Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (22 page)

The Corvette he rebuilt last summer sprang to mind.

He shoved the mental image aside, stuffing it into the back corner of his brain. Later. He’d think about the gorgeous ZR1
later
. Think about driving her again too, but only after he’d gotten everyone to safety.

The guard took another drag from his cigarette.

The cloaking spell flexed. Magic wavered. Chilly air rippled, flickering around him. Nian gasped. The invisibility shield shattered, making him visible to enemy eyes. He ducked between two muscle cars. With a curse, Osgard shoved Nian to the floor behind him. Belly down beside a tire, Gage glanced over his shoulder. Nian crumpled, the shimmer in his eyes dying along with the spell as Haider dove for cover. His friend landed with a thump. Palms slapped against concrete.

Sharp sound ricocheted, cracking through the quiet.

One of the guards shifted. He dropped his cigarette, then ground it out beneath his boot sole. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” the other answered. “You go that way. I’ll check the doors.”

Bleeding from a cut above his eye, Nian shook his head.
“I’m too weak. I can’t get it back. I can’t—”

“Shit.”
So much for trusting the namby-pamby.

He should’ve gone with his gut and killed the guards. Quickly. Quietly. Like he’d wanted to when he’d had the chance. Now, he was out of time. Hemmed in between two cars, little room to maneuver, listening to enemy males make the rounds. Boots thumped in the quiet. Each stride brought both guards closer by the second. Staying low, Gage army crawled down the aisle. Parked on his right, the Bentley acted like a mirror, shiny black body reflecting guard number one. Seven rows away. The enemy male kept coming, striding in front of the car bumpers, checking each row. Shifting into a crouch beside the Bentley, Gage popped up to
glance through the driver’s side window.

Unlocked. Keys lying like a gift in the center console.

“Haider.”

“Yeah?”

“Got any juice left?”

Haider hummed, more growl than purr.
“Enough to start some trouble.”

“Get ready. On my mar
k . . .
”
Trailing off, Gage rechecked the guard’s position, then
cupped the Bentley’s rear door handle. With a gentle tug, he popped the latch. The door eased open on well-oiled hinges. He listened to the guard approach his hiding spot. Twenty feet away. Four rows to go. He met the kid’s gaze, dropped mind-speak, and whispered, “Osgard—the second I move, get Nian into the backseat.”

“Can you drive?” the kid asked, mouthing the question.

“Excellent question,”
Haider said.

“With my eyes closed,”
Gage said, ignoring Haider, hoping he wasn’t lying. Hurting almost as much as Nian, his bio-energy ebbed, flirting with critical.
“I can handle sunlight.”

“How much?”
Nian asked, looking more dead than alive.
“And for how long?”

“Twenty minutes.”
Gage tensed as the guard paused two rows away.
“Half an hour tops before I—”

“Go blind.”
Haider snarled. The nasty sound spiraled, raking the inside of his temples.
“It’s too risky, Gage. Let Osgard drive. Sunlight won’t hurt him.”

A load of
fuck you
locked in his throat, Gage didn’t answer. He popped the driver’s side door without making a sound instead. Haider cursed. Footfalls echoed, pinging off garage walls, bringing both guards closer. One eye on the male’s reflection in black paint, Gage counted off the seconds, waiting for the enemy to come within range, turning Haider’s concern over in his head.

He clenched his teeth.

Screw his friend’s bright idea. Sure, letting Osgard drive might be safer, bu
t . . .
no way could he do it. Putting Osgard in the hot seat amounted to a bad idea. For better or worse, he’d vowed to protect the kid. Not get him killed right out of the gate.

The thud of footfalls quieted.

Back pressed to the Bentley’s front door, Gage watched the enemy stop on the other side of the car through the windshield. Kitty-corner to him. Less than a car length away. In range, well within striking distance. Gage drew a deep breath. Brows tight, the guard glanced over his shoulder. He called to his buddy. With a snarl, Gage launched his attack. Legs acting like pistons, he exploded from behind the Bentley. Planting his palm on the roof, he leapt over the hood to reach the guard.

His jeans scraped over steel.

Enemy eyes widened in surprise.

