Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6)

by Coreene Callahan

  Forge drew her closer.

  Hmm, nice. A dream girl to keep him company, one who felt lust-revving real.

  Arms wrapped around her, he shifted his hips. A curvy body wiggled against him. His body reacted, hardening so fast Forge tightened his hold. Mine, all mine. The words whispered through his mind. Hmm, aye . . . his. His to hold. His to keep. His to fuck anytime he wanted. The thought set him in motion. His hand ghosted up her rib cage. The T-shirt she wore bunched against his forearm, rising as he explored. Soft skin slid beneath his fingertips. He reached her breast and played, stroking the underside of her gorgeous curve before turning his hand to cup her. Bliss poured through him. Bloody hell. Just right. A perfect fit, a round, flawless handful. He brushed his thumb over the top, learning her shape, caressing her skin, sharing his heat.

  She purred.

  He stroked her again.

  Powerful bio-energy flared as the Meridian woke, opening a channel deep inside him. Electrostatic current spilled into the void, rising like a tidal wave. His dragon half snarled. Ravenous hunger blurred his focus, making him burn and . . . crave. God. He was starving, so needy he couldn’t think straight, never mind stall his reaction. Something, though, told him he should. Instinct, maybe. A strong sense of integrity, perhaps. The need for more information, without a doubt. An honorable male would ask himself questions—Was he still dreaming, was she real, should he be tapping into her energy stream without asking first?

  Valid concerns. All good points.

  But as his dream girl welcomed him, shifting closer, flooding him with sensation, Forge lost all sense of himself. Right. Wrong. Who cared which side he landed on? He was hungry, and she tasted fantastic, her essence so compelling he couldn’t get enough. He needed more. All she gave him. Every last drop.

  Giving in to his beast, Forge set his mouth against the side of her throat. Pleasure exploded through him, fizzing up like a bottle of shaken soda. With a moan, she raised her chin, granting him access, encouraging him to feed. Baring his teeth, he bit down gently, scraping her skin, holding her immobile against him. She shivered and linked in, strengthening the connection, zapping him with white-hot energy. He groaned and drank deeper, pulling mouthfuls from the source that fed his kind. Life-giving nourishment flooded him. His dragon half hummed in approval, enjoying the rush as magic crackled in his veins. The current whiplashed, turning full circle, forming restraints, shackling him to the female in his arms.

  With a groan, he took another sip.

  She turned her head, rubbing her cheek against his. Delight spun through him. Such open affection. Perfect acceptance. Had a female ever felt so right? Suited him so well? Or fit so beautifully in his arms? A resounding NO thrummed through his head, shaking his slumber. Forge sighed. What a shame. He didn’t want to acknowledge the truth—or wake up yet. He wanted to stay with her longer. Forever. All day, if possible, and wallow in her presence. A lovely thought. The perfect strategy, but for one thing. His mind was coming back online, turning him toward an important fact—she couldn’t be real. The dream. He was dreaming, letting his mind invent a fantasy female to protect him from the truth.

  A good hypothesis given he always slept alone.

  And yet, he refused to let her go. Just a few more minutes. Another sip of her energy. More of her intense vibe. He thumbed her nipple, waking the small bud and . . . aye. Forge sighed. More of touching her as well.

  With a rumble of contentment, he buried his nose in her hair. Thick strands brushed his mouth. Her scent swirled around him. His lips curved. She smelled delicious, like the cinnamon buns Daimler baked for him each afternoon. He growled against her temple. The female jerked against him. A tremor shook her small frame. She turned her face away. Her legs jumped, bumping into his, bringing him closer to awareness. His brow furrowed. She twisted in his arms. The jagged movement jolted through him.

  He flinched.

  The dream fractured.

  He woke in a rush, but stayed still, warrior senses seething as he absorbed his surroundings. Dry air. The hum of electricity inside walls. No threat detected. Without moving, he opened his eyes. A dark room greeted him. His night vision sparked. A wing chair came into focus, and two things registered at once. One, he lay in his bed, safe inside his room. And second—his dream girl was in his arms. Warm. Real. All woman. Surprise whipped through him. Forge tightened his embrace, surrounding her completely and . . . oh aye. Talk about perfect. Hope Cunningham, she of the gorgeous energy, here in his arms, her hair a glorious strawberry blond tangle around her head.

