“I brought you what you need.”
Unease slithered down his spine.
Glancing at his partner, Mac tipped his chin. Already out of the truck, Angela gripped the rear handle. The back door of the SUV opened. A dark blindfold covering her eyes, a female stepped out and—
Forge lost his ability to breathe for a moment. “Bloody hell.”
“I’m sorry,” Mac said, switching to mind-speak. Hands raised, palms up and out to the side, Mac approached on silent feet. “I didn’t know she was high energy until I got there. It’s not ideal, but she’s the best at what she does. You need her and . . .”
Mac kept talking.
The words didn’t register. Forge couldn’t hear a thing. His ability to focus on anything other than the female vanished. Nothing penetrated the thick fog of attraction. Fuck. Even with the blindfold covering half her face, she was beautiful. Red-gold hair tied in a ponytail. Gorgeous mouth made for kissing. Pearl-white skin with the faintest smattering of freckles. Brilliant aura glowing like a supernova. Lust clawed through his veins, hardening him so fast it was painful.
His dragon half snarled.
The sound echoed inside his head.
The noisy rush made his heart throb. One beat pounded into another. His mouth went dry. His skin grew more sensitive, sending a clear message: get closer. Speed would close the distance. A few strides. A quick touch. A faster taste—his mouth on hers—and he’d know. Would draw on her power, assuage ravenous need, learn what raw energy felt like against his skin and how well she would feed him.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
A chuckle drifted over his shoulder.
“Well, now. I wasn’t expecting that,” Gage said, laughter in his voice. “Things just got a whole lot more interesting.”
Forge snarled at the bastard. Idiot male. Gage needed a serious attitude adjustment. One helped along by Forge’s fist slamming into his face. He needed to pound on someone. Right now. Mac was his first choice—the meddlesome arsehole—but Gage would do, ’cause sure as shite, interesting didn’t begin to describe the situation.
Dangerous seemed a better word.
A safer bet too considering his reaction to the female now shoving the blindfold off her head. Big green eyes blinked in the bright light. Her ponytail swung as she pivoted, small booted feet rasping against the floor, and met his gaze. Her soft inhalation of surprise battered him. Forge’s stomach clenched. Bloody hell. Trouble—he was in serious fucking trouble. In uncharted territory with a female he shouldn’t get anywhere near.
Mac’s fault.
Forge stifled a growl. All Mac’s fault.
Which left him with two options. Scare the hell out of the female by letting lust out of its cage. Or beat the shite out of the male responsible for bringing her into his sphere.
Chapter Five
Forge was going to kill him.
Mac knew it. He’d resigned himself to the inevitable on the ride home. The entire reason he hadn’t argued when Angela insisted on driving. A good thing too. His mind hadn’t been on the road. It had been at Black Diamond, on his best friend. After getting a look at Hope—and seeing her through Dragonkind eyes—he’d known what kind of shit storm he planned to bring into the lair. Another high-energy female on the hook, about to walk into Nightfury central and upset the balance of the entire pack.
But then, hindsight was twenty-twenty.
Knowing then what he did now, he might’ve altered the plan. Waited a day for his friend to recover. Brought Forge along for the ride. Had him knock on her front door. Or at the very least, told him what he intended and how Hope figured into the scheme, but well . . . shit. No way he could’ve predicted she’d be high energy. Or guessed how Forge would react to her. With inferno-like heat that bled into the air around him, scorching everything it touched.
Proof positive on the rising danger scale? The way Gage inched away, foot by cautious foot, shielding Osgard, shoving the youngling behind him as he retreated toward the workbench.
“Here if you need me,” Gage murmured, his attention jumping from Forge to him. Serious bronze eyes collided with his. “Careful, Irish.”
Mac nodded, taking the warning to heart as he skirted the Denali’s front bumper and walked toward his best friend. Slow and steady. No sudden movements. His approach needed to be perfect. Like a zookeeper nearing a wild animal with bared teeth, otherwise . . .
Hell. Shit storm was a polite way of putting it.
