Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (26 page)

Nian stepped out into the alley. Ignoring the snowy bluster, he pivoted in the middle of the narrow thoroughfare and slipped out of his tuxedo jacket. “Here...take my coat. It’s too cold out here for her dressed like that.”

The Nightfury’s eyes narrowed. Nian didn’t retreat. Instead, he stepped up to wrap Armani’s finest around the female, surrounding her with his warmth as Gage shifted her in his arms.

The crunch of footfalls sounded behind him. The soft voice came next, slithering like poison and just as deadly. Nian tensed, preparing to be bitten as Haider said, “What do you want, Nian?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Pale silver eyes met his. “What makes you think I want something?”

“Stop fucking around,” Gage growled, the impatience in his tone tangible. “Or I’ll stomp your skull and be done with it.”

Well, now. Nothing like skipping the formalities to get straight to the point. “I want you to take a message to Bastian.”

“Really?” Raising a brow, Haider shook his head. Straight, long hair followed the movement, brushing the male’s shoulders as silver strands shot with dark gray and black shimmered beneath snowflakes and the moon glow. “And just what would it say: sorry my father tortured and almost killed you?”

“I am not my sire.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Giving Nian a once-over, Gage snarled, then sidestepped, brushing shoulders with him. “You look a lot like the bastard...right down to your fancy fucking shoes.”

Reaching into his trouser pocket, Nian palmed his lighter. Instant relief from the tension. The gold settled him down, sent his nerves from frayed to rock steady. He needed to stay calm. The second he rose to Gage’s bait, the pair would assume he was just like the male who had sired him and walk away. Or worse yet, slash his throat,
then
walk away. “I am a member of the Archguard, Nightfury. There are certain expectations that must be met. And appearances can be deceiving.”

“Um-hmm.” Dress shoes scraping over cobblestones, Gage strode toward the mouth of the alleyway. Halfway down, he turned to glare at Nian over his shoulder. “Haider, you deal with the asshole. I’ll see the female home.”

Trust. Had he said it was earned earlier? A huge assumption. Particularly since Haider and Gage didn’t appear to have any. So getting in their good graces and winning them over? A distinct impossibility. Unless, of course, he got lucky, phrased his argument just right.

“I’m fed up, Haider,” he said, being honest for once. “Tired of all the power mongering.”

“You’ve been a member of the Archguard...for what? A month?”

“Three, actually.” Nian knew what the male was getting at. A few months was nowhere near long enough to be fed up with the instability. With the nonsense that went on day after day, year after year. “I haven’t been in power long, but I’ve spent a lifetime watching my sire pull strings from the sidelines. Time enough to see the need for change.”

Interest lit in the Nightfury’s eyes. Good. The male was listening.

“What are you proposing?” Haider asked, reaching into his breast coat pocket.

The Nightfury pulled out a slim silver cigar case. With a pop, he took off the rounded top and extracted an expensive cigar from its confines. The work of seconds, the male prepared the Cuban, clipping the end with a cutter before setting it in his mouth. Quick with his hands, Nian put his lighter to good use. The small flame flared. The cigar burned bright orange, releasing the smell of burning tobacco into the night air. Haider leaned back and away. Nian clicked his lighter closed as smoke curled from the male’s mouth, obscuring his face a moment before floating upward to meet the snowy sky.

The cold air licked deep, attacking the thin material of his silk shirt. Nian suppressed a shiver, refusing to show
any weakness. Not in front of a male who was nothing but strong. “I propose an exchange.”

“You don’t have anything we want.”

“I’m on the inside...right at the top of the inner circle.”

“So what?” Taking another puff, Haider blew out a smoke ring. “You want to be our minute man?”

“I’m invited to all the private parties. Am privy to all the council does and says inside and out of chambers. Are you?” When the male remained silent, Nian raised a brow, pushing his advantage. He had eyes and ears everywhere. Was welcomed in places where, as Nightfuries, Haider and Gage would never be accepted. “Rodin’s neck-deep in nothing good. You know it, and so do I. I could be your friend, Nightfury. An asset to your pack.”

