Her emotional response made him flinch. Anger and feminine outrage...the perfect storm. A lethal combo that packed serious punch.
Mac almost smiled, an “atta girl” poised on the tip of his tongue. He bit down on the response. She wouldn’t appreciate it...wouldn’t understand that his reaction was born of relief, not amusement. But as she glared at him, the urge to grin like an idiot poked him. Man, she was something, so fierce she made him proud. Even upended by circumstance and flattened by fear she gave as good as she got. Which was why he kept his mouth shut and waited for her to fill the void. Tania needed to vent: to let go of the fear, lay every card on the table and the blame at his feet. No way would he interrupt her before she got her groove on and lambasted him.
Pissed off and talking. That’s how he wanted her.
“Please tell me, Mac...how?” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I mean, really, fill me in, ’cause...holy jeez, I was nearly killed by a whole contingent of frackin’-frackin’ dragons!” Temper unraveling at the speed of light, she took a step toward him, a belligerent look on her face. Forgetting about her sore fingers, she pointed at him, then winced and shook out her hand. “And you! You’re one of them. So, yeah. Sure. You go ahead and tell me. How the hell is it going to be all right?!”
“I’ll keep you safe.”
“You’ll keep me...you’ll...” She trailed off. A muscle flickered along her jaw. “You drove me off a flipping bridge. Wrecked my car...my beautiful girl...then buried me alive underwater. In a goddamn air bubble!”
Well, when she put it that way...
He cringed. Hero of the year wasn’t a title he would be awarded anytime soon.
“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but—”
“Oh. My. God!” Tania looked around, her gaze searching. She skimmed over the fireplace, then moved on to the living room before reaching the kitchen. “Do you have a gun here? I’m going to shoot you. I swear on my life, I am so pulling the trigger!”
Okay. This was good, if a little counterproductive.
Mac didn’t mind. Despite the threat level, he was making progress. The more she yelled at him, the better she’d feel. And after she wound down? He’d get his chance to explain the how, what, and why of the situation. Good for him. Better for Tania. She needed to understand and accept the challenges of her new reality. Chief among them? The fact she wouldn’t survive long without his protection. Not in a world where dragons ruled and high-energy females—like her—were targets for Razorback assholes.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Mac settled in to wait her out. More animated now, her mouth working overtime, she paced the length of the cabin. Round and round she went, bare feet pitter-pattering against the floorboards, tendrils of dark hair escaping her topknot to curl over her shoulders. His mouth curved as he listened to her rant. Sweeping around the end of the sofa, she hurled another insult his way, then marched past the fireplace. The flames reacted to the breeze-by, and sparks snapped as Tania called him a boneheaded doofus-face. Crackbrained whack-job came next, adding to the already colorful litany of name-calling.
All without swearing. Not once.
Pretty impressive, actually. Had the situation been reversed, he’d have dropped the f-bomb at least twenty times by now. Mac swallowed his amusement. Jesus, her creativity floored him, making admiration grow even as she scorched him with her temper. A spitfire, she was a hot burn with incendiary flare. Arousing as hell too, and...
Oh shit. That was absolutely the wrong thought. Mac drew in a calming breath, then let it out, forcing his brain into work mode. Strategy A wasn’t working. Time to deploy plan B before he hopped back on the desire train.
For the umpteenth frickin’ time.
One eye on Tania, he rolled his shoulders, tracking her progress around the end of the table. Close. She was so very close now. Barely an arm’s length away, a piece of cake to stop her midstride. But reaching out would mean touching her. Not exactly the best strategy considering the level of I-want-her banging around inside his head at the moment.
She turned the last corner. Now or never. If he didn’t stop her in the next three seconds, she’d put the hammer down and roar into another circuit around the room and—
With a fast pivot, Mac left his perch and planted his foot on a chair. Timing it to perfection, he pushed. The armchair slid, bumping across wood to shoot out in front of Tania. Quick reflexes helped her hop sideways, avoiding the collision. The pissed-off gasp stopped her tirade midstream. Mouth hanging open, she gave him an incredulous look before she sucked in a breath and—
“Sit down,” he said, cutting her off before she came up with another inventive name to call him.
