Fury of Desire (18 page)

Hope lit Nian up. “But you’re in?”

“Set up and on a roll,” Azrad said, looking more like a kingpin than a former slave kicking back in the office chair. “Haven’t met Bastian yet, but that’ll come.”

“And the rest of the Nightfuries?”

“Nearly got clipped by two of them tonight.”

“But you—”

“Yeah. First contact’s been made. Meeting’s set for tomorrow at midnight… Seattle time. Bastian’ll be there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” The chair squeaked as Azrad cupped the back of his head with both hands. Elbows folded out, he leaned into the backrest. “I put on a good show… got their attention in a big way. He won’t be able to resist meeting me. Will wanna know what I’m up to… and why I’m in his territory.”

“Well done.”

The warrior snorted. “Was there any doubt?”

Some. Nian didn’t voice the opinion, though. Azrad, for all his skill, wasn’t the most trustworthy. He was too strong-willed. Far too smart. Forget the fact he’d been little more than a slave less than two months ago, the warrior did as he pleased. Nian had known it the moment he secured Azrad’s release. He’d done it in secret. Made a deal with the devil right under the Archguard’s nose and offered the one thing the warrior wanted most in the world…

Freedom. Payback too, a chance to right the wrongs Rodin had done him.

Nian tipped his chin. “I’ll be at my computer, waiting for your call.”

“Uh-huh.” Staring at him from half a world away, Azrad lowered his arms and reached forward. His finger poised above the keyboard, the warrior winked at him. “Later.”

Hell, he hoped so. One never knew with Azrad.

All he could do was cross his fingers and pray Azrad kept his word.

Faith and honor. Two very big words he hoped played in his favor. ’Cause sure as he lived in Prague, Azrad possessed an agenda of his own. The warrior had craved more than just his freedom. He’d
wanted
to travel to Seattle. And now, for the first time, Nian wondered why.

Venom took the flight of stairs at a dead run. Three treads at a time. His chest heaved, burning from lack of oxygen. Clenching his teeth, his gaze riveted to the next landing, he pushed the pain away and pumped his arms, turning his legs into pistons.

Up. Up. Up.

He needed to reach the roof. Shift into dragon form and get airborne.

Knees acting like shock absorbers, the slam of his combat boots echoed the urgency, banging out a harsh rhythm. Sound reverberated in the enclosed space, taking up all the room inside his head. Grabbing the steel railing, Venom pulled, propelling himself into another tight turn and up another set of stairs. Muscles along his arm screamed in protest. He ignored the pain. Only one thing mattered… reaching his brothers-in-arms before the Razorbacks zeroed in and took out the SUV.

Zip. Bang. Gone.

That’s how it would go down. The Razorbacks would blow the vehicle sky-high the second they spotted it. And realized who sat inside. Unless, of course, he did something…

Like, oh, say, reach Swedish Medical’s frigging rooftop. Become rogue bait and his brothers’ shield. Buy enough time for everyone to find cover.

Cover.
Right. Wishful thinking much? Probably. The Razorbacks might not be rocket scientists, but once locked on, the pack became efficient. Proof positive lay in the fact the bastards had nearly killed him two weeks ago. Venom wanted to say it had been a lucky shot but knew the truth. The enemy had used superior numbers to effect, cutting him off from the other Nightfuries in order to pick him apart in the swarm.

Pretty good strategy, all things considered. One-on-one, none could beat him. Hell, strike that. Three against one still came out in his favor, ’cause… yeah. He was just that strong, a powerhouse in a physical fight. The biggest, strongest, most—

All right, maybe not the most vicious.

Wick topped him in that department, but not by much. So, no question. He needed to get the hell out there. Right now. Before the extraction plan went from dicey to deadly.

Though, how that had happened, he didn’t know. Wick’s plan had been solid. Well thought out and executed to perfection. His eyes narrowed, Venom rounded the second to last stair landing. Something had tipped the rogues off. Or maybe
someone.
Venom growled. Azrad. Frigging male. Had to be him. Nothing else explained the warrior’s presence inside the hospital, never mind his interest in the female.

