Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5)

by Coreene Callahan

  “Bloody hell.” Wood groaned as Forge took flight.

  Mac growled. “Seven rogues inbound.”

  “Make that twelve,” Bastian said.

  “Lovely,” Sloan said, sarcasm out in full force. “On my way.”

  “Christ,” Rikar muttered, joining the fray. Snarls rose. Cursing ensued, beating against Venom’s temples. Flipping into a sidewinding spiral, he glanced over his shoulder. Another stream of fire lit up the sky as Nightfury went claw-to-claw with Razorback. “Ven, watch your six. We’re three rogues short over here.”

  “Shit.”

  Flipping up and over, Wick switched sides, setting up shop on Venom’s right. “You feel that?”

  Did he ever. The buzz clawed at his temples. His hackles rose. Evelyn flinched, squirming in his palm as his vibe went from calm to vicious. As she gasped his name, he murmured hers, but didn’t pause to reassure her. No time. Unwise too. He needed to concentrate—stay sharp, act fast, and be deadly. Otherwise, Evelyn wouldn’t make it out alive. And he’d never forgive himself.

  Increasing his wing speed, Venom rocketed out of town. Not long now. Just around the corner. The bastards were setting up an ambush, looking for the best spot to inflict maximum damage. Big mistake. Time equaled distance. And space? He had more than enough now to make the bastards pay. The landscape rolled, moving from urban to rural. High cliffs rose on his right, funneling him into uneven terrain.

  The buzz intensified inside his head.

  Venom fine-tuned the signal. Three rogues lying in wait. Two hundred yards out and closing fast. He bared his fangs and flexed his talons. “Wick?”

  “Locked on.”

  With a snarl, Venom spun into a sidewinding spiral. The quick change in trajectory put him on course. The rogues uncloaked. Wings spread wide, the trio left their hiding spots. Orange, yellow, and blue scales flashed in the gloom. Three targets, three different colors.

  “Divide and conquer.”

  Wick hummed. “I’ll take the two on the right.”

  “Perfect.”

  And it was. Particularly since one rogue offered little challenge. Three against one usually made for better odds. At least, for them. Given a choice, Venom liked to take on four rogues at once. More of a workout that way. Tonight, though, it wasn’t about him. It was about his female. About keeping her safe. About treating her to his protective side—and showing her the difference between good and bad. And that he always landed on the right side of the equation.

  Which put him in her corner. Every. Single. Time.

  Speed supersonic, Venom rocketed into the valley of a deep gorge. Wick engaged with a snarl, cutting off boneheads number one and two behind him. Rogues shrieked in his wake. Venom snarled over his shoulder, baiting asshole number three. The enemy dragon hesitated, hanging in mid-air, trying to decide. Yellow scales blurred into a streak behind him. Come on. Come on. He needed the last of the trio to leave his friends and follow. Divide and conquer. Separate and kill. Always the best strategy and—

  The rogue banked in his direction.

  Fantastic. He had liftoff. One asshole giving chase. Idiots two and three busy with Wick—fighting to stay alive as his friend went to work, taking them apart scale by scale.

  One eye on the male chasing him, the other on mountainous terrain, Venom slowed, allowing the rogue to close the distance. White jets streamed from his horn tips. Evelyn gagged as velocity yanked on her stomach. He wanted to apologize—for so many things. Causing her discomfort. Scaring her into emotional meltdown. Making her shiver in his grasp. But well . . . hell, no chance that would happen. Not right now. Distraction wasn’t a good idea. He needed to stay alert and on-task. Otherwise he’d make a mistake, and Evelyn would end up hurt.

  The thought focused him.

  Eyes narrowed, vicious nature rising, Venom drew her closer. She trembled, but tucked in, pressing her hands to the wall of his chest. Atta girl, he wanted to say. He rocketed around a blind corner instead. Banking hard, he dropped over a steep embankment. Jagged cliffs rose on his right. He dove toward the ground. The rogue followed him over the edge. Venom slowed more and waited. Timing was everything. He must drift in the moment. Allow the enemy dragon the illusion of victory while he rode the razor’s edge and held the angle. Yellow scales flashed as the idiot closed rank behind him. Venom counted off the seconds. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi . . .

