Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  Tragic, really. A shame in more ways than one.

  He could already taste the hot cross buns. Smell the cinnamon goodness. Imagine the sugary perfection. Feel the melt-in-your-mouth decadence. Just the thing every male wanted to come home to after a night spent hunting Razorbacks. His sweet tooth whined. Venom stifled a groan of longing and crossed under an archway. Boots thumping on the hardwood floor, he jogged down the stairs and into the living room.

  Familiar décor greeted him. Huge double-faced fireplace rising beyond a leather sectional dead ahead. Entertainment center with fifteen comfy chairs and an enormous flat screen to his right. Twin billiard tables to his left. Standing behind the second one, laptop set up and sitting on green felt, Sloan didn’t look up. Absorbed in cyberspace, his fingers flew over the computer keyboard. A wall of windows rose behind him. Clear glass rippled with magic, becoming darker by the moment as Washington State woke under the influence of the rising sun.

  An orange line appeared on the horizon.

  Covered in frost, the winter landscape sparkled under the warm glow.

  Alive with movement now, the windows darkened even further.

  A necessary thing. A great protective measure. The magic that protected Black Diamond—and hid the lair from outsiders, human and Dragonkind alike—always reacted at dawn. Tightening its grip. Shutting the house down. Blocking out the sun to prevent deadly UV rays from spilling into the aboveground lair. Excellent all the way around. The spell surrounding the Nightfury lair shielded them all, allowing each warrior to move around during the day without threat of getting fried.

  Or suffering the inevitable blindness that would follow.

  “Sloan, man,” Venom said, halting opposite his friend. Billiards table acting like a barricade between them, he listened to the clickety-click of computer keys. “Whatcha got?”

  “Some kind of epidemic in Granite Falls,” Sloan said, more mumble than words. Fingers still flying over the keyboard, he shook his head. “Nothing on the news yet, but the Cascade Valley Hospital in Arlington is taking all the cases. I’m mining the system, looking for medical data to run by Myst, but so far, there’s not much. What I do have doesn’t look good.”

  Venom tipped his chin. “Nasty flu bug?”

  “Or suspicious circumstances?” Wick asked, rolling in behind him.

  Planting both palms on the felt beneath his computer, Sloan looked up from the screen. Mocha skin looking dark in the dimness, worried brown eyes met his. “The CDC has been called in.”

  “Motherfuck.” Footfalls silent, Mac skirted the table edge and stopped beside Sloan. Aquamarine eyes on the screen, he shook his head. “Not good. Center for Disease Control—they’ve called in the big boys.”

  Forge joined the party, setting up shop opposite Mac. “Which means the doctors donnae know what it is.”

  Flanked by the wonder twins, Sloan blew out a breath. “Fifteen cases so far. All in the hospital now. But if the humans don’t know the cause of the outbreak—”

  Bastian growled. “Myst won’t know what it is either.”

  “Bad news.” Arms crossed over his chest, Rikar leaned his hip against the end of the table and threw B a worried look. “Ivar’s doing?”

  “Could be. Good guess.” Palming the back of his neck, Bastian bowed his head and pressed down. Classic move. No mercy either. Hell, Venom could practically hear the muscles bracketing Bastian’s spine squawking from five feet away. Typical of B. Pain focused him. So a nasty stretch with a healthy dose of discomfort? Always an effective stress reliever. “The bastard’s a microbiologist. He knows how to put lethal viral loads together and—”

  “The best way to infect a human’s immune system. How to ensure maximum infection rates to inflect major damage,” Rikar said, finishing B’s thought.

  “Might go worldwide,” Forge said. “Result in a big death toll.”

  “Christ.” Skimming both hands over his skull-trim, Rikar pushed away from the table and pivoted full circle. He looked straight at Venom. “We need to get into this.”

  A simple sentence. Harmless on its own. Huge when put together with a biological weapon released into the wilds of human society. Which meant . . .

  Message sent.

  Venom received it just fine. “We aren’t doing anything. Not until I check it out first.”

  Wariness sparked in B’s gaze. Green eyes glittering in the low light, his commander eyeballed him.

  Venom met the perusal head-on, refusing to back down.