He struck, closing the distance in seconds. His fist connected. Bone cracked against bone, snapping the male’s head to one side. The bastard stumbled backward. Gage didn’t hesitate. He hammered the asshole again. Blood arced, splashing across the windshield. Magic hummed, streaming through his veins as Haider unleashed. Silver bullets whistled through the air, ripping through the second guard’s chest. His body hit the floor behind a muscle car. Gage tightened his grip on the asshole under his control and—

Crack!

He snapped the bastard’s neck.

Violent sound ricocheted. Time lengthened. The enemy ashed out in his hands. As gray flakes exploded around him, he pivoted toward the Bentley. On the move, Osgard shoved Nian into the backseat. A shout of alarm went up. Movement flashed in his periphery. The soldiers inside the office scrambled to their feet. Chairs flew backward. Metal screeched as wooden seat backs tipped and slammed into the concrete floor.

An unearthly snarl exploded through the garage.

Gaze locked on the head guard, Gage leapt over the hood. He landed with a bang beside the driver’s side door. The male transformed, shifting into the dragon form inside the office. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Magic blasted through the garage. Red scales glittered as the enemy roared. Huge fangs gleamed in the bright light. An orange glow grew in the back of the dragon’s throat, forming into a fireball.

“Haider—” With a mental command, Gage started the engine. The big V-8 snarled, coming to life with a vicious rumble. “Get in the fucking car!”

Leaping over a Lamborghini, Haider jumped into the backseat. “Go. Go. Go!”

Gage slammed the driver’s side door with a bang. “Force field.”

“Up and running,” Haider said.

Thank fuck. Out of time. Almost out of luck. About to be fried by the enemy with a nasty-ass fireball. Not great in the largest scheme of things. Gage didn’t care. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, he hit the gas, pressing the pedal to the floor. The Bentley screamed and shot forward.

Tires squealed. The smell of burning rubber infused the air.

The enemy dragon exhaled.

A stream of fire rocketed toward the back of the car.

Haider muttered something obscene. The force field flared, curving around the back of the Bentley. Flames roared toward the back bumper. The fireball slammed into the shield, thrusting the car forward. The rear end fishtailed. The heavy steel frame groaned. Haider held the line, bearing down, shaping the shield, fighting to keep the inferno at bay.

The enemy dragon inhaled again.

Digging deep, driving like a demon, Gage called on his own power. Tires screaming against concrete, he opened his mind. Magic crackled, howling inside his head. Magnetic force traveled through his veins, vibrating in warning. He hung on to it a moment, bending his ability, allowing the energy to build inside him. As it reached the pinnacle, he thrust it in all directions. The powerful stream raged around the Bentley. Expensive sports cars blew sky-high. Metal groaned. Enemy males cursed. The dragon dodged to avoid getting a face full of Mercedes Benz.

The smell of gas infused the air.

A spark lit off, igniting the fuel source. A firestorm erupted, blasting through the garage. With a snarl, Gage launched more vehicles into the air. Steel screamed, twisting beneath the force of his magic. Foot to the floor, he asked for more speed. Engine whining, the Bentley shot toward the exit. Cars cartwheeled, flipping in mid-air, flashing in the rearview mirror, sending the guards running for cover.

In control of the devastation, Gage set his sights on the garage doors. Superconductor inside his mind raging, he sent out a shock wave. Reinforced steel resisted. He struck the barrier again. The bottom of all three doors twisted. Steel ripped up the middle. Sunlight bled through jagged cracks. Gage bared his teeth and accelerated. Almost there. Ten feet away. Now fiv
e . . .
fou
r . . .
thre
e . . .
tw
o . . .

He hammered the doors one more time.

Heavy metal folded in half, peeling away from the rails. Each panel blew out and up, rocketing toward the bright-blue sky. Deadly UV rays flooded the garage. The enemy screamed in agony. Gage didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down either. Double-fisting the wheel, he hammered a button on the center console—raising dark glass to protect the backseat—and drove through the hole into the light of day.

Heat burned across the backs of his hands.

