Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (19 page)

“Hang tight a second.” Facing off with the electrical panel, Gage studied the framework, then raised his hands. Cold metal slid against his palms as he gripped the sides of the large, metal box. Nothing happened. No alarms. No laser sensors protecting the thing. He exhaled long and smooth and, fingering the latch on the side, swung the door open an
d . . .

He blinked. Holy shit. Talk about complicated.

Trained as a structural engineer, good with his hands, he understood how individual components of complex projects fit together to ensure the whole served its purpose. Hell, he could visualize, design, and implement any structure he wanted. Toss in his passion for auto mechanics—and the fact he loved taking engines apart just to see how they worked—and his know-how rivaled genius in most circles. But as he faced off with a panel packed full of circuits, unease came calling. So many cables of varying thickness, candy-coated every color of the rainbow, jammed into a very small space.

No easy fix.

Gage cursed under his breath. “Give me a second to figure this mess out.”

“By all means,” Haider said, sarcasm out in full force. “It’s not as though we’re pressed for time or anything.”

“Guess it’s my turn to tell you to fuck off.”

“No different than any other day.”

“Comforting to know nothing’s changed, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Gage?”

“Yeah.” Fingering a green and blue wire, he glanced over his shoulder.

Haider met his gaze. “I’m having some trouble. I can’t see anything out of my right eye.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” Pressing a palm on the concrete floor, Haider struggled to his feet. He swayed, then stumbled sideways inside the cell. Electricity crackled, reacting to the shift. With a curse, his friend doubled over and, fighting to stay upright, gasped. With a growl, Gage turned back to the electrical panel. Fingers flying now, he sorted through each wire, looking for the magic bulle
t . . .
the one pairing that would cut power to the cage. “Might need some help, though.”

“I can help,” Osgard said, stepping over the threshold and into the room.

Haider sucked in a breath. “What the—”

“Picked up a tagalong,” he said, cutting off his friend’s question.

“I can see that,” Haider murmured. “Probably should tell you I picked up one of my own.”

“A tagalong?”

“More like a brother-in-arms.” The sound of uneven footfalls echoed. Focus still on the wires, Gage multitasked, playing electrician, testing cables, listening as Haider made his way to the other side of the cage. “Nian, man—I know you’re hurting, but you need to get up.”

“What?” Dulled by pain, thickened by sleep, the male’s voice rose in the quiet. “W-where—”

“Still with me. You’re safe,” Haider said. “But not for long if you don’t move your ass. Come on, Nian. Get up. We’re getting out of here.”

A scraping sound slithered on damp air. “How?”

“Prince Charming’s arrived.”

The comment might’ve been funny had Gage been in the mood. Being near members of the Archguard, however, never put him in a joking frame of mind. Under any circumstances. And Nian didn’t qualify as a laugh a minute. As the youngest member of the high council, the male was not only dangerous, but untrustworthy.

“Damn it, Haider,” he said, sounding pissed off, unable to help it. “We’re not taking that prick with us.”

“Yes, we are. He’s solid, Gage. He’s been targeted by Rodin for helping us.”

Examining another wire, he scowled. “So?”

Haider sighed. “Gag
e . . .
”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. Bastian’s given his support. Our pack is backing Nian.” His friend paused, letting the nasty tidbit sink in. “He’s coming with us.”

Gage grimaced. Talk about bad news. He’d been dying to kill Nian for weeks. Ever since he’d first laid eyes on the namby-pamby aristocrat. Now his pack was supporting the prick and his screwed up agenda? It was worse than
bad news
. The turnabout equaled catastrophe. Fucked up on a grand scale.

