Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (18 page)

He hadn’t been able to stomach it.

Not after looking Wick in the eye. Not after seeing the blistered wound and raw skin. Not after recognizing the sequence of numbers burned into Wick’s forearm—all the while knowing what awaited the young male he hadn’t known then, but now considered his best friend.

The savagery of it struck him. As the injustice tunneled deep, infecting his heart, his sense of right and wrong reacted. It always did, causing a chain reaction. Past. Present. It didn’t matter. His feelings remained the same. Disgust. Sorrow. Incurable rage. A fury so profound, he’d lost all restraint sixty years ago, turned on his sire and—

“Ven,”
Wick growled, cutting off Venom’s reunion with the past.

Folding his wings, Venom dropped out of the sky. Unleashing his magic, he released the cloaking spell. The invisibility shield flexed around him, then ripped wide open. He sighted the ground. The wind picked up, whistling in his ears, pushing the scent of cedar and clouds across the night sky. The moon disappeared behind the coniferous tumble, enfolding him in darkness. His talons thumped down in the center of the driveway. Gravel rolled, pinging off industrial-size garage doors, crunching beneath his claws, digging into the sensitive pads of his paws. Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs and, preparing for the showdown, glanced toward the house. Porch light spilled down the walkway leading to the front door, bouncing off his dark-green scales, illuminating Wick in the low light.

Golden eyes aglow, his friend snarled at him.

Venom growled back. Probably not the best idea, bu
t . . .

To hell with it. He refused to apologize again. Once tonight had been enough. Quota filled. Guilt assuaged. Looked like another ball-busting fight on the horizon, though, ’caus
e . . .
yeah. Wick looked more than unhappy. The male embodied fury. Toss lethal into the mix. Add a dash of holy hell and get ready for the explosion. His friend was cranked to full throttle. Foot to the floor going two hundred miles an hour, wearing an expression that said, “I’m gonna rip your face off.”

Now nothing but a fight would alleviate the tension.

But as Venom shifted into human form and prepared for the fallout, he knew he shouldn’t let it happen. It was his fault, not Wick’s. A few well-placed words would slow his brother down. Long enough for Venom to explain and tell him about Evelyn. Too bad he couldn’t find a single thing to say. Didn’t want to either. After getting nailed by Bastian, he needed the brawl almost as much as his friend. So instead of calling it off, he waited, fists raised, fighting stance set, and watched Wick ramp into a run, coming down the flagstone path like a runaway locomotive. Which mean
t . . .
screw placation. Set up the party parade instead. He was headed into a knuckle-grinding brawl with his best friend. Collision not only inevitable, but assured.

Chapter Eleven

Dragon senses run amok, Gage stumbled on an uneven patch of stone floor. Righting his balance, he swallowed his growl of disgust. The underground passageway smelled the same way it looked—dark and dank with a nasty hit of eau de grunge. He grimaced as his shoulder brushed the wall. The wet chill registered, sliming his skin wit
h . . .
fuck. He didn’t know what the hell he’d just touched. Something cold. Something long past putrid. Something he didn’t want to think about, never mind identify.

Slick stone walls funneled into another intersection.

The kid paused on the lip a second, then turned right. Gage followed, keeping a firm hold on Osgard. His muscles squawked, spotlighting his injuries, setting fatigue center stage.

One hallway slid into the next. This one narrower than the last.

Another round of revulsion punched through, competing for airtime inside his head. Fighting the pain, Gage beat back his aversion. He flexed his hand, bunching the back of Osgard’s T-shirt against his palm. He needed the handhold along with the stability. The kid might not be full grown yet, but he was strong. An excellent hitching post. Or trailer hitch. Whatever. Gage wasn’t sure right now. All he felt was grateful. The youngling was leading the charge, head up, feet moving without making a sound, towing him through the enemy labyrinth with stark efficiency.

Another round of thankfulness washed through him.

Go figure. Osgard was a godsend. An excellent find considering Gage didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Agony amplified by the moment, draining his already-low energy reserves. The sharp dip sent him into uncharted territory—energy-greed. A state most males feared. And like it or not, he wasn’t an exception to the rule. Which meant he needed to fee
d . . .
and soon. Otherwise he’d spiral out of control, tumble down a rabbit hole, and hurt the first female he encountered. His stomach pitched. Lightheadedness hit, making him sway on his feet as he reached another perilous conclusion.

Haider would be in the same state. Maybe even worse than him.

Gage gritted his teeth. Talk about hazardous. Two males in the throes of ravenous hunger headed into the light of day. Nowhere near advisable. He huffed. The situation couldn’t get any worse.

Osgard took a sharp turn.