  “Okay, Ven. You’re on,” B said, relenting, giving him the go-ahead even though it meant sending him into a human town alone. First in. Last out. Kind of like the US Marines. “We’ll take the day. Rest up, take a look at any new data Sloan collects before sunset, then fly to Granite Falls.”

  On board with the plan, Wick murmured his assent.

  “Good.” Expression thoughtful, Rikar scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Stubble rasped against his fingernails. “We’ll set up a perimeter—seven, maybe ten miles outside of town. Wait for Venom to clear the scene. Once he green-lights it, we’ll—”

  “Wait a second.” Brows drawn tight, Mac stared at him. He frowned. Venom smoothed his expression. No sense giving the game away. Smart with an extra helping of curious, the ex-cop would figure it out soon enough. But as Mac shifted focus to drill Rikar with a serious look, then turned to glare at Wick, Venom struggled to keep amusement at bay. His usual silent self, no help on the find-a-clue front, Wick didn’t say a word. Silence swelled. Playing another round of visual merry-go-round, Mac’s gaze bounced over the group, nailing each warrior before he gave up and scowled at Bastian. “No way we’re sending him in there, B. Humans are dropping like flies. Whatever bug Ivar’s cooked up could be contagious to Dragonkind.”

  Wick snorted.

  Rikar grinned.

  Mac frowned harder. “What the hell am I missing?”

  “Ven’s a venomous dragon, Mac. One of the most powerful of his kind,” Sloan said, as though the tidbit of information explained everything.

  It did . . . in a way.

  Not that Mac knew it. At least, not yet.

  New to Dragonkind, the new boy still had a lot learn. Raised in the human world and outside a pack, Mac lacked the fundamentals—a lifetime of education, all the information needed to understand their kind. All right, so Mac excelled in combat. Was more than kick-ass when it counted, but knowledge required more than know-how. It required classroom time too. As the male’s mentor, Forge would ensure Mac completed the handbook—thick-paged monstrosity that it was—but until then, he’d remain a few pallets shy of a full load on the information front.

  So today’s lesson? A rundown on the unique subsets of Dragonkind.

  Each subset carried different DNA markers that ensured a myriad of talents. As a frost dragon, Rikar commanded ice and snow, the wind and weather too. Mac, freak show that he was, controlled water. Wick and Forge shared an element—fire, although each warrior wielded it in different ways. Forge’s exhale combined fire and scale-eating acid. Wick, on the other hand, was a lava dragon—his weapon of choice a fireball with three layers of lethal that sent Razorbacks running. Sloan, however, broke the mold, spinning talent in new and interesting directions. An earth dragon with scorpion venom in his exhale, the Nightfury IT genius harnessed the energy of the earth, controlling plant life, whipping sand into raging storms, controlling animals when necessary. And Bastian? His commander outdid them all. A lightning dragon, B unleashed his freaky, neurotoxic exhale on a regular basis, zapping enemy soldiers and . . . ahem, frying urban electrical grids on more than one occasion.

  Last but not least—him.

  A venomous dragon, he was so poisonous anything he came into direct contact with died. Sometimes slowly. Other times within seconds. Zip. Bang. Gone. Toxicity without limitation or end—skin and bone, muscles and blood, every cell in his
body venomous from the inside out. Which explained the short timeframe he adhered to with the fairer sex. Too much of him and a female would become ill. Prolonged contact meant certain death for her and a truckload of guilt for him. All in the past. Enter the future. With Evelyn in the picture, he could touch and taste—spend as much time as he wanted—without fear of hurting her, even a little bit.

  Thank God.

  Finally. Someone to call his own. Someone to spoil. Someone to hold, lounge in bed with after bone-melting sex instead of making a fast exit in the aftermath.

  Clearing his throat, Venom broke the stalemate. “Probably should know something about me, Mac.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m toxic,” he murmured, surprised when the admission didn’t bother him. It had for as long as he could remember. Then again, he hadn’t had hope then. No faith either. With a single encounter, Evelyn had restored both without even knowing it. Walking around to join Sloan on the other side of the table, he palmed Mac’s shoulder. The move was all about reassurance. And surprise, surprise? Mac accepted it without hesitation. “So poisonous, there isn’t a biohazard, pathogen, contagion . . . whatever . . . that can infect me. Safest bet is to send me into Granite Falls first. If I can locate the source of the virus, I can kill it.”

