Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  Gage growled in satisfaction.

  Come one. Come all. He had his pick of the litter.

  Moving as fast as his injuries allowed, Gage slipped across the loading dock. He studied the fancy sports cars, then shook his head. None of the two-seaters fit Osgard’s description. He assessed the collection again. Shit. Not good. He couldn’t see a—

  His gaze skipped over a Bentley, then came right back.

  Bingo. Just what the escapee ordered. Vehicular perfection dressed up in shiny black paint. Yeah. No doubt about it. The Bentley sitting in the ninth row was the one Rodin used during the day. Blacked-out rear windows. Reinforced steel body designed for protection. A big V-8 engineered for speed under the hood. Eyes narrowed, Gage studied the setup. Three industrial-size garage doors occupied the opposite side of the building. No impediments between the Bentley and the middle door.

  Perfect. Absolutely brilliant. One exit point dead ahead. One escape now in full swing. Time to see if he had any company inside the garage.

  Hitting his haunches beside the first crate, he raised his hand and made a fist. Halfway across the foyer, Haider took the cue. His friend relayed the message, clenching his own hand, warning Osgard and Nian to stop. The shuffle of footfalls quieted behind him. Another hand signal told the males to stay put.

  Without making a sound, Gage shifted right and peered around the corner of the crate. His skin brushed against rough plywood. Pain punched through. The burn marks on his chest squawked, causing a chain reaction. He flinched, fighting the backlash as anguish pushed him one step closer to weakness. He shoved back, refusing to stop, ignoring the slide into exhaustion in favor of looking on the bright side.

  So far, so good.

  Nothing to worry about yet. No movement inside the large bay beyond the loading dock. Mathematical mind churning, he searched the space and made some quick calculations. A grid flared inside his head, drawing lines, charting a course, giving him approximate dimensions of the garage. One hundred and twenty feet wide, sixty feet deep . . . ceiling height, thirty feet, give or take. Giving up his vantage point, he crab-crawled to the other end of the crates. Poised at the corner, he looked both ways and, ignoring the pain, hobbled behind the pile of canvas bags.

  Nothing moved. No one shouted. No alarm bells went off either.

  He released a pent-up breath and got ready to—

  Heavy footfalls sounded, pinging off steel to reach the high ceiling. A door slammed somewhere to his right. Male voices followed. Gage tensed. Ah, hell. Too little, too late. Archguard watchdogs, returning from the morning meal.

  Gage slid lower, using the laundry bags for cover.

  “I’ll make the rounds,” one of the guards said. “Put on a fresh pot, would you?”

  “Got some whiskey,” guard two said, from the other side of the garage. Keys rattled. Metal rasped against metal. Hinges squeaked as a door opened. “Want a splash in your coffee?”

  “Sure,” the first male murmured, stopping beside the loading dock. Gage bit down on a curse. No more than five feet away. The bastard had just set up camp on his doorstep. A lighter flicked. Once. Twice. A third time before the male inhaled hard. Cigarette smoke drifted up from the other side of the canvas barricade, making his nose twitch. “Make mine a double.”

  A third male chimed in. “Game’s on.”

  “Sounds good,” another said, stopping next to the male sucking on a cancer stick. “Can I bum one of those?”

  The lighter flicked again. More smoke wafted up from the other side of the laundry bags as the enemy exhaled at the same time.

  “Where’s the fucking remote?” a fifth guy asked, voice full of pissed off.

  “Right here.” A thump echoed as another entered the conversation. “Jesus. What are you—blind?”

  Gage swallowed a curse. That made six. Six enemy soldiers, two camped on his doorstep, less than three feet away, another four somewhere across the garage. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Haider drilled him with intense silver eyes.

  “Get ready,” Gage murmured, holding his friend’s gaze, listening to enemy chatter. “We’re fighting our way out.”

  “Say when.”

  “Give it a minute. I want the others inside the office before I make a move,” he said, glancing over the top of the pile. Leaning against the loading dock, the guards stood shoulder to shoulder, each busy filling his lungs with carcinogens. “Killing two guards quietly I can do. Six at once, on the other hand?”

  “Yeah.” Flexing his fists, Haider inched forward, trying to get a better look. “Too much noise.”

