Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (16 page)

The phraseology sparked an emotional switch-up. A half smile on his face, Venom squared his shoulders. Bastian went on high alert. He recognized that expression. Half excitement, half stone cold certainty an
d . . .
huh. Wasn’t that interesting? Venom had new intel, maybe even a secret to share. Glancing sideways, he tossed Rikar a you’d-better-get-ready look.

Quick on the uptake, his XO raised a brow. “Better? How?”

“I found her,” Venom said, his half smile spreading into a full grin. “It finally happened. I found her.”

Forge stepped into the circle. “And who might that be, lad?”

“My mate.”

“Your
mate
?” Mac frowned as he joined the party.

Bastian frowned. “You sure? You’re toxic, Ven. Females can’t tolerate your touch for long, s
o . . .
be sure. Very,
very
, sure. Otherwise we’ll end up with a mess on our hands.”

“A dead female too,” Rikar said.

“I’m sure.” Excitement in his eyes, Venom cleared his throat. He rolled his shoulders, shuffled his feet, and flexed his fingers, fidgeting as though the mere thought of his mate made his skin prickle. “She’s not like the others, B. She’s immune. My touch doesn’t hurt her.”

Blowing out a pent-up breath, Bastian stared at his warrior. He needed to be sure. Was hoping like hell Venom wasn’t out of control, creating a fairy-tale connection, believing he’d found his mate for no other reason than he wanted it to be true. Desperation did strange things to a male, and Venom wasn’t immune. None of them were, but as he held his friend’s gaze, he saw the truth in his eyes. Flat-out conviction. Perfect certitude. No fairy tale in sight. Venom believed he’d found
the one
with intensity that didn’t lie. Which meant so must he.

Palming his friend’s shoulder, he squeezed. “Okay, then.”

“Well done.” With a quick shift, Mac raised his fist and lashed out. The punch/love tap nailed Venom in the bicep.

“Ow—goddamn it.” Rubbing the sore spot on his arm, Venom threw Mac a dirty look.

Mac grinned. “Congrats, man.”

Rikar looked around, searching the tree line. “So—where’d you stash her?”

“I didn’t.” His expression wary, Venom shrugged. “I let her go.”

“You
what
?” Forge’s brows popped skyward. Bafflement winged across his face. “Are you mad, lad? No one in their right mind lets his mate go.”

“Not without him along for the ride anyway,” Bastian murmured, watching his warrior closely. Venom glanced his way, a quiet plea for understanding in his ruby-red eyes. And he got it. Bastian knew exactly what had prompted Venom to allow his mate to leave without him. Bastian’s lips twitched. Freaking Venom. The male never took the easy way out. He had standards instead. An elevated sense of integrity that more often than not got him into trouble. “You didn’t want to abduct her. You plan to pursue her instead.”

“We have a dinner date tomorrow night.”

“Wel
l . . .
” A teasing light in his eyes, Rikar grinned. “I guess that confirms what we’ve known all along. You’re insane, brother.”

“Asking for trouble as well,” Forge said, sounding more pissed off than usual. “Bring her home, Ven. Given enough time, she’ll accept you.”

Venom shook his head. “I’m not going to force her. Evelyn deserves better an
d . . .
hell. Might as well admit it.” He blew out a long breath. “I like the idea of dating he
r . . .
spending the time. I want to give the whole wooing thing a try.”

“God save us all.” Forge sighed. “You’re a bloody romantic.”

Rikar’s lips twitched. “Try it sometime, Scot. You might like it.”

“No chance of that.” A shuttered look in his violet eyes, Forge glanced away. Expression set, a muscle jumped along his jaw line as he stared across the clearing, gaze fixed on the sway of thick field grass. “I’ve no need for that bullshite.”

The harsh comment stalled the conversation.

