Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (17 page)

Massive tree trunks bowed in deference as Venom took the turn too fast. Inches away, his wing tip blasted past the treetops. Ancient beeches groaned in protest. He didn’t care. Screw the forest. The rush of chilly midnight air and the whirl of leaves behind him too. The pine needles, though, were a bit of a problem. Like tiny razor blades, the mess blew skyward, nicking his scales, chasing his tail, playing catch-the-dragon in the dark.

He snorted. Luminous green mist rose from his nostrils.
Play
. Right. Nowhere near accurate considering he wasn’t playing. He needed the speed along with the mind-bend of muscle torque. The physical explosion acted like an outlet, helping to settle him down. He swallowed another snort.
Settle
wasn’t the right word either. Especially since uncertainty wouldn’t leave him alone. It kept hammering him, flogging him with the cruel lash of irony.

Goddamn his protective side. Playing knight-in-shining-armor sucked.

Gritting his teeth, Venom shook his head. He’d been so sure. So damn
sure
letting Evelyn go had been the right thing to do, but—

He cursed under his breath.

Maybe Forge was right. Maybe releasing her back into the wilds of human society qualified as a boneheaded move. Maybe flying home alone signaled failure instead of wisdom. He blew out a long breath. A cloud of frost shot from between his fangs, picking up the moon-glow before swirling over his horns on his head. The blow back brushed his scales, making him look more black than green in the weak light. Muscles taut, he increased his wing speed. Faster. More ball-busting velocity. Another round of muscle-stretching torque. He needed it all to stay sane—to remain on course instead of hunting down his female.

Half an hour max.

A quick about-face.

A fast fly into Seattle before he turned north.

That’s all it would take. Wham-bam, no-holds-barred, and he’d have her in his arms again. Be tasting her deep. Pleasing her well. Getting what he needed while he gave Evelyn her due—everything she demanded of him. Temptation banged on his mental door. Venom held the line, refusing to open it, never mind step over the threshold. He’d made his decision. Now he must honor it, along with her right to choose. No matter how painful he found the separation.

Angling his wings, he forced himself to fly for home. The woodlands dipped beneath him. He rocketed over the next rise. A rural road cut a swath through the forest, two lanes slipping between towering oaks and one-hundred-year-old pines as though it belonged. As though humans hadn’t invaded pristine wilderness and tried to make it their own. The nature of the beast, he guessed. Humans enjoyed the idea of supremacy. Conquer or be conquered, a mantra the destructive race lived by. Although, he had to admit the idiots were getting better. Well, at least in the environmental arena anyway.

Government agencies were working hard, protecting endangered species, cleaning up the groundwater, pushing for stricter pollution regulations for corporations. Lobby groups had cropped up in recent years too, putting the screws to the US Senate and Congress, expecting more from elected officials. And the global population as a whole? Getting better by the day, jumping on board to support recycling programs and reduce waste. It wasn’t enough. Not yet, anyway. But it wouldn’t be long before the planet felt the effects.

A good thing if it meant cleaner air to fly through when he left the lair each night.

Leaving the slither of blacktop behind, Venom spotted the twin cliffs. Eyes narrowed on the pair, he went wings vertical. The spikes along his spine rattled. Slivers of shale rumbled, tumbling down the rock face as he rocketed between the bluffs. Thick forest greeted him on the other side. The landscape launched more debris at him. He hummed. Good luck hitting him. Velocity supersonic now, the forest didn’t stand a chance of grabbing hold of his tail.

Neither did his buddies.

Left to play catch-up, the Nightfury warriors flew in his wake. Fine by him. He’d taken the lead position for a reason. Namely—to keep his sanity. He didn’t need to be treated to any more of Forge’s sidelong glances. Or the doubt that eclipsed him every time he caught the Scot’s eye. He knew what the male thought. Knew what the rest of his pack thought to
o . . .
even if B and the others were too polite to say it out loud. Despite all the congrats and high fives in the clearing, none of them understood his need to woo Evelyn. To take her out. To treat her right. To initiate her into the Dragonkind way of life gently. Kidnapping—at least in his brothers-in-arms’ opinions—was much more expedient. Safer. Smarter. More in keeping with his protective nature too, so—

He huffed. Yeah. No question. Better to leave that argument alone. Far behind and for another time. Particularly since he flew toward the demilitarized zone.