“All right,” he said, refusing to go against his commander. Bastian was solid. The male always knew what he was doing. Although, this time Gage wanted to bet against the bank. Forget protocol and flout B’s authority, ’caus
e . . .
Nian inside the Nightfury pack? Just the thought gave him a raging case of indigestion. Isolating the junction he needed, Gage yanked on the green and orange cable. The tug gutted the breaker. Copper wiring shrieked against metal, coming away in his hand. Electricity buzzed around the cage an instant before it powered down. Spinning around, he nailed Haider with a warning look. “But don’t expect me to be nice to him. One wrong move, and I rip his head off.”

“Fair enough,” Haider said, amusement in his tone. “Better behave, Nian.”

“No kidding.” Battered and bruised, in no better shape than Haider, Nian hugged his rib cage and shuffled forward. Gage sighed. Well, hell. Would you look at that? Zidane had done a number on Nian too, beating him so badly both the male’s eyes were swollen shut. “And not a problem. I can hardly move at the moment.”

Crossing the chamber, Gage met his friend at the cell. With a flick, he lifted the steel bar locking the door in place and swung it open. Haider sighed as he stepped out of the cage. Running his gaze over him, Gage reached out and cupped his brother’s nape. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Still pale, but steadier on his feet, Haider nodded. Relief in his eyes, he palmed Gage’s forearm. The warm weight of his hand spoke volumes—of relief and urgency, but mostly gratitude. “Let’s move.”

Returning the gentle squeeze, Gage dropped his hand. “Osgard.”

“Yeah.”

“Best way out?”

“Underground garage,” Osgard said, reaching out to steady Nian as the male stumbled across the chamber. Without missing a beat, the kid slung Nian’s arm over his shoulder, then turned and half carried, half walked him toward the door. “Rodin keeps a car there. Blacked-out windows so he can travel from place to place in daylight.”

“He’s handy,” Haider said, gaze glued to Osgard’s back.

Gage’s mouth curved. “Isn’t he, though?”

Best split-second decision he’d ever made. No question. He had a feeling the kid would more than earn his stripes. Now and in the future. First things first, though. He needed to slip past Rodin’s sentries. Get the hell out of hostile territory with everyone’s arms and legs still attached. A tricky proposition with three injured. Toss in a sketchy, underground escape route inside a lair full of enemy soldiers. Compound the problem with a member of the Archguard high council, aka potential traitor material, playing tagalong an
d . . .

His gaze narrowed on the back of Nian’s head.

The namby-pamby prick. The male was slowing them down. Gage frowned. All right, that wasn’t quite true. Not really. Nian was moving—not well, granted, leaning on Osgard, struggling to keep his feet under him—bu
t . . .

Gage sighed. He might as well accept it. Haider was right. Nian couldn’t be left behind. Much as he disliked the male, he deserved better than rotting inside a slimy excuse for a hellhole.

Avoiding the petri dish doubling as a stone wall, Gage shuffled sideways along the narrow corridor, his eyes glued to the pair in front of him. Silence reigned in the passageway, the dank, musty odor taking over where sound left off. The slash of bare soles across wet stone pushed at the chilly air. The kid took a left, leading the way, forcing him and Haider to follow. But as one hallway bled into the next—and one turn spun into more—worry got the better of him. Gage blew out a long breath and, battling fatigue, tried to ignore the stitch in his side as the truth struck home.

Navigating the labyrinth was taking too long.

Too bad he couldn’t slow time. Or shorten the distance from here to there. A pity in more ways than one. Time wasn’t on their side. New guards would come back from the morning meal any minute. The second the enemy discovered the empty kill room and prison cell, a call to arms would go up, and he’d lose the only advantage he possessed—the element of surprise. So only two things left to do, keeping moving and start praying. Hope like hell his merry band of four reached the garage before Rodin’s death squad pulled up stakes and closed in for the kill.

Chapter Twelve

Boot treads skimming over stone, Venom shifted away from the front of the house. He stepped off the flagstone path onto the driveway. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. He barely noticed. Eyes locked on Wick’s face, he assessed the threat level. Clockwork Orange territory. Cuckoo-crazy with a nasty hit of temper. He cringed and, raising both fists, prepared for the main event—or rather, the assault—even as he searched for a way out.