Well, other than angling for the “meeting” with Bastian.

A setup. The entire scenario smacked of an ambush. A way to draw the Nightfury commander into a trap in order to kill him. Sneaky. Smart. Well executed too. Especially since Azrad didn’t smell like a Razorback. But then, Ivar the
psycho was just that cunning. Plant the seed, let curiosity fester, and wait for it to play out.

The perfect plan.

“Goddamn it,” he said, half-snarl, half exhale. “The bastard.”

One that wouldn’t last long. Why? Tomorrow night, at the meet and greet, Venom planned to rip Azrad’s balls off. Make him squeal like a stuck pig, crank the pain level to apocalyptic before he tore his head off, leaving nothing but a pile of dragon ash.

Red light flashed up ahead, bleeding onto the stair treads in front of him.

With a growl, Venom unleashed magic. Power unfurled, cracking like a whip. Pressure expanded in the narrow space, warping the air. Bolts popped, exploding from their holes like bullets. Metal pinged against metal. Venom ducked, avoiding the barrage, and hammered the emergency exit. Reinforced steel buckled. The door ripped off its hinges, blowing outward into the night sky. As the panel cartwheeled, then slammed into the helipad, Venom cleared the threshold.

Stone dust crunched beneath his boots. Within seconds, he planted his foot on the lip of the building and—

He was up and over, diving toward the pavement below.

Street lights flared below him. His night vision sparked, and winter wind blew his heavy trench coat wide open. Leather streaming behind him, Venom sighted the ground, tucked into a somersault, and… oh yeah. The switch-up felt good. Like a gift, hands and feet turning into talons as the tips of his razor-sharp claws clicked together. Dark-green scales accompanied the shift, wrapping him in interlocking dragon skin, snaking around the venomous barbs of his
tail. Armored up and buttoned down, Venom unfurled his wings. Frigid air slid over his horned head, then moved on, rattling the spikes along his spine.

Spiraling into a side flip, he banked hard. The trajectory swung him around hospital smoke stacks. As his wing tip grazed a chimney, his eyes glowed. Blood-red gaze staining the air in front of him, he scanned the street below.

Nothing and nobody. No squeal of tires against the asphalt. No cherry-red SUV in sight either.

Relief hit Venom chest level. Wick and the others must be gone. Were hopefully hauling ass, taking the most direct route across the city, heading toward the bridge and I-90.

Intent on covering their retreat, Venom circled around again. Flying east seemed like the best option. If he played his cards right, he could not only cover their retreat, but stay in between his boys and any inbound rogues.

“Ven… I’m airborne.”
A dark-brown blur streaking through the gloom, Sloan flew in. Snow-white talons flashed as his buddy rotated into a flip, taking the wingman position on Venom’s right side.
“You feel that?”

Goddamn, did he ever. No male worth his salt could ignore the static. The buzz hammered his temples, feeding him information. His sonar pinged, marrying instinct with experience. No mistaking the signs. Razorbacks. A shitload of them, rolling in hot.

Venom cursed under his breath.
“No way we’ll outfly the bastards.”

“So what? You wanna play bait and switch?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Not a very good one, but… hell. Talk about a nasty twist.

Venom ground his fangs together. So much for getting away free and clear. He didn’t have much time. A minute—maybe two—before the rogues intercepted him. Wanting to be sure of the time frame, he mined the signal. Magic sparked and sensation spiraled, confirming his suspicions. The rogues had just broken through the three-mile barrier, allowing him to pinpoint their location. And if he could feel them? The bastards could track the magical trace he left in his wake too.

Sloan threw him a sideways glance.

He ignored the warning. Acknowledging it wouldn’t change anything. Neither would failing to make a plan.

Wheeling around a tall high-rise, Venom fired up mind-speak.
“Wick… give me a grid.”

“Heading east on Jefferson. We’ll make a left on 23
^rd
and head for the bridge.”

