Fury of Desire (21 page)

Out. Up. And over. He landed with a thump in front of the SUV. Magic exploded, swirling around him as he shifted into dragon form. Black amber-tipped scales flowed over his body to reach his spiked tail. Dragon talons took up the cause, turning his hands and feet to razor-sharp claws. In full battle mode, he slammed the driver’s door closed with his mind, enclosing Jamison inside. Her scream echoed inside his head, filling him with regret. Too bad for her. For him too. He didn’t have time to go back and coddle her. Not with the Razorback poised to strike again.

In less than a second, he closed the distance. The enemy dodged, wing flapping to avoid his upward surge. Wick wanted to snort. He snarled instead. The dumb-ass. Like a complete idiot, the male hung in the kill zone, hemmed in by trees, immobile in midair, prime pickings with nowhere to go.

Tucking his wings, Wick spiraled into a sideways flip and lashed out. Halfway through the revolution, his claws caught. Dragon blood splashed up his arm. He grinned and dug in, claws cutting through scales to find muscle and bone. The Razorback flailed, fighting the lockdown and… oh, Nelly. The screaming never got old. Neither did inflicting the pain.

The rogue bastard. Asshole male. Threaten a female, would he?

No fucking way.

He wouldn’t permit Razorback filth anywhere near Jamison. Or allow her to be hurt. Not anymore. Never again. The male deserved every ounce of agony. And as the stink of his enemy’s desperation rose, Wick showed no mercy. Clamping down. Claws ripping at the rogue’s throat. Ignoring the backlash of claws against the wall of his chest. The pain was nothing, but killing the rogue? That was everything. And as he took the male apart scale by scale, he reveled in dominance and, for once, honor. Tonight he fought for something greater than himself. To protect. To serve. For a female who needed him to shield her.

A death rattle rose on the night breeze.

Wick growled as the Razorback disintegrated in his grip. Ash flew like snowflakes, covering his talons, whirling over his horned head—as he searched the sky. Oh goody. There they were… assholes number two and three flying in fast. Leaping straight up, he unfurled his wings. The rogues attacked in tandem, tag-teaming him. He spun in midair and nailed asshole number two with his barbed tail. The rogue’s head whiplashed. Using his momentum, Wick whirled around and grabbed him by the throat. He jerked his arm back. The fucker’s larynx ripped from the front of his neck, coming away in Wick’s talon. The rogue plummeted out of the sky, ashing out before he hit the ground. Wick pivoted, hoping—

Ah, hell. No such luck.

Asshole number three was bugging out, hauling ass over the forest, no doubt praying Wick decided not to give chase. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone after
the pansy-ass. Not tonight, though. Murder and mayhem weren’t the top priority. Too bad. He could’ve used the exercise. But with Jamison curled up in the SUV less than a hundred yards away, killing anything else tonight didn’t seem like a good idea. Wick sighed and, folding his wings, set down in the middle of the field. Shit. He’d probably traumatized her. Scared her so badly she would no doubt freak out if he came anywhere near her now.

A green blur flew overhead.
“Wick… you clear?”

Wick bit down on a curse. Not even close. He still had Jamison to deal with.
“Two dead. Last rogue bugged out.”

“The female?”

“Still in the truck.”

Ruby eyes aglow, Venom dropped out of the sky. Scales rattling from the free fall, his friend’s talons thumped down, flattening the field grass a few feet away.
“I’ll get her.”

“The fuck you will.”

Venom’s brows popped skyward.

Wick ignored the show of surprise. He didn’t want to explain. Couldn’t begin to either. What the hell could he say? That his wires were crossed—tangled up, on the fritz or something—and he didn’t want another male anywhere near Jamison. That if Venom approached her for any reason, he’d be forced to tear his best friend a new body orifice. Wick shook his head. Right. Like that would go over well. The entire Nightfury crew would ask questions. Razz him about his need to protect her. Demand he explain the compulsion. Not something he wanted to get into with the other warriors when he didn’t understand it himself.

“Stay here.”
He eyeballed Venom, warning him with a look.
“Give me a minute with her.”