“At what price?”

“A very small one.”

“Lay it out.”

“Support from Bastian and the entire Nightfury pack,” Nian said. “Protection and backup when I need it.”

Haider’s mercury eyes narrowed. Nian could almost see the male’s mind turning, ferreting out the facts, calculating every possibility. Smart with a whole lot of cunning. The Nightfury might be a diplomat, but he wasn’t a politician. Impossible to bribe. Hard to fool. Even more difficult to manipulate. Which meant keeping his cards close to the vest. No sense giving away the game before it even started.

“Think about it, Haider.” Nian flicked the top of his lighter. Open. Closed. Click-click-snap. The sound ringing in the silence that grew between them. “Best friend or adversary. Your choice.”

“I’ll take it to my commander.” Flicking ash from the end of his cigar, Haider pivoted toward the street. To
where Gage was helping the female into a taxicab. Halfway between him and his comrade, the male glanced over his shoulder, and he got nailed with shimmering pale eyes. “No guarantees, though, Nian.”

Nian nodded. That was all he asked. A chance to win Bastian’s favor. Now all he needed to do was wait...hope and pray the powerful male took the bait and agreed. He required a powerful ally, one of the Nightfury commander’s caliber. One that would set Rodin on his heels and the rest of the Archguard running. He couldn’t, after all, overtake the high council and rise to power without a little help from friends.

Ambition, he thought, watching Haider walk away. His cross to bear. Then again, he was his sire’s son, and his father had taught him well.

Weak sunlight broke through the cloud cover, caressing the tops of J.J.’s shoulders. The beginnings of a new melody flitted through her mind. The chorus had a one-two beat. The main instrument? An acoustic guitar. It always happened that way. The drums came first, gifting her with the rhythm before the musical layers filtered in to take shape and form. Eventually it would become what it was meant to be...a song, complete with lyrics. The ones she scribbled down inside the notebook she kept stashed under the mattress inside her cell. Getting to that point might take her fifteen minutes or a few days, but...

Eventually.
The piece would come together. A beautiful marriage of rhythm and music notes. Something she could sing while lying in her bunk at night, listening to the prison whisper around her. Soft comfort in a harsh place.

Tania called her gift for music genius. Marveling at her ability to pick up any instrument and learn how to play it in less than two weeks. J.J. didn’t agree. Her talent was nothing special. Just more normal in a life filled with routine. Ho-hum at best, but at least her songs kept her company.

Humming the tune, J.J. tipped her face up toward the sun. Meager warmth caressed her skin, tempting her to stop, stand still, and soak up more. She kept moving instead, the soles of her shoes scuffing against worn pavement, walking the fence’s perimeter, chain link topped by barbed wire to her left, the wide-open expanse of the prison yard to her right. Day in. Day out. It was always the same. She stuck to her chosen path, to the regular routine that sustained her.

Today, though, it wasn’t about survival. Or her self-imposed exile into the land of loneliness. It was about strategy. About preparing for what was to come.

Excitement prickled through her. Nervousness tempered it, spinning hope toward caution. She couldn’t afford to mess up. But neither could she wish too hard. Danger lay in that direction. Disappointment the main dish at the dinner table called life.

Burrowing deeper into her prison-issue jacket, J.J. kept walking, each of her strides eating the ground, covering the distance. Round and round she went, one lap turning into another. Guitar notes and drumbeats melding, her mind flipped through the possibilities. All the likely questions the parole board would ask. And how she would answer each one.

She finished her fifth circuit, ignoring the desolate gray of the fenced-in area. Huddled together, inmates stood in the middle of the large yard, hands buried in their coat pockets, wool toques on their heads to ward off the chill. Their voices rose and collided, sounding more like birds chattering than grown women talking. The mental snapshot made J.J. picture a flock of flamingos standing one-legged in a pond. The noisy result would be about the
same. Clusters of birds clucking versus groups of women chatting. The only real difference? Color, and the fact flamingos were free to fly away.