Pain prickled across his skin, ghosting up his forearms a second before his eyes started to sting. Squinting against the glare, he conjured a pair of sunglasses. He slipped the protective gear on, shielding his eyes from the sun. It wasn’t much—hardly anything at all, but at least it helped. The Ray-Bans would get him farther down the road. An excellent strategy considering the damage he’d left in his wake. Satisfaction sank deep. It didn’t last long. Sure, he might be free for the moment, but things changed fast. Rodin’s death squad was now on full alert. The bastards were no doubt already on a computer. Hooked in and monitoring the state-of-the-art GPS system built into the Bentley. Which mean
t . . .

No time to lose. Even less to waste.

“Shit.”

“You okay?” Haider asked, voice muffled by the partition.

“Fine,” he said, trying to sound normal. How he managed it, Gage didn’t know. Thirty minutes in the sun, his ass. Make it fifteen, ’caus
e . . .
man. It hurt more than he expected.

Normally, he tolerated the sun better. Could stand outside for a while in human form, soak up a little, and enjoy the warmth. Not today. Little wonder. Less than full strength equaled nowhere near capable. A pity. More than disappointing too. Of all the times for his tolerance level to crap out on him, her
e . . .
right no
w . . .
amounted to the worst. Biting down on a curse, Gage sped past the end of the driveway. He cranked the wheel and swung into a tight turn. The Bentley fishtailed. Controlling the skid, he shot onto the main road. He scanned the terrain on either side of the two-lane highway. Nothing but forest and fields for miles around. Not surprising. An Archguard death squad liked privacy and rarely operated inside city limits.

Too much chance of discovery. Not enough time to play with their prey.

Glancing at the center console, he searched for the intercom. Flipping a switch, he powered up the first-class com system. “Nian, give me a place to go—somewhere we can lie low until sundown. I’m not going to make it far.”

Nian groaned as he shifted in the backseat. “Head for the airstrip.”

Gage frowned.
“Where?”

“Fifteen minutes from here. Take the east road. I have a private jet waiting.”

“In your name?” Eyes locked on the road, Gage scanned the horizon. Nothing and nobody. Not a single car in sight. With a jerk, he swerved into the oncoming lane, into the shade of the ancient oaks standing alongside the road. Massive tree limbs blocked out the sun. Gage sighed in relief. “If it is, Zidane already knows about it. No way it’s still there.”

“Give me some credit, Nightfury,” Nian said, a grumble in his voice. “The plane isn’t mine. Neither is the airstrip. I borrow both from a human whenever I fly by day.”

Haider snorted. “Borrow?”

Nian huffed. “All right, then—steal temporarily. Happy now?”

Not even close.
Happy
didn’t begin to describe the situation.

Or him at the moment.

Not with the sun burning bright and agony taking a sledgehammer to his skull. Thick branches parted above him. Sunlight spilled through the gap, zapping him with another round of UV rays. Gage gasped in pain, but kept the car on the road. Taking a sharp right, he turned down a gravel lane. Stones kicked up, pinging against the undercarriage, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

Due east. A straight shot to freedom.

Now all he needed to do was hang on and hope like hell he made it in time. Before the sun took his vision. Before he left them all stranded in the middle of nowhere. Before dusk arrived and the Archguard went on the offensive, sending its death squad to hunt them down.

Chapter Fourteen

Personal guard flying in his wake, Ivar rocketed out of the mountain pass. Sheer cliffs gave way to thick forest as rough terrain smoothed out. His night vision sparked. He banked into a tight turn, then leveled out over a deserted two-lane highway. Night chill slipped over his scales. Ivar grimaced, but increased his wing speed anyway. His aversion to the cold didn’t matter. His fire dragon tendencies needed to take a backseat. Or at least, get on board.

He didn’t have time to fuck around.

The promise of catastrophe awaite
d . . .
along with his superbug.

Ivar hummed. Superbug number three had taken hold. Now the virus wreaked havoc, infecting more humans by the hour. Nothing left to do now but pop in, take a look-see, and record the damage.

Descending through low-lying clouds, Ivar came up over the next rise. His warriors shifted in mid-flight, following his lead across the frozen landscape. Porch lights winked in the distance, then multiplied like brilliant dots on a map, drawing him toward the center of town. His night vision sharpened another notch, then settled, adjusting in urban glow. Cold mist dotting his scales, Ivar swung into a lazy turn and flew in on a slow glide.

Heavy clouds parted. Moonlight joined the glow of electric luminescence.