Pearly white teeth clicked together as she snapped her mouth closed. Pursing her lips, a mutinous expression on her face, Tania crossed her arms over her chest.
“It’s getting cold,” he said, lying through his teeth. The pasta couldn’t get cold, not with him around. His ability to manipulate anything with water in it ensured the sauce stayed as hot as when he’d slid the meal onto the table. “Come on, mo chroí. Have mercy. I’m famished, and you can be just as pissed off sitting down as standing up.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are.”
A standoff. One he won a moment later when her stomach growled.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, disgust in her voice. “Just my luck. Foiled by flipping tortellini.”
Mac laughed, adoring her poise under pressure. A scowl on her face, she pressed up on tiptoe to peer inside one of the bowls. He nudged the dish nearest her, hoping to tempt her. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”
She grumbled something under her breath—probably another choice name for him—then bumped the chair with her thigh. With more determination than skill, she shoved it toward the table to avoid touching it with her sore hands. Unwilling to see her struggle, he skirted the table edge and cupped the backrest. Heat flared in her cheeks. He played the gentleman despite her chagrin: waiting for her to sit, scooting her chair in, leaning around her to straighten her utensils. As she murmured “thank you,” he caught the fresh, heated scent of her. Like an addict, he dipped his head and breathed her in, wanting more.
Hmm, she was lovely.
And he should turn away. Right frickin’ now. Take his seat and give her space while he gave himself a fighting chance to resist her. Instead, like a dummy, he opened his big mouth and said, “You smell like water lilies.”
Shifting in the chair, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze met his, and the muscles roping his abdomen clenched. Still miffed, she muttered, “I smell like you.”
Not really. Her natural perfume broke through, trumping his brand of body wash. “My soap.”
On her. All over her, in places he dreamed about touching again. Heat coiled through him as he relived the sight of her in his shower.
Blushing brighter, she whispered, “Your shampoo too.”
Unable to resist, Mac braced his palms on the arms of her chair and leaned in, surrounding her without touching. His mouth brushed her hair, and he breathed deep again, filling his lungs with her sweetness. Oh Jesus. He needed to stop...right now. Before he embarrassed himself.
“Tania?”
“What?”
“Do you need help?” Unlocking his muscles, he shifted out from behind her and headed for his own seat. Distance was good...really, really good. The farther he got from her, the better. “If your hands are too sore, I could feed you.”
“You try, and I’ll stab you with my fork.”
Surprise made him blink. The threat made him smile.
Arching both brows, she reached for the utensil. “You don’t think I will?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed another notch.
Holding his hands palm up, he retreated, settling in the chair adjacent to hers, his grin widening by the second. “It was a good bluff, though.”
Fiddling with her fork, she
sighed. “I was never any good at poker.”
Unfortunately for her, he was. A real student of the game, he was considered a master player in most circles. But the ability to bluff was the least of it. Patience had a hand in every round he played. Which...ding-ding-ding...was the reason Tania sat with him now, talking instead of yelling.
“I’ll teach you.” The a lot of things went unsaid. Just as well. Sex wasn’t on the menu. At least not yet. Maybe not for a while, either.
A bite of pasta halfway to her mouth, she threw him a startled look. “How to play poker?”
Mac nodded, his attention riveted on her lips. He watched her chew for a moment, then glanced down at her hand, searching for safer ground. Her mouth was too frickin’ tempting and...huh. A lefty. He would never have guessed that about her. Whether using her right or left, she handled herself well. Attacking his own food, he studied her a little more closely, observing her facility with the utensil, making sure she wasn’t in any pain, absorbing every nuance. Yup. Definitely left-handed. Was she ambidextrous or something?
She speared another bite, twirling the fork above her bowl. “After we eat?”
He glanced at the round-faced clock hanging on the wall behind her. Three a.m. The equivalent of midday for him, but smack-dab in the middle of REM time for her. He returned his focus to Tania. Opening his senses wide, he tapped into her bioenergy, mining the bond he shared with her to gauge her fatigue level.
