling’s aim was a little off there. He’d only winged the rogue. “I’ve got her in an air lock.”
Venom frowned. “A what?”
“Think air bubble with attitude.”
“Bloody hell,” Forge muttered.
“Keep her there,” Rikar said. “Swim, Mac...make a break for it. Find somewhere safe to hole up.”
Good plan. On so many levels. Especially since Mac couldn’t cloak himself yet. Although that might’ve changed, because...hell. Venom couldn’t see the male anymore. He’d gone invisible beneath the surface of the water. And if he couldn’t track him, neither could the Razorbacks.
“I’ll call in the longs and lats of our position once I’ve secured her.”
“Good.” Banking hard, B broke away from the fighting triangle.
As Rikar joined him, playing wingman to their commander, he and Wick headed in the other direction. Decision time, assholes. Which way would they go? Forge and Sloan peeled off in a third direction, bugging out, confusing the rogues, flying toward the forest. A moment of hesitation then...bam! The enemy faction split into groups, weakening the effectiveness of their fighting force. Strength in numbers, after all, wasn’t a well-known expression for nothing.
“Later, boys,” Mac murmured, the rush of water coming through mind-speak. “Don’t get dead.”
Venom snorted. Cocky pissant fledgling. Although maybe pissant didn’t apply anymore. The newest member of the Nightfury pack had earned his stripes tonight. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he owed Mac. A thanks at the very least. A slap on the back at most.
And yeah, that was going to suck. Big-time. Almost as much as the deep slice to his abdomen.
Goddamn it. One of the rogues had done a number on him. He’d taken a serious hit somewhere along the way. Where and which rogue? Venom didn’t have a clue, but now that he was flying away from the fight—playing hopscotch across building tops to camouflage his trail, losing the rogues one leap at a time—the pain reminded him.
Ah, hell. He was leaking like a sieve, his heart pumping plasma faster than his dragon DNA could stem the flow. Venom grimaced, flying hard, rogues sniffing in his wake as he and Wick searched for the next point of cover.
He needed to lose the rogues on his tail and land in a quiet spot. The sooner the better. Once he shifted into human form, he’d assess the extent of the damage. Put pressure on the gash and catch his breath. Before it was too late because...God. He was in trouble: losing muscle strength, vision narrowing to blurry pinpoints, talon tips tingling in warning.
Venom shook his head, forcing himself to function...to fly straight, see clearly, be strong. But as the Razorbacks fell farther behind, he knew he couldn’t avoid the truth. Inevitability loomed, and with a wound this severe? He didn’t know how much longer he would last.
Trapped inside a bubble deep underwater, Tania screamed her throat raw. Her awful cry bounced off the invisible, hard-as-steel walls to pound her temples. She slammed her palms against the barrier, searching for a way out. Seaweed whirled past, taunting her with freedom as its leaves clung to the curved walls for a moment.
She watched it wave at her. Tears welled and fell, each breath sawing in and out, making her chest hurt. Her prison didn’t slow, the velocity supersonic as it sped out to sea. No match for momentum, the green string of flotsam let go, then disappeared, getting lost in the dark swirl of water around the globe’s smooth contours.
Helplessness struck hard. Panic hit next, sending Tania sideways inside her own head. Hammering the barrier with her fists, she screamed again, “Help me! Somebody help!”
Surprise, surprise. No one answered. Not that she expected anyone to pipe up down here. She was miles beneath the surface. Miles from safety...and rescue. But worse—at least for her—was the absolute darkness.
And the fear that accompanied it.
God help her. She couldn’t see much outside her transparent cage. Inside, however? She saw everything: the curved top of the ceiling, the crisp edge of the flat floor where it met the rounded sides of the interior walls. Double paned, filled with some kind of light, the whole globe glowed in the inky depths. The soft blue illumination only traveled so far, though, barely reaching out enough for her to see the air bubbles rocketing like a long-tailed comet in her wake.
Kneeling on the floor of the globe, Tania rocked backward. As her heels touched her behind, she cupped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep from screaming again. Oh shit. Oh God. She was so screwed. And way too scared to think straight.
Out.
She needed out. Right now. Out of the bubble. Out of the water. Out of her own head and into a place where sanity lived.
With anoth
er hoarse cry, she slammed her palms against the barrier again. And again. Over and over, beating on the blue glow until exhaustion sapped her strength. As her muscles gave out, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the chilly facade, the boom-boom-boom of her heart a faint throb in her ears, arms hanging by her sides.
The stinging throb of her hands barely registered. Neither did the bruises. Nor the torn tips of her fingernails.
She was beyond rational thought, the ability to take a full breath nothing but a distant memory. Only one thing registered. The stupid snow globe—or whatever the hell it was—and the fact she couldn’t get out.
Imprisonment complete. No escape feasible. Screwed with a capital S.
Deep in the depths, she sat on the ocean’s equivalent of death row. Waiting. Watching. Locked deep inside a nightmare in which panic had already come and gone. Now terror reigned, raising its clubbed fists, beating on her without mercy.
Dragons.
She’d been attacked by dragons.
A sob rasped in the back of her throat. No doubt about it. She was going to die. Right here. Hemmed in on all sides. Buried under miles of seawater while she waited for her air supply to run out. No take-backs. No do-overs. No passing go or collecting two hundred dollars.
Blinking away another round of tears, Tania raised her head and stared out into the abyss. Ironic, wasn’t it? She didn’t even like playing Monopoly, and yet, in the waning moments before death came to collect her, her life didn’t flash before her eyes (the way everyone always said it did). No cherished childhood memory full of summer fun surfaced. No great accomplishment rose for her to claim. All she could think about was that damned board game and the fact she would never roll the dice again. Tania’s breath caught on a painful hitch as regret slid through her.
So many things left undone...unsaid and unrealized.
She wouldn’t get to say good-bye to her sister. Never again see her best friend. Or get to design her masterpiece. No more landscapes bursting with bright flowers and beautiful trees. No more playgrounds, footpaths, or sunken pools to imagine or children to make happy. No more anything.
Fury of Seduction Page 10
