Fury of Denial

by Coreene Callahan

  Yeah, he’d seen her.

  She’d been hard to miss, her aura glowing bright against the Scot’s scales before he’d turned tail and run. A smart move, the only one given the precious cargo he carried. Cracking his knuckles, Grizgunn shook his head. Another HE female, the second in as many months. Unprecedented. Shocking too. Females who tapped into the Meridian, drawing power from the source, weren’t thick on the ground. A rarity in the world, most Dragonkind males never encountered one. Which made him wonder what the Scottish pack knew that he didn’t. Grizgunn rolled his shoulders. Scales ruffled, clicking together like dominos before settling back into place. He frowned. What the hell was he missing?

  The question pissed him off.

  The idea the Scots held more knowledge worsened his mood.

  A low growl erupted from his throat. He shut down the show of fury. Allowing his rage out of its box wouldn’t help. He must remain calm and stay focused. His warriors needed him. Had chosen him to lead the Danish pack, for better or worse. Now was no time to lose his patience. Not when he was close to getting what he wanted—Cyprus’s head on a pike and the Scottish territory back under his family’s control. He’d made a promise to his sire. The pretender would pay for his treachery. He would accept nothing less.

  Inhaling deep, Grizgunn doused his temper and shifted forms. Blue scales morphed into human skin. Bowing his head, he stood naked in the shadow of a stone wall and brushed a hand over his shaved head. Steam rose from his shoulders as he closed his eyes and conjured his clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt in place, he stomped his feet into boots and, without waiting for his warriors to land behind him, headed toward his new home.

  Once a church, the empty shell stood like a stoic solider near the cliff edge. Abandoned by humans. Unloved by historical societies. A relic long forgotten by those in the shire. He didn’t care. The disinterest and isolation suited him, providing the perfect place for him to put down roots. The tunnels and living spaces beneath the ruin were almost complete. Another couple of weeks, and the lair would provide all the comfort he required.

  Boot soles crunching over a shattered stone path, he walked beneath a broken archway. He kicked a rock out of his way. Fucking hell. It was frustrating. He hated defeat. Despised being outsmarted even more. Success depended on a three-pronged approach: accurate information, a solid strategy and precise execution. He’d managed two of the three tonight. Item three had been blown to shit by the red-scaled whoreson in Edinburgh. The fact a member of Cyprus’s pack had outmaneuvered him rubbed him the wrong way.

  It should never have happened. He’d had the area locked down.

  Clenching his teeth, Grizgunn swallowed a curse. He needed a new way forward, a failsafe plan that would throw the Scottish pack off balance. Footfalls echoing across eight-hundred-year old stone, he strode into the roofless nave. His mind churned as he sorted through possible strategies. A hostage situation might work. Getting his claws on the warrior who’d disappeared in Edinburgh along with the woman would no doubt shake Cyprus’s tree. The aloof mother-fucker wouldn’t be so nonchalant then.

  He flexed his hands. An enemy male to torture for information. A high-energy female for his warriors to enjoy every day. Grizgunn hummed. Excellent plan, but first…

  He needed to find the red-scaled male before Cyprus flew to the rescue. A lone dragon was a vulnerable one. Easy to pick off and overpower once cornered. The trick would be bringing the warrior to ground and caging him fast. The second the Scottish pack showed up, Grizgunn would lose his chance. Not a good outcome. So…where had the Scot gone? How had he hidden with so many dragons on his trail? His eyes narrowed. Searching his memory, he thought back, running through the night’s events and…

  “Shit—the harbour. The ship.” Grizgunn cursed under his breath. He should’ve thought of it sooner. The conclusion made perfect sense. Other than working cranes and the humans on the ground, nothing else had been moving. Nothing but the ocean freighter, light blue hull pushing through the water as the tugboat helped it exit the port. “Smart move.”

  But not smart enough.

  He knew where to look now. An image flashed in his mind’s eye. He saw the flag of Norway flying above the stern and right below it, the name of the ship painted in bright white letters.

  “Den Skumløse.” Jogging up a set of steps, he stopped beside the alter at the front of the church. “Clever way to escape.”