Forge was more than on edge. The male was set to go off. Ka-boom. Ker-slam. Serious injury dialed up to DEFCON 5. Jesus. Mac could actually feel the violence shimmering around him. Like a living, breathing thing . . . expanding by the second as he held his mentor’s gaze.
Surprise whispered through him.
He’d never seen Forge so amped up. Or upset. Until now, the male had been the poster boy for calm, cool, and collected. Mac clenched his teeth. Motherfuck. He should’ve expected Forge to balk and fight back. No one enjoyed being ambushed. Especially a male as strong minded as his friend. Sudden changes outside of battle never felt safe to a Dragonkind male. Status quo equaled stable, a pleasing kind of predictable. No surprises. No need to go on the alert or move to the offensive. And as he watched Forge shift, widening his stance, fisting his hands, preparing to kick his ass, Mac understood the reaction.
And acknowledged his mistake.
“I fucked up,” he said, tone quiet, but contrite. Eyes glued to Forge’s face, he moved left, using his body to shield Angela and Hope. An excellent strategy. A necessary one given Forge’s primal reaction. One false move. Less than an instant and goodbye secrecy. Hello to a warrior in dragon form and a shitload of screaming from Hope. “I should’ve warned you, buddy, but you still need to hear me out.”
Forge bared his teeth.
Mac took another step sideways, blocking his friend’s view of Hope. “Ange?”
“Yeah?”
“Probably best if you get Hope into the house now.”
“Gotcha.” Boot soles scraped against the concrete floor. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Hope said, a little out of breath. A pause. The sounds of a scuffle behind him. “Hang on a sec. Is he the one I’m supposed to be—let go, Ange. Let me—”
“Later,” Angela said, a hard note in her voice.
“But—”
“Argue if you want, but move it, sister.”
A huffy sound. “Fine.”
“Use the front door, angel,” Rikar said, moving into view with Bastian at his back, ensuring the females’ safe retreat out of the garage into the driveway.
The second the HE female stepped from view, Forge let loose and lunged at Mac. Bad idea. His human side said so, laying down logical arguments. His dragon half didn’t agree, brushing aside logic, leaving it behind to deal with a face full of fuck you. He could see it happening. Almost the same way a spectator witnessed a fifty-car pileup. The blood rush and deafening roar in his ears. The crumpling echo of his loss of control. The pungent smell of sulfur as he moved. Primal instinct spun into biological imperative. Rational thought ceased to exist. Stopping became an impossibility. He needed to fight. To vent his displeasure and dispel the aggression by putting a target on someone’s back.
Mac shifted into a fighting stance.
Forge growled. Outstanding. A willing participant, one able to give and receive. To be as brutal as he needed. A male who would show no mercy.
He slid right.
Mac circled left, still yakking at him. “Forge, listen. I know you’re pissed off, but this isn’t—”
He threw a hard jab. His fist punched through Mac’s guard. Knuckles cracked against bone. Pain spiraled up his arm. Mac cursed as his head snapped to the side. Shifting his feet, Forge unleashed a combination—right hook, punishing uppercut, spin, parry, and . . . wham! His elbow hammered Mac in the chest. A brutal thud rang through the garage. His friend cursed. Forge let another roundhouse fly. His fist slammed into Mac’s rib cage. His fr
iend grunted and gave ground, retreating toward the SUV.
Rage consuming him, he advanced.
“Motherfuck.” Mac scowled and reset his stance. “All right, you idiot. You want it, I’ll give it to you.”
“Fucking hell. Mac—stand down,” someone grumbled, the low voice full of icy tones. Twisting to avoid getting grabbed from behind, Forge frowned. Who the hell was that? Rikar? Bastian? “B, grab Forge. Mac shouldn’t be fighting. His shoulder is screwed up enough already.”
The comment made Forge pause. Something about it tweaked a memory. One that should bother him. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew it, but . . . shite. He couldn’t unearth a reason for restraint. Couldn’t think straight or force himself to stop. Concern. No concern. It didn’t matter. Nothing cut through the stranglehold of anger. Not Mac’s voice. Not the threat of injury. Nor the knowledge he was in deep and sinking fast, his human side drowning beneath the weight of his fury.
Purple wash stained the floor as his eyes began to glow.
