“Awhile,” he said, wondering how to start the conversation. Ease into the subject? Blurt it out and hope for the best? Excellent questions. Both valid approaches, although—Venom swallowed—despite his nervousness, leaping in and getting it over with sounded like a better strategy. At least, right now. With Evelyn less than an arm’s length away, the most direct route held more promise. Was way more expedient considering Evelyn didn’t have a stitch on. Naked, soft, and warm beneath the covers—his favorite combo when it came to his female. Holding her gaze, he shoved uncertainty away, took a fortifying breath, and jumped in with both feet. “Did I scare you last night?”
“No.” Evelyn frowned. “Not really, but . . .”
“But?”
Straight white teeth flashed against her lower lip. She chewed on it a moment, as though trying to decide, then broke eye contact. The loss made his stomach clench. Trying to read her, he searched her expression. Not much to go on. Even less to reassure him.
A pucker between her brows, she shifted beneath the sheet.
Cotton sighed as she retreated, moving away from him. Venom swallowed his protest. The urge to reach out and stop her jabbed him. He shut down that inclination too. Crowding her wouldn’t get him what he wanted. Neither would holding her prisoner. Then again, allowing her to put more distance between them didn’t seem like the way to go either, but, well . . . hell. He didn’t know what else to do. Or what to say as she reached the edge of the bed, grabbed something off the floor, and stood. He caught a flash of lithe curves—a gorgeous length of her thigh, the taut lushness of her backside, the graceful sweep of her spine—a second before she covered up, wrapping the quilt around her.
His internal alarm system came online.
The warning shrieked inside his head, Venom sat up, but forced himself to stay put. She didn’t want him close right now. He could tell by the look in her eyes. Guarded. Unsure. Maybe even a touch afraid. Swallowing past the knot in his throat, he scanned her face, searching for the reason behind her unease and . . . oh, so not good. Evelyn had the best poker face around. Now he couldn’t get an accurate read on her. Her bio-energy, a perfect match for his, locked him out. Which left him adrift, at sea, unable to read her mind or hook in to her emotions . . . unless she permitted him to. But one thing for sure? Something was wrong.
Really, really wrong.
Her posture—the rigid way she stood—gave him another clue. Her uncertainty, the jumbled tumble of her energy, did the rest, telling him to talk fast and be honest too. Screw his nervousness. Forget his pride. Evelyn needed him to tell her the truth. Lay it all on the line. Otherwise, she’d retreat some more, and he’d lose her for good.
“Evie . . .” Unable to stay still a moment longer, he slid across the mattress. She took a step back. And then another, breaking his heart as the distance between them grew. Not wanting her to feel threatened, each of his movements slow, he sat on the edge of the bed. Sheet bunched at his hips, feet planted on the floor, he leaned forward and, planting his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers together. “Talk to me, mazleiha. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Clinging to the quilt, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “What are we doing, Venom?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is—what’s happening here? Between you and me?” Bare feet brushing over hardwood, she retreated some more, then stopped to adjust the quilt. Securing it beneath her arms, she waved her hand, gesturing to him, then pointing to herself. The move hinted at vulnerability. Of raging insecurity and the helpless need to know. “Are you just playing? Is this all a game to you? Am I just a bit of fun to pass the time before you go back to your world?”
Venom’s chest seized. A bit of fun? Nothing but a game? The thought sent him sideways inside his own head. Temper bled through, making him want to kick his own ass. God. How could she think that? How could she possibly believe that he would—
“Because I’ve got to tell you, if that’s what you’re doing, it’s pretty crappy.”
Venom opened his mouth to respond.