  Gage nodded. “At least one will get to the alarm before I get to him.”

  “Shit.”

  No kidding. The perfect word to use. Shitty about summed it up, considering the situation. Six healthy males against three injured ones and a youngling.

  Not great odds.

  Gage didn’t care. He moved instead.

  Pace quick, feet quiet, he shifted toward the lip of the loading dock. His gaze ran the gauntlet, roaming the walls, searching for more pitfalls. Anything that might trip him up before he leapt into the open. Motion detectors? Trip wires? An alarm system complete with laser sensors? He needed to know before he took out the guards . . . without making a sound. The skill always came in handy. His brothers-in-arms loved him for it. The enemy? Not so much. Then again, the bastards never heard him coming, so . . .

  He never heard any complain.

  The thought made him smile. His bloodthirsty nature urged him to unleash. Let loose. Deliver hell to those standing between him and freedom. Bowing his head, Gage closed his eyes and visualized the kill. Each move. Every detail. The sight, sound, and smell as he became a predator and protected the males at his back.

  His nostrils flared. He cranked both fists in tight.

  “On the count of three,” he murmured, giving Haider a heads-up. “I’ll take out both guards, then we make a run for—”

  “No need,” Nian rasped, inching onto the loading dock. “The bastards won’t see us.”

  Gage blinked in surprise. “They’ll sense us the second I move.”

  “No, they won’t. I’m an illusionist. Once I set the spell, no Dragonkind male can detect me.” Gritting his teeth, Nian belly crawled behind the wooden crates. Osgard picked up the slack, helping the male to cross the open space. One eye on the guards, Gage waved the duo forward. The pair came in for a smooth landing next to him. Nian grunted as the kid let him go, but managed to stay upright. “I’ll create an invisibility bubble. Stay close to me and you’re covered.”

  Crouched behind the pair, Haider studied Nian a moment, then met Gage’s gaze over the top of the male’s head. The look spoke volumes. Gage picked up the thread along with its meaning. His friend was right. Zidane had done a number on Nian: blackened both his eyes, broken five of his fingers, driven spikes through chest and thigh muscles, taken a blowtorch to his spine, burning his skin to a crisp. Now the male suffered. Was in so much pain, he could hardly move, never mind think straight.

  “You’re in bad shape, Nian,” Gage said, tone soft as he assessed the male again. Fuck. It was worse than he’d thought. Nian’s bio-energy dipped low, moving into single digits. Which meant Nian needed to feed . . . and soon. “You’re not strong enough to—”

  “My magic will hold long enough to get us to the car.”

  Looking for a second opinion, he glanced at Haider.

  His friend nodded, confirming the play.

  “Move on my signal.” Turning toward the staircase, Gage rechecked his position. Steps off the loading dock to his left, Rodin’s lackeys to his right. Less than five feet away now, one of the guards drew another cigarette from the pack in his hand. The lighter clicked. Flame rose. Smoke followed in a gray curl, drifting over the guard’s head toward the ceiling. “Good to go
. Fire it up, Nian.”

  “Keep ahold of me, Osgard,” Nian whispered, dropping mind-speak to include the youngling in the conversation. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

  Osgard nodded.

  Calling on his talent, Nian inhaled slow, then exhaled smooth. Multicolored eyes the color of opals started to glow. Magic flared in the center of Nian’s palms. Power bled into the open air. One second flowed into the next. A bitter chill slithered in to surround the group. The male murmured. The spell rose, sucking at Gage’s skin, rubbing his nerve endings raw as the invisibility bubble expanded. Warm air warped around him. Displacement rippled, then smoothed out, wrapping each male in a spell so strong it obliterated all trace of life. His heart stalled, pausing inside his chest as he and the others disappeared into thin air.

  Cold clawed at him. Gage stifled a shiver. “Holy fuck.”

  “Told you.” Satisfaction winged across Nian’s battered face.

  Gage snorted. “Gloat later—move now.”

  Testing the invisibility spell, Gage pushed to his feet. He took a step toward the staircase. Neither guard looked his way. He took another, and then a third. No shift at all. Hell, the bastards didn’t even twitch. No movement from inside the small office across the garage either. Clear windows revealed four males sitting around a beat-up table. Eyes glued to a TV, the clueless quadruplets watched a soccer match. Orange and green uniforms flashed across the flat screen. Gage frowned.