A lovely thought. An even better plan. One big problem with both.

No way in hell a ceasefire was going happen.

Not with Wick out for blood and headed straight toward him.

Gritting his teeth, Venom shifted mid-stride. He dodged right. Not fooled, Wick moved with him and, timing it to perfection, lunged. Big hands grabbed hold, sinking into Venom’s leather jacket. With a snarl, his friend jacked him upright. A savage shove sent him backward. A forearm to the throat did the rest, cutting off his air supply. Trying to break his friend’s grip, he struggled to breathe. Hard bone pressed against his windpipe, Venom coughed. Wick didn’t relent. He jammed his fist beneath Venom’s chin instead.

Sharp knuckles jabbed his jawbone.

Venom growled. Such a dirty move. Nowhere near surprising. Wick didn’t know the first thing about fighting fair. Didn’t know the meaning of restraint either. Toss in his need to maim a male while making a point, an
d . . .
yeah. Score one for the other side. They had a ball game. Not that he had time to worry about his friend’s lack of finesse. Wick was too busy trying to kick his ass. Another fist thrust. More shoving. A snarl echoed through the quiet. His? Wick’s? Venom didn’t know. Not that it mattered. Blocking another punch, Venom lost his footing. Wick took advantage and pushed harder, propelling him across the driveway, toward the garage and away from the aboveground lair.

Frozen grass crackled underfoot, scrambling the silence.

Off balance, feet moving in the wrong direction, Venom glanced over his shoulder an
d . . .
oh, shit. Not good. He knew exactly where Wick was taking him—on a carnival ride called Big Trouble. Or Holy Hell. Whatever. Naming the situation wasn’t a priority. Dialing down the death factor, however? No question, that qualified as job one. Otherwise, he’d end up two front teeth shy of a mouthful.

“Wick—stop. Hang on a second.”

Wick brought his elbow up in answer.

The quick jab clipped Venom’s cheekbone. His head snapped to the side. The sharp
crack!
echoed inside his skull, killing more brain cells than he could afford to lose. Venom clenched his teeth. Goddamn it. He should’ve heeded his own advice. Said forget it. Gone with gut instinct and thrown the first punch, along with the urge to be sensible out the nearest window. It would’ve been easier. More expedient, for sure.

A helluva lot more satisfying as well.

Too pissed off to care, Wick wasn’t fooling around. Out for blood. Murder on his mind. Pick one. Pile it all on. Neither mattered when both possibilities summed up the situation. Feet sliding on ice, Venom blocked another punch. The move left Wick open to attack. With a quick shift, he launched his offensive. His fist grazed Wick’s jaw.

His friend snarled.

“Just hear me out,” he said, more growl than plea. “I can expl—”

Grabbing his jacket, Wick thrust him backward. The garage loomed behind him. Thick corrugated side panels gleamed in the low light and—

Wick slammed him into the wall.

Air left his lungs in a rush. Venom wheezed. Steel groaned as the industrial-size doors rattled in protest. The metal rivets beside his head strained, threatening to pop from the pressure. His spine echoed the sentiment, murmuring in discomfort, making him aware of the cuts and bruises. All the aches and pains. The ones he’d received from Bastian in the clearing. He grimaced. Goddamn B and his stupid lightning net. He had the worst luck. Could never seem to fly under the radar. Or get away with anything.

Resetting his balance, he thrust his arms between Wick’s. Quick. Decisive. A skilled move with one purpose—freedom, separation, and distance from his friend. Without mercy, Venom brought his forearms around, pinwheeling to break the hold. Wick cursed as he lost his grip. Not wasting a second, he planted both palms in the center of his friend’s chest and shoved. Wick stumbled backward. Closing the distance, Venom pushed him again. And then again, refusing to unleash his fist a second time.

Hitting Wick never felt good. He loved the male too much to inflict serious damage. No matter how much the stubborn SOB deserved it.