Winter wind tousled the treetops. Pine needles lost the battle and tumbled, playing in the breeze as everyone focused on Forge. A natural reaction given the vehemence of his denial. Message sent and received. Loud and clear. No chance for misinterpretation. Bastian cleared his throat, his heart aching for the Scot. He couldn’t imagine the pain Forge lived with day in and day out. Or having to deal with that kind of grief. Losing a female in childbirth never got easier. The passage of time made no difference. Horrific memories stayed with a male forever. And never faded.

So fresh. Too raw. Just months old. The loss was hardly behind Forge at all.

The fact the Scot’s son had survived didn’t lessen the grief. Or ease the agony. Bitterness and guilt picked Forge apart instead, sealing him up tight, driving him away from connection and the anguish that kind of vulnerability could cause. Healing would come, but until then, Bastian knew the new addition to the Nightfury pack needed to be handled with kid gloves.

And a huge amount of understanding.

“Evelyn,” Mac said, breaking the rough silence, rescuing his mentor by bringing the conversation back on track. “Pretty name.”

“Stupid plan.” The pain Forge tried so hard to hide crept into his tone. Lifting his foot, he kicked a rock toward a boulder half-buried in the ground. Stone cracked against stone. He growled. “Pull your head out of your arse, Venom—go and get her.”

Eyes narrowed, Venom opened his mouth, no doubt to shut Forge down.

“Let it go,” Bastian said, tone soft, yet firm, stopping a confrontation before it began.

Neither male needed a fight right now. At least, not with each other. The Razorbacks, however? Different story. Killing the enemy would ease the tension. It always did. But with Ivar and his pack in absentia, ripping apart rogues to soothe frayed nerves seemed unlikely. Which left everyone wound too tight, and him looking for ways to keep the peace inside the Nightfury pack.

A dicey proposition.

Nowhere near easy with his warriors on edge. Toss in a handful of volatile personalities and each male’s propensity for violence an
d . . .
Bastian huffed. Hell. Forget unstable. The situation flirted with unsafe.

Giving Mac a playful shove to lighten the mood, he palmed Forge’s shoulder. A quick squeeze relayed the message—don’t spoil Venom’s fun. Holding his gaze, the Scot exhaled and relaxed beneath his hand. Bastian nodded in approval and gave his warrior a solid slap of approval. His palm connected with Forge’s leather jacket. Sharp sound rippled, cracking through the clearing as he turned toward Venom. Support. Help. New idea
s . . .
proven dating techniques. All the time and money Venom needed to do it up right and bring his female into the fold. Bastian wanted to provide it all, ’caus
e . . .
yeah. No question. His brother-in-arms’ happiness trumped the mess brewing in Prague. Much as it pained him, he must play a game of wait and see, and pray Gage and Haider made it out alive. Which meant he couldn’t help the Metallics right now.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help Venom.

Tipping his chin, he prompted his friend. “What do you know about her?”

Dragging his attention from Forge, Venom refocused on him. “Not much, but I’ve got some intel. I need Sloan to source it before I meet her again.”

“Home, then,” Bastian said, turning toward the large trees standing sentry at the edge of the dell. “We’ve got shit to do.”

An understatement.

A serious one given his earlier conversation with Sloan. The male was onto something. Up and running in the cyber world, chasing down a lead.
Granite Falls.
Small town up north, big trouble if what he suspected proved true. The absence of rogues in downtown Seattle coupled with Azrad’s message meant Ivar was on the move. Up to no good somewhere inside the Cascade Mountain Range. The location made Bastian uneasy. It was far too isolated. Not exactly the best place to launch an assault.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen.

Ivar didn’t do anything without forethought. He planned big, moved fast, and struck with precision inside well-defined parameters. Random strikes weren’t his strength. So if Granite Falls was on his radar, the bastard had a reason for singling it out. One that leaned toward ominous and away from sane. Bastian clenched his teeth. Only one conclusion to draw—Ivar was planning something big. Something that involved humankind. Which placed those in Granite Falls in the middle of a war zone.

With a growl, Bastian stopped in the middle of the clearing. Boots planted, he glanced at the night sky and shifted into dragon form. His claws scraped through overturned topsoil. Shaking free of the dirt, he unfolded his wings and launched himself toward pinpoint stars.