The gentle wash lit up shingled rooftops, drawing his attention to dark windows. Sleepy little hollow nestled at the base of the Cascades. Humans snug in their beds, behind closed doors, covers drawn up, eyes closed while each dreamed of—Ivar frowned. Hell, he didn’t know what humans dreamed about. Getting out of Boring-town USA, maybe?

Amused by the thought, he shook his head. Chilly air spiraled off the tips of horns, leaving a white contrail behind him. He descended another two hundred feet. Street lamps welcomed him, spilling illumination across sidewalks, acting like a runway rushing him toward the medical complex at the end of the avenue.

Cascade Valley Hospital. Arlington’s answer to essential services.

His eyes narrowed on the collection of buildings floating in a sea of asphalt. Lots of parking spaces up front, a strip of forest out back. Not much to look at from a distance. Even less to write home about. Kind of disappointing, actually. Not the sexiest place to unleash a supervirus, much less harvest the results, bu
t . . .

Ivar sighed. What the hell. The location didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for
sexy
. What he wanted was efficient. Deadly would work too.

Cloaked in an invisibility spell, he angled his wings and circled into a holding pattern above the facility. One rotation turned into another. His eyes narrowed, he made a third pass just to make sure. Yup. Satellite imaging hadn’t lied. Everything sat where it belonged—medical clinic to his right, new wing of the hospital to his left. Splitting the difference, he landed in the parking lot between the two. His talons clicked against pavement. Poised on his back paws, he wing flapped, stretching taut muscles. Wind rushed across the lot, whispering against steel. Parked cars rocked on tires as stone dust swirled onto the street.

Young maple trees sitting curbside swayed in protest.

Ivar ignored the dust cloud and shifted from dragon to human form. The street light buzzed, throwing bright light, making his eyes sting. He squinted to protect his vision from the LEDs and conjured his clothes. Not his usual fare either. He played a character tonight, one of his own making—human doctor extraordinaire. Soft cotton settled against his skin. He topped the green hospital scrubs with a white lab coat, then added a name tag.

Dr. Ivar
, his cover emblazoned on plastic.

He huffed in amusement. Too funny. Total make-believe, and yet, somehow the surgical scrubs fit. Felt good. Better than anything he’d worn in a while.

Fighting an eye roll, he pivoted toward the building. The lab coat flapped, brushing the back of his thighs as he crossed the parking lot. Looking both ways, he jogged across the street, ducked beneath a few low-lying branches, and stopped on a strip of lawn. Frostbitten grass crunched beneath his Nikes. Ivar didn’t notice. He studied the main entrance instead. Huge timber beam pillars rose from concrete foundations. A glass facade stood just behind, rising two stories to touch the roofline. Set off by interior lights, the wall of windows glowed, showcasing a collection of chairs to the right of the front doors. A reception area lay just beyond, a pretty brunette behind the counter, ready to play greeter to those who came through the main entrance.

Ivar pursed his lips. Huh. Nice looking place, actually. Much bigger than he’d thought too. Well designed. Airy vibe. Rustic touches married with modern sensibility.

Focus fixed on the receptionist, he strode across the access road and stepped onto the curb. Stone pavers whispered underfoot. The rasp of his running shoes echoed in the quiet, sliding around timber beams to reach the overhang protecting the entrance. Each sound cranked him tighter. Excitement did the rest, making muscles tighten over bone. He felt the strain as anticipation struck. Impatience joined the parade, urging him to hurry. Ivar shoved both aside and, pace even, kept walking.

No need to hurry. No reason to ruin the moment either.

Delayed gratification intensified an experience. Heightened awareness. Elevated sensation, sculpting the anticipation of an “I can’t wait” moment until physical feeling melded with emotional. Now he felt everything—his heart pump, his fingertips tingle, the blood rush that made the fine hairs on his nape stand straight up. Flexing his hands, Ivar growled. Glory, glory, hallelujah. This was it—here, now. After months of work. After a week of waiting. The day of reckoning had finally arrived.

Now he stood at the gates, triumphant.

Moments from seeing his superbug in action. Seconds from viewing the damage caused by the progression of his scientific experimentation. Minutes from recording symptoms and pulling blood samples to take back to his lab. Testing would take weeks. And, hmm, he couldn’t wait to get started.

