Fury of Desire (-4

by Coreene Callahan

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been unable to look away. Or allow another male to own her. Touch her. Possess and treat her like a sexual prize.

  Lifting his hand from the leather blotter, he sat back and, reaching beneath the desk edge, fingered the driver’s license he’d wedged under the wooden lip. Lapier thought he’d thrown it away, erasing all trace of her, but he’d been unable to do it. He liked the laminated paper within easy reach. Often flipped it open to look at her picture. To imagine her safe in America, starting a new life with the seed money he’d provided. But as his fingertips ghosted over the crisp fold and he held Bastian’s gaze, Nian knew he should throw it away… burn it along with the file folder in his floor safe, the one that held all her personal information.

  Keeping a piece of her, after all, was foolhardy, not to mention dangerous.

  As dangerous as the warrior pack seated in Seattle.

  “How long have you been spying on me?” he asked, feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner. Hell, Bastian no doubt had someone watching him right now.

  “Long enough to know you bought a first-class ticket out of Prague. Question is… who was on the plane? Not you, so…” Bastian raised a brow. “The flight landed in New York. You want me to do some digging? Check passenger manifests? Track travel plans stateside? I can send a couple of warriors to—”

  “Stay away from her,” he growled, rage lighting his fuse.

  “She mean that much to you?”

  Nian stayed silent, a warning in his eyes. He understood Bastian’s intent… received the message loud and clear. The bastard wanted him to know he wasn’t invulnerable, that anyone could be gotten to with the right amount of leverage. And Bastian—clever tactician that he was—knew how to crank the hell out of it. But if the Nightfury warriors went anywhere near Grace, Nian would show no mercy. He’d use every ounce of power he possessed to level the Nightfury pack. Alliance be damned. She deserved a fresh start, and he hadn’t saved her life—and risked his own in the doing—to turn around and thrust her back into danger.

  “All right,” Bastian murmured, watching him closely. “But the offer stands. We don’t hurt females, Nian. If she gets into trouble… needs help… let me know. My pack is closer, able to reach her faster.”

  Nian should’ve appreciated the offer. It pissed him off instead. If Grace got into trouble, he’d jump the pond to ensure her safety. No one else would be involved, and the Nightfury commander would be the last to know.

  Done with the bullshit, Nian challenged the warrior threatening him. “You done screwing around? Can we get back on point now?”

  A slow smile spread across Bastian’s face. The amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as we understand each other.”

  “No doubt of that,” Nian said, anger mixing with respect. Bold bastard. Whatever else his claim to fame, Bastian knew how to operate, and as much as it chafed Nian to admit it, he admired the warrior for it. “I’m almost positive Rodin and Ivar are in league together. All the income from the fight clubs and slave auctions… and there is a lot of it… isn’t hitting his personal accounts. It’s being funneled elsewhere.”

  “You tracking it?” the blond male asked.

  Nian nodded. “Trying to, but he’s clever. Good at hiding his illegal holdings along with the money trail. But that’s not the most immediate problem.”

  Bastian raised a brow. “How do you figure?”

  “Rodin is calling a special meeting of the high counsel. He wants Lothair’s death ruled illegal… treated as murder. Charges will be levied against a member of your pack.”

  “Who?”

  “Forge.”

  Bastian cursed. The Nightfury warriors standing behind him backed the sentiment. As f-bombs dropped, clouding the airwaves, Nian dished the rest. “He will demand you deliver Forge to Prague for trial.”

  “And execution,” Bastian said, quick on the uptake. The trial would be nothing more than a ruse. A sham conducted behind closed doors. Oh, Rodin would make it look good. Court favor among Dragonkind by playing make-believe—using sleight of hand and rumor to establish the male’s guilt—when in reality, Forge would never see the inside of the Archguard’s tribunal courtroom. “Why Forge?”

  “I don’t know, but…” Nian trailed off, then let his suspicions loose. “Rodin is rattled, scrambling to cover up something… afraid of Forge for some reason. But he has no proof of his involvement in Lothair’s death, of that I am certain.”

  Bastian snorted. “He’ll manufacture what he needs.”

