Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (21 page)

Surprise made him blink. The threat made him smile.

Arching both brows, she reached for the utensil. “You don’t think I will?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed another notch.

Holding his hands palm up, he retreated, settling in the chair adjacent to hers, his grin widening by the second. “It was a good bluff, though.”

Fiddling with her fork, she sighed. “I was never any good at poker.”

Unfortunately for her, he was. A real student of the game, he was considered a master player in most circles. But the ability to bluff was the least of it. Patience had a hand in every round he played. Which...ding-ding-ding...was the reason Tania sat with him now, talking instead of yelling.

“I’ll teach you.” The
a lot of things
went unsaid. Just as well. Sex wasn’t on the menu. At least not yet. Maybe not for a while, either.

A bite of pasta halfway to her mouth, she threw him a startled look. “How to play poker?”

Mac nodded, his attention riveted on her lips. He watched her chew for a moment, then glanced down at her hand, searching for safer ground. Her mouth was too frickin’ tempting and...huh. A lefty. He would never have guessed that about her. Whether using her right or left, she handled herself well. Attacking his own food, he studied her a little more closely, observing her facility with the utensil, making sure she wasn’t in any pain, absorbing every nuance. Yup. Definitely left-handed. Was she ambidextrous or something?

She speared another bite, twirling the fork above her bowl. “After we eat?”

He glanced at the round-faced clock hanging on the wall behind her. Three a.m. The equivalent of midday for him, but smack-dab in the middle of REM time for her. He returned his focus to Tania. Opening his senses wide,
he tapped into her bioenergy, mining the bond he shared with her to gauge her fatigue level.

He frowned. “You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

A lie, but Mac let it go. No sense arguing, but as she nibbled on her bottom lip, the urge to do something else—like taste her again—slammed through him. Leveling her chin, she met his gaze. Desire and need joined forces, hitting him like jet fuel, threatening to send him into orbit. With a death grip on his fork, he clamped down on the reaction.

“And Mac?” Soft inquiry. Big impact. Her tone was full of warning.

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I have a ton of questions.”

And there it was, the opening he’d been waiting for...an invitation to talk. And as her beauty spun into brainy, pride for her fortitude wound him a notch tighter. And what do you know? That aroused him too. Then again, everything she did made the male in him stand up and take notice. Shit, she could suit up in a clown costume and still turn him on. But no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her, Mac admitted her mind intrigued him more.

Gorgeous and smart.

It was a wicked combination. Lethal in more ways than one. And as she turned intelligent brown eyes on him, he prayed his Nightfury brothers showed up sooner rather than later...before base instinct shoved reason aside, took over, and made him do something stupid. Like strip her bare. Make her beg while he loved her hard.

Which wasn’t even close to advisable.

Wings spread in flight, red scales flashing beneath the storm glow, Ivar swept over the Seattle shoreline, scanning left then right. Nothing. No sign of the Nightfury yet. Like the freak of nature he was, the male had gone deep underwater, though how the hell he breathed down there was a mystery. A real knock-down-drag-out in the mental sphere, and while he chewed on the puzzle, Ivar kept searching. Sooner or later the asshole would poke his head up. No one, after all, could refute Newton’s law. Although in this instance, it was the opposite...a case of what went down must come up.

Somewhere. Someplace. Sometime.

And when that happened? Ivar would be there...waiting to blow the bastard sky-high. Or rip his head off. Either option would do.

He only hoped the opportunity landed in his lap faster than fast. Dawn approached and with it the deadly UV rays his kind couldn’t tolerate. Which begged a question. Could the water rat survive a full day at the bottom of Puget Sound? Store enough O
₂
in his freak-ass lungs to
hold out until another night fell? The water was certainly deep enough. Would act like a natural barrier of sorts and—

Ivar snorted. He hoped not. Sunblock, dragon-style, wasn’t what he needed right now. But the female? Oh baby, she was the ticket. The real deal, so high-energy just thinking about her made him salivate.

Hmm...Tania Solares. Yummy, yummy female.

He’d gotten a glimpse of her on the bridge in Gig Harbor. Her sojourn on TV had been a sampling, nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh. An incomparable specimen, her connection to the Meridian rivaled Bastian’s female. Power personified, she was beauty electric. Hunger curled through Ivar. He wanted a taste of her, of the blinding heat that hummed in her blue-green aura. Proof positive she’d be not only an unforgettable fuck but a perfect candidate for cellblock A.

And his breeding program.

Five females had been imprisoned there so far. He wanted seven, and the number six would look good hanging around Tania Solares’s neck. But only if he could find the pain-in-the-ass Nightfury and retrieve her.

He told himself it was for Lothair. For revenge and justice. To assuage his desire to get even. But now? After seeing her himself? His plans had changed. He wouldn’t be using her to bait the trap that would bring Bastian running. He’d be tying her to his bed and making her his personal slave.

Banking left, he headed farther out to sea and swept over Puget Sound. The city sparkled jewellike in the distance as thunder boomed overhead. He ignored the warning. Didn’t care that lightning forked through heavy clouds,
threatening to down him with the electrical equivalent of a boot to the ass. His focus was absolute.

Pissant water rat.

Eyes narrowed on the choppy surf, Ivar scanned the surface of the bay again. Three of his soldiers followed, protecting his flank while keeping their distance. He didn’t blame them. A smart male knew when to back off, and no one wanted to get in his way tonight. Not after the cluster-fuck over Gig Harbor.

