Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (47 page)

Not a good idea if he wanted to stay in one piece.

Putting his boots in gear, Mac headed for the VIP section. The human sea parted. His mouth curved as he strode through the opening in the crowd and mounted the steps. Not much had changed. Even before his
change
, people
had treated him like a predator, scattering the moment he stepped into a room. Ange called the phenomenon the “Mac Effect.” He called it awesome. The mad scramble meant smooth sailing instead of rough waters, which...and it never failed...involved cracking a few skulls together.

Setting up shop in an empty booth, Mac slid along the deep bench seat and glanced toward the bar. He tipped his chin. A waitress hopped to, hustling toward him as Forge took the spot on his right-hand side. His mentor’s gaze raked the female. Reacting to the search and sweep, she slowed, moving to the beat of thumping bass, giving them time to look her over. Hunger sparked in Forge’s eyes. Mac didn’t blame him. Dressed in a sequined tube-top and a skirt slit thigh high, she put the bombshell in blonde.

She stopped in front of their table. Her gaze flicked over him. Seeing his noninterest, she turned to Forge, planted her hand on the tabletop, and leaned in, gifting the male with a glimpse of cleavage. “What can I get you, baby?”

“An ale, luv.” Forge’s nostrils flared as he drew her scent into his lungs. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

“You?” she asked Mac, her focus still trained on his mentor.

“Dos Lunas,” he murmured, ordering his favorite tequila. “Neat.”

She nodded, then said to Forge, “I have a minute, if you do.”

“Go,”
Mac mind-spoke, keeping it on the down-low. Discretion, after all, was the better part of valor.
“We got time. And I’m good here. If you need—”

“I don’t need shite, lad. I’m not leaving you alone,”
he said, his tone tight. Strobes flashed, bathing the waitress’s pale skin in bright light. Lifting his hand, Forge drew his
fingertip along the underside of her chin, caressing her softly. High-gloss lips parted; she purred. His throat worked as he withdrew and leaned back in his seat. “Many thanks for the offer, luv. But just the drinks tae-night.”

“Another time?”

“Mayhap.”

In a pout, she headed for the bar and their drinks. Mac shook his head. “Fuck off, Forge. Stop being overprotective. I can handle myself.”

“Nae doubt, but—”

“Shit,” Mac growled as an unfamiliar prickle danced across his skin. His tattoo tightened, reacting to the magical charge in the air. He shot to his feet. His eyes narrowed on the crowd beyond the VIP section, he breathed deep, sifting through human heat and club stench, hunting for the almost imperceptible scent. “You smell that?”

“Nay.”

“Salt water and seaweed.”

Forge slid out from behind the table. Shitkickers planted beside him, he asked, “Female perfume?”

“A male...Dragonkind.”

Mac swept the undulating crush again, seeking the source. He knew it was there. Could feel the electrical snap, the magical shift in the air, and smell the danger. Animal instinct screamed a warning. A second later, he located the threat. Big, blond, exuding a lethal amount of aggression, the male leaned against the curved edge of the main bar one level down. Next to the dance floor and covered with swirling yellow-white stone, the bottom curve of the round structure glowed, illuminating the stranger’s face. Black eyes rimmed by a thin band of light blue shimmered as the fucker blew him a kiss and—

Recognition struck him like a sledgehammer. Mac sucked in a quick breath. Motherfuck. A water dragon, another male who possessed his brand of kick-ass.

“Forge.”

“I see him.”

“Yank Ven and Wick’s chain,” he said, wanting extra backup. “I’m going over there.”

“Bullshite.” With a quick hand, Forge grabbed a fistful of his leather jacket, anchoring him in place. “Wait, lad. Let’s see what the asshole does and who he’s got with him first.”

Good plan. Starting a brawl inside the club wasn’t the best idea. Not in a place where camera-happy humans outnumbered them hundreds to one. CNN didn’t need to know about what went down in the sky above Seattle.