  “Probably, but here’s the kicker.” Plucking his lighter from its perch beside the laptop, Nian flicked at the top. The snap echoed, sounding loud in the quiet. “When you fail to produce Forge, the entire Nightfury pack will fall under suspicion. Rodin will then have reason to reinstate the old laws and—”

  “Jesus,” Bastian growled. “Xzinile.”

  “Exile.” The blond snarled, showing a row of straight white teeth. “And a bull’s-eye on our backs for every bounty hunter around.”

  “It’s a power play, Rikar.” Twisting in his seat, the Nightfury commander glanced over his shoulder. He met his warrior’s gaze and shook his head. “Hell, the bastard’s after me.”

  As Nian nodded, another round of low curses came through the speakers.

  Facing forward once more, Bastian pushed to his feet. Both hands curled into fists, he walked closer to the camera and plugged Nian with an intense look. “When’s the vote?”

  “Night after tomorrow.”

  “Can you stall it?”

  “Maybe.” Nian frowned, mind churning over viable options. The best ones lay in the letter of the law. If he put up too many roadblocks, suspicion would fall on him, and Rodin would guess his game. Turning the lighter over in his hand, he brushed his thumb over the crest engraved in the gold. “There are certain criteria Rodin must follow to reinstate Xzinile. If I make him jump through all the hoops, it’ll take more time.”

  “Good,” Bastian said with a nod. “Keep me in the loop.”

  Nian leaned forward in his chair. “Can I count on you to keep me in yours?”

  A bold inquiry with potentially disastrous consequences. A wise male didn’t tweak a powerful dragon’s tail. Nian knew it but didn’t care… couldn’t pass up the opportunity to secure Bastian’s support. He’d waited months for a face-to-face with the Nightfury commander—to acquire what he needed to move forward with his plans for the Archguard. Now that he’d done his part and given Bastian valuable intel along with his trust? Nian wanted something in return. The warrior’s stamp of approval. Something that wouldn’t cost Bastian much up front, but held the potential to yield vast returns for years to come.

  Green eyes narrowed on him. “Excuse me?”

  “I scratch your back… you scratch mine.” Holding the lethal male’s gaze, Nian pushed his agenda. “I want what you want, Bastian… Rodin’s head on a platter. I can’t achieve that without your backing. Do I have it?”

  Silence met his question. Terrible and effective, the quiet spread, filling the void, slithering in like a poisonous snake—silent, venomous, deadly. Cranked tight by uncertainty, tension wrung him dry as pressure banded around his chest. Smothering his reaction, Nian breathed around the knot in his throat and stayed true, refusing to back down. The outcome was too important. Everything hinged on the next few moments. On Bastian’s decision and—

  “You have it,” Bastian murmured. “But Nian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Disappoint me, and you die.”

  A promise in his eyes, Bastian warned him with a look, then turned and walked away. Unease picked up his heart, making it slam against his breastbone as Nian watched the Nightfury commander stride toward the door across the room. A second later, the computer screen went black, severing the connection, leaving him in the dark and without the reassurance he craved. Nor the triumphant moment he’d expected.

  Christ help him. After months of planning, he’d finally gotten wha
t he wanted, so… Nian frowned. Why wasn’t he celebrating? He should be. Should be relieved, thankful he now had the powerful male’s backing, but…

  He wasn’t grateful at all. Not happy either. Instead, he felt wary. Out on the tip of a very thin limb. Uncomfortable in his own skin, ’cause… no doubt about it. He had a bad, bad feeling. One that suggested he’d just allowed a shark into shallow water, inviting him to swim in his private wading pool.

  17

  Still perched on the examination table after her checkup, J. J. pulled a T-shirt over her head and eyed her fancy new walking cast, although it looked more like a boot than anything else. A royal blue one with ugly Velcro straps and no fashion sense. She refused to complain. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and given the fact she’d just been given a clean bill of health, ungratefulness seemed like a stretch.

  A big one, considering she was still breathing.

  Alive and well. An excellent state of grace.

