With Lothair gone, the Nightfuries on the hunt, and the potential Rodin problem, he needed to stay front and center. His soldiers required a strong leader—something he could give them, but honestly didn’t want to. Full-time command of his ever-growing pack would keep him away from the lab. Not an idea he relished, never mind wanted to implement. Science required intense concentration, commitment to detail, and careful observation. So cutting his hours in the laboratory? Not the best strategy. Especially when whipping up a lethal viral load to jump-start a global epidemic.
Too bad circumstance didn’t give a shit about his plans. Or his preferences, either.
Proof positive of that sat just feet away, stinking up his airspace and the crisp night air. With a muttered curse, he refocused on the dead heap of human waste. He scowled and reached for his magic. His palm tingled as a pink fireball appeared in the center of his hand. With a flick, he tossed the flames into the pit. Fueled by human kindling, the blaze caught hold. Ivar fanned the inferno and, enjoying the glow, watched the pink tendrils lick skyward.
Sensation crept over his shoulders, then prickled down his spine. Ivar closed his eyes and listened, waiting for...
Ah, there it was. The soft crunch of footfalls behind him.
Without turning, he returned his attention to the fire and murmured, “Denzeil. Whatcha got?”
“The female is out of pocket.”
“The one the water rat saved?”
“Solares,” Denzeil said, stepping up alongside him. Dark eyes met his. Satisfaction radiating off him in waves, his soldier handed him the iPad he carried. “Check out the green dot. She’s in a car on I-90, using OnStar to call a hospital.”
“And now we’ve got her real-time location.” His heart pounded, beating triple time as he watched the dot travel along the virtual map. Oh lucky night. The H-E female was his for the taking...destined to be number six in his breeding program after all. Anticipation streaked through him. Firelight crackled and ash danced, drifting down to land on the edge of the screen. Ivar brushed it away and handed the tablet back to Denzeil. “Where is everyone?”
“Those that are uninjured? Downtown hunting.”
“Call them all back.” Turning away from the pit, Ivar leaped onto one of the rusty backhoes littering his backyard. Heavy-duty steel groaned, bending inward as he landed on the roof and shifted into dragon form. Red, black-tipped scales expanded, wrapping over his body, around his spiked spine and the jet-black horns on his head. Pink eyes aglow, he mind-spoke, “Give them the longs and lats of her position. We rendezvous over I-90. I want that female, D.”
“And Hamersveld?”
“Leave him to me.”
An excellent plan from start to finish. Hamersveld wouldn’t respond to anyone else. The male was unpredictable most of the time, but wouldn’t be tonight. Ivar would bet his fangs on it. The promise of a high-energy female always brought a predator out to play.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mac walked into the Gridiron in a wrecking-ball frame of mind. The cloying scent of perfume and hard alcohol didn’t improve his mood. Neither did the thumping bass of heavy metal nor the throbbing strobe lights. Normally not things that bothered him. But tonight, everything rubbed him the wrong way. He was on overload, keen dragon senses bombarded by the violent rush of sensory input.
Laser beams flashed above the dance floor. Technicolor streamed across the nightclub.
He turned his face away, protecting his light-sensitive eyes, but not before he got the lay of the land. Large, round bar to his right, people three deep around it. Goth decor with a death rock vibe. And the ratio? At least two guys to one girl on the dance floor. The public bump and grind should’ve amused him. It usually did. Right now, though, the sight of sex in dark corners annoyed the shit out of him. For good reason too. All he wanted to do was go home to Black Diamond...and Tania.
Ironic, wasn’t it? He’d waited four long weeks for tonight. For the green light from Bastian and the right to join his brothers-in-arms on the hunt for Razorbacks. For his maiden voyage, so to speak. Now here he stood, a full member of the pack—fledgling status revoked...thank fuck—and all he could think about was his female. And the way he’d left things with her.
I love you.
Three little words. Nothing special alone. But together, they packed a wallop, cracking through his defenses, allowing a lifetime of hurt to spill into the open. Now he bled, for the little boy he’d been and the emotionally crippled man he’d become. So much rejection. So much “you’ll never be good enough.” So much pain.