  A startling turn of events. One that paralyzed him for a moment. Hope, in his bed. Him, wrapped around her. Holy shite. How had that happened? Last he remembered, she’d been telling him no—saying no . . . to everything.

  Restless, she shifted in her sleep, legs and arms twitching.

  Levering himself onto one elbow, he stared down at her. Recall tripped into motion—the nursery, his son, her exhaustion. Ah, aye. All right, then. He remembered now—how he’d carried her into his room, tucked her into bed, and lain down beside her. Satisfaction curled through him. His mouth curved. Beautiful. A lovely surprise so early in the day, except . . .

  Forge blinked. Oh hell. She’d fed him. He’d taken from her.

  The repercussions registered a second before the Meridian surged. The powerful cascade streamed through him. His heart kicked, reminding him where his hand rested. His fingers twitched around her breast. She arched into the pulse. The current intensified. Forge bowed his head as heated prickles slithered down his spine. He groaned and tried to stem the flow—he really did—but . . . oh Christ. Being fed by Hope shattered his resolve, setting him on fire for her. Now all he wanted was more. More of her energy. More of her nourishing heat. But mostly, more of her skin against his.

  Urgency dug its claws in.

  With a curse, he yanked his hand from beneath her shirt. His palm left her skin. His dragon half snarled at the loss, demanding he strip her bare. Stroke her some more. Taste her in far more intimate ways. His stomach dipped. Bad idea. Continuing to touch her would only make things worse, although . . . he drew a shaky breath . . . how much worse could it possibly get? The bond between them grew by the second, taking on a life of its own, forcing reality down his throat.

  Jesus help him—energy-fuse.

  He shook his head, denying the connection. It wasn’t happening. It simply couldn’t be, but even as he rejected the conclusion, the bond solidified. Rock solid. No way to avoid it. Not with his dragon half on board and . . . fuck. The territorial bastard inside him didn’t waste a second, unleashing a torrent of possessiveness, marking Hope as his own.

  Wonder shuddered through him.

  Forge raised his hand, brushing the hair away from Hope’s temple. She frowned. He changed tack, tracing the edge of her eyebrow with a fingertip. So warm. So soft. So crazy beautiful. His mate, the female meant for him, the one he’d longed for all his life. A powerful yearning welled inside him. Fear for her followed, dimming his pleasure.

  Most males would have rejoiced. Done a happy dance. Wrapped her up and refused to let her go. Forge couldn’t bring himself to celebrate.

  Dread gripped him instead.

  What the hell was he going to do with her? He couldn’t keep her. Couldn’t mate her, never mind marry her in the way of his kind. Not while the Archguard hunted him. The instant it became known he’d taken a mate, the high council would put a price on her head. Send death squads to find her. Use Hope against him, hurt her in ways Forge refused to contemplate. He’d be forced to counter with a move that would ensure her safety—lock her down, curtail her freedom, infringe on her God-given right to choose in order to keep her safe. A catch-22, the worst of all possible outcomes. A damned-if-he-did, damned-if-he-didn’t kind of scenario.

  He might not know Hope well yet, but he knew she wouldn’t react well to lockdown. Raised in the human world, she valued her freedom. As well she should, but it left him in an awful spot. The sum of which po
inted to an indisputable fact: a female of his own would translate into a huge problem. One that would place them all—him, Hope, and his brothers-in-arms—in serious jeopardy.

  Energy-fuse might be important, but his pack deserved better from him. He must remain steadfast. He needed to remain focused and on task. Protecting Bastian and his new brothers (along with his son) remained paramount. What he wanted didn’t matter. Which placed Hope off-limits. She wasn’t his, not to touch or taste or—

  “Bloody hell,” he grumbled as an image of her wrapped around him took hold. He killed it quickly, leaving it dead inside his mind, like roadkill on a deserted highway. Scrubbing his hand over his face, Forge shook his head. “Keep it together, arsehole. Remember her purpose.”

  Aye. Exactly. Her purpose. He must remember her role inside Black Diamond: to help him recover lost memories, not warm his bed.

  Or steal his heart.

  With a sigh, Forge glanced at the digital clock sitting on his nightstand: 3:39 p.m. Time to wake Hope and face the day. He needed time . . . and a shitload of distance. Enough to get his head screwed on straight. A solid plan. A foolproof way forward. A way to fight his escalating need to have her beneath him.