Bastian pushed Mac aside. Merciless green eyes met his. “Simmer down. Back off, Forge.”
“Make me,” he said, all snarl, no reason.
“Take a shot at me and I don’t care how rough a night you’ve had,” B said, tone calm, the threat in his voice chilling. “I’ll kick your Scottish ass and dump you in a prison cell to cool off.”
Forge’s eyes narrowed. Might be worth it. Could be interesting to see how far he could push the male. Sounded like fun actually. A great way to get the fight he craved, test another warrior’s skill, and see who came out on top. All that with an added bonus—to start hurting more on the outside than he already was on the inside.
Shifting focus, Forge raised his fists.
Bastian sighed.
“Well, shit. That doesn’t look like his I’m-ready-to-give-up face,” Venom said, red eyes gleaming as he stopped beside Bastian. He jostled the Nightfury commander with his elbow. “Move over, B. I got him. Wick?”
“Here.”
“You’re on standby.”
Wick frowned at his buddy. “You suck.”
Venom hummed. “Best I can do since I want to kick the Scot’s ass myself.”
“Enough of the bullshit,” Mac growled, rolling his shoulder backward. A grimace broke over his features. Cradling his left arm, he rotated his elbow as though trying to work out a kink and glared at Venom. “I don’t have time for this crap. Tania’s waiting for me.”
Venom cracked his knuckles. “Perfect. Away you go, water boy, while I—”
“Shut up, Ven,” Mac said, looking like he wanted to punch Venom in the face. “And Rikar?”
“What?”
“Ice him the hell up.”
Rikar raised a brow. “It’ll hurt.”
“Just do it,” Mac growled through clenched teeth.
“Nike,” Wick murmured. “Love those ads.”
Ads? Forge blinked. What was the male talking about? The question prompted another as he struggled to understand. He shook his head. The fog of fury started to recede, leaving him off balance. The purple haze misting his vision disappeared. Tense muscles started to unfurl. His dragon half settled, bringing him back to himself. Standing with his fists raised in the middle of the garage, Forge glanced around. Comprehension struck. His brows collided. What the fuck was he doing? Well, besides trying to kill his best friend?
“Bloody hell,” he said, staring at Mac.
“There he is.” The corner of Mac’s mouth tipped up. “Good to have you back.”
Forge scowled, ’cause shite, it seemed like the thing to do. A superb strategy considering the arseholes were engaged in an idiotic conversation guaranteed to spoil a perfectly good fight. Gaze bouncing between his brothers-in-arms, he took in the group forming a semicircle around him. Strong. Solid. Loyal. Forge glowered at the jackoffs. “You wankers. The lot of you take all the fun out of a fight.”
Bastian’s lips twitched. “Fighting for fun’s one thing. But when you get like that? No one wants to get in your way.”
“I would’ve,” Venom said, disappointment in his expression. “Big fun when you consider he exhales fire-acid.”
Wick nodded in agreement.
Mac rolled his eyes.
Forge flexed his hands. “What the hell happened?”
“The female triggered you,” Rikar said, stepping alongside him. Palming his shoulder, he gave him a gentle squeeze. “Understandable. She possesses powerful energy. You were blindsided and your dragon half reacted.”
“Violently,” Wick murmured, keen amber eyes locked on him.
A niggle of worry ghosted down his spine. Bad. Very bad. His reaction spoke volumes. None of it good. “What’s her name—Hope?”
“Yeah,” Mac said.
Forge tipped his chin. “Friend of yours?”
Mac nodded. “Ange and I worked a lot with her at the SPD.”
“You need tae keep her away from me,” he said, his concern growing by the moment. He wasn’t strong enough to avoid her on his own. The uncontrollable lust he’d suffered when she stepped from the vehicle told him resistance would be futile. “Far, far away.”
“Not going to happen.” Arms crossed over his chest, B leaned back against the SUV. His commander drilled him with a no-nonsense look. “You’re the whole reason she’s here. She’s a psychologist who specializes in hypnotherapy, the absolute best the human world has to offer. Mind regression has become too dangerous. It isn’t working, so we’re trying something new. Hope is it.”