His best friend grimaced.
“She saw?”

“Front row seat.”

“Goddamn it.”

Uh-huh. That about summed it up.

Shifting into human form, Wick conjured his clothes. Worn jeans and a T-shirt settled on his skin, and stomping shitkickers on his feet, he crossed to the dirt road. His chest went tight as the front of the SUV came into view. Her bio-energy thrummed, pulsing in her aura, making the inside of the cab glow with fiery light. The muscles along his spine tightened with each step he took. The closer he got, the more awareness expanded, folding around him, telling all he needed to know.

She was scared shitless. And he was to blame.

Approaching the passenger-side door, he glanced through the window. Ah, hell. Not good. Tucked into a fetal position, Jamison lay curled in a ball. But worse? She trembled so hard his leather jacket shivered around her. Remorse struck him chest level. Wick smothered the reaction. Emotion was a bad idea. And feeling sorry about something he couldn’t change? Complete folly. It wouldn’t help him, never mind her. He needed to get her moving—and head to Black Diamond.

“Jamison.” Reaching out, he popped the truck door open.

Her head snapped toward him. Wide, terror-filled eyes met his. “D-don’t! Don’t touch me!”

“Easy.” Standing in the V—between the open door and the truck frame—he held his hands out to the sides, the move one of reassurance. “It’s just me… Wick. Remember?”

“W-wick.” Huddled inside his jacket, a tear spilled over her bottom lashes. “You… I saw y-you. You’re not… n-not…”

“Human?”

Another tear fell. “What are you?”

“Dragonkind. One of the good guys.”

Incomprehension in her gaze, she shook her head. Wick didn’t blame her for not believing him. He’d never been one of the
good guys.
Didn’t look or act the part, so… she was right on the money. It was only natural for her to fear him. But that didn’t change the facts. Or what he must do. And yet, he wanted to give her a moment to acclimate. A chance to understand. To come to terms with the idea that he intended to touch her again.

“Look,
vanzäla.
I know it’s hard to understand, but I want you to trust me a little longer.” Meeting her gaze, he stepped forward. Trapped by her injuries, hemmed in by him, she squirmed on the seat, retreating even though she had nowhere to go. He watched her a moment, feeling helpless, not knowing how to help her, then leaned in. Angling his body through the open door, he planted his hand on the center console. As she whimpered, he said, “I won’t hurt you.”

“Liar,” she rasped. “I saw you. I saw you change into a… a…”

“Dragon?”

Her small hands made an appearance between the lapels of his jacket. Curled into twin balls of fury, she leveled her white-knuckled fists at him. Amusement sparked. Respect for her followed. Jesus. What a spitfire, a female with courage and the chops to hold her own against him. So, time to change tactics.

Wick smoothed his expression. No sense pissing her off. Laugh at her, and he knew she’d pop him with a left jab. “You wanna see your sister?”

She blinked. “You have Tania?”

“Yes.” Short, sweet, and to the point… always the best strategy.

“If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

“No need to threaten,” he murmured, his respect for her rising another notch. “She’s in good hands… mated to a friend of mine.”

The news flash made her mouth fall open. Wick took advantage of her momentary confusion and, tucking her fists away, tugged his jacket closed around her. Half a second, and he scooped her up, one arm supporting her back, the other beneath her knees. A quick reverse in course. A nifty shift to the left. A tight turn, and he walked away from the truck with her in his arms. All before she could protest.

She squirmed against him.

Wick secured his hold on her. “Relax, female. It’s all good.”

“Relax,”
she said, her sarcastic tone all about “yeah, right.” Face half covered by the collar, she coughed into the leather, the sound raspy with pain. “You gotta be kidding me with that crap.”

His chin brushing the top of her head, Wick’s mouth curved. After a moment, he gave in to impulse and grinned. He couldn’t help it. He liked her moxie. Admired her for not crying like a baby too. All right, so a few tears had fallen. No big deal. Most females would be sobbing by now—be in postdragon freak-out mode or some shit. So, yeah. Jamison got full marks for keeping it together. He only hoped she continued on that track as he strode into the clearing toward his best friend.