Evelyn cut him off. “And you know what else? I haven’t been playing. Not for a second. From the moment I saw you in that hotel room, I knew something was up. That you were different and, well . . .” Squaring her shoulders, she leveled her chin and stared him down. The look was all about being tough. Acting strong. Telling him off, giving as good as she got. The sheen of tears in her eyes, however, belied her show of strength. Right now . . . in this moment . . . Evelyn wasn’t tough. She was hurting, mired heart-deep in insecurity. “I know the dragon stuff should freak me out. I know it should, but it doesn’t. Nothing about you scares me, Venom, and now, I don’t think I can go back to my life. To the status quo, to normal—whatever that is. I just . . . I don’t think—”
“Jesus, Evie. I would never send you back. Never. I want you with me.” Shoving the covers aside, Venom vaulted off the bed. His feet hit the floor in front of her. He reached out, needing to hold her, wanting to soothe her, desperate to chase her fears away. Raising her hand, she kept him at bay. His chest went tight. Goddamn it. He was losing her. Losing her without knowing why. “What happened last night? What did I do to upset you?”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Looking everywhere but at him, she blinked them away. “You said something.”
“What?”
“That you love me.”
Venom blinked. Well, shit. So much for easing into the whole love-match, mated-for-life thing. “I did?”
“You don’t remember?”
He shook his head.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Yeah, well . . . you were pretty out of it.”
No kidding. He’d been a mess. Ravenous with hunger. Weak from energy overload. Impatient as hell too. But obviously not far gone enough to shy away from the truth.
Gaze riveted to her face, he held out his hand, palm up in invitation. “Come here, Evelyn. I want to tell you something.”
Releasing a shaky breath, she hesitated a second, then complied, bridging the distance to slip her hand into his much larger one. He reeled her in, craving the connection, needing the closeness, and raised his free hand. He traced the curve of her cheek. She turned in to the gentle touch, giving him what he longed for—instant connection, stunning acceptance, the incredible gift of her trust. Sighing in relief, he traced the fine arch of her eyebrow with his fingertip. “Wanna know a secret?”
“Yes,” she whispered, the uncertainty in her eyes breaking his heart.
“I wasn’t lying. I meant it. Every word, Evie,” he said with conviction—with everything he felt for her—in his voice. “I love you.”
Her breath hitched. “God, I was so worried you didn’t . . . that you wouldn’t . . .”
“Wouldn’t what—want you to stay with me?”
She nodded. “We haven’t talked about it, and you haven’t asked me, but I love you too and really want to try, Venom.” A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. Heart so full of her he could hardly breathe, he caught the droplet. He brushed it away, caressing her soft skin as she pressed her palm to his chest. Right over his heart, claiming it by unspoken agreement. “I’d really like to—”
“Stay.” Please stay. He wanted her so badly. Had waited so long to find her. Had loved her an entire lifetime without knowing it. And she loved him back. Now, no matter what happened, he’d never let her go. He needed her in his life—in his bed each morning, in his arms every day, waiting for him to come home at the end of a long night. “Stay with me, Evie.”
“I want to, Venom, but . . .” She smiled through her tears. “You know my life is a mess, right?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” Hooking his arm around her waist, he tugged her closer. She nestled in, her heat and sweet scent a gift as he breathed her in. “In my world, you get a fresh start.”
“With you.”
He nodded. “With me.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finding me,” she said, a hiccup interrupting the words. “For coming after me. For loving me . . . and everything else in between.”
“Sweet love, you were mine from the moment I saw you. And now, I’m yours.” Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss to the curve of her bare shoulder. “I love you, Evelyn. Come home to Black Diamond with me.”
“Love you too.” She grinned against the side of his throat. “When will we go? Today?”
“Tomorrow’s better,” he said, a teasing lilt in his tone. “Right now, I have plans that don’t include traveling.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, more hum than answer. “I’m going to take my time with you. Love you so well, make you come so hard and so often, you forget how to walk. And then . . .”
With a snort, Evelyn retreated enough to look at him. She arched a brow. “And then?”
“I’ll take you home.”
“To meet your family?”