His warriors took flight behind him.

Ascending fast, Bastian banked east toward Black Diamond, his mind mired in problems and the welfare of his younger brother. He blew out a steadying breath. Man, he hoped Azrad was all right. His message to Sloan skirted the boundaries of safe, putting his brother in dangerous territory. The more he risked his life to warn the Nightfuries of trouble, the easier it would be for Ivar to find him. After tonight, Azrad was officially out of pocket, vulnerable to discovery, easy pickings for Ivar inside the Razorback pack.

Worry came calling.

Fear for his sibling upped the ante, making his heart pound and unease creep into the center of his chest. Spy game central—such a lethal sport to play. Beyond dangerous for Azrad. Nowhere near easy for Bastian to watch. One false move, and it would be over. His baby brother would be caught. And Ivar would hold the upper hand in a war Bastian desperately needed to win.

Chapter Ten

Shoulder blades pressed to the wall inside Cascade Valley Hospital, Evelyn crossed her arms and stared at the deserted nurses’ station. All quiet on the medical front. No one running to and fro. No file folders stacked on the high countertop. No phone ringing off the hook either. Just a wide-faced clock for company, the quiet tick-tock the only sound in a compact stretch of corridor. More than a little eerie. Usually hospitals brimmed with activity. But not here. Not where she stood, watching the second hand mock her from ten feet away.

7:31 a.m. Almost dawn. Half an hour at most and the sun would rise.

Not that she would get to see it.

Devoid of windows, the waiting room sat at the center of the hospital, across from a nurses’ station, somewhere between worry central and scream-worthy frustrating. Add fear to the mix and, like it or not, she held all the ingredients for a serious scare fest. A real party for one. And no wonder. She’d been alone and waiting for hours—for news about her grandmother. For hope delivered by doctors. For the electronic locks barring the doors on both ends of the corridor to open and set her free.

Preferably in the next minute.

She counted to sixty, then sighed. Wishful thinking based in bad luck. Still no Dr. Milford at the door.

Evelyn swallowed past the lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected that—to be met at the front doors by strangers and escorted into lockdown. Pushing away from the wall, she glanced one way, and then the other. Nothing new to examine. The ocean of pale walls hadn’t changed. Boxy fluorescents still buzzed overhead, making the silence seem ominous as she focused on a set of double doors. The pair led into the ICU. Thick, unbreakable windows surrounded by reinforced steel. Electronic locks engaged, impossible to bypass. Twin impediments that left her trapped in a place no one seemed inclined to visit.

Framed by glass, a team of nurses rushed past. Pace quick. Movements harried. Surgical masks in place, the gaggle pushed an empty gurney down the hallway.

Unease tightened its grip.

Evelyn took flight.

Leaving her purse on the chair and her shoes on the floor, she ran toward the doors. Maybe if she yelled loud enough the nurses would hear her. Maybe one of them knew something. Maybe if she pled for news through the glass someone would take pity and tell her the truth. She upped the pace. Her bare feet beat against hard linoleum. The sharp slap-slap ricocheted in the compact space, rippling like waves as she neared the doors. Clipboards in hand, deep in discussion, two doctors walked past. She put on the brakes and, sliding to a stop, banged the heels of her hands against the window.

The duo jumped like jackrabbits. Two startled gazes swung in her direction.

She slammed her palm against the glass again. “Let me out of here.”

Medical mask tucked beneath his chin, doctor number one blinked. “Miss?”

“I’ve been stuck in here for hours. Let me out.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” doctor number two said, stepping up to the door. Eyes full of compassion, he stared at her through the glass. “The entire hospital’s on lockdown. All the codes have been changed. Only senior staff and the hospital administrator have them.”

Panic clogged her throat. “But—”

“It’s been crazy here tonight. We’ve got more patients than we can handle.” Tucking his clipboard under his arm, doctor number one shook his head. “They probably forgot about you in set up.”