  A little disconcerting too. The Scot must be determined. Only a strong male would disregard his fear and enter the water. Not that it mattered. Determination only got a warrior so far. Pressing his palms to the altarpiece, Grizgunn glanced skyward. Stars faded as dawn arrived. Discomfort prickled down his spine. His sonar pinged. Multiple sets of paws set down in the yard outside the ruined church wall.

  “Hakon,” he said, his voice bleeding through mind-speak. “Get everyone inside. The sun’s coming up.”

  “Got the door open?”

  “Almost. Move your ass.”

  His XO grunted.

  Grizgunn unleashed a wave of magic. The heavy stone topping the altar shifted up and to the side. Stairs came into view. He descended into the darkness, one thing on his mind. He must get to his computer. A few minutes of research would provide what he needed— the ship’s route along with its exact location on the ocean. The second he possessed the information, he would be able track Den Skumløse’s progress from dawn until dusk. He smiled in anticipation. Come evening the Scot would be in for a surprise, one that would see him captured and the female he guarded warming Grizgunn’s bed.

  Fourteen

  More asleep than awake, Wallaig lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed. His chest rose and fell, the rhythm steady, his muscles so loose he floated on a wave of relaxation. Unusual for him. Most days his feet hit the floor before his mind registered the shift. Pure instinct. Complete focus. Zero hesitation. No need to lounge around in order to wake up, but…

  He sighed, the soft rumble full of satisfaction.

  What a day, a near perfect seven hours of sleep. A rarity for him. Five was the norm, all he needed on a regular basis. But with Amantha beside him, his dragon half settled, happy to stay in the moment instead of rushing into the next. Eyes still closed, his mouth curved. A nice change, one that made him lazy. Now, he didn’t want to get up. Hell, scratch that. With her in his arms, he never wanted to move again.

  Turning toward her, he brushed his lips over her hair. Soft, luxurious strands caressed his skin, clinging to the stubble on his jaw. Prickles of pleasure shimmered through him. Another sigh escaped him. Gorgeous female. Such a spirited lass. He’d woken her twice during the day, his need for her so great he’d been unable to leave her alone: touching her, loving her, surrounding himself in the warmth of her personality. True to her nature, she’d given all he asked, feeding him without hesitation, filling him so full his fingertips still tingled from the blast of her bio-energy.

  His beast stretched in contentment. Magic thrummed through his veins, and Wallaig hummed. Goddess, it felt so good to be full. Over the years, he’d learned to live with the hunger, along with the longing—the constant gnaw of energy greed and never getting enough. In one afternoon, Amantha had banished the ache, aligning with his dragon half, meeting and matching him so well he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  Giving her a gentle squeeze, he kissed the top of her head. Worn out by his attentions, Amantha didn’t move. Cheek pressed to his chest, one leg nestled between his thighs, she slept like only a well-pleasured female could, lost in dreams and oblivious to world. He wanted to keep it that way. Let her sleep on. Hold her a while longer. Maybe even make love to her again, but…

  A rumble of annoyance left his throat.

  It sucked to be him. Lounging in bed all evening wasn’t part of the plan. He glanced toward the curtains covering the windows. Drawn tight against the sun, the glow of UV rays dimmed around the fabric edges. It wouldn’t be long now—forty-five minutes to an hour and the sun would g
o down. The second dusk arrived he needed to be in full flight, moving east toward the coast. Which meant, time to check in. His commander might be a patient male, but he wouldn’t wait much longer.

  Calling on the connection he shared with his pack mates, he opened a channel into mind-speak. “Cyprus.”

  “About bloody time.” The snarl exploded between his temples, broadcasting his commander’s mood. “Where are you?”

  “On a ship headed for Norway.”

  Fabric rustled. Something creaked—a bed maybe—the faint sounds coming through the link as Cyprus shifted. “What happened?”

  “Got myself into a wee bit of trouble in Edinburgh.”

  “What the hell, Wallaig? You weren’t patrolling anywhere near Edinburgh last night.”

  True enough. He’d started the evening on the south-east boundary, patrolling with Kruger. His friend had gone home at the end of the night. He hadn’t. “I made a pit stop in the city.”