“To initiate you into the Nightfury pack.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“Oh, it is,” he said, fingertips swirling along her back. Her lips parted on a rush of pleasure. Unwrapping her like a gift, he tossed the quilt aside. Soft skin met his. He hummed and sent his hands south to caress the curve of her bare bottom. The sexy sound ramped arousal higher. With a growl, he gripped the back of her knee. He tugged, parting her thighs before lifting her feet off the floor. Satisfaction soared when she took the cue and wrapped her legs around his hips. Turning with her in his arms, he walked toward the bed . . . and an evening full of mutual satisfaction. “Daimler will do a jig of joy and bake cookies in celebration.”
She laughed and slid her hands into his hair. Nails grazing his scalp, she leaned in to tease him with a gentle kiss. Her lips brushed over his. “Okay. I’m in. Two thumbs way, way up.”
His mouth curved.
Praise his good luck. Thank whatever god was listening. He’d found his mate and claimed her for his own. At long last, once and for all. He wasn’t alone anymore. Evelyn had stepped into the breach, filling his heart to bursting. With her laughter and charm. With her grace and beauty. With the wonder of her presence in his arms. Nothing left to do now but hold on tight, treat her right, and celebrate with the female he’d waited his entire life to find.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Three dead. Four injured. A garage full of devastation.
All in all, not a good day.
Boots planted on the edge of the loading dock, Zidane looked over the slaughter. Hunks of twisted steel littered the floor. A veritable rainbow of wreckage—yellow and orange, blue and gray, black, white, and red—lay strewn across scorched concrete. Maseratis dead beside vintage Mustangs. Mercedes mangled beside one-of-a-kind Corvettes. Garage doors blown wide open, right off heavy-duty hinges. Moonlight flooded through gaping holes in the facade, shining a spotlight on the destruction.
He clenched his teeth.
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he skimmed the mess again. His gaze landed on the guard room. Well, at least, what remained of it. Equipped with nothing but the best, his favorite Dodge Ram—the one he’d imported all the way from New Hampshire and waited months to receive—sat in place of the office. Front end smashed against the back wall. Truck bed bent beyond repair. Office walls half destroyed. The Ram’s rear tires hovering above crushed gypsum and shattered windowpanes. A hint of smoke and the smell of motor oil hung in the air, driving the truth home.
He’d screwed up. In unforgivable ways.
Rage rumbled through him. The burn spread, raging like wildfire, knotting his muscles as regret sped through his veins. Pressure built between his temples. Discomfort expanded. Swallowing a curse, Zidane funneled the flow, channeling fury in more productive directions. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. Neither would losing himself in heart-wrenching loss.
Brows drawn, he toed a shard of debris with his boot. Glass skittered across concrete, clanging against a chunk of steel, joining the buzz of industrial fluorescents. His throat went tight. Kristus. His best friend lay dead. Was nothing but a pile of ash now. Much like the collection of automobiles inside his palatial home.
Entirely his fault.
One hundred percent his mess to clean up too.
Asshole Nightfuries. Bane of his existence.
Literally. No word of a lie.
He couldn’t escape the bastards. Inside his home. Around the dinner table. While attending the fights at the club every week. No matter where he went, he lived with his sire’s paranoia. The yakety-yak-yak never stopped. Morning, noon, and night, it went on and on . . . and on—Bastian this, the Nightfury pack that. Ivar, and the problems brewing a world away in Seattle. Rodin’s preoccupation bordered on obsessive. One driven by fear—and the sure knowledge that if Bastian made a play for the Archguard, it would be over. Done. Close up shop and call it a decade. No matter how powerful, Rodin wasn’t well loved and couldn’t compete. Not with the likes of the Nightfury commander. Hence his sire’s unhealthy fixation and the never-ending chatter. All the warnings too.
Which meant he didn’t have an excuse.
Not a real one anyway.
He’d heard the cautionary tales for years. Never trust a Nightfury. The only good Nightfury is a dead one. How many times had he listened to his sire say things like that? A hundred? A thousand? Hovno, he didn’t know. He’d lost count eons ago. Scowling at a decapitated Porsche Spyder, Zidane blew out a long breath. He should’ve known better. Ferland had been lethal in a fight, but, well, not the brightest Skittle in the pack. He swallowed a snarl. Another mistake to lay at his feet. He never should’ve asked his friend to handle Gage on his own.