“No good. The rogues are locked in now.”
Following his trajectory, Sloan sliced between two apartment buildings. A quick flip took him up and over Venom’s spine.
“Find a hole and disappear until we clear the sky.”

“Motherfuck.”

Ignoring Mac’s curse, Sloan inhaled, drawing deep to scent the air.
“I count ten.”

Venom shook his head.
“Fourteen… minimum.”

“Jesus H. Christ,”
Sloan said.
“We need B and Rikar.”

No kidding. But that wouldn’t happen. Not in a hurry anyway.

Bastian and the Nightfury first in command were twenty minutes away, taking a night off, getting some well-deserved R & R with their chosen females at Black Diamond. A new occurrence for their pack. Until a month ago, none of them had ever taken a break. But some rules were meant to be
broken. Now a new normal reigned. One that included the occasional night off—to rest, recharge, and recuperate.

Not a bad thing, just… different.

The bigger adjustment—at least for him—stemmed from another source altogether. The expansion of their pack.

At first, Venom resisted the change, not liking the paradigm shift, fearing the new members would get one of them killed. But after seeing what Forge and Mac could do… their special brand of kick-ass and how the warriors complimented one another? He’d changed his mind in a hurry. All right, so he still couldn’t resist busting Mac’s chops—razzing the resident water dragon was way too fun to ever stop—but neither could Venom deny that the wonder twins fit right in. The pair were viciousness squared. And honestly? Lethal with a heaping side order of brutal always got Venom jazzed.

Still, no matter how talented, the warriors couldn’t replace their commander.

Bastian had skills. Ones Venom needed right now. Without B in the mix—and his ability to read the enemies’ strengths and weaknesses from a distance—he was flying blind. Were there fourteen or more Razorbacks on the horizon? Experience told him multiple rogues of varying skill levels. But beyond that? He didn’t know. Worrisome. Nowhere near optimal heading into battle. Too bad beggars can’t be choosers. In order to protect his pack and J. J., no other choice existed.

Increasing his wing speed, Venom glanced over his shoulder. He cursed. Rogues at six o’clock, flying in fighting formation, white frost curling from their wingtips… coming down the pipe, right on their asses.

“Listen up, boys.”
Watching the circus unfold behind him, Venom assessed the situation. He indulged in a quick head count. Huh. Only eleven rogues on the horizon, three short of two full fighting units. Instinct whispered. Something about the numbers didn’t add up. Neither did their strategy. Frowning, Venom laid it out for his brothers.
“The bastards are splitting up. Half are headed our way, but I’ve also got multiple males landing on the hospital roof.”

“Shite,”
Forge said, Scottish accent rolling.
“They know about J. J.”

“
Looks like it.”

Wick growled.
“Stupid text message.”

“She sent a text?”
Sloan asked.

“To Tania.”

“Motherfuck. Way too resourceful. Just like her sister,”
Mac said, a growl in his undertone. As he dropped another f-bomb, the SUV’s engine snarled, the violent rumble coming through mind-speak as the ex-cop put his foot down.
“Wick… put J. J. down and get ready to take the wheel. Forge and I need to get airborne.”

Frigging right. Excellent plan. Mac’s strategy hit all the markers. Outnumbered three to one didn’t equal great odds in a firefight, but—

Venom blinked. Wait a minute. Back up a step.

What had Mac just said? Something about…
put J. J. down.
Venom frowned so hard the space between his eyebrows stung. What the hell did that mean? Was Wick actually touching the female? Holding her in his lap or something? The thought seemed ridiculous. Way off base. His friend avoided physical contact like field mice did snakes. And given the fact J. J. had been sitting in a wheelchair when he saw her last?

No need to inquire further.

Wick always took the path of least resistance. His friend would’ve wheeled the female out, then handed her over the moment he made contact with the wonder twins. Venom would bet his fangs on it.

“Heads up, lads,”
Forge said.
“We’re making a right onto—”