  Mac raised a brow. “Preventing any more humans from becoming infected.”

  “Exactly,” Forge murmured, giving Mac a playful shove.

  As the new boy cursed, Bastian smiled. “Sun’s up, boys. Daimler’s waiting for us. Grab some grub, then get some shut-eye. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  Good plan.

  But as the boys bugged out, heading toward the dining room and the promise of the Numbai’s cooking like a pack of wild dogs, Venom grabbed Sloan’s shirtsleeve. In the process of shutting down his computer, his buddy paused. Dark eyes met his a second before Sloan raised a brow.

  “Got a minute?” he asked, watching the last Nightfury disappear into the dining room.

  One hand curved over the top of his laptop, Sloan tipped his chin. “What do you need?”

  “Info.”

  “About what?”

  “A female.”

  “On the hunt, are you?” When he shrugged, Sloan’s mouth curved. With a flick of his fingers, he powered the MacBook Air back up and opened a search window. “Name?”

  “Evelyn Victoria Foxe,” he said, feeling self-conscious. All kinds of guilty too. Venom grimaced. Shit. He shouldn’t be digging into her life. It felt too much like spying. Like an invasion of her privacy, but well . . . hell. Compulsion kept yanking his chain. Worry and suspicion too. Something was off. Very, very wrong. Nothing else explained her presence inside the Luxmore tonight—never mind her reason for being there. She was in trouble. Was afraid of something or maybe—Venom frowned—being threatened by someone. “Foxe with an e.”

  “You looking for anything in particular?”

  “How about everything you can find.”

  Sloan nodded. “Give me a minute.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Indulging in a shoulder roll, Venom attacked his tension. Tired muscles sighed, enjoying the stretch as he fiddled with blue chalk sitting on the narrow lip of the billiard table. Turning the cube over in his hand, he glanced toward the wall of windows. Alive with magic, the glass rippled like black water, washing against steel frames, reminding him Evelyn was out there. Somewhere. Alone in daylight. Clenching his teeth, he reached for patience. Dragon sense pinpoint sharp, he listened to the quick click of computer keys and—

  “Twenty-eight years old. Of African-American descent. Entered college early, graduated summa cum laude at twenty-one.” His focus locked on the screen, Sloan scrolled through a page of information. “A forensic accountant. A skilled one too, by the look of this and . . . ah, man. She lost her job three months ago.”

  “I know.” Dragging his gaze from the shifting glass, Venom turned toward his friend. A quick side step, and he set up shop next to his buddy. His eyes landed on a screen full of information. “She told me.”

  “Did you know her firm was part of the Amsted scandal? The company filed for bankruptcy. Top-level executives are under investigation . . . legal action pending.”

  Well now, that explained a lot, didn’t it? Like why Evelyn hadn’t found another job. With her qualifications, finding new employment should’ve been a snap. Instead, she remained unemployed three months out. “What else?”

  Index finger poised over the trackpad, Sloan frowned. “Huh, that’s weird.”

  “Show me.”

  His friend pointed to the screen of financial information. “She liquidated everything. And I mean everything, Ven. Sold her condo downtown. Her Audi A6 too. All kinds of stuff on eBay as well . . . clothes, handbags, sunglasses. You name it, she unloaded it. I’m surprised there’s anything left in her closet.”

  “Bank accounts?”

  “Empty. She withdrew all her savings—$38,000 dollars’ worth—five months ago.”

  “Goddamn it.” Unease hit Venom like a runaway train. “I figured she was in trouble but . . .”

  As he trailed off, Sloan glanced at him. “Looks like it could be the serious kind.”

  “Yeah, the owe-someone-scary-a-lot-of-money kind.” Venom cursed under his breath. The three grand he’d given her tonight pretty much assured it. “Got a current address on her?”

  “Let’s see where she forwarded her mail.” Within seconds, Sloan hacked the US Postal Service firewall. He typed Evelyn’s full name into the system’s search engine. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “Not good,” Sloan murmured. “She lives in Granite Falls . . . 2301 Church Street.”