The
set up
? More patients than the hospital could handle? A nice piece of information. Scary intel that in no way inspired confidence. Or gave her any hope at all. An image of her grandmother streamed into her head. Fear tightened its grip, making her heart gallop like a runaway horse. Breathing too fast, Evelyn looked at one doctor, and then the other. As her gaze ping-ponged, she tapped her hand on the window. Her fingers shook, bouncing against glass. Uneven sound spiraled out, reached up, rising hard in the quiet.

An announcement came over the PA, paging Dr. somebody-or-other.

“Sorry.” Turning away, doctor number one threw her an apologetic look over his shoulder. “That’s me.”

“Listen,” number two said, watching his colleague disappear down the hallway. He took a step back, widening the distance between them. “I’ve got to go, but—”

“Wait.” Evelyn exhaled in a rush. Her breath fogged up the glass. “Will you do something for me?”

He tipped his chin. “What?”

“Find Dr. Milford. Tell him Evelyn Foxe needs to speak with him.”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

She murmured her thanks. And then he was gone, jogging down the corridor, clipboard in hand, leaving her locked behind closed doors. Pressing her forehead to the glass, she squeezed her eyes shut. God. Unbelievable. It was a nightmare without end. One that gave her too much time to think—to imagine the worst—and not enough to process the facts. She huffed.
The facts.
Right. What a laugh. The wrong word to use too. Particularly since she didn’t have any
facts
. Just loads of supposition supported by fear.

“God help me,” she said, turning to press her back to the door.

Steel against her spine, she slid down to sit on the floor. Cold seeped through her dress as she bent her knees and bowed her head. The ring she wore winked up at her. Unable to resist, she smoothed her thumb over the blood-red rubies. Touching the antique gemstones calmed her. It always did, and as her heartbeat settled into a less erratic rhythm, she spun the gold band around her middle finger. Round and round. Fiddle, spin, twist, and turn.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

She shouldn’t be wearing it. Should never have taken it out and risked losing it to Markov tonight. It was too precious. Represented happy memories and better times. Grounded her in history—and reminded her of the day her grandmother handed her the gilded box after her college graduation. Her degree in one hand, the ring Mema had worn for half a century in the other. Such a momentous occasion. Noteworthy. Important. A pride-filled moment wrapped in family tradition as one generation passed its birthright on to the next.

Which explained why she rarely wore it. And refused to risk it.

Well, at least, most of the time.

Tonight had been an exception to her rule. The thought of meeting Trixie—and her first client—at the hotel had made her take the ring out of its box. She’d needed the boost. Had longed for confidence and the courage to do what needed to be done. To remember whom she protected, the reason behind her actions, her decision to enter the Luxmore and meet—

Venom.

Evelyn blinked as his name streamed into her head. Her mouth curved, threatening to widen into a smile. The urge shocked her. Especially since she hadn’t thought smiling was possible tonight, bu
t . . .
surprise, surprise. Thinking of him brightened her mood. Gave her a way out of mental anguish. Made her feel less afraid and more in control. An odd reaction to a near stranger. Startling too. Not her usual style at all. Caution and mistrust were more her thing, and yet, she couldn’t deny how he made her feel. Safe. Secure. More in control than she’d been in ages. Now, for the first time in forever, she felt as though someone stood in her corner. A powerful someone who might be able to get her out of trouble. Such a huge surprise. He’d been incredible to her. Gentle. Patient. Protective even though he knew little about her. The one bright spot in nine months of dark days and scarier nights.

And she would see him again.

Tonight at Figorelli’s. Twelve hours, give or take, and—

“Oh, crap,” she whispered, more gasp than word as realization struck.

Less than twelve hours until their dinner date, and she didn’t have his number. Which pushed her past trouble into completely screwed. With Mema sick, she couldn’t leave the hospital. Without Venom’s phone number, she couldn’t let him know. And without the money, Markov would skin her alive at nightfall.

Alarm expanded between her temples. A roar lit off, raking the inside of her skull, throbbing so hard she lost track of her surroundings. But even as worry churned her stomach, Evelyn pressed the trio of rubies into her palm and reached for calm.