  The male took a swipe at him.

  Sharp claws brushed the tip of his tail and—

  Four!

  He torqued into a brutal backflip. The move spun him up and pushed him over. Horned head an inch from the enemy’s spine, he lashed out. His claws caught scales, biting into the dragon’s tail. Warm blood splashed up his forearm. The male squawked in surprise. Without mercy, Venom dug in and whirled full circle. Using his wings, he rotated into a brain-melting spin in mid-air. Wind howled, rushing into the cliff face. Shale took a violent tumble. The mountain rumbled as large sheets of stone slammed into the ground. Idiot number three’s head whiplashed. Evelyn cried out, the sound so terror-filled it knocked against his heart, making it slam into his breastbone.

  Venom spun around again, refusing to relent. He had one chance at a clear shot. A single opportunity to keep her safe. And like it or not, here, right now—this moment—was it.

  Baring his fangs, he spun the enemy again. And again, gaining speed, increasing the mind-twist with each rotation. The male roared in pain, flailing to break free. Whipping around one last time, Venom unfurled his talon. His claws pulled out of flesh, dragged against scales, and . . .

  He let go, throwing the male like a shot put.

  Still spinning, the rogue sped toward the stone wall. Venom saw the whites of his eyes a second before the bastard slammed into the jagged wall. Shaped like a spear, sharp stone cut through the rogue’s back and came out the front. Impaled on rock, hanging from the cliff face, blood gurgled up the male’s throat, then slid down the yellow scales covering his chest.

  Focus locked on the rogue, Venom spread his wings and, slowing, floated in mid-air. The male gasped once, then stopped breathing. An instant later, his enemy disintegrated in an explosion of dragon ash.

  Gray flakes swirled on an updraft of winter wind, sending each one in a different direction. Muscle bunching, Venom gained altitude and flew out of the canyon. His sonar pinged. A familiar signal rose inside his head. His mouth curved. Wick. Right on time. His friend’s unique energy signal throbbed against his temples, reassuring him as he—

  “Venom.”

  “All in one piece. You?”

  “A few scratches. Two dead rogues.” Still a mile away, Wick grunted. “Your female?”

  Venom glanced down and grimaced. God, she was pale. So scared she was a breath away from hyperventilating. “In a tailspin.”

  “Get her home.”

  Good idea. Except for one thing.

  He couldn’t fly toward Black Diamond and stay out of the fray. Not with his brothers engaged in claw-to-claw combat east of Arlington. Radar up and running, he tracked the battle, hooking in to each Nightfury’s life force. Thank God. No one seriously hurt, but his sonar didn’t lie. His pack was still outnumbered three to one. Not bad odds, but with Ivar and Hamersveld in the mix—along with the nasty little wren—the tide could turn quickly.

  “Wick—turn around. Go help B and the others.”

  “You sure?”

  “No sweat,” he said, knowing he was out of danger. No Razorbacks in the vicinity. No reason to worry. “I’ll fly west, then follow the coastline into Seattle.”

  “You’ll stay at the safe house?”

  “Yeah.” It was the better bet. An easier fly too considering the battle in progress between him and home.

  Located in a swanky Seattle neighborhood, the safe house served a serious purpose. Daimler had bought the waterfront propert
y a month ago, spending millions—at Rikar’s behest. A necessary expediture. The house provided a haven of last resort, a place for Angela, Rikar’s mate, to crash when she lost track of time while in investigation mode and couldn’t make it home before nightfall. It had happened more than once. And when it did? Rikar lost his mind, freaking out so fast anyone with half a brain would conclude the world had just ended. Not that he blamed his XO. An HE female out after dark—especially one mated to a Nightfury—spelled big trouble. The kind that arrived with Razorbacks in tow.

  And yet, Venom didn’t blame her for the lapses.

  Hell, he admired Angela for it.

  An ex-SPD detective, she loved her work and was good at it. So skilled at unearthing facts, she now served as the Nightfury chief investigator, helping Sloan monitor the cyber highways, often digging up information that led to great intel and big leads. The biggest of all, though—her white whale . . . the location of Ivar’s new lair—still eluded her. But Venom had faith. Angela would find it eventually—along with the HE females imprisoned in the bastard’s subterranean complex.