  “And?”

  “I stopped to check on Amantha.”

  Cyprus cursed. “Did I not tell you tae leave well enough alone?”

  “I decided something different.”

  “I’m going tae rip your tail off and shove it up your arse when you get home.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said, chuckling. Hell, a fight sounded like fun. Better than good. Would be all kinds of interesting too. Cyprus might be younger by almost a century, but age didn’t matter. The male never disappointed. He fought dirty and always packed a punch. “What’s done is done, Cy. You want to hear the rest or not?”

  “Jesus Christ,” his commander growled. “All right—tell me.”

  Without hesitation, Wallaig relayed the details, leaving nothing out—his decision to leave the letters, his breaking into Amantha’s apartment, her reaction to him, his surprise at meeting her…the worry his female carried for Elise. As he talked, Cyprus listened, absorbing the information, behaving the way a skilled commander of warriors should—hearing him out, gathering all the facts before making a determination.

  “The rogues surrounded Elise and Amantha’s building?” Cyprus asked, a frown in his voice.

  “Aye.”

  “Grizgunn went after her specifically?”

  “I think he was after Elise, but stumbled onto Amantha instead.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Aye, and make no mistake. The bastard had the address. He knew what he was after—an HE female.”

  “Amantha’s high-energy?”

  “In the best possible way,” he murmured, glancing at the woman asleep in his arms.

  Cyprus snorted. “Do I need to ask where she is now?”

  “Do you truly wish to know?”

  “Be careful, Wallaig,” his commander said, amusement in his tone. “You hurt her, and Elise will skin you alive.”

  No doubt. Elise might be a sweetheart most of the time, but she possessed the kind of courage most people lacked. A good thing. His commander needed a strong female by his side. A woman more than just capable of standing her ground, but also able to stop Cyprus in his tracks.

  “I’m not going to hurt her, Cy. Amantha is mine.”

  Cyprus drew a sharp breath. “You’re sure?”

  “She’s my mate. No question. I aim to claim her when she’s ready.”

  “You’ve got tae get her home first.”

  “Which is where you and the lads come in,” he said. “I need back-up. Grizgunn almost had me in Edinburgh. The near win will make him bold. He won’t stop. The bastard will keep coming. My guess is he’ll fly out at dusk and—”

  “Try tae kill you and take Amantha before you reach the safety of our lair.”

  “Exactly. We need to set an ambush. Once I leave the ship, I’ll make straight for—”

  “Amber Cove.”

  Wallaig growled as the plan took shape. The ragged cliffs and natural rock formations at Amber Cove acted like a labyrinth, moving inland from the coast, forming deep canyons. He loved flying inside the narrow corridors. The topography was a challenge for any dragon to navigate, but for a male who didn’t know the terrain, it would prove deadly.

  Shifting on the sheets, Wallaig stroked his hand over Amantha’s back. Her soft skin settled him as his mind churned, and he stared at the ceiling. Smooth joints. Perfect paint job. As seamless as the strategy forming inside his head. “We’ll use the labyrinth to hem the rogues in. Take them out one at a time.”

  “Might work.”

  “Should work…as long as Grizgunn takes the bait.”

  Cyprus grunted. “You comfortable with that?”

  “Nay.” Not even a little. Wallaig clenched his teeth. “I donnae want Amantha anywhere near the fighting. She’s already had one close call today.”

  “Grizgunn won’t take the bait until he sees her with you,” Cyprus said, a wealth of caution in his words. “For the ambush tae work, he needs tae follow you into the labyrinth.”

  “I know,” he said, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Speak with her, Wallaig. Be honest, tell her the whole truth. Trust your mate tae be strong enough tae be part of our pack…tae help eliminate our enemies.”

  Easier said than done. He hated the idea of her in danger. His beast raged, refusing to contemplate using her as bait. But as Cyprus continued to talk, laying out the rest of the plan, Wallaig couldn’t argue with him. The strategy held all the hallmarks of a successful mission. One small problem: the female he didn’t wish to risk, and now knew he couldn’t live without. Too bad opportunity waited for no one. He held the chance to eliminate the Danish pack in the palm of his hand, so…

  No real choice at all.