Her grandmother never approved of panic.

Pragmatic and smart, Mema understood crisis. Maneuvering in difficult situations was one of her specialties, s
o . . .

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. Thin
k . . .
she needed to
think
. There must be a way of reaching Venom. A message left at Figorelli’s for him. The yellow pages. Online directories. List upon list of phone numbers and alphabetized names. And honestly, how hard would it be to find a guy with a name like
Venom
? Her gaze snapped toward the nurses’ station. A second later, she popped to her feet. All she needed was a computer. One must be hidden behind the high countertop along with a telephone. Maybe if she got lucky, a quick search would provide what she needed. After that, she’d let her fingers do the walking and—

A click echoed down the corridor.

Halfway to the countertop, Evelyn spun toward the entrance opposite the ICU. A man came into view through the glass. The door swung open. Rotund form covered in a white lab coat, bald head gleaming under bright lights, brown eyes brimming with concern, Dr. Milford stepped into the waiting room.

“Oh, thank God.” She stepped toward him. “Dr. Milford, what is going on?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by the surgical mask covering the bottom half of his face. Evelyn opened her mouth to ask again. The aging physician shook his head, then sighed, fatigue evident in the ragged sound. The door clicked shut behind him. “I didn’t intend to leave you here so long, but I couldn’t get away any sooner.”

“I don’t care about that, jus
t . . .
” she whispered, waving his apology aside. The delay—along with the lockdown—no longer mattered. Not anymore. She needed answers. “Please, tell me what is going on. Where’s Mema? What happened? Is she all right?”

A shadow in his eyes, Dr. Milford shook his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Stressed, worrie
d . . .
freaked out.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I meant physically, Evie. Sore throat? Headache? Any chest pains or trouble breathing?”

“No.” She frowned. The question piqued more than just curiosity. It made instinct sit up and take notice. Something about the inquiry felt wrong. Especially since Dr. Milford knew her history. She never got sick. Ever. No one could remember the last time she’d had a cold, never mind the stomach flu. And truth be told, neither could Evelyn. “I feel fine.”

“Good,” he murmured, relief in his tone. “Bring your things and come with me.”

“But—”

“I’ll explain everything, Evie, but the hospital needs this space and we’ve got somewhere to put you now.” Slipping his hand inside his coat pocket, he pulled out another mask, identical to the one he wore. He held it out, inviting her to take it. “You need to put this on and come with me.”

Evelyn blinked.
Somewhere to put her.
Oh lord, that didn’t sound good. And yet, she didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Slipping her shoes on, she grabbed her purse off the chair and hurried in his direction. Finally. At last. After hours of waiting, she’d get what she wanted—much-needed time with Mema. Enough to make sure everything was all right. The click of her high heels loud in the quiet, she stopped in front of Dr. Milford and accepted the surgical mask. Soft cotton brushed her cheeks as she put it over her nose and mouth. The second she looped the elastic bands over her ears, securing the mask in place, he turned toward the door and punched in the key code.

Electronic locks hissed.

He stepped over the threshold.

Right on his heels, Evelyn followed him out into the hallway. A left turn took them down a narrow corridor. The sound of hushed voices broke through the silence. Her eyes on Dr. Milford, she trailed him around the next corner—past a makeshift medical depot, worried-looking nurses, and doctors suiting up in hazmat gear—toward a door at the end of the hall. Evelyn sucked in a quick breath. Holy God. Talk about surreal. A sign, printed in black, read “Quarantine Area. Do Not Enter.”

Disbelief widened into shock. Numbness spread in the center of her chest. She hesitated, wobbling on her heels. Dr. Milford murmured her name. Her focus bounced from the sign to the hazmat suits, then back to him. She met his gaze, a question in her own. He shook his head, opened the door into the quarantine area, and gestured her through, making Evelyn wonder when she’d stepped out of the Cascade Valley Hospital and into the twilight zone.