  Venom’s heart stalled mid-beat, then dropped into his stomach. “No—no way. Check again. Run it again, Sloan.”

  Muttering a curse, Sloan retraced his cyber steps. The same address popped onto the screen. Venom stared at it, then shook his head. His throat went tight. Pressure expanded between his temples, rising like a tsunami inside his head. Alarm for her rode the wave, making his mind race and his heart sink as Sloan ran the info again. But double- and triple-checking wouldn’t change a thing, much less cure his unease.

  If Sloan was right, something nasty was unfolding in Granite Falls. A potentially life-threatening event. One he’d let Evelyn return to tonight. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known. What mattered now was his ability to keep her safe. The kicker, though? The absolute hell of it all? He couldn’t do that now. Or go after her.

  Not while the sun rose and deadly UV rays ruled.

  “Call her.” Gaze glued to the phone number listed below her address, he grabbed Sloan’s shoulder. “Call her, Sloan. Text her . . . whatever. Just reach her—right now.”

  “Hang on,” his friend said, pulling up an Internet call service.

  The computer speaker crackled. A dial tone sounded a second before Evelyn’s phone rang. Six rings in and—

  Her voice mail kicked in.

  Sloan tried again.

  Same result. No answer. Just an automated message on the other end of the line.

  Concern pounded through him. Fear picked up the thread, slamming his heart against the inside of his breastbone. Venom shook his head. Okay. Stay calm. No need to freak out. At least, not yet. She could be sleeping. Her ringer could be turned off. Maybe she was simply ignoring her phone. Any number of possibilities fit the scenario. But as his throat went tight, and Venom backed away from the billiard table, he forced himself to face the truth.

  Forge had been right.

  And he’d been wrong. He never should have let her go.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On-point and ahead of the pack, Gage slipped around a blind corner. Dragon senses sharp, he settled into a crouch and listened hard. Nothing. No faint noises at either end of the subterranea
n corridor. No enemy soldiers hiding in shadowed alcoves. No sound at all. Just the chaotic beat of his own heart. Taking a deep breath, he forced the blood rush to slow. Calm. Even. Ever-steady. The ultimate trifecta, pillars of a solid plan as he moved into the teeth of the unknown.

  Danger around every corner. Outnumbered inside an enemy lair. Trapped underground. Still no exit in sight.

  Gage clenched his teeth. Screwed seemed like a better word to use right now. Unlucky might be worth his vote too, but well—fuck it. He couldn’t change the circumstances and erase the last six days. His colossal screwup aside—the fact he hadn’t seen the ambush coming—wasn’t worth the brain power.

  Neither was second-guessing himself.

  Not if he wanted to stay alive long enough to get out of enemy territory.

  Scanning the short corridor, he hunted for pitfalls, then shuffled along its length. Cold stone chilling his bare feet, he slipped around the next corner. Illumination bloomed at the end of the hallway. The swath sliced through the darkness, drawing straight lines across slimy stone walls. The light blinded him for a moment. His eyes adjusted, downgrading the glow, giving him the lay of the land and—

  About fucking time.

  Just what he’d been searching for—a way out of the labyrinth. The end of the line. His escape route in the shape of a small open-ended foyer. Narrow on his end, the entryway flared out at the other, opening into a much larger space. Staying low, Gage crept toward the open expanse. His back to the wall, he paused on the lip of the vestibule.

  A loading dock stretched out in front of him.

  His mouth curved. Jackpot. God bless good luck. An island of concrete, at least sixteen feet of cover. But even better? The barricade created by a pile of supplies. Stacked like Lego blocks, wooden crates sat in a straight line, rising as visual impediments from the edge of the platform. The huge pile of canvas bags marked “Laundry” helped too, looking more like sandbags in a bunker than reams of clean sheets on the other side of the dock. And beyond the supply-the-manor stack? An enormous garage, complete with a lineup of vehicles. He scanned the space again. Hmm, lovely: Maseratis, Lamborghinis, Audis, and BMWs parked in neat rows, high-gloss paint sparkling beneath the watchful eye of industrial-grade lights.