  Germany versus the Netherlands, maybe.

  Not that he cared. The game didn’t matter.

  He was too busy navigating the stairs, descending on silent feet, stepping onto the garage floor, hoping like hell Nian held it together. Sparing a second, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Osgard met his gaze.

  Gage tipped his chin, asking without words for an update. Arm muscles straining, the kid readjusted his grip on Nian, but nodded, reassuring him. Gage blew out a measured breath. Fantastic. Everybody was on track. So was his trajectory. A few more car bumpers to bypass—ten, fifteen feet tops—and he’d be home free. Next to the Bentley. Seconds from firing up the engine. Mere moments from slipping inside and putting the pedal to the floor.

  Focus split, he kept one eye on the assholes in the office, and the other on the males blowing smoke rings. Skirting a bright-orange Ferrari, Gage turned into the fifth row and slipped down the aisle. Muscle cars sat beside expensive European models. Every color of the rainbow. Waxed steel. Curved lines. Shiny chrome. A mechanic’s wet dream, which, naturally, made him yearn for home. For the comfort of Black Diamond and the two thousand square feet of heaven the Nightfury warriors called “the garage” . . . and he called his bedroom. One hundred percent his domain. Every tool known to mankind under one roof.

  The Corvette he rebuilt last summer sprang to mind.

  He shoved the mental image aside, stuffing it into the back corner of his brain. Later. He’d think about the gorgeous ZR1 later. Think about driving her again too, but only after he’d gotten everyone to safety.

  The guard took another drag from his cigarette.

  The cloaking spell flexed. Magic wavered. Chilly air rippled, flickering around him. Nian gasped. The invisibility shield shattered, making him visible to enemy eyes. He ducked between two muscle cars. With a curse, Osgard shoved Nian to the floor behind him. Belly down beside a tire, Gage glanced over his shoulder. Nian crumpled, the shimmer in his eyes dying along with the spell as Haider dove for cover. His friend landed with a thump. Palms slapped against concrete.

  Sharp sound ricocheted, cracking through the quiet.

  One of the guards shifted. He dropped his cigarette, then ground it out beneath his boot sole. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” the other answered. “You go that way. I’ll check the doors.”

  Bleeding from a cut above his eye, Nian shook his head. “I’m too weak. I can’t get it back. I can’t—”

  “Shit.” So much for trusting the namby-pamby.

  He should’ve gone with his gut and killed the guards. Quickly. Quietly. Like he’d wanted to when he’d had the chance. Now, he was out of time. Hemmed in between two cars, little room to maneuver, listening to enemy males make the rounds. Boots thumped in the quiet. Each stride brought both guards closer by the second. Staying low, Gage army crawled down the aisle. Parked on his right, the Bentley acted like a mirror, shiny black body reflecting guard number one. Seven rows away. The enemy male kept coming, striding in front of the car bumpers, checking each row. Shifting into a crouch beside the Bentley, Gage popped up to glance through the driver’s side window.

  Unlocked. Keys lying like a gift in the center console.

  “Haider.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Got any juice left?”

  Haider hummed, more growl than purr. “Enough to start some trouble.”

  “Get ready. On my mark . . .” Trailing off, Gage rechecked the guard’s position, then cupped the Bentley’s rear door handle. With a gentle tug, he popped the latch. The door eased open on well-oiled hinges. He listened to the guard approach his hiding spot. Twenty feet away. Four rows to go. He met the kid’s gaze, dropped mind-speak, and whispered, “Osgard—the second I move, get Nian into the backseat.”

  “Can you drive?” the kid asked, mouthing the question.

  “Excellent question,” Haider said.

  “With my eyes closed,” Gage said, ignoring Haider, hoping he wasn’t lying. Hurting almost as much as Nian, his bio-energy ebbed, flirting with critical. “I can handle sunlight.”

  “How much?” Nian asked, looking more dead than alive. “And for how long?”