One with a name—Wick.

Venom grimaced. No way around it. He was in trouble. In for a fight the second he landed at Black Diamond. Forget Bastian. The true threat stood just outside the front door, a hop, skip, and jump away from the driveway and the aboveground lair. Waiting. For him. To land. Ah, hell, had he said trouble? Strike that and call it
screwed
instead. Again. For the, wel
l . . .
shit. He didn’t know how many times he’d been neck-deep in uncharted territory tonight.

More than was wise, for sure.

With a sigh, he settled into a glide. The trees creaked, approving the downgrade from supersonic to slow and smooth. The webbing on his wings fluttered as the forest started to thin. A minute tops, and he’d be face to face with his best friend, trying to explain why he’d gone AWOL. Not that Wick would care why he’d broken the rules. The male didn’t give a damn about protocol. He’d be angry for another reason. One that began and ended with Venom leaving him behind tonight.

Not a great move. But even headed into the impending showdown, Venom refused to regret it. Pulling a flash’n fly might not qualify as smart, but it had produced results, providing what he needed, s
o . . .

Screw it.

Wick could tune him up every night for the rest of his life. Venom didn’t care. He’d found her. Goddamn, he’d
found her
. In a sea of wrong females, he’d finally met the right one.

“Evelyn,” he murmured, testing the phonics.

His mouth curved. Even her name sounded perfect. Just right. The absolute best thing he’d ever heard as he pictured her face and relived her taste on his tongue. Desire clawed through him, putting a shoulder to his mental door. The thing groaned, threatening to shatter. Satisfaction spilled through the gap, warming his chest, raising his internal barometer, making him want to forget the game plan and go after her. Rocketing into the last bend, he leveled out and tapped into her bio-energy. Gorgeous and full, the thread of her life force expanded between his temples.

His sonar pinged.

His dragon half rose, riding a voracious wave of need.

With a growl, Venom fine-tuned the signal, zeroing in, chasing her bio-energy across rough terrain an
d . . .
oh, baby. There she was: just north of Seattle, surrounded by forest, somewhere inside the Cascade Mountain Range. Without coaxing, the buzz of recognition solidified inside his head. He could track her no
w . . .
from miles away if necessary. All right, so it wasn’t perfect. No matter how strong the ping, he could only approximate her location. At least, right now. That would change soon. The second he touched her again—took another sip and fed from the source—the mating bond would strengthen. Become more powerful as it locked him into place, aligning his life force with hers. For now, though, he must accept the limitations of their first encounter and be patient.

Even though it pissed him off.

Eyes narrowed, Venom tucked his annoyance away. Tilting his head, he mined the signal instead. Forget the limitations. He couldn’t curb temptation. He wanted to get a more accurate lock on her. Needed to feel her. Craved the warm buzz of her energy in his veins.

Adjusting the cosmic dial, he felt the buzz amplify an
d . . .
hmm, yeah. Definitely. She must be home by now. Was probably slipping out of her killer stilettos. Stripping off her sexier-than-sin cocktail dress. Putting on too-big pajamas before sliding between the sheets to snuggle into bed. Maybe even thinking about him. The idea burrowed into the back of his brain. His heart pounded harder. Oh, please. God, yes. He wanted to be on her mind. Needed her to wonder. Wanted her taut with anticipation. Full of yearning as she imagined their next meeting, his plans for her, the way he would touch and taste her.

Arousal spiraled deep, making his scales tingle and—

“Venom, you asshole.”
The vicious growl cut through mind-speak like a knife. Venom winced. Lovely. Just frigging great. Wick had a lock on him. Was still waiting outside, a load of pissed off headed into full throttle.
“Get down here.”

Delaying the inevitable, Venom slowed his wing speed.
“Give me a minute.”

“No.”

“Wick,”
he said, a warning in his soft tone.

“Don’t start. Land or I’m coming up there.”

Not a good idea. Pissed off in human form, his best friend was a handful. But an angry Wick in dragon form? Venom grimaced. Only an idiot invited that kind of trouble.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m coming up over the last rise.”