  “Twenty minutes max, Wick, and I’ll land in our new backyard.”

  His friend hesitated, staying on course, rocketing toward him. “Ven—”

  “Go.” Wheeling over the thick forest, Venom recalibrated his internal compass and set a course for Seattle. With a murmur, he conjured a cloaking spell and settled into a smooth glide, flying toward the coast and more populated places. “No rogues around. I’ll be fine.”

  “Later, then,” Wick said, raw anticipation in his tone.

  “Be safe.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  Venom snorted. Right. Sure. The word safe didn’t belong anywhere near his friend. Vicious? Unpredictable? Lethal in a fight with his lava-infused exhale and bad attitude? Without a doubt. Throw all three into the pot, give it a good stir, and slap Wick’s name on it, ’cause . . . yeah. The trifecta of nastiness fit the male to perfection. But as he sensed his friend shift direction mid-flight, Venom almost changed his mind and called him back.

  Almost, but not quite.

  He wasn’t a coward. He was a warrior. A powerful one gifted with keen intelligence and the brute strength to back it up. Hell, he’d just KO’d a rogue against a cliff face, for God’s sake. No reason to run scared—or dread Evelyn’s reaction when he set her back on solid ground. Still . . .

  Worry tweaked his tail.

  Venom glanced down at his female.

  Breathing easier now, Evelyn lay prone in his paw. He met her gaze. Brown eyes narrowed on him. The prickle of unease intensified, crawling under his skin. Venom bit down on a curse. Ah, hell. Not good. She was alert, fear fading fast, intellect surfacing hard. Nowhere near her happy place either. She took another deep breath, calming under the influence of his smooth glide. She pursed her lips. Venom smoothed his expression, determined to give nothing away in the face of her rising fury.

  But God, it was hard.

  She hardly knew him. And yet, her no-nonsense stick-it-up-your-craw look cut through all the crap, making him want to squirm. He shut down the urge, but knew her silence wouldn’t last long. Her vibe said it all. The second he landed at the safe house and shifted back into human form, Evelyn would throw down. Ass-plant him like a head of lettuce or something.

  He knew just by looking at her. Guaranteed. No doubt in his mind. Which left him with nowhere to run, a giant bull’s-eye on his back, and an angry female he wanted to placate more than he needed his next breath.

  Shifting fast in flight, Bastian rocketed toward the enemy. Engaged in aerial combat, dragons roared around him. The deafening howls blasted over treetops, giving voice to pain. Adding to the ambiance, he hammered a rogue on the flyby. His claws shrieked against scales. The Razorback snarled at him. Bastian grinned back and, vaulting into a flip, hit him again, pushing the male toward the high bluffs. Dragon blood arced in the moon-glow. The metallic scent met frigid air, joining the smell of fire and brimstone.

  Bastian dug in, sinking his claws deep.

  The rogue spun full circle, desperate to break his hold.

  Good strategy. Fat lot of good it would do the pale-scaled male. Freedom wasn’t an option for the Razorback. Not anymore. The rogue was already trouble. In his sights. Tethered by his talons. Wings now immobilized by his claws. Cut off from help and the greater pack . . . about to lose his life.

  One thing stayed Bastian’s hand—the need for information.

  On board with his plan, Mac and Forge played keep-away, protecting his right flank. Sloan and Rikar fought on the left, holding the line. Bastian bared his fangs. Lovely. Excellent. Perfect in every way. All the time and space he needed to work without interruption. To crack Razorback heads and interrogate each while in mid-air.

  Great in theory. Too bad he had next to nothing to show for it.

  Three rogues down. Not an iota of information.

  And the Razorback in his grasp? No luck yet. He might as well start pulling teeth. Prying scales loose too, ’cause lord knew, the fourth victim wasn’t the charm. No matter how much pain he inflicted, the male refused to talk—or tell him where Ivar had gone. Bastian growled in frustration. Bad timing. Even worse luck. The rogue leader had gotten away—again. For the . . . well, shit. He didn’t know many times. A hundred? A thousand? He gritted his teeth. It felt like millions right now.

  Night after night. Week after week. Year after fucking year.

  Ivar always managed to slip through his net.