  Like it or not, he must take his commander’s advice. Be honest. Tell Amantha everything, then trust her to make a decision that would affect the entire Scottish pack. Hugging her tighter, Wallaig glanced at the curtains again. Weak light bled around the fabric edges. He didn’t have much time. The sun continued its descent, dipping low on the horizon as the ship powered over rolling waves.

  The subtle motion seeped into his bones.

  Wallaig closed his eyes and turned toward Amantha. He traced the arch of her eyebrow. Caressed the curve of her cheek. The need to protect her chased desire through his veins. Drawing a fortifying breath, he kissed the tip of her nose. So beautiful. So trusting in his arms. His mate, a true gift from the goddess.

  With a murmur, he stroked her bottom. Goose bumps pebbled on her skin. She grumbled, then stretched, murmuring his name as her legs slid against his. Kissing her gently, he sent a prayer heavenward, asking the Goddess of All Things for guidance. He needed to find the right words, a way to explain without frightening her. The last thing he wanted was for her to run scared. A distinct possibility when she learned the plan—that she was about to become the bait in a game of cat and mouse designed to catch a monster.

  Fifteen

  Feet planted on the deck of the ship beside Wallaig, Amantha gripped his hand and wondered when she’d gone crazy. Sometime in the last twelve hours for sure. Nothing else explained the lengths she wanted to go for him—or what she was about to do at his request.

  The words dragon bait banged around inside her head.

  Her throat tightened. Mère de Dieu, she must be out of her ever-loving mind.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked out over the ocean. Dark waves crested beneath a shadowed moon, then disappeared beneath the bow of the ship. The pitch and roll mimicked her mood, steady one minute, chaotic the next. Her stomach lurched as she turned to the man-dragon by her side. Wallaig met her gaze, his damaged eyes shimmering a strange gold-green in the moonlight. She drew another breath, trying to control her disquiet. With a murmur, he cupped her cheek, the caress so gentle tears clogged her throat. After spending the day with him, she knew his touch, now craved his closeness, longed for the comfort he provided with nothing more than the stroke of his fingertips.

  A weird thing to admit.

  She’d met him less than twenty-four h
ours ago, and yet, felt him with every breath she took. Her reaction wasn’t logical. She didn’t want it to be—she wanted this, him and the bond tethering her to him. She guessed that explained why she stood on a freighter in the middle of the English Channel about to do something foolish. All to ensure Wallaig got what he needed. What his family—dragon pack…whatever—required to stay safe.

  He’d sat her down less than an hour ago and explained the situation…taken the time to talk it through. So much appreciated. She liked that he didn’t mince words. He was honest and straightforward, refusing to hide from her. Now, she knew more than she wanted to about Dragonkind and the rogue pack in his territory. Her brow furrowed. No, not true. She was lying to herself. She didn’t know more about Wallaig than she could handle. The dragon stuff seemed scary, but once curiosity took hold she hadn’t been shy. She’d asked question after question, wanting to know more, needing to know everything, unable to hear enough about his life. All the while wondering where she fit in…and if her heart was right when it insisted she belonged next to him.

  “All right, lass?”

  “Not really,” she whispered, feeling like an idiot, yearning for reassurance. So much for courage. She kept telling herself to be brave, but somehow, fear kept resurfacing, threatening to drag her under. “I need a hug before we go.”

  “Kazlita.” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her in tight. His body warmed her. His scent surrounded her, bringing much-needed relief, allowing her to take a full breath. “Please, donnae worry.”

  “You always call me that. What does it mean?”

  “Fierce one.”

  She huffed. “In your language?”

  “Aye—Dragonese.”

  “Well, it’s lovely, but…” Burrowing deeper into his arms, she pressed her nose to his chest. “I’m not feeling very fierce right now.”

  “Completely normal. You are new to Dragonkind. You donnae know what to expect, but I do,” he said, rubbing her back. “I know exactly how it’s going to go. Donnae be afraid, lass. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I will keep you safe.”