Ivar ground his fangs together. What a mess. Four dead, double that injured with nothing to show for it. Oh sure, they’d hammered a few of the Nightfuries, but not hard enough. Put one down in the lose column, because, hey, Bastian and his band of bastards were still breathing. How did he know? The updates. Denzeil kept feeding the latest-and-greatest through mind-speak. The enemy was leapfrogging all over Seattle, leading his soldiers on a merry chase. One Ivar knew they couldn’t win...even with superior numbers.

The Nightfury pack was too quick. Too efficient. Too damn smart. No way any of them would get caught in the open now. So like it or not, KOing the lone male protecting Solares was the only satisfaction he was likely to get.

With a snarl, Ivar called on his magic. Power rushed through his veins, then sparked, twisting into magical heat. Pink flame exploded down his spine. With a twitch, he hummed, loving the sweeping tingle as fire raced across his scales, setting him ablaze from horned head to spiked tail.

The wildfire thing happened to him sometimes. Extreme anger set him alight, turning him into a flying inferno. Right now, though, the extra bit of PO’d helped center him. His built-in radar cranked to full blast, his night
vision sparked, picking up trace beneath the surface of the water. He inhaled, gathering a throat-full of fire, and—

Ivar growled. Fuck a duck. A school of fish, not the water rat.

The wind picked up, throwing cold mist into the air. Water wicking off his underbelly, Ivar’s sonar pinged again, magic blanketing the swell and dip of whitecaps like a grid. A lone shark swam beneath his flight path. But other than that? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. The male was gone, along with the female.

Christ almighty. What a night, never mind a waste of time.

But worse? The knowledge he’d been bested by a fledgling, a Nightfury whelp barely out of transition. Jesus, it was embarrassing. The male should never have been able to evade him. No way. No how. Not with his level of inexperience. Too bad the theory didn’t hold water. Bastian’s new boy packed one hell of a punch. Was smart too. Knew when to bug out and when to fight. The water spears were proof enough of that.

Inconceivable. A water dragon, one who possessed a strong throwing arm and pinpoint accuracy. Ivar shook his head. How was that even possible?

All right, stupid question. He knew it was
possible
. Hamersveld was proof enough of that. Ivar remembered meeting the male at the Archguard’s festival. God, how long had it been...thirty years? Maybe a few more? Could be, but whatever the time frame, he’d never forgotten the male. Understandable. The warrior made one hell of an impression and packed an even bigger punch.

No one screwed with Hamersveld. Not even the Archguard’s high council. Rumor held that the male
preferred his own company and refused to swear allegiance to an established pack. Add that to his vicious reputation and the fact he claimed to be a water dragon?

Oh, the possibilities.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed. Mind churning, he examined each idea from all angles, looking for pitfalls. Bastian had a water dragon in his corner—a powerful one, which qualified as an undeniable advantage. Hell, the pissant fledgling could already cloak himself underwater. Who knew what the Nightfury would be capable of given another week? Would the bastard be able to drown soldiers in midflight?

Ivar grimaced. The possibility didn’t thrill him. Neither did going home empty-handed. He banked right anyway and, flying fast, headed toward 28 Walton Street. Time to hit Dragonkind’s equivalent of the Internet and indulge in some reconnaissance. He needed to know more about Hamersveld. About his character and whether or not the male could be controlled.

With Lothair gone, Ivar required a new XO, one vicious enough to take his place. And Hamersveld? By all accounts, the warrior put the brutal in
brutality
. Toss in his propensity to unleash hell and...bingo. He had a match made in heaven. With an added bonus. Coaxing Hamersveld into the fold would boost morale among the Razorback ranks while backing the Nightfuries up a step.

Good plan. One he needed to put into action ASAP.

With Bastian’s boy learning in leaps and bounds, he had limited time. And finding Hamersveld, never mind convincing him to join the cause, wouldn’t be easy. But with the Archguard’s festival in full swing, he might get lucky. If the warrior was in Prague, Ivar’s contacts there would locate him.

Ivar doused the flames flickering along his spine. As his scales cooled in the frosty air, his soldiers closed ranks around him. Ignoring them, he rocketed over the warehouses sitting like steel-clad bricks along the waterfront, then turned northwest toward his city lair. The putrid scent of humans and furnace oil blew back behind him, curling like white froth from his wing tips. Ivar inhaled deep, sucking the disgusting smell into his lungs, satisfaction pumping through him.

Oh, he loved a clever strategy. And this one? His most brilliant yet. A battle plan with balls and a shitload of bite, because...oh yeah. It was time to fight fire with fire. Or rather, pit sea dragon against sea dragon. Let the water sports begin.

Nian, ascended male to the Archguard’s high council, stood in the middle of the high archway, scanning the upscale VIP section. Cave-like, the gentlemen’s club was all about soft jazz, comfortable booths, and strategically placed tables. A place where cigar smoke swirled, bow-tied waiters ruled, and Dragonkind came to unwind. His mouth tipped up at the corners. Prague’s Emblem Club was a gem: hip, posh, with just the right amount of sophistication.

Right up his alley.

He sighed, unwinding one tense muscle at a time. After suffering through the heavy thump of bass one floor up where the Archguard held court amid erotic dancers and spoiled supermodels, the quiet was a welcome reprieve. As was the sight of the embroidered curtains that hung on either side of him, flanking the entryway.
Damask, probably...hand stitched and shot through with gold thread. Expensive, like everything else in the Emblem.