Anytime they wanted.

Nodding to a cluster of friendlies, J.J. strode on and, looking skyward again, worshiped the sun, pretending for a moment she was...

Free.

Taking an afternoon stroll in downtown Seattle. Window-shopping instead of stuck here...on the inside. The mental picture was a powerful one. But the yearning that drove it? Even more so.

A month. Just thirty days—a measly 720 hours—and it might actually happen.

Might
was a pretty big word, though, wasn’t it? It left so much unsaid...undetermined and up in the air, leaving her to wonder which way Father Chance would throw her when the time came. Ah yes, hope...a very dangerous thing. A grand illusionist with too many tricks up its sleeve. The sleight of hand, however, was the least of her problems, and belief, the most. She recognized a smoke screen—a pipe dream—when she saw one.

And yet J.J. couldn’t turn away from its allure. Couldn’t slow down long enough to allow reality to burst her bubble. She didn’t want to be reasonable. To look at the facts and admit her chances of getting parole were slim. She wanted to dream, if only for a little while. And as her low spirits spiraled into lightheartedness, opaque emotional skies moved to light-filled and airy.

Her lips tipped up at the corners. Insane. Ironclad certifiable.

But oh, the possibilities. Tra-la-la-la-la.

J.J. huffed, laughing at her own stupidity.

“What’s so funny, Injin?”

More rasp than substance, the voice coiled around her like a venomous snake. As the insult to her Cherokee heritage—to the father she’d never known and didn’t share with her sister—sank deep, the song she’d been composing died a quick death. Anger bubbled up in its wake, blistering the inside of her soul. Griggs. It couldn’t be anyone else. None of the other guards called her
Injin
.

The racist podunk.

Wrestling with her temper, J.J. wiped her expression clean and glanced over her shoulder. She blinked, two things surprising her at once. One, she’d gotten too close to the yard’s outdoor gym, her nemesis’s playground. Oh, and speak of the devil, Daisy (a misnomer for the butched-out, heavyset woman if there ever was one) was now eyeballing her from behind a pair of free weights. And two? Griggs looked like a train wreck. Or rather as though he’d gone toe-to-toe with one...and lost. Big-time. The two black eyes he sported told the tale. The white butterfly bandages above one eyebrow and the cut across the bridge of his nose finished the story. Someone had unleashed hell on the guard, using his fists to mete out some serious punishment.

Bully for him. Or umm...

Her.

Ah, crap. Had Tania finally lost it and put up her dukes? Taken all her kickboxing lessons and hammered Griggs like he deserved? J.J. frowned, playing with the idea. It took her less than a second to decide. Her sister wasn’t the culprit. As much as Tania complained about Griggs, she knew the price for losing her temper with the guard...J.J.’s butt in a sling. So, no. Her sister would never risk her that way.

Too bad, really.

She would love for her sister to go ballistic. Could handle the repercussions—endure the idiot guard’s vengeful payback—to see Tania put the hammer down and clock the jerk. Just once. Okay, so that was a big, fat lie. One fist to his face would never be enough. She wanted to witness the whole kit and caboodle. A handful of knuckle sandwiches. A flurry of solid kicks until he folded like a bad poker hand.

Griggs had earned it, after all...and then some.

“Well?” he said, his tone sharp with authority.

“Nothing, Officer,” she said, looking skyward. The clouds shifted, hiding the sun behind a blanket of thick, white, and fluffy. Figured. The second Griggs showed up, all lightness vanished. “Just enjoying the fresh air.”

“Fitting, I guess. Especially since you won’t be enjoying it much longer.” His smug tone put her on high alert. What the heck did he mean by that? Unease skittered deep. J.J.’s focus snapped back to him. Victory in his bloodshot eyes, he murmured, “Interesting personal file you got there, Injin.”

J.J.’s heart dipped, then rebounded. Oh God. He knew. Had seen the letter from the parole board in her file and now...he
knew
. Fear sent her sideways, closing her throat, locking her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.