Mac shook his head and scanned the club again, looking for a target. A Razorback—or five—to provoke. He needed a fight, a ball-busting, claw-ripping brawl to clear his head. Otherwise he would lose his cool. Go ape-shit crazy, freak out again, and—
Jesus. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it.
Tania loved him. Wanted to stay with him...be with him, a guy so undeserving of her it made his chest ache. She needed so much better than him, a male tainted by his past, unworthy of a future with a female so smart, so funny, so fucking beautiful she took his breath away every time he looked at her.
I love you.
Mac rubbed the sore spot between his brows. God, he was a first-rate jackass. He should’ve said the words back to her. Should’ve admitted what he’d known for a while but had been too much of a dickhead to realize. He loved her too. So much his heart wasn’t big enough to contain the magnitude of feeling. And as his love for her overflowed and spread, infusing every cell in his body, Mac wanted to turn around, fly home, and tell her. Before he lost his nerve. Before she gave up on him. Before too late became the story of them.
The screeching wail of guitar riffs shrieked in his ear.
A throb started up between his temples. “Motherfuck.”
Stopping beside him, Forge slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
What? Loving Tania? Shit, he hoped so.
“Nay, you wanker,” Forge said, picking his thought out of thin air. “The abundance of noise...the sensory overload is normal at first. Dragonkind senses are much sharper than a human’s. It’ll take some time tae become accustomed tae it. So next lesson. Tae-night you learn tae control what you let in and what you block out, aye?”
As Mac nodded, a tingle slid across the nape of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder. Venom and Wick crossed the threshold and entered the club, looking like a pair of straight-up killers. A group of gothed-out guys scattered, scrambling to get out of the way. As the pathway opened, a curvy redhead hopped off a bar stool and latched onto Venom. The warrior welcomed the female with a smile, wrapped his arm around her, and, without breaking stride, brought her with him.
Tipping his chin, Mac greeted his comrades, then glanced sideways at Forge. “Can I block out Ven?”
Amusement sparked in Wick’s golden eyes.
Venom rolled his. “Only if you want your ass kicked.”
Mac grinned, liking the new arrangement much better than the old. Sometimes calling a truce was a good thing. Especially when it came to Venom. With the tension between them gone, he could tease the guy and be razzed in return without getting bent out of shape. Or suffering the overwhelming urge to rip the male’s head off.
“You need some time?” Forge’s gaze drifted over the female tucked against Venom’s side. Her aura glowed softly, nothing like the brilliance of Tania’s high energy, but enough to take the edge off a male’s appetite. “Probably should, Ven. You took a serious hit the other night.”
Anticipation sparked in Venom’s ruby-red gaze. “Private bathroom in the back. Give us twenty minutes.”
Us? Mac blinked. Did he mean—?
Ah, yeah. And Wick made three. The redhead was in for a big surprise. Except...
Venom whispered in her ear. Peeking over her shoulder, she ran her gaze over Wick. Her lips curved up a moment before she nodded. Mac huffed. Well, all right. Crisis averted. No need for intervention. The female was
all in, A-okay with the fact she would be getting two for the price of one.
Wick on the other hand? Not so much.
With a mental click, Mac refocused, shutting out the peripheral stimuli, and sent a ping out to surround Wick. Unease came back in a winding curl. His cop instincts woke up, adding observation to the intuitive swirl. Dark head bowed. Wide shoulders hunched. Dread encircled the usually lethal male, hanging like a noose around his neck as he followed Venom to the back of the club. His brows drawn tight, Mac wondered about Wick’s reaction for a moment, then shrugged it off. It wasn’t any of his business. Besides, butting in where he didn’t belong with Wick?
Not a good idea if he wanted to stay in one piece.
Putting his boots in gear, Mac headed for the VIP section. The human sea parted. His mouth curved as he strode through the opening in the crowd and mounted the steps. Not much had changed. Even before his change, people had treated him like a predator, scattering the moment he stepped into a room. Ange called the phenomenon the “Mac Effect.” He called it awesome. The mad scramble meant smooth sailing instead of rough waters, which...and it never failed...involved cracking a few skulls together.