Angling his shoulders, the kid dipped his head to avoid the low ceiling and drew Gage into a triangle-shaped corridor. The torque and twist jarred his arm. Bone-piercing pain spread across his chest, then spiraled into his abdomen. Gage winced. Holy fuck, that hurt. His body wanted him to stop. Was begging for rest, a moment or two to regroup, sending out agony like warning shots. He tightened his grip on Osgard and kept his feet moving. Forget the discomfort. Shove it into a dusty corner somewhere. With time running out, he couldn’t afford to stop. So instead of asking Osgard for a second to catch his breath, he stared straight ahead, ignoring his injuries while trying to pretend the tight space didn’t make his skin crawl.

His reaction bordered on idiotic.

The narrow passageway shouldn’t bother him. He’d been in worse places. Locked up for months before Haider busted him out of solitary confinement. The memory jabbed at him. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he shook his head. It had been years. Eons since his stay inside an eight-by-eight-foot holding cell. And yet, contrary to his nature—and a heavy dose of dragon DNA—the labyrinth gave him a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.

He preferred the great outdoors. Fresh air and sunlight. The scent of pine trees and rushing river water through forests and fields. But mostly, the sound of birds singing in the morning. Not the subterranean hovels most dragons took refuge in. Given a choice, he would’ve spent all day, every day, outside. Under the golden glow of a warm afternoon, deadly UV rays be damned. Unlike the rest of his kind, he could tolerate sunlight in small doses. Haider believed Gage’s ability stemmed from his subset’s communion with the sun in ancient times. When the Greeks had ruled the world, before the birth of the Roman Empire.

Born of a long line of bronze dragons, Gage knew his history. His forefathers had believed in the Sun Queen and taken pains to honor her. Had observed the rituals and performed ancient rites, paying homage to Silfer the dragon god and the deity’s love of the sun. He’d only seen it a handful of times, basking beneath the glory of the midday sun just as his ancestors had done. His tolerance levels wavered, depending on the day and his energy reserves. Topped up, he could endure half an hour. Hungry, in need of a good feeding, the time frame dwindled to less than fifteen minutes. Missed opportunity. A lost calling. A terrible shame all the way around. He would’ve been good at it. An absolute pro at welcoming the dawn and serving the Sun Queen, better known as the Goddess of All Things—the touchy deity who continued to curse his kind.

Gage ground his teeth together.

The stupid prick. The dragon god’s greed had ruined them all. Cursed Dragonkind so well the connection between his kind and the Meridian lay shattered. Which elevated FUBAR to whole new levels. A state he should be accustomed to by now as hunger gnawed on him, blooming into a full-blown ache. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva. Fucking hell. Just what he didn’t need—more energy-depleting fatigue. He could feel it slithering through his body, tugging at his muscles, eroding his mind, making his vision blur.

Gage wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

“Where are we?” he asked, sounding rough, more like a train wreck than a flesh-and-blood male. Gage grimaced. God. His voice was shot. Too raspy. Far too thin. No authority in the words at all. Hating the weakness, he forced himself to focus. His night vision sparked, magnifying the chisel marks filled with slimy residue on massive stone blocks, making the walls contract around him. Breathing in through his nose, he exhaled out his mouth and tightened his grip on Osgard. The kid flinched, but didn’t stop. The youngling continued to walk, pulling him in his wake. “How much farther?”

Osgard glanced over his shoulder. Pale eyes met his. “End of the hall. See the door?”

Gage squinted, trying to see that far, making out a glimmer in the dark. A metal handle, maybe. Some ancient hinges too. Yeah, definitely.
Something
dead ahead. All right, so he couldn’t focus well enough to see the whole of it, but—

“How bad is it?” Osgard asked, voice hushed.

“What?”

“The pain?”

“Manageable,” he said, lying like a pro. Leaning harder on Osgard, he pushed him forward, his gaze on the blurry outline of the door. “Just get me to Haider.”

The kid nodded. Footfalls nothing but a rasp on uneven stone, Osgard stopped in front of the narrow door. Faded by time, the graying oak screamed of neglect. Pock marks marred the face, matching a set of beat-up hinges and the rusty metal studs holding individual planks together. Even the bottom of the wood took up the cause, the plank ends eaten away by the damp, looking like jagged teeth snarling at the floor they no longer touched. A soft glow slipped through the gap, tumbling out of the chamber beyond to surround his feet.

Osgard reached for the ancient handle.

“Don’t.” With a firm tug, Gage drew his new charge backward. Away from the door. Out of range. Out of the line of fire and the possibility of hidden dangers. He didn’t want the male in the thick of it. Hadn’t agreed to take the youngling with him—to protect him—only to thrust him into the middle of a fight. Maneuvering in the tight space, he planted his palm in the center of the kid’s chest and shoved him back another foot. “Any guards?”

“No, but—”

“Stay behind me. If shit gets critical, you run. Understood?”

Shoulder blades pressed to the wall, Osgard frowned. “I can fight.”