And Osgard? An image of the male rose in his mind’s eye.
Zidane bared his teeth. “Traitor.”
The hiss in his voice slithered over the wreckage. Fucking youngling. The playback of video footage damned the brat, branding him a traitor in picture-perfect quality. He’d led the Nightfuries to freedom. Shown them the way through the underground tunnels. Set up members of his own pack—allowed their slaughter—while jumping ship to join another. The realization should’ve surprised him. Somehow, though, it didn’t. Osgard might’ve been his favorite plaything—fun to torture, great to bend to his will—but the male wasn’t easy. The brat had never broken. Or begged for mercy. He’d remained silent instead, fighting his possession without ever saying a word.
He frowned.
Guess he should’ve paid better attention. If he had, Osgard would already be dead, instead of out there . . . somewhere . . . providing insider information to the Nightfury pack and—
Broken glass crackled against concrete behind him.
The sharp sound rose in the quiet.
The deep voice followed, making his skin tingle. “Zidane.”
Dragging his attention from the wreckage, Zidane glanced over his shoulder. Eyes more black than brown met his. “Father.”
Dressed in a dinner jacket, expression set in hard lines, Rodin shook his head. Shined to a high polish, his wing-tip shoes gleamed as he picked his way through the debris and walked across the loading dock. Speculation in his dark eyes, he stopped beside him. Six inches shorter, a great deal slighter of frame, his sire broke eye contact to take in the destruction.
Zidane tensed, but remained silent. No sense speaking before spoken to. His sire enjoyed claiming the first word. Fine by him. Rodin could have it. Every. Single. Time. Zidane always preferred having the last word anyway.
His sire raised a brow. “Care to explain?”
“The bastards had help, but the fault is mine,” he said, owning the mistake. Much as he hated to admit guilt, he refused to back away from the truth. The Nightfury escape—the responsibility along with the failure—sat squar
ely on his shoulders. “I underestimated Gage.”
“Will you make the same mistake again?”
“No.” Conviction rang in his tone. Rage made another appearance, making a home inside his heart. Zidane rolled his shoulders, easing the tension, fighting the seductive pull of anger, and cleared his mind. He needed a plan. A good one. Something to feed his sire and keep the peace. Mind churning, he searched for an angle and . . . hmm. Yes. That one would do. Huge bark. Brutal amount of bite. A strategy full of retaliatory effect. Exactly what he required to soothe the leader of the Archguard’s pride. “Give me a second chance, Father. Allow me to make it right.”
“How?”
“By going after them.”
“Where are the Nightfuries now?”
“Gone,” he said. “We tracked the Bentley to an airstrip twenty miles from here. The bastards boarded a private jet long before we got there.”
“With Nian?”
“Osgard too.”
“A problem.” Worry in his eyes, Rodin frowned. “Nian knows too much. Bastian will use him against us.”
“Maybe, but not if we strike first.” Zidane tipped his chin toward the mess. “See all this? Tremendously useful. A perfect way to discredit Nian before he points a finger at us. If we can link him to the Nightfury pack, we can frame Bastian. No one knows about Scotland, so—”
“We twist the truth to our advantage.” A consummate strategist, his sire stared at him. His eyes narrowed in thought. “Inform the high council of the attack. Say that the murder of my personal guard was an attempt on my life and that Bastian ordered the hit in hopes of overthrowing the Archguard. Demand the entire Nightfury pack be charged with treason.”
“Reinstate Xzinile, Father, and we will have the law on our side.”
“And a clear shot at Bastian.”
“Sanctioned assassination . . . signed, sealed, and delivered,” Zidane murmured, eagerness in his voice. He couldn’t help it. Or stem the tide of anticipation. Just the thought of getting his hands on Gage again sent his mind reeling. Oh, the possibilities . . . all the lovely possibilities. “No one need know about the kidnapping.”
Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) Page 35