His eyes started to shimmer. Red light washed out in front of him, painting Wick in ruby glow as Venom glared at him. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Too bad,” Wick said, a lethal cocktail in his tone. Worry.
Disappointment. Betrayal. All took a turn in the undertones. Rage,
however, led the parade, dropping his voice into guttural. “Should’ve thought of that before you went AWOL.”

“What would you have done in my place?” Just as angry now, Venom stepped into Wick’s wrath. Hands cranked into fists, he moved away from the wall, forcing his friend to back up. “Banged on your door and dragged you away? Forced you to leave J. J. and—”

“No.” Gaze fierce, dial still set to deadly, Wick drilled him with a look.

Venom stood his ground, refusing to give an inch. All right, so it was his fault—the entire mess along with the upheaval. The upset he caused the Nightfury pack too. But that didn’t mean he needed to be flogged. Again. For the fifth time tonight. Nor did it mean he’d walk away from making his point.

He’d been restless.

He’d needed out of the lair. To stretch his wings and banish the shadows growing inside him.

Wick ought to understand that. Hell, the male lived in the shadows, in dark places not many survived. But as silence descended, raging between them, Venom grew so tense he feared he might break. Just snap under the strain and say something stupid. Something hurtful. Something Wick might not forgive. So instead of opening his mouth, he held his friend’s gaze, asking without words for understanding.

One intense moment slid into the next.

“Fuck.” His friend exhaled hard. The harsh sound ricocheted as he dropped his fists. “I don’t know what I would’ve done. Same as you, maybe. But if you’d asked, I would’ve gone with you.”

“I didn’t want—”

“
Want
has nothing to do with it,” Wick said, the voice of reason for a change. “I’m your best friend, Ven. I watch your six. You don’t leave the lair without me—ever.”

Venom’s mouth fell open. Well, would you look at that? More than four words in a row. More than one full sentenc
e . . .
from Wick. A male who never said much of anything. Talk about a huge kick in the pants. Surprising in the extreme. His throat went tight. Over sixty years together, and his friend was finally coming around. Starting to come out of his shell. To voice his opinions while making his wishes known.

The realization turned Venom inside out, then cracked him open.

Guilt sped through the fissure. His conscience squawked. Venom swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d turned the tables tonight. Done what Wick often did to him, put himself at risk and his best friend on edge by being selfish. Which meant, like it or not, he owed Wick an apology. His reason for breaking the rules no longer mattered. Nor did the success of his mission or the exquisite nature of his find—Evelyn in all her high-energy glory. He’d scared the hell out of the male he considered his brother. Had made him worry. He could see the truth of it in Wick’s eyes and understood the feeling. The absolute panic at the thought of losing his friend. Of not being there when the male got into trouble.

He’d lived with the fear for years. So yeah. Tonight signaled a total role reversal. One that left him on the wrong side of the equation, apologizing instead of on the receiving end of contrition.

“Sorry. I should’ve stayed put, bu
t . . .
” He shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Or how to explain without sounding needy. He needed Wick to be happy. Wanted him to spend as much time with his female as he liked, but wel
l . . .
hell. He felt neglected. As though J. J. took so much of Wick’s time, there wasn’t any left for him. And honestly, as much as he hated to admit it, he missed his best friend. “I jus
t . . .
” He sighed, lamenting the weakness and his new pansy-ass status. “Couldn’t stay home.”

Wick frowned. “What the fuck is going on, Ven?”

Raising his hand, he ran it through his hair. The long strands clung, knotting around his fingers, pulling at his scalp. “Guess I’m just restless.”

“J. J. thinks I’m neglecting you.”

“What?”

“She’s worried about you. Says you’re lonely or some shit.”

Venom choked on surprise.

Wick raised a brow. “Is that true?”

“Not anymore.”