“I know you can,” he murmured, lying again to assuage Osgard’s pride. Young males were an interesting breed. A delusional bunch. Each liked to believe he was invincible—all balls, no brains in high-octane situations. Gage understood, but knew better. He’d been just like Osgard long ago. Full of piss and vinegar, willing to throw himself into the fray without thought to the consequences. “Hold the line, kid, but stay out of my way.”

“As you wish.” Pushing away from the wall, Osgard shifted behind him. Gage shook his head. Fucking male. The move was all about watching his back, positioning himself as a warrior would in preparation for combat. “But I’m not running.”

He stifled a snort. Mouthy little whelp. Too tough for his own good, whic
h . . .
well, just made him like the kid even more.

Gaze pinned to the door, Gage rolled his shoulders. Agony murmured. He ignored the sting. Distraction wasn’t a good idea. Neither was stalling. The situation required stealth and speed. Not something he had much of right now. He pushed past the pain anyway, forcing focus, calling on aggression and muscle memory. His body knew what to do. His nature picked up the slack, unleashing the rage buried deep inside him as he reached for the door.

Icy metal touched his palm.

Steel clicked against steel.

Rusty hinges squeaked as the door swung inward on a slow glide. Light slipped through the widening gap, illuminating stone and wood. Not waiting a second, he stayed low and slipped over the threshold. Quick. Smooth. Fury filled. His body language spoke volumes—bring-it-on peppered with a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe. His gaze started to glow as he bared his teeth and raised his fists. The hum of electricity crackled in the quiet. With a low snarl, he searched the shadows. His gaze swept left to right. Stone walls. Slimy rock. A single bare lightbulb hanging from a timber-beam ceiling.

Not much else so far.

No soldiers hiding in the dark corners. Not a guard dog in sight. Nary a whisper of sound or—

“About time you showed up,” a deep voice rasped, drifting on stale air.

His attention snapped left.

Shimmering silver eyes met his.

Gage exhaled in relief. “Alive and well, I see.”

Haider shrugged. “More or less.”

No kidding. His friend looked more than just a little worse for wear. He looked wrecked. Clothes ripped ragged. Pale skin smeared with dirt and blood. Back propped up against the back wall. Legs stretched out in front of him. Trapped inside a steel cage charged with electricity. High voltage snapped around the vertical struts, forming an impenetrable maze around his friend, warning him away.

Dragging his gaze from Haider’s, he examined the cage. “Been waiting long?”

“Didn’t I say it was about time?”

He huffed and, eyes on the prison cell, moved farther into the chamber. Uneven stone scraped the bottom of his bare feet. He ignored Haider’s pissy tone in favor of finding the cage’s weakness. From six feet away. Despite the urgency, it was safer that way. At least, for the momen
t . . .
until he figured out how to get his friend out from behind bars charged with electricity. He focused on the single door. Thin bands of lightning arced off the steel, protecting the hinges, handle, and lock, lying in wait, daring him to come closer.

Heart thumping, he studied the setup more closely. “Better late than never.”

“True.” Haider coughed, the harsh sound full of pain. “Expected you sooner, though.”

“Like a princess waiting for rescue?” The old tease and taunt. The usual thing with him and Haider—even now, with the stakes high and possibility of death looming. Strange as it sounded, the return of routine—the bitchy exchange—reassured him. His friend might be banged up, but nothing had changed. Haider was all right. So was he. The realization focused him further, clamped down on worry, settling him like nothing else could. “Aww, how sweet, Haider. I had no idea I’m your Prince Charming. Should’ve told me sooner.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Gage grinned.

Haider smiled back. Not a lot, a slight curve at the corners of his mouth. But Gage got the message, and it was enough. A silver dragon with unequaled negotiating skills, Haider liked to talk, the more words the better, and telling Gage off? His lips twitched. Razzing him qualified as his friend’s favorite pastime. Eyeing a bundle of cables, Gage stopped a few feet from the door. He followed the wires across the top bar. Clamped together, strung across steel, a thick power line made the jump from cage edge to stone wall. Pivoting, he turned full circle, going where the mess led him an
d . . .

Eureka.
X
marked the spot.

A junction box next to an electrical panel. State-of-the-art circuitry. A complicated setup mounted to the wall behind the door. Turning his back on Haider, he ignored Osgard hovering on the threshold and limped toward the steel-gray box. Time to pray. With the panel door shut tight, he couldn’t see the breakers, but knew it contained complicated electrical circuits. As in multiple. The heavy cable running into the top of the panel box gave the game away. Which meant the bastards might have armed the thing with a security system. One set to go off the instant he started tampering with the circuitry. Stranger things had happened. Zidane might be an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. More’s the pity, s
o . . .
yeah. Mucking around inside the box might trip an alarm and bring the Archguard death squad running.