Fury of Desire (2 page)

Why Wick was here, though—laid out in the dining room instead of in his usual spot locked behind his bedroom door—was a mystery.

With a frown, Venom surveyed the untidy arrangement again, zeroing in on the pencil poised between his friend’s lax fingertips. He shook his head. Wicked strange. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Wick with his eyes closed.

Or so relaxed.

Not surprising, really. Wick possessed an ultrathick guard. Was the kind of male who mistrusted most and rarely showed weakness. Oh, it had been known to happen. Bringing Forge and Mac onside and into their pack was a prime example of Wick’s willingness to lay himself on the line. But when moments like that happened, his eyes were always wide open, a wary light in them, body, fists, and a load of lethal at the ready.

Not that Venom blamed him for being so cautious.

All of the Nightfuries were to a certain extent. War did that to a male. Made him suspicious of outsiders and ever watchful, always vigilant, in search of ambush and the enemy. Which was the way it had to be…

At least, outside the lair.

But inside Black Diamond? Their home served as a sanctuary, a place of comfort and acceptance, of safety and fun, where the Nightfury warriors could let loose and be themselves. The fact Wick didn’t feel that way—wasn’t comfortable anywhere—didn’t sit well with Venom. No male should live in isolation. Especially a valued member of a Dragonkind pack.

Too bad old habits die hard. Mistrust was a bitch, caging Wick inside a prison of his own making.

No steel bars or barbwire. No guards either. But the male was trapped all the same, brutal experience and past pain locking him up tight.

His gaze still riveted on his best friend, Venom swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment. It was so much bullshit. No matter what he did—or how hard he tried—he couldn’t help. Or offer ease. Not if Wick continued to keep his distance.

Always around—with him, but not really.

The condition was a running theme with them. One that worried Venom. It was getting worse. The emotional chasm between them grew by the day. He sensed the distance, the lengthening stretch of a male in full retreat. Wick would raise a brow and brush him off. Tell him he imagined things, that the lair was a busier place with the addition of three females and he needed quiet, that was all. But Venom didn’t think so.

Something had changed in recent days.

His friend was pushing him away, setting up psychological roadblocks and emotional blockades. The kind he’d worked for years to drag Wick out from behind. A setback? To be sure. One that sucked? Absolutely. Particularly since it
left Venom feeling alone. Isolated and out on a limb without the usual safety net for protection. A place he hadn’t been since he’d torn the collar from around Wick’s throat, pulled him out of the cage and away from that shithole all those years ago.

The history shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did. Wick shutting him out—his refusal to talk about what bothered him—felt like betrayal. Like a boot to the balls. Like exile without the possibility of—

Venom clenched his teeth. Hell, after all they’d survived, he deserved better from Wick. Which was… what? Inclusion. Information. Trust from a male who possessed every ounce of his. So, yeah. Here he went again. Hopping on a merry-go-round with heartbreak the main spin. A never-ending ride that revolved at the speed of light, stopping on “screwed up” every once in a while, spinning them both in dangerous directions.

With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, and putting his combat boots to work, walked toward the end of the table. Time for a showdown. To dig in and turf the obstinate SOB he called best friend. Or kick his ass into reasonableness.

Either scenario worked for Venom.

No one, after all, fought as dirty as Wick. Great on every level. The smackdown held the promise of a double whammy: he’d get the fight he craved while making his point. And Wick? The knuckle-grind would relax his friend enough to facilitate a chat, the words Wick always struggled to find.

Without making a sound, Venom skirted the row of upholstered chairs running along one side of the table. Lined up like soldiers, the square-backed Louis XVIs faced off with the wide expanse of mahogany and the chandelier above it. Dimmed down, light refracted through the antique crystal,
sending color arcing across the high ceiling. Ignoring the rainbows, he slipped behind his friend’s chair. As he moved past, he reached out and, with a quick strike, flicked the edge of his buddy’s ear.