Taking a step closer, Wick inhaled through his nose, using keen dragon senses to scent the air. Golden eyes narrowed on him. “Something’s different. What’s changed?”

“I found her.”

“Who?”

“My female.”

Wick blinked. “Where?”

“At the Luxmore, Sloan’s spot.” A frisson of excitement skittered down his spine. Venom rolled his shoulders, trying to tame the shiver. It didn’t work. Not surprising. Just thinking about her put him on edge. “Her name’s Evelyn.”

“Dark skinned?”

Venom nodded. “Dark curly hair too.”

Wick’s mouth curved. “Your favorite.”

“Yeah. She’s incredible. Beautiful. Pushes every one of my buttons.”

“Good.” Relief in his eyes, Wick slapped him on the shoulder. Skin slapped against leather. The love tap rocked Venom sideways as Wick scanned the driveway. Ancient pine trees waved from the opposite side of the open expanse. He searched a second longer, then glanced toward the front of the house. Finding nothing, Wick frowned. “Where is she?”

Searching for the right words, Venom drew a deep breath, preparing to spill all and—

The flap of wings blew in, beating against the frosty air.

The clamor expanded. Stone dust swirled. Venom huffed, but waited out the flap fest. No sense trying to talk over all the noise. Or compete with a Nightfury landing party. He’d explain everything to Wick once inside the lair. He needed the privacy. Waiting until the others were out of earshot qualified as a good idea. No way he wanted to go another round with Bastian and the boys. His brothers-in-arms were already skeptical of his plan to date Evelyn. And all right, so maybe the concept was a touch left of center. At least, in Dragonkind circles. Still he couldn’t deny the allure. Or resist the need to do right by her. To give her a taste of normalcy. To ensure her acceptance of him before he tugged her off balance by introducing her to the complexities of his world.

The first to arrive, Forge uncloaked.

The invisibility shield fell away, shredding like old fabric. Purple scales flashed in the low light, picking up the glow of porch lights. Wings spread wide, the male set down. Razor-sharp claws clicking, the Scot nailed Wick with shimmering violet eyes. “Did Venom tell you yet?”

“Tell me what?” Wick asked.

Venom opened his mouth to tell Forge to zip it.

The Scot beat him to the punch. “Stubborn arse let her go.”

Bafflement winged across Wick’s face. “What the fuck?”

Venom growled. Super. Just great. Nothing like having the moment ruined. And the rug pulled out from under hi
m . . .
by an idiot Scot with a big mouth.

“Asshole.” Stepping off the grass, Venom rolled his shoulders. Eyeballing Forge, he flexed his hands, making twin fists. He might not like the idea of hitting Wick, but the Scot? The male was fair game. Especially right now. The jerk had just landed himself on the endangered species list. “Nothing like giving me a chance to explain.”

“What’s tae explain?” With a snort, Forge shifted into human form. Conjuring his clothes, he stomped his feet into his boots. Gravel ricocheted, rolling into the raised lip of the flower bed flanking the front walkway. “You made a bad call. Letting yer mate go in hopes of wooing her. Bloody hell, lad—whoever heard of such a thing?”

Staring at him as if he’d grown two heads, Wick scowled. “You let her
go
?”

“Bull’s-eye. Middle-of-the-rings accurate.” Dragging a thundercloud in his wake, Mac touched down.

Water droplets flew, then fell, sliding along the razor blade following the curve of the male’s spine. Venom frowned at him, even as he looked Mac over. He still couldn’t get used to the differences and wel
l . . .
wow. Just wow. No other word worked when his new comrade arrived in all his water dragon glory. A rare breed, Mac deviated from the whole of Dragonkind. Smooth interlocking dragon skin instead of ridged scales. Webbed paws in the place of regular talons. Bladed spine instead of spiked. The power to control one of the most destructive elements on earth.

Venom stifled a shiver. Man, he hated water. He really did.

Scaly brows furrowed, Mac shook his head. “Still can’t believe you sent her home, Ven.”