  “Twenty minutes.” Gage tensed as the guard paused two rows away. “Half an hour tops before I—”

  “Go blind.” Haider snarled. The nasty sound spiraled, raking the inside of his temples. “It’s too risky, Gage. Let Osgard drive. Sunlight won’t hurt him.”

  A load of fuck you locked in his throat, Gage didn’t answer. He popped the driver’s side door without making a sound instead. Haider cursed. Footfalls echoed, pinging off garage walls, bringing both guards closer. One eye on the male’s reflection in black paint, Gage counted off the seconds, waiting for the enemy to come within range, turning Haider’s concern over in his head.

  He clenched his teeth.

  Screw his friend’s bright idea. Sure, letting Osgard drive might be safer, but . . . no way could he do it. Putting Osgard in the hot seat amounted to a bad idea. For better or worse, he’d vowed to protect the kid. Not get him killed right out of the gate.

  The thud of footfalls quieted.

  Back pressed to the Bentley’s front door, Gage watched the enemy stop on the other side of the car through the windshield. Kitty-corner to him. Less than a car length away. In range, well within striking distance. Gage drew a deep breath. Brows tight, the guard glanced over his shoulder. He called to his buddy. With a snarl, Gage launched his attack. Legs acting like pistons, he exploded from behind the Bentley. Planting his palm on the roof, he leapt over the hood to reach the guard.

  His jeans scraped over steel.

  Enemy eyes widened in surprise.

  He struck, closing the distance in seconds. His fist connected. Bone cracked against bone, snapping the male’s head to one side. The bastard stumbled backward. Gage didn’t hesitate. He hammered the asshole again. Blood arced, splashing across the windshield. Magic hummed, streaming through his veins as Haider unleashed. Silver bullets whistled through the air, ripping through the second guard’s chest. His body hit the floor behind a muscle car. Gage tightened his grip on the asshole under his control and—

  Crack!

  He snapped the bastard’s neck.

  Violent sound ricocheted. Time lengthened. The enemy ashed out in his hands. As gray flakes exploded around him, he pivoted toward the Bentley. On the move, Osgard shoved Nian into the backse
at. A shout of alarm went up. Movement flashed in his periphery. The soldiers inside the office scrambled to their feet. Chairs flew backward. Metal screeched as wooden seat backs tipped and slammed into the concrete floor.

  An unearthly snarl exploded through the garage.

  Gaze locked on the head guard, Gage leapt over the hood. He landed with a bang beside the driver’s side door. The male transformed, shifting into the dragon form inside the office. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Magic blasted through the garage. Red scales glittered as the enemy roared. Huge fangs gleamed in the bright light. An orange glow grew in the back of the dragon’s throat, forming into a fireball.

  “Haider—” With a mental command, Gage started the engine. The big V-8 snarled, coming to life with a vicious rumble. “Get in the fucking car!”

  Leaping over a Lamborghini, Haider jumped into the backseat. “Go. Go. Go!”

  Gage slammed the driver’s side door with a bang. “Force field.”

  “Up and running,” Haider said.

  Thank fuck. Out of time. Almost out of luck. About to be fried by the enemy with a nasty-ass fireball. Not great in the largest scheme of things. Gage didn’t care. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, he hit the gas, pressing the pedal to the floor. The Bentley screamed and shot forward.

  Tires squealed. The smell of burning rubber infused the air.

  The enemy dragon exhaled.

  A stream of fire rocketed toward the back of the car.

  Haider muttered something obscene. The force field flared, curving around the back of the Bentley. Flames roared toward the back bumper. The fireball slammed into the shield, thrusting the car forward. The rear end fishtailed. The heavy steel frame groaned. Haider held the line, bearing down, shaping the shield, fighting to keep the inferno at bay.

  The enemy dragon inhaled again.

  Digging deep, driving like a demon, Gage called on his own power. Tires screaming against concrete, he opened his mind. Magic crackled, howling inside his head. Magnetic force traveled through his veins, vibrating in warning. He hung on to it a moment, bending his ability, allowing the energy to build inside him. As it reached the pinnacle, he thrust it in all directions. The powerful stream raged around the Bentley. Expensive sports cars blew sky-high. Metal groaned. Enemy males cursed. The dragon dodged to avoid getting a face full of Mercedes Benz.