Still in dragon form, Venom tipped his chin.

Wick nodded. Getting a load of Venom in all his scaly glory, Jamison gasped. He murmured, trying to reassure
her, and called on his magic. Power sparked, warping the night air as she whispered “this isn’t happening… oh my God, this
can’t
be happening” against his shoulder. Careful to hold her gently, he shifted into dragon form. As he transferred her into his left talon, she winced, but settled fast, making him proud, slipping past his guard to touch a soft spot deep inside him.

Unprecedented. Not very smart either.

No matter how intriguing he found her, Wick refused to be lured. He wasn’t wet behind the ears, a green warrior without the sense God gave him. He didn’t want to feel anything for Jamison. Or be plagued by the need other males suffered for a female. He wasn’t built for connection. Didn’t want to experience closeness or yearn for another. He was a lone male, best suited to solitude, not to keeping a female happy.

Unfurling his wings, Wick nodded and leapt skyward. Exactly. Perfect. Excellent conclusion. A no-brainer, really. He didn’t want her. She clearly harbored no liking for him. Now only one job remained… reach Black Diamond. The sooner he handed Jamison over to her sister, the better it would be for both of them.

Hamersveld snarled as Ivar dragged him away from the female. Black eyes half-open, the tattoo bracketing his spine still glowing, the male fought the pull and reached for her again. With a muttered curse, Ivar tightened his grip and muscled the male to one side of the prison cell. Enough was enough. Tapped out already, she couldn’t afford to give another ounce of energy. And the warrior in his arms didn’t
need anymore. But as she collapsed into an unconscious heap on the floor, he shook his head.

Hell’s bells. He’d never seen anything like it. Hamersveld was voracious. So hungry, energy-greed drove him, propelling him toward female after female, KO’ing reason in favor of self-preservation.

Not surprising considering the Norwegian’s condition, never mind his crash landing in the backyard. Since then, he’d gone through three HE females, mainlining energy the way an addict injects heroin. All in between salt baths. In. Out. Lift, carry… dunk. He’d been doing it all night, hauling the warrior away from one female after another, lifting him in and out of the tub between feedings. But that was over now. The worst had passed. At least, Ivar hoped so, ’cause…

God, his arms were about to give out.

Muscles screaming with fatigue, Ivar slung his new friend’s arm around his shoulder. One hand gripping Hamersveld’s wrist, the other around his waist, he turned toward the front of the cell. Wet skin touched his. He ignored the slip ’n slide and half carried, half dragged the male toward the glass stretched wall-to-wall across the front of the cell. Satisfaction hummed as he admired the seamlessness. Perfection in application, a clear expanse of quadruple-paned glory instead of steel bars… more fishbowl than prison.

Modern. Contained. The perfect cage for his exotic collection of human birds.

Pleasure filled him as he glanced at the unconscious female. Curled up on the floor, blond hair in disarray around her head, the number three was branded on the back of her shoulder. A fitting mark, one that reinforced her purpose.
She was livestock, captured for one reason… to breed the next generation of Dragonkind, and hopefully—if the serum he’d created proved successful—produce the first female offspring of his kind.

It was a lofty goal. A risky venture too. One he needed to work.

Science drove him. The thrill of discovery its twin as he hunted for the chromosomal sequence to unlock dragon DNA and lift the spell that cursed Dragonkind. No other outcome would be satisfactory. The promise of freedom burned deep inside him, driving him to do better. To find the answers and save his race from inevitable destruction. He’d seen the path long ago. With females of their own, Dragonkind would no longer rely on humans to survive.

And the moment that happened? He’d eliminate the inferior race. Wipe them from the face of the earth once and for all.

The pissants deserved no better. Only a horrible death would do. Why? It was simple, really. No matter how many times Mother Nature warned them, the humans refused to act responsibly. The proof lay in the pudding… or rather, the result. Global warming. Catastrophic weather patterns and extreme storms. Species all over the planet driven into extinction. Air pollution, ozone reduction, oil spills, and the poisoning of groundwater. The list went on and on… and on.