Still, Mac itched with impatience. Territorial instinct ripped through him, acting like a rabid dog frothing at the end of his chain. Magic flared, dusting the air as Forge sent out the call, raising Venom and Wick through mind-speak. One hundred percent focused on his target, Mac barely noticed. He locked gazes with the male instead. A smirk on his face, the bastard raised his glass in salute, taunting him. Mac bared his teeth on a snarl, then breathed deep. Something was off. The newcomer wore another scent, a deadly one not his own.

“He isnae alone.”

“I know.” Mac swept those seated at the bar on high stools, skimmed over a guy dressed in a black karategi, then snapped back. His gaze narrowed on the male: slight build, of Asian descent, narrow vertical pupils. Definitely not human. Rotating his arm, he broke Forge’s hold and growled, “The small male three stools down. What the—”

“A wren. Miniature dragons...small, vicious, highly maneuverable in flight, and hard to hit,” Forge said, stepping around the table edge and in front of him. Amethyst eyes aglow, he glanced over his shoulder. “Watch yourself when we get out there. Block out all sound. A wren’s shriek is a powerful weapon. The little bastard’ll scramble your wits with his scream...try tae bring you tae ground.”

Made sense. A downed dragon became a dead one...fast. “Let’s go.”

His gaze on the corridor at the rear of the club, Forge shook his head. Raising his hand, he held up his index finger and pointed to the red glow of the exit sign. A door halfway down the corridor flew open. Venom roared over the threshold and into the hallway, ruby eyes narrowed, aggression on display along with his bare chest. Conjuring a shirt and his leather jacket, the male buttoned his fly as Wick rolled in behind him.

Looking like a pair of twins called Kick-ass and Hard-core, the warriors strode across the VIP section. Mac didn’t wait. He shoved Forge to one side and beat feet for the stairs. He needed to reach the blond bastard before he turned tail and disappeared. Four against two, after all, wasn’t good odds...for Mr. Cocky and his wren. The second the enemy got wind of the extra backup, Mac knew...just
knew
...the fucker would run, hide, and not resurface for a while.

Which was...yeah. Not happening tonight.

Tapping into the collective psyche, Mac kept his attention glued to his quarry and cleared a path. The crowd parted, scurrying out of his way like mice before a hungry cat. Just as he reached the railing, Mr. Cocky broke eye contact and tilted his head. The sharp movement put Mac
on high alert. The bastard’s body language spoke volumes and provoked an immediate conclusion. He was talking to someone, linking in through mind-speak.

Mac leaped the staircase. As he landed at the bottom, the enemy male smiled, the baring of teeth more aggressive than amused, then turned and hauled ass toward the front of the club.

“Motherfuck. Forge, get to the—”

“Mac!”
The growl came through mind-speak loud and clear.

“Screw off, Sloan.”
Racing for the exit, Mac answered on the run.
“I’m busy.”

“Get unbusy and your ass headed toward I-90.”

Hot on his heels, Forge asked,
“What happened?”

“Tania happened.”
Sloan cursed. Something clanged as though a fist had just hit metal.
“Fucking female. She lied right to my face, then flew the coop.”

Mac slid to a stop beside the dance floor. Humans scattered like bowling pins.
“What the fuck?”

“Her sister was attacked...evac’ed from the prison earlier today.”

“Where is Tania now?”

“In Gage’s new Corvette...on the built-in satellite phone with Seattle Medical.”

“Motherfuck.”
Fear grabbed Mac by the throat.
“Please tell me she hasn’t used her name.”

“Wish I could, but if I picked it up on the wire so have the Razorbacks.”
The scrape of claws came through mind-speak a moment before the flap of wings sounded.
“I’m airborne now, but she’s got a half hour lead on me. You’re closer from downtown.”

Holy fuck, he hoped so. ’Cause if the rogues reached her first?

Adrenaline hit Mac like rocket fuel, turning him into a human torpedo. Shoving the bouncers aside, he planted his foot on the top step and leaped skyward. Magic exploded around him. The cloaking spell took hold, making him disappear into thin air as he shifted into dragon form. His wings caught air. Blown off their feet by the wind gust, the people in line screamed. Mac didn’t care. Cuts and bruises on a few innocent bystanders were nothing. He needed to reach Tania. Now. Faster than fast. Before the rogues found and captured her.