  With a gentle hand, Forge palmed her shoulder.

  Still fast asleep, she bared her teeth on a growl.

  Sliding his hand to her elbow, he jostled her. “Hope?”

  “No!” Balling her hands, Hope raised her fists.

  Her vehement denial burst through the quiet. Forge sucked in a breath. What the hell? She looked ready to fight, already halfway into battle. Gaze on her face, he studied her expression, trying to figure out what to do. Yell at her? Shake her? Neither option appealed as he watched her. Muscles taut, body ready, she turned her head on the pillow. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids as though searching for a threat. Air rasped from between her parted lips. She twitched, twisting away from him. Energy-fuse flared. Her distress registered, streaming through the connection and . . .

  Jesus.

  She was panicked. Afraid. In full flight, fighting demons in her sleep.

  Hoping to calm her, Forge murmured her name. With a quick shift, she lashed out. The white points of her knuckles came toward his head. He reared. Her fist swung wide. She launched the second. He dodged the punch, but missed the backlash. Her elbow slammed into his chest. He grunted. She snarled, the lethal sound full of intent as her guard came back up. Fingers shaped like claws, she struck out, aiming for his face.

  He ducked.

  She screamed, the battle cry raising the hairs on his nape.

  “Hope!” His voice rang out. Her fist stalled mid-punch, halting an inch from his face. Chest heaving, she quivered, rustling the sheets, breaking his heart. “Good girl. There’s my lass. ’Tis all right, jalâyla. You’re all right.”

  He murmured again and again, using his tone to good effect. He needed to open her mind and ease her fear. Without causing her more pain. God knew he hated being shaken from a bad dream. Somehow, being jarred awake made it worse. Instead of fading, the violent imagery stuck around, infecting his mind, infiltrating his body, making him tense for days on end. And shite, he didn’t want that for her. Waking Hope too fast might frighten her more. Coaxing her from the nightmare—banishing the imaginary monsters in her mind—seemed like a better option.

  Fists raised and at the ready, Hope tilted her head, following his voice.

  Focus riveted to her, he got ready to dodge and, raising his arm, closed his hand over her fist. Her knuckles pressed against his palm. She hissed. Shifting sideways on the mattress, he gave her more room and rolled her onto her back. “Wake up, luv. ’Tis naught but a dream, a bad dream.”

  She flinched, jerking away from his hold.

  He stilled. She settled. Waiting another heartbeat, he stroked her collarbone. His fingers turned north, skating over her throat. “Hope, it’s Forge. You’re safe. Open your—”

  “Bastard!” Her head snapped to the side. “Get away!”

  Arching in agony, she thrashed, kicking out with her legs. Her heel rammed into his thigh. Forge cursed as she pivoted on the sheets and . . . wham! Her knee slammed into his temple.

  Ears ringing, he blocked another punch. “Good Christ.”

  “Move it! Get out of there. Break for cover!” Spinning on the mattress, she surged onto her knees. Eyes shut tight, buried inside the dream, she lunged toward the end of the bed. “Oh God, where’s Conn? Droztan, where are you? I can’t feel him. I can’t—Droztan! Conn!”

  Forge froze as she yelled names he hadn’t heard said aloud in fifty years. Surprise struck. His mind went blank. In the heat of battle, Hope slid across the mattress, shouting instructions to imaginary warriors. He opened his mouth, closed it again. What the hell was happening? How did she know his brothers’ names? What the . . . how the . . . Jesus fucking Christ. He couldn’t think. He stared at Hope instead, the shock so thick he couldn’t move. He watched her flail, yelling things he’d yelled, fighting a battle he’d fought, but couldn’t remember.

  Oh nay. No, no . . . no. He recognized himself in the words she screamed. He’d shouted each one the night his brothers died. Goddamn energy-fuse. The bond worked in terrible ways. In sharing his energy with Hope, he’d started something he couldn’t stop. The Meridian had reacted without mercy, bonding her to him, sharing too much, too fast.

  Proof rested in the nightmare.

  “Oh, Hope,” he whispered, watching her struggle. He wanted to go to her, wrap her up tight, offer her comfort, but guilt held him in a death grip. She dreamed his dream, the one he suffered every time slumber dragged him under. “I’m so sorry, luv.”

  On her knees, tangled up in the sheet, Hope whimpered. Arms hugging her chest, she favored her right wrist, listing to one side as though injured. “It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. My wing’s broken. I can’t fly. I can’t fly anymore.”