He frowned. “You should get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
A lie, but Mac let it go. No sense arguing, but as she nibbled on her bottom lip, the urge to do something else—like taste her again—slammed through him. Leveling her chin, she met his gaze. Desire and need joined forces, hitting him like jet fuel, threatening to send him into orbit. With a death grip on his fork, he clamped down on the reaction.
“And Mac?” Soft inquiry. Big impact. Her tone was full of warning.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“I have a ton of questions.”
And there it was, the opening he’d been waiting for...an invitation to talk. And as her beauty spun into brainy, pride for her fortitude wound him a notch tighter. And what do you know? That aroused him too. Then again, everything she did made the male in him stand up and take notice. Shit, she could suit up in a clown costume and still turn him on. But no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her, Mac admitted her mind intrigued him more.
Gorgeous and smart.
It was a wicked combination. Lethal in more ways than one. And as she turned intelligent brown eyes on him, he prayed his Nightfury brothers showed up sooner rather than later...before base instinct shoved reason aside, took over, and made him do something stupid. Like strip her bare. Make her beg while he loved her hard.
Which wasn’t even close to advisable.
Chapter Thirteen
Wings spread in flight, red scales flashing beneath the storm glow, Ivar swept over the Seattle shoreline, scanning left then right. Nothing. No sign of the Nightfury yet. Like the freak of nature he was, the male had gone deep underwater, though how the hell he breathed down there was a mystery. A real knock-down-drag-out in the mental sphere, and while he chewed on the puzzle, Ivar kept searching. Sooner or later the asshole would poke his head up. No one, after all, could refute Newton’s law. Although in this instance, it was the opposite...a case of what went down must come up.
Somewhere. Someplace. Sometime.
And when that happened? Ivar would be there...waiting to blow the bastard sky-high. Or rip his head off. Either option would do.
He only hoped the opportunity landed in his lap faster than fast. Dawn approached and with it the deadly UV rays his kind couldn’t tolerate. Which begged a question. Could the water rat survive a full day at the bottom of Puget Sound? Store enough O2 in his freak-ass lungs to hold out until another night fell? The water was certainly deep enough. Would act like a natural barrier of sorts and—
Ivar snorted. He hoped not. Sunblock, dragon-style, wasn’t what he needed right now. But the female? Oh baby, she was the ticket. The real deal, so high-energy just thinking about her made him salivate.
Hmm...Tania Solares. Yummy, yummy female.
He’d gotten a glimpse of her on the bridge in Gig Harbor. Her sojourn on TV had been a sampling, nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh. An incomparable specimen, her connection to the Meridian rivaled Bastian’s female. Power personified, she was beauty electric. Hunger curled through Ivar. He wanted a taste of her, of the blinding heat that hummed in her blue-green aura. Proof positive she’d be not only an unforgettable fuck but a perfect candidate for cellblock A.
And his breeding program.
Five females had been imprisoned there so far. He wanted seven, and the number six would look good hanging around Tania Solares’s neck. But only if he could find the pain-in-the-ass Nightfury and retrieve her.
He told himself it was for Lothair. For revenge and justice. To assuage his desire to get even. But now? After seeing her himself? His plans had changed. He wouldn’t be using her to bait the trap that would bring Bastian running. He’d be tying her to his bed and making her his personal slave.
Banking left, he headed farther out to sea and swept over Puget Sound. The city sparkled jewellike in the distance as thunder boomed overhead. He ignored the warning. Didn’t care that lightning forked through heavy clouds, threatening to down him with the electrical equivalent of a boot to the ass. His focus was absolute.
Pissant water rat.
Eyes narrowed on the choppy surf, Ivar scanned the surface of the bay again. Three of his soldiers followed, protecting his flank while keeping their distance. He didn’t blame them. A smart male knew when to back off, and no one wanted to get in his way tonight. Not after the cluster-fuck over Gig Harbor.