Oh God, please. Let him reach her first.

If he didn’t, Mac knew he would never recover. Tania meant everything, and if she died, he would lose it all—his heart, mind, and soul—and die right along with her.

The purr of the high-performance engine rumbled through the quiet. The sound should’ve calmed Tania. Slipping behind the wheel of a finely tuned automobile had that effect on her. Under normal circumstances, anyway.

Tonight, though, wasn’t normal.

She was too tense to enjoy the smooth perfection of the clutch and shift. Or the way the Corvette’s racing tires hugged the road. Worry distracted her, winding her so tight she barely noticed how well the car cornered, flying around S curves, roaring down straightaways, its sleek lines and maneuverability man’s gift to driving aficionados everywhere. All Tania cared about was that it went fast.

Mind-bending, heart-torquing
fast
.

Taking her eyes off the road, she glanced at the onboard navigation system. The little blue screen glowed, showing
her location on the digital map. A little over an hour to go before she reached Seattle. Before she found out whether her sister would live or die. All right, so maybe that was a bit melodramatic. She didn’t have any of the details, after all. Not the how, when, or why. Which was a problem. Especially since her imagination never said quit. Right now, it kept kicking out terrible yet oh so plausible
maybes
, tormenting her with enough worst-case scenarios to sink a battleship.

Par for the course for a worrywart. And some things never changed.

Bad luck seemed to be one of them. ’Cause, yeah, the road? Two lanes of twisting blacktop and stomach-clenching turns. Hell for a girl in a hurry.

White-knuckling the steering wheel, Tania sped down another hill. As she swung around the next bend, the Vette’s headlights pierced the darkness, throwing illumination out in a wide arc before splashing over the side of the road. Huge pine trees rose beyond the gravel shoulders, moonlight painting their midnight needles with a silver brush as a lake glinted in the distance. Tania shifted into fifth gear. A quick glance at the speedometer confirmed her suspicions. She’d broken the speed limit fifty clicks ago. Now she rode the razor’s edge, in control of the powerful car, but not by much.

Instinct made her tug on her seat belt. Yup. Two thumbs up. The five-point racing harness checked out, the shoulder straps secure and...annoying as hell. The thing hadn’t been made for her, but for someone much bigger. Which made sense considering the size of the Nightfury crew and the fact she’d stolen one of their cars. Tania grimaced, feeling terrible about that, but...oh, snap. She might as well face it.

She was in a crapload of trouble.

Her heart clenched at the thought. Tania eased off the gas pedal. As her speed went from supersonic to just-kill-me-now fast, she imagined Mac’s reaction to her midnight run. Furious would be the least of it. Afraid for her, however? Bingo. That about summed it up. Despite her uncertainty about how he felt about her, she knew...just
knew
...he’d freak out—be worried, terrified, half out of his mind—when he learned what she’d done and where she’d gone.

Guilt collided with regret and then tumbled into remorse. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, wanting to kick herself, hating the distress she would cause him. But there was no other way.

J.J. was in trouble.

Injured and alone. Maybe even dying. So, no. Waiting for Mac to come home hadn’t been an option. The need to protect her sister was simply too strong for that.

Blinking away her tears, Tania gave herself a pep talk. She was safe, winding her way toward Seattle, untraceable by Dragonkind standards. That counted for something, didn’t it? God, she hoped so and that, in the end, Mac would understand. He was, after all, a reasonable guy.

She frowned. Right?

Downshifting into the next turn, she examined that bit of logic and realized she was a first-class pinhead. Who was she kidding? Mac wouldn’t care about the whys and wherefores. He’d be one giant ball of I’m-gonna-tan-your-hide the second he got hold of her.

Which...wow, wasn’t going to be any fun. At all.

“She’s my baby sister. Please don’t be mad,” she whispered, practicing her defense only to recognize the futility. No matter how good her excuse, she would still catch hell.
Mac would make sure of it, so...time to come up with a new prayer. “Please make him love me so much he can’t help but forgive me.”