Wick came awake with a snarl and jacked upright. He landed with a thump on the balls of his feet, big hands curled into twin fists, guard up, golden gaze aglow. His back to the double French doors, Venom retreated a step and got ready for—

On a quick pivot, Wick lashed out. Venom blocked the first punch but missed the second. He grunted as Wick connected, ramming through his guard to reach his face. Knuckles slammed against his cheekbone. His head snapped to the side, brutal sound shredding the silence. The chandelier swayed and pain spiraled, sweeping round to hammer the back of his skull. With a growl, Venom slid left and unleashed an uppercut beneath his friend’s chin.

Crack!

Bull’s-eye. Center-of-the-ring accurate.

Wick’s chin came up as his head whiplashed. He stumbled backward, sliding on the soles of his shitkickers. Regaining his balance, Venom reset his stance, expecting another go-around. Except…

It never came.

Silence and stillness arrived instead as Wick shook off the last remnants of sleep and paused to take stock. Venom blinked, surprise ambushing him. Weird. Abnormal in more ways than one. And so not his best friend’s usual MO. Wick never hesitated to lash out, but retreat? Man, that wasn’t even in the male’s playbook. But as one second faded into the next, and Venom waited for the sneak attack, his friend
did just that. Backed off. Dropped his hands. Unfurled his fists to settle into a more relaxed stance.

Straightening the twisted fabric of his muscle shirt, Wick scowled at him. “What the fuck, Ven?”

“Ring-a-ling-ling,” he murmured, not knowing what to make of Wick and the sudden behavioral switch-up. Something to be alarmed about? Or rejoice in? Venom didn’t know. One thing for sure, though, the change in demeanor bode watching. “Evening wake-up call.”

“Shit. Sun’s going down.”

“Umm-hmm. We got about an hour.”

Wick glanced at the double French doors. Blacked out by magic, the glass writhed, rippling like water, blocking out deadly UV rays. Same old, same old. The windows possessed a mind of their own. Good thing too. No Dragonkind male could withstand daylight—would go blind if he were foolish enough to try—so the magical shift was a necessary one, causing the spell that surrounded Black Diamond to react. The upside? Dark windows during the day—protection in its purest form—which allowed him and his comrades to move around without fear of getting fried by the sun. Soon, though, each pane would lighten, then clear completely, allowing moonlight to flood the aboveground lair.

Flexing his bruised knuckles, Wick turned back toward the table.

Venom followed, curiosity getting the better of him. As he stopped beside his buddy, his gaze wandered over a map of downtown Seattle, hunting for the reason behind Wick’s interest. The title atop one of the blueprints caught his eye. Well, well, well. Wasn’t that interesting? Wick… looking at hospital architectural plans. An inkling—a small whisper of an idea—sparked in his mind’s eye. Venom’s mouth curved
as his focus narrowed on the notes scrawled across a yellow legal pad.

Looked like a grocery list. One that leaned away from eats and tilted toward lethal.

Glancing sideways at Wick, he raised a brow. “You gonna tell me what we’re into here?”

“A prison break.”

“Tania’s sister?”

Wick nodded, nonverbal as always.

Venom frowned. “What the hell, man?”

“I owe Mac.” Expression set, eyes serious, Wick met his gaze. “He saved your life. Protected you when I couldn’t. I need to repay him for that.”

“It’s my debt, not yours, so—”

“Bullshit. You’re my friend…
mine.
” Wick rolled his shoulders as though uncomfortable in his own skin and glanced away. His attention settled back on the mountain of paper. “I owe, so I’ll pay.”

The low murmur tore Venom wide open, messing with his head. It wasn’t the words so much, but the force behind them: the ownership in Wick’s tone, the concern and pain, the unmistakable acknowledgement of friendship. Of mutual need and the unbreakable bond of brotherhood. And in that moment, he got it… understood the reason Wick pushed him away, refusing to allow him close.

Self-protection. Emotional ruin. Wick feared losing him.

And no wonder. The night he’d been injured hadn’t been pretty. The Razorbacks had nearly killed him, slicing him open from stem to sternum. Wick’s quick thinking saved his life. Myst—the Nightfury commander’s female—had done the rest, sewing him up when Wick got him back
to the lair. But it had been close, a real toss-up into touch’n go for a while and—

Jeez. No doubt about it. He’d scared his best friend, sending the ever-steady Wick into a tailspin. It was a good theory. Made a lot of sense even as it surprised the hell out of him, ’cause… yeah. Emotion from Wick? The realization his friend felt that deeply? Total mind-twist territory.