Ivar ground his fangs together. What a mess. Four dead, double that injured with nothing to show for it. Oh sure, they’d hammered a few of the Nightfuries, but not hard enough. Put one down in the lose column, because, hey, Bastian and his band of bastards were still breathing. How did he know? The updates. Denzeil kept feeding the latest-and-greatest through mind-speak. The enemy was leapfrogging all over Seattle, leading his soldiers on a merry chase. One Ivar knew they couldn’t win...even with superior numbers.
The Nightfury pack was too quick. Too efficient. Too damn smart. No way any of them would get caught in the open now. So like it or not, KOing the lone male protecting Solares was the only satisfaction he was likely to get.
With a snarl, Ivar called on his magic. Power rushed through his veins, then sparked, twisting into magical heat. Pink flame exploded down his spine. With a twitch, he hummed, loving the sweeping tingle as fire raced across his scales, setting him ablaze from horned head to spiked tail.
The wildfire thing happened to him sometimes. Extreme anger set him alight, turning him into a flying inferno. Right now, though, the extra bit of PO’d helped center him. His built-in radar cranked to full blast, his night vision sparked, picking up trace beneath the surface of the water. He inhaled, gathering a throat-full of fire, and—
Ivar growled. Fuck a duck. A school of fish, not the water rat.
The wind picked up, throwing cold mist into the air. Water wicking off his underbelly, Ivar’s sonar pinged again, magic blanketing the swell and dip of whitecaps like a grid. A lone shark swam beneath his flight path. But other than that? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. The male was gone, along with the female.
Christ almighty. What a night, never mind a waste of time.
But worse? The knowledge he’d been bested by a fledgling, a Nightfury whelp barely out of transition. Jesus, it was embarrassing. The male should never have been able to evade him. No way. No how. Not with his level of inexperience. Too bad the theory didn’t hold water. Bastian’s new boy packed one hell of a punch. Was smart too. Knew when to bug out and when to fight. The water spears were proof enough of that.
Inconceivable. A water dragon, one who possessed a
strong throwing arm and pinpoint accuracy. Ivar shook his head. How was that even possible?
All right, stupid question. He knew it was possible. Hamersveld was proof enough of that. Ivar remembered meeting the male at the Archguard’s festival. God, how long had it been...thirty years? Maybe a few more? Could be, but whatever the time frame, he’d never forgotten the male. Understandable. The warrior made one hell of an impression and packed an even bigger punch.
No one screwed with Hamersveld. Not even the Archguard’s high council. Rumor held that the male preferred his own company and refused to swear allegiance to an established pack. Add that to his vicious reputation and the fact he claimed to be a water dragon?
Oh, the possibilities.
Ivar’s eyes narrowed. Mind churning, he examined each idea from all angles, looking for pitfalls. Bastian had a water dragon in his corner—a powerful one, which qualified as an undeniable advantage. Hell, the pissant fledgling could already cloak himself underwater. Who knew what the Nightfury would be capable of given another week? Would the bastard be able to drown soldiers in midflight?
Ivar grimaced. The possibility didn’t thrill him. Neither did going home empty-handed. He banked right anyway and, flying fast, headed toward 28 Walton Street. Time to hit Dragonkind’s equivalent of the Internet and indulge in some reconnaissance. He needed to know more about Hamersveld. About his character and whether or not the male could be controlled.
With Lothair gone, Ivar required a new XO, one vicious enough to take his place. And Hamersveld? By all accounts, the warrior put the brutal in brutality. Toss in his propensity to unleash hell and...bingo. He had a match made in heaven. With an added bonus. Coaxing Hamersveld into the fold would boost morale among the Razorback ranks while backing the Nightfuries up a step.
Good plan. One he needed to put into action ASAP.
With Bastian’s boy learning in leaps and bounds, he had limited time. And finding Hamersveld, never mind convincing him to join the cause, wouldn’t be easy. But with the Archguard’s festival in full swing, he might get lucky. If the warrior was in Prague, Ivar’s contacts there would locate him.
Fury of Seduction Page 15