  Applying ruthless pressure, he twisted his enemy’s wings. “Where is he?”

  A gasp. A cry of pain. Nothing more. The rogue still refused to answer.

  Bastian folded the male’s wings back another foot. “Tell me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.”

  With a snarl, Bastian adjusted his hold and spun in mid-air. Talons around the back of the male’s skull, he twisted. The rogue thrashed, fighting the lockdown. A brutal wrench of his claws. A single snap, and he broke his neck. The vicious crack echoed. The rogue went limp in his grasp a second before he exploded into dragon ash.

  Gray flakes swirled, blowing in his face.

  Ignoring the blow back, Bastian banked hard, searching for his next target. A white streak rocketed into view. Dialed in, he pinged his best friend. “Rikar, what you got?”

  “Dick-all. No one’s talking. The assholes are loyal, I’ll give ’em that.” Nothing but blur, Rikar blasted past him. Arctic air swirled, dragging snow in his wake. “Any luck on your end?”

  “None. Ivar’s gone. Hamersveld with him.”

  Rotating into a spiral, Rikar settled on his right side. “Fucking hell. We can’t catch a break.”

  No kidding. Bastian cursed under his breath. Same story, different night. “The bastard must have a lucky rabbit’s foot up his ass.”

  His best friend snorted in amusement.

  Gaze locked on Mac and Forge, Bastian shook his head. His mouth curved. Wow. The wonder twins were tearing it up, taking on five rogues at once. And Sloan? Bastian glanced to his left. Nothing but a pinprick against the sky, his warrior flew away from the battle. Frowning, he tracked his friend. His sonar pinged and . . . huh. Strange. Not at all Sloan’s style. The male never left a battle unless forced to break rank.

  Which meant something was off.

  Beyond wrong and headed into dangerous territory.

  Bastian scanned the horizon again, looking for the telltale flash of Sloan’s snow-white paws. A glint drew his eye. The flash of white, dead ahead. Wings spread wide, Bastian put on the brakes. Stretched to capacity, his muscles squawked, protesting the pull.

  Rikar blew by him.

  With a quick shift, Bastian changed direction. “I’m going after Sloan.”

  “I’ve got the wonder twins.” Velocity supersonic, Rikar circled aro
und, looking for an opening between Mac and Forge. Pale gaze narrowed on the Razorback off Mac’s left wing. “Mac—shove over. I’m coming in hot.”

  “Isnae that supposed tae be ‘coming in cold,’ Frosty?” Forge asked, smart-ass attitude reigning supreme. With a grunt, he broadsided a Razorback. Scales rattled. A scream rippled across the night sky, streaming over treetops. “Would hate tae confuse you with—”

  “Asshole Scot,” Rikar said, getting in on the trash talking. “Shut up and get out of my way.”

  Forge huffed, the sound full of enjoyment.

  Mac laughed as he fed a rogue a face full of water spear.

  Leaving the trio behind, Bastian fine-tuned his radar. Unease pricked across scales. He followed Sloan anyway, swinging behind a sheer rock face. Eyes on the rough terrain, he traced jagged hollows and rocky outcroppings. His night vision sparked, allowing him to see everything. Each dip. Every spike. All the nuances. Ancient and deep, thick forest stretched to his left. Huge pines stood beside old oaks, competing for shoulder room along snaking blacktop. Under construction, the highway cut through the wilderness, playing peekaboo between heavy tree limbs and pine cones. Heavy machinery sat alongside patches of ripped-up road, faded pylons glinting orange in the moonlight.

  Bastian clenched his teeth.

  Wonderful. Just terrific. The perfect place to set up an attack—high cliffs on both sides, narrow valley between, little room to maneuver. His brows collided. Freaking Sloan. What the hell was he thinking? No way should the male be sailing into ambush central without someone at his back. Increasing his wing speed, Bastian sent out the call, requesting backup.

  “Still busy.” A grunt echoed through mind-speak. The shriek of claws on scales followed. Rikar hummed a second before bone snapped with a crack. “We’ll finish up and—”

  “Inbound,” Wick said, more snarl than an actual word.

  Bastian’s mouth curved. Well, well, well . . . wouldn’t you know it? Right on time. God love the male. Wick possessed the most impeccable timing. “Venom?”