  Tears burned the back of his throat.

  “Help. I need help. Someone please help me.” Tears rolling down her cheeks, she fell backward, tumbling off the mattress.

  As she hit the floor with a thud, shock released him. His muscles unlocked. Desperate to reach her, Forge lunged forward. “Hope!”

  Reaching the edge, he catapulted over. Lying on her back on the braided rug, she cradled her arm to her chest. He landed on his knees beside her. The thump made her jump. Gasping, hurting, she cried out in her sleep. He called her name again. A furrow appeared between her brows. Almost awake, but not quite.

  Shoving the sheet aside, he straddled her hips, leaned forward, and cupped her face. She shuddered beneath him. Thumbs brushing her cheekbones, he called on the bond he shared with her now. The Meridian rose. Energy sparked, arcing from him into her. His fingertips tingled as the stream gathered speed and . . . skin on skin. Both palms cradling her face. The rush of connection between them. Heaven. Hell. Shite, he didn’t know which place described it best, but as the electrostatic current grabbed hold, Forge couldn’t deny his satisfaction. He wanted to feed her—soothe her, protect her, be the male she counted on . . . for everything.

  “He’s dead.” Her voice broke on a sob. “They’re all dead.”

  “I know, jalâyla, I know. But it’s okay now,” he said, holding his own grief at bay to banish hers. Feeding her healing energy, he coaxed her out of slumber, asking her without words to trust him. She calmed under his influence, accepting his touch, making him feel like a male worthy of her. “Wake up now. Please open your eyes.”

  The firmness of his voice roused her. Her eyelashes flickered, then rose. Green eyes swimming with tears met his. Her pain bled through, becoming his. His stomach clenched, but he took it all, funneling her anguish, carrying the burden, trying to wash away the hurt. Another sob escaped her. The ragged sound tightened his chest, making his heart ache.

  “They’re everywhere,” she whispered. “Everywhere. I can’t get away. I can’t . . . please, help me.”

  “I’m here—right here.” Holding her gaze, he drew gentle
circles on her temples. “I’ve got you. Nothing bad is going tae happen. It wasn’t real. You were dreaming.”

  Incomprehension fogged her gaze. “Dreaming?”

  “Aye, lass. Just a dream.”

  “It felt real—so real.” A tear spilled over her lashes. He watched it roll over her temple, calling himself every name he could think of for causing her distress—for forcing her to share his pain. His fault, from start to finish. He should have walked away. Left her untouched, asleep in the rocking chair. But oh no, not him. He’d been selfish, wanting her close. Now it was too late. He couldn’t retreat. Couldn’t change it. He was stuck. Mired neck-deep as his dragon half insisted Hope belonged to him. With him, always. “It hurt. They hurt me.”

  “Aye, I know, but it’s over now,” he murmured, closing his eyes, shutting out the sight of her beneath him. She looked amazing there, just right and . . . God, he was a bastard. And in big trouble. Screwed by a good plan gone wrong. All he’d wanted was a few weeks with her—some intense bed play, loads of mutual pleasure, to hear her scream his name as he made her come. Opening his eyes, he recaptured her gaze. “You’re safe.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Safe.”

  “Aye—safe,” he said, emphasizing the word, reassuring her. Pressing his cheek to hers, he caged her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength. “I will never allow anything bad tae happen tae you, lass. I will protect you at all costs.”

  Fresh tears flooded her eyes and fell. “Thank you, but—”

  “No buts, lass.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need tae understand. ’Tis a fact now, plain and simple.”

  Plain and simple.

  Forge stifled a snort. Someone needed to yell “bullshite.” Nothing could be further from the truth. The situation was as complicated as hell. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret Hope’s presence inside his home, or his heated response to her. A screwed-up reaction? Absolutely, but energy-fuse didn’t lie and couldn’t be ignored. Stronger males than him had tried and failed. So . . . no help for it. He might know walking away was the right thing to do, but the bond he now shared with Hope told a different story. The Goddess of All Things didn’t indulge in flights of fancy. She wove an intricate plan, knitting multiple threads in a vast universe, encouraging the greater good. Somehow, for some reason, she’d chosen him, gifting him with a female so stunning, so precious, his dragon half refused to turn away. No matter the danger, or cost to his pride.