“Hey, Wick?”

“What?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Fuck off.” Leaning to one side, Wick bumped shoulders with him.

Venom swayed on his feet but grinned at the contact. The gentle collision was as good as any love tap. Sure, Wick might not be able to express his feelings with words, but the male could show them. Which at the end of the day was all that mattered.

“So…” Venom trailed off, changing course, bringing the conversation back to its origin. “We’re going after the sister.”

“Yeah.”

“We gonna clue Mac and Forge in?”

“Sloan too.” Snagging the pencil off the legal pad, Wick leaned forward and planted his hands, palms flat, against the tabletop. “We’ll need backup. She’s injured.”

“So flying her home in dragon form is out.”

Wick shook his head. “Mac and Forge’ll secure us a vehicle for transport.”

“Why not take an ambulance?”

“Too obvious… the humans will notice its theft too fast. Call the cops on us.” Wick’s eyes narrowed on the city map once more. “Too risky. No… we move her in an SUV.
A cube van maybe, depending on if we need the hospital bed or not.”

“And Sloan?”

“Hospital computers.” Wick tapped the pencil against the surface of the notepad. Soft sound echoed, laying out a soundtrack of tap-a-rap-tap. Tap-a-rap-tap. “We may need info on the fly.”

“Her medical records too. Hard copies of X-rays, tests, and shit. Myst’ll want to see them.”

“Exactly.”

The word—and the enthusiasm behind it—tickled Venom’s funny bone. His lips twitched. Unprecedented. The excitement, sure, but also the fact Wick was talking to him. For a frigging change. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Come on, Ven,” Wick said, the “duh” in his tone unmistakable. A second later, he pushed away from the table, devilry in his eyes. “How often do we get to bust somebody out of jail?”

Venom snorted. How often, indeed.

Grinning like an idiot, he allowed his own excitement free rein. And why not? With Wick jazzed, the night promised to be a good one. Hell, forget
good.
Goddamn fantastic was more like it, except…

For one itty-bitty problem.

“So,” he said, tone cautious, starting the conversation off slow. Wick wouldn’t like what he said next, but hell, it couldn’t be helped. No way could they go after the female without setting a few ground rules first. Which meant getting a face full of flack from his best friend. “We’ll need to make a pit stop before hitting the hospital.”

Wick’s brows collided. “What for?”

“I need to feed.” Venom took a deep breath, preparing for the fallout. “And so do you.”

A growl slithered through the room, killing the quiet. Tension followed, jacking Wick so tight the muscles roping his arms flickered in protest. Avoiding his gaze, Wick looked away, shook his head, then retreated a step.

“Wick…”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” A quick grab and Venom fisted his hand in the front of Wick’s shirt. His friend leaned away, searching for an out. Goddamn. Here they went again. Forcing Wick to feed always started and ended the same way. Wick disliked being touched, and although Venom understood the panic that drove him, he couldn’t allow the evasion. The male must feed on female energy, connect to the Meridian or die. No getting around that fact. Or the curse of their kind. So he held firm, preventing Wick’s retreat. “I can feel the energy drain in you. You haven’t fed in so long, you’re slipping into energy-greed.”

“Ven—”

“You can’t retrieve the female if you’re hungry. Tania is high-energy, which means her younger sister probably is too.” Knuckles pressed to his best friend’s chest, Venom jostled him, hoping to shake some sense into the male, then uncurled his hand and let go. “She’s hurt, Wick. You get anywhere near her in this condition… touch her while you’re hungry? You might lose control, tap into the Meridian without thought, and kill her. Helluva way to repay Mac, don’t yah think?”

“Fuck.”

A poignant reply with a nasty aftertaste. And the understatement of the century.

But no matter how much Wick fought, he would do right by his best friend. Life or death. Commitment or abandonment. Two choices, only one viable option. Provide what Wick needed to keep breathing or die trying.