  Wiggling her toes, J. J. shifted on the tabletop. Paper crinkled beneath her as a faint ache ghosted up her calf. She huffed. Well all right, clean bill of health might be a bit of an exaggeration. Her broken ankle still hurt, and her side? Even though Myst had removed the neat row of sutures—declaring her almost healed—it still ached like the devil, nailing her with a sharp jab if she moved too fast. But other than that? She was good to go.

  All thanks to Wick. The guy packed one heck of a punch on the healing front. Miraculous? Sure. A welcome turn of events? Absolutely. Especially since she’d come out of surgery just under forty-eight hours ago.

  Another round of thankfulness sank deep.

  Lucky. She was so damned lucky. Evidence of it lay in the way he’d treated her, but also across the room.

  J. J. glanced toward the bank of stainless steel cabinets and the two women who’d served as her lifeline over the last hour. Busy stowing medical tools and extra supplies, the pair stood side by side in front of the countertop. A pretty picture. One J. J. knew well. She’d grown up watching them. Best friends forever. Most girls said that at some point but then let it go, drifting away from each other as life pulled them in different directions. Not these two. Myst and her sister were rock solid. Had been since the third grade, and as J. J. listened to her sister laugh—the sound lightening her heart by the second—she marveled at the irony.

  Such different life paths. Prison for her. Career and community for them. Two completely different roads, and yet, here she sat…

  Sharing the same space inside Black Diamond’s medical clinic.

  Rotating into a 180-degree turn, she sat sideways. With her legs dangling over the side of the table, her gaze skimmed over the space. High-tech equipment pushed against the back wall. Boxy fluorescents hummed overhead, washing everything with warm light. She stifled a shiver, the pale paint and soft electrical buzz reminding her of days gone by and the community center in the old neighborhood. Everything had been colorless there too. Pale walls. Whey-faced people. Anemic opportunity… thin beyond measure.

  J. J. swallowed past the lump in her throat. It seemed like a lifetime ago. All the times Myst had knocked on their door, asking if Tania could come out to play. Then later—after the hormones hit and adolescent angst settled in—if her sister could go with her to the Four Corners Community Center after school and on weekends. The memory made J. J. smile. Made her happy for her sister, if not a little sad for herself. She’d always wanted a friend like Myst. Someone willing to put themselves on the line, stand by her side… simply be there when everyone else bailed.

  The sentiment smacked of jealousy.

  But it wasn’t that.

  Funny enough, J. J. didn’t envy their friendship. Never had either. Oh, she’d tried to copy it a few times, hoping to find a best friend of her own. All to no avail. She wasn’t like Tania: charming, confident in social situations, able to put people at ease and win their trust. Her sister’s innate ability to say the right thing at precisely the right time flummoxed J. J. She’d never acquired the skill. Silence was more her thing. Throw in her powers of observation and love of people watching and… yup. She flew under the radar as much as possible. Was a regular operator, a covert player who saw more than most.

  An excellent skill to own, as it turned out. The talent had saved her more than once in prison. Knowing which way to jump, after all, equaled staying alive.

  “Hey, guys?” Her voice interrupted the stream of conversation across the room.

  A plastic packet in her hand, Tania glanced over her shoulder. “You ready to go?”

  “All dressed,” she said, smoothing her hands over the gray sweatpants. Careful not to tweak her ribs, she slid off her perch and hopped to the floor. The tie at her waist slipped. Grabbing a handful of material, J. J. turned the band under a second time. As the cotton settled at her hipbones, she palmed the cane hanging from the table edge. Plunking it on the floor, she kept most of her weight on her good leg and turned toward the sliding glass door. “Where are we headed now? To the gym to help Ange?”

  “In a minute.” Pulling the stethoscope from around her neck, Myst set it on the countertop. With a quick pivot, she leaned back against the cabinets and rubbed her hand over the flat curve of her belly. She did that a lot, no doubt thinking about the baby she carried… and her mate, the dragon-guy responsible for her condition. Two months pregnant and hardly able to contain her excitement. J. J.’s mouth curved. Impending motherhood. It looked good on Myst. “We need to discuss something first.”