Denying Bastian, he shook his head.
Rikar eyed him from a foot away. “She’s worth a try.”
“Nay.” Absolutely not.
“Even if she can help you recover the memories?” Gage asked from behind him.
Swiveling on his heel, he met the male’s unwavering gaze. Trapped. Cornered. Nowhere to run and even fewer places to hide. The truth of what Bastian said stared him in the face, but . . . Christ. He’d already killed one female without meaning to. How much worse would his reaction be when his attraction to Hope burned a thousand times brighter than the one he’d shared with Caroline?
Forge closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Would’ve sacrificed himself to keep Caroline safe had he known what was coming, but that didn’t change the facts. He’d made a terrible mistake. One he couldn’t undo or take back. The moment he realized his error—impregnating her without first ensuring his dragon half wanted her, had bonded with her, ensuring the magical match—he’d known what it meant.
Certain death for Caroline.
Another female taken in her prime.
Another motherless son in a long line of many.
One hundred percent his fault. A terrible truth to face. A hard thing to admit. The inherent difficulty, however, didn’t make it any less true.
Or him any less culpable.
Memories swirled into a fog of warning, making his chest hurt. Bowing his head, Forge rubbed his temples. “There has tae be another way.”
Green eyes steady, B held his ground. “There isn’t. It’s happening. Make your peace with it, Forge, and get on board.”
“Shite. I donnae want . . .” Dread balled in the pit of his stomach. “What if I hurt her?”
The question came out strained.
“You won’t hurt her,” Bastian said, the confidence in his voice steadying. “Your history isn’t in play here. It’s over. Done. You won’t make the same mistake twice.”
One hip propped against the workbench, Gage twirled a wrench in his hand. “Give her a chance, Forge. She may surprise you.”
“Mayhap.” Mayhap not, but one thing for sure, he needed to get himself under control. Tuck all the nasty emotions away and return to his usual calm as fast as possible. Otherwise, the female brought in to help him would suffer, and he would be to blame. “When do we start?”
“Later this afternoon,” Rikar said, pale blue eyes unrelenting, no mercy in sight. “Get your shit together, brother. Be rea
dy to deal with her.”
Forge sucked in a breath. God grant him grace. Some much-needed patience too. Forgiveness might be worth asking for as well. Why? Dealing with Hope was the last thing he wanted to do. He had other things in mind. Erotic things. Sexy things. Terrible, filthy things that would end with him deep inside her . . . and her screaming his name.
The image took root inside his head.
Forge brushed it aside and buried it deep.
Wanting Hope was a bad idea.
High energy or not, he refused to need another female for more than an hour of mutual pleasure. Not after losing Caroline. He’d learned his lesson. He didn’t deserve what the other Nightfury warriors shared with their females. Peace and connection, the bond between mates, weren’t his to claim. Neither was Hope, so . . . sure. He’d honor his pack’s wishes and work with her, but he’d keep his distance. No flirting. Zero physical contact. Absolute respect for the patient-therapist relationship. Sounded good. The perfect strategy. One that might keep him sane in a high-stakes game with odds not in his favor. He’d gambled once and lost. No way would he risk it again.
Chapter Six
Sweat trickled over his temple, catching on the edge of his eyebrow. Bent over the workstation in his lab, Ivar swiped at it with the back of his hand and frowned into his electron microscope. Tiny organisms swam inside a glass petri dish. The up-close, in-depth look should’ve illuminated the situation, marrying fact with understanding. His surroundings should’ve done the rest. The equipment inside his state-of-the-art laboratory was the best money could buy. High-tech perfection housed one hundred and fifty feet below ground level.
Most of the time, Ivar took pride in his new digs. He adored the lair he shared with his personal guard. Buried deep beneath 28 Walton Street, the underground living quarters lived up to expectation: safe, comfortable, beautiful. And his lab? The space screamed symmetry, functionality, every single utilitarian line dressed up in glossy white walls and stainless steel countertops. His refuge. His sanctuary, a stronghold against humanity and the banality of the outside world. The only place he lost himself long enough to indulge his passions—science, technology, experimentation coupled with complex problem-solving.
Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6) Page 9