Wick growled something inaudible.

Venom ignored the nasty undertone. He’d expected it. More than deserved it too for playing fast and loose with the rules. Not that he regretted leaving Wick at home. His friend needed the R & R. Had earned some serious downtime with J. J., bu
t . . .
well, hell. After getting yanked out of the sky and tuned up by Bastian? Venom swallowed the bad taste in his mouth. The last thing he needed was another reprimand.

Or a showdown with Wick.

With a sigh, he shook his head and corrected his trajectory. Almost home. Five hundred yards and closing fast. Which meant he’d better come up with an excuse. Faster than fast. A couple of creative one-liners would do it. A tactical two-step, the perfect dodge in the verbal arena. Little else would appease Wick. Then again, maybe he’d just go with the truth. Tell him about Evelyn. Ask his advice. Whic
h . . .
yeah, come to think of i
t . . .
might be straight-up brilliant on the strategy front. A way to avoid his friend—and the nasty convo—without giving any ground.

Despite his new status as a mated male, the sharing and caring shit never went over well with Wick. He didn’t embrace emotion, much less show it. Not with Venom anyway. J. J. on the other hand? Hell, she’d cornered the market—bonding with his best friend, drawing Wick out, accepting her mate without hesitation even as she got him to talk, if only behind closed doors. A good thing. Wick needed someone to talk to, bu
t . . .

Venom bit down on a curse.

He might as well admit it. He wanted to be the one Wick confided in. Which made him a total idiot. A jealous asshole too. He should be happy for his friend—and was, at least, most of the time. Some days, though, yearning seeped through the cracks, preying on him like a pack of piranhas. Eating him alive. Stripping him to the bone. Hurting him deep. After all they’d been through together, he deserved better from Wick. Inclusion. Trust. Whole-hearted respect, the kind that bonded brothers. Particularly since Venom had done the unthinkable to save Wick’s life.

Sorrow turned the screws inside his chest. It always did when he remembered that awful night. His heart reacted to the memory, aching so hard he wondered how it kept beating. Murder. He’d committed
murder
. Slain his sire to pull Wick from hell and keep him safe. Not that he’d meant to do it. He hadn’t known his own strength. Hadn’t understood that the
change
—and his first shift into dragon form—would bring such startling results: unholy strength, raging power, a venomous nature that was second to none. Now it didn’t matter. He couldn’t retrace his steps and go back. Couldn’t temper brute force, find a better way, or stop the accident from happening.

Couldn’t wash the blood and dragon ash from his hands either.

It was too late to make amends. Inexorable guilt wouldn’t let him.

The tree line thinned, then dropped away, revealing the sprawling complex nestled in the center of a large plateau. Black Diamond. His home. The one place on earth he belonged. And yet, his mind traveled, taking him away from Washington State, back to another time, inside another place, planting him in the past. To the moment of his
change
, and his sire’s decision to thrust him headfirst into the hypocrisy of Dragonkind aristocrac
y . . .
and the twisted games played by the Archguard.

Wick had been a victim of the fallout.

So had he, but even with sixty years between then and now, Venom struggled to forget. To shake the brutality and move on. Time didn’t heal all wounds. Whoever had said that was wrong. The hurt remained fresh. The rage remained untouched. And his savior complex—the need to compensate for his crime by protecting others, by beating back injustice and fighting for the underdog—never went away. His cross to bear. Penance for a legacy left by his sire and the tainted blood running through his veins.

Goddamn his father.

No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t understand. How could his father—a general with influence among their kind and Rodin’s ear—be so uncaring? So amoral? So corrupt and without conscience? How could he have—

A shiver rolled through him, rattling his scales.

He hated the memories. Didn’t want to remember the past. Too bad he couldn’t forget. Or leave the psychological trauma behind. Not after witnessing his sire’s cruelty. Not after watching beardless boys in combat—knives raised, fighting for their lives, dying horrible deaths to entertain Dragonkind elite. Learning of the fight clubs had been terrible. Seeing the cages backstage where young males lived had been worse. Being ordered to load a dying Wick onto a truck bound for Tanzenmed, the Dragonkind prison renowned for torture, had proven to be his breaking point.