  J. J. blinked. Uh, oh. That didn’t sound good. Particularly since they’d been talking for the last couple of hours. Great in a lot of ways. She now knew the lay of the land: all about Black Diamond and the dragon-guys who called it home. Toss in Daimler—the adorable tuxedo-wearing butler who’d shown up with a tray of cupcakes, begging them to take a stroll down Treat Street while they curled up in the recovery room bed—and… uh-huh. She was officially on the other side of the wall. Smack-dab in the middle of weird.

  Or not. She didn’t know yet.

  Tania, Myst, and Angela didn’t seem like the crazy type, and their reassurance went a long way, helping her climb the mountain of holy crap banging around inside her head. Still…

  Despite the assurances, it wasn’t an easy sell.

  All right, the dragon stuff she could handle. Disputing the truth after witnessing Wick’s transformation—complete with fangs, claws, and scales—seemed counterproductive. Not to mention ridiculous. She couldn’t go back, after all, and un-see it, but believe it or not… strange as it sounded… the man-to-dragon switch-up wasn’t the problem. The whole energy thing, however? Yeah, that freaked her out. She couldn’t wrap her brain around it.

  Commitment. Connection. Energy feedings, a bond formed by a force outside her control. The entire concept was scary as hell.

  She didn’t do relationships. Not well, at least. Her track record spoke volumes… none of it good. But that didn’t change the facts. According to Tania, the Meridian—the all-powerful source that enveloped the planet, nourishing all living things and, by extension, Dragonkind—didn’t lie. Or make mistakes. Which meant she and Wick were now linked through cosmic connection. J. J. shivered as unease slithered deep.

  Energy-fuse. The magical bond between mates.

  Destroyer of independence and her peace of mind.

  Blowing out a shaky breath, J. J. forced herself to stay calm. Her nerves didn’t listen, jangling like a ring of runaway keys as she met Myst’s gaze. “Are you sure about this… the whole energy thing?”

  “He fed you, J. J. Healed all but your most severe injuries in less than twelve hours.” Picking up a pair of surgical scissors, Myst turned them over in her hands. After pressing the pad of her thumb to one of the blunted tips, she sighed. “The only way that happens is if a male’s dragon half recognizes and—”

  “Accepts you as his mate,” Tania said, jumping in with a soothing tone.

  “What if I don’t want to be mated
?”

  J. J. cringed. She hated the question. For some reason, asking it felt disloyal, as though she betrayed Wick by thinking it, never mind saying it aloud. Which was just plain stupid. In every way that mattered. She barely knew the guy. All right, so he’d been good to her—kind, gentle, patient in the face of her freak-out attack—but that didn’t mean she wanted to walk down the aisle. Or commit to a relationship that would no doubt end in disaster.

  Again.

  The thought stopped her cold. Ah, and there it was. The entire reason for her fear. Past experience. Her reaction didn’t have a thing to do with Wick and everything to do with her. J. J. frowned so hard her forehead stung. Did that make her a coward? Or simply cautious? She didn’t know, but one thing for sure? He moved her in ways no one else ever had, and like it or not she felt the pull. Even with him out of the lair, the almost imperceptible hum of synergy buzzed in her veins. The tug held sway. Drew her attention. Pushed her north of center, tightening its grip, making her feel so alive her senses crackled in reaction.

  And she knew… without a shadow of a doubt… he was the reason.

  “Look,” Tania murmured. “I know you’re scared. If Wick was fixated on me, I would be terrified too. He’s a dangerous guy, totally unpredictable and—”

  “What are you talking about?” All right, so she’d been scared of Wick at first. More than a little unsure of him, but that hadn’t lasted long. He was too solid to fear. Too straightforward to mistrust, and despite her track record with men, J. J. knew a good thing when she saw it. The realization, however, didn’t help matters. Or mean she wanted to jump into a relationship with him. The mere idea sent her spinning. Too many things could go wrong. She’d make another mistake. Take another wrong turn. End up neck-deep in trouble all over again. “I’m not afraid of Wick. This isn’t about him. I mean… not exactly.”

  “You aren’t?” Tania asked, surprise winging across her face. “It isn’t?”

  “No. He’s been great.”

  Myst’s mouth fell open. “He has?”