Setting up shop in an empty booth, Mac slid along the deep bench seat and glanced toward the bar. He tipped his chin. A waitress hopped to, hustling toward him as Forge took the spot on his right-hand side. His mentor’s gaze raked the female. Reacting to the search and sweep, she slowed, moving to the beat of thumping bass, giving them time to look her over. Hunger sparked in Forge’s eyes. Mac didn’t blame him. Dressed in a sequined tube-top and a skirt slit thigh high, she put the bombshell in blonde.
She stopped in front of their table. Her gaze flicked over him. Seeing his noninterest, she turned to Forge, planted her hand on the tabletop, and leaned in, gifting the male with a glimpse of cleavage. “What can I get you, baby?”
“An ale, luv.” Forge’s nostrils flared as he drew her scent into his lungs. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.”
“You?” she asked Mac, her focus still trained on his mentor.
“Dos Lunas,” he murmured, ordering his favorite tequila. “Neat.”
She nodded, then said to Forge, “I have a minute, if you do.”
“Go,” Mac mind-spoke, keeping it on the down-low. Discretion, after all, was the better part of valor. “We got time. And I’m good here. If you need—”
“I don’t need shite, lad. I’m not leaving you alone,” he said, his tone tight. Strobes flashed, bathing the waitress’s pale skin in bright light. Lifting his hand, Forge drew his fingertip along the underside of her chin, caressing her softly. High-gloss lips parted; she purred. His throat worked as he withdrew and leaned back in his seat. “Many thanks for the offer, luv. But just the drinks tae-night.”
“Another time?”
“Mayhap.”
In a pout, she headed for the bar and their drinks. Mac shook his head. “Fuck off, Forge. Stop being overprotective. I can handle myself.”
“Nae doubt, but—”
“Shit,” Mac growled as an unfamiliar prickle danced across his skin. His tattoo tightened, reacting to the magical charge in the air. He shot to his feet. His eyes narrowed on the crowd beyond the VIP section, he breathed deep, sifting through human heat and club stench, hunting for the almost imperceptible scent. “You smell that?”
“Nay.”
“Salt water and seaweed.”
Forge slid out from behind the table. Shitkickers planted beside him, he asked, “Female perfume?”
“A male...Dragonkind.”
Mac swept the undulating crush again, seeking the source. He knew it was there. Could feel the electrical snap, the magical shift in the air, and smell the danger. Animal instinct screamed a warning. A second later, he located the threat. Big, blond, exuding a lethal amount of aggression, the male leaned against the curved edge of the main bar one level down. Next to the dance floor and covered with swirling yellow-white stone, the bottom curve of the round structure glowed, illuminating the stranger’s face. Black eyes rimmed by a thin band of light blue shimmered as the fucker blew him a kiss and—
Recognition struck him like a sledgehammer. Mac sucked in a quick breath. Motherfuck. A water dragon, another male who possessed his brand of kick-ass.
“Forge.”
“I see him.”
“Yank Ven and Wick’s chain,” he said, wanting extra backup. “I’m going over there.”
“Bullshite.” With a quick hand, Forge grabbed a fistful of his leather jacket, anchoring him in place. “Wait, lad. Let’s see what the asshole does and who he’s got with him first.”
Good plan. Starting a brawl inside the club wasn’t the best idea. Not in a place where camera-happy humans outnumbered them hundreds to one. CNN didn’t need to know about what went down in the sky above Seattle.
Still, Mac itched with impatience. Territorial instinct ripped through him, acting like a rabid dog frothing at the end of his chain. Magic flared, dusting the air as Forge sent out the call, raising Venom and Wick through mind-speak. One hundred percent focused on his target, Mac barely noticed. He locked gazes with the male instead. A smirk on his face, the bastard raised his glass in salute, taunting him. Mac bared his teeth on a snarl, then breathed deep. Something was off. The newcomer wore another scent, a deadly one not his own.
“He isnae alone.”
“I know.” Mac swept those seated at the bar on high stools, skimmed over a guy dressed in a black karategi, then snapped back. His gaze narrowed on the male: slight build, of Asian descent, narrow vertical pupils. Definitely not human. Rotating his arm, he broke Forge’s hold and growled, “The small male three stools down. What the—”
“A wren. Miniature dragons...small, vicious, highly maneuverable in flight, and hard to hit,” Forge said, stepping around the table edge and in front of him. Amethyst eyes aglow, he glanced over his shoulder. “Watch yourself when we get out there. Block out all sound. A wren’s shriek is a powerful weapon. The little bastard’ll scramble your wits with his scream...try tae bring you tae ground.”
Made sense. A downed dragon became a dead one...fast. “Let’s go.”
His gaze on the corridor at the rear of the club, Forge shook his head. Raising his hand, he held up his index finger and pointed to the red glow of the exit sign. A door halfway down the corridor flew open. Venom roared over the threshold and into the hallway, ruby eyes narrowed, aggression on display along with his bare chest. Conjuring a shirt and his leather jacket, the male buttoned his fly as Wick rolled in behind him.
Looking like a pair of twins called Kick-ass and Hard-core, the warriors strode across the VIP section. Mac didn’t wait. He shoved Forge to one side and beat feet for the stairs. He needed to reach the blond bastard before he turned tail and disappeared. Four against two, after all, wasn’t good odds...for Mr. Cocky and his wren. The second the enemy got wind of the extra backup, Mac knew...just knew...the fucker would run, hide, and not resurface for a while.
Which was...yeah. Not happening tonight.
Tapping into the collective psyche, Mac kept his attention glued to his quarry and cleared a path. The crowd parted, scurrying out of his way like mice before a hungry cat. Just as he reached the railing, Mr. Cocky broke eye contact and tilted his head. The sharp movement put Mac on high alert. The bastard’s body language spoke volumes and provoked an immediate conclusion. He was talking to someone, linking in through mind-speak.
Mac leaped the staircase. As he landed at the bottom, the enemy male smiled, the baring of teeth more aggressive than amused, then turned and hauled ass toward the front of the club.
“Motherfuck. Forge, get to the—”
“Mac!” The growl came through mind-speak loud and clear.
“Screw off, Sloan.” Racing for the exit, Mac answered on the run. “I’m busy.”
“Get unbusy and your ass headed toward I-90.”
Hot on his heels, Forge asked, “What happened?”
“Tania happened.” Sloa
n cursed. Something clanged as though a fist had just hit metal. “Fucking female. She lied right to my face, then flew the coop.”
Mac slid to a stop beside the dance floor. Humans scattered like bowling pins. “What the fuck?”
“Her sister was attacked...evac’ed from the prison earlier today.”
“Where is Tania now?”
“In Gage’s new Corvette...on the built-in satellite phone with Seattle Medical.”
“Motherfuck.” Fear grabbed Mac by the throat. “Please tell me she hasn’t used her name.”
“Wish I could, but if I picked it up on the wire so have the Razorbacks.” The scrape of claws came through mind-speak a moment before the flap of wings sounded. “I’m airborne now, but she’s got a half hour lead on me. You’re closer from downtown.”
Holy fuck, he hoped so. ’Cause if the rogues reached her first?
Adrenaline hit Mac like rocket fuel, turning him into a human torpedo. Shoving the bouncers aside, he planted his foot on the top step and leaped skyward. Magic exploded around him. The cloaking spell took hold, making him disappear into thin air as he shifted into dragon form. His wings caught air. Blown off their feet by the wind gust, the people in line screamed. Mac didn’t care. Cuts and bruises on a few innocent bystanders were nothing. He needed to reach Tania. Now. Faster than fast. Before the rogues found and captured her.
Oh God, please. Let him reach her first.
If he didn’t, Mac knew he would never recover. Tania meant everything, and if she died, he would lose it all—his heart, mind, and soul—and die right along with her.
The purr of the high-performance engine rumbled through the quiet. The sound should’ve calmed Tania. Slipping behind the wheel of a finely tuned automobile had that effect on her. Under normal circumstances, anyway.
Tonight, though, wasn’t normal.
She was too tense to enjoy the smooth perfection of the clutch and shift. Or the way the Corvette’s racing tires hugged the road. Worry distracted her, winding her so tight she barely noticed how well the car cornered, flying around S curves, roaring down straightaways, its sleek lines and maneuverability man’s gift to driving aficionados everywhere. All Tania cared about was that it went fast.
Fury of Seduction Page 34