Rolling his shoulders, Ivar paused beneath the timber beams and glanced over his shoulder. Searching the sky, he fired up mind-speak.
“You coming?”

“Do I have to?”
Hamersveld asked, a grumble in his voice. Wintry air warped over the crosswalk. A wormhole opened a second before the male uncloaked. Smooth shark-gray scales winked in the low light. Mist swirling from his nostrils, he dropped out of the sky. Webbed paws thumped down on asphalt, making window glass rattle.
“I hate hospitals.”

Ivar raised a brow.
“Been in many, have you?”

“None, actually.”
His friend made a sound of distaste.
“I dislike them on principle. Too many sick humans.”

“There’s a pretty brunette inside,”
he said, tone all about temptation.

“Where?”

“Behind the reception desk.”

Rapt interest in his expression, Hamersveld shifted sideways. Craning his neck, the Norwegian peered around one of the square pillars. Black eyes rimmed by pale blue widened as he spotted the female in the waiting room.
“Silfer’s balls—look at her. How much time do you need in there?”

“Half an hour,”
he murmured, swallowing his amusement. But it was hard. He wanted to laugh at his new XO. The male fit the mold. Was way too predictable. At least, on the female front. No matter what happened, Hamersveld never passed up an opportunity to lay out a female.
“Forty-five minutes, tops, to check it out and collect blood samples.”

“No need to hurry.”
Shifting into human form, Hamersveld stomped his feet into his combat boots. The quiet thud echoed, drifting on night air. Focus still riveted on the brunette, his friend crossed to meet him. As Hamersveld stopped next to him, he grinned, all mercenary, no mercy.
“Take all the time you want. I’ll try her on for size while I wait.”

Ivar snorted.

Hamersveld growled.
“Wonder if she’s got a friend nearby.”

“Greedy bastard.”

“I take it where I can get it.”

“Which is everywhere,”
Ivar said, putting his feet in gear, leading the way to the front door.

“You’re no different, Ivar.”

“True enough.”

A complete lie. Ivar knew it the second the words left his mouth, but wel
l . . .
whatever. Let Hamersveld believe he craved a hot threesome as much as other males. No skin off his nose. A terrific misconception. One that worked in his favor, elevating his status inside the Razorback nation. As leader of a large pack, he needed to foster the illusion. Liked that his warriors looked at him with awe and respect. The truth of his preferences, after all, was no one’s business. Least of all Hamersveld’s.

No one needed to know he didn’t enjoy gluttony.

Or that he preferred one-on-one action, not multiple females at once. Sharing with another male wasn’t his favorite thing either. Given a choice, he’d have one. Just
one
female on tap. A go-to girl for when he needed to scratch an itc
h . . .
and feed. The perfect arrangement, really. He’d get what he needed, then go back to doing what he did best—being alone.

Too bad that rarely happened.

Finding alone time seemed an impossible endeavor. At least, for him. Which left him playing catch-up. Keeping up appearances too—feeding and fucking in front of his personal guards. Stuck sharing females with Hamersveld, only to pretend it didn’t bother him. Walking beneath the hospital portico, Ivar grimaced. More orgy-ish than intimate. No wonder he only fed when forced. When ravenous hunger took hold and his body demanded sustenance.

Not a great idea. Bad headspace for a Dragonkind male.

Being blinded by hunger—falling into energy-greed—wasn’t fun. And yet, he flirted with danger on a regular basis, shying away from physical contact, breaking the cardinal rule more than once. Embarrassing, but true. Especially since he’d lost control and killed females by acciden
t . . .
on more than one occasion. He might’ve done the same to Sash
a . . .

If she’d allowed it.

The blond beauty had turned the tables instead. Linked in and taken his energy before he’d stolen hers. An image of her rose in his mind’s eye. Messy long hair. Sleepy bedroom eyes. Sex kitten smile in place. Ivar shivered in appreciation, then shook his head, trying to shove her from his mind. She pushed back, refusing to go, entrenching herself, making him acknowledge her odd effect on him. She was a puzzle. Baffling. Intriguing. Beyond disturbing too. Particularly since her strength highlighted a weakness in him. One he didn’t understand and couldn’t begin to unravel. Her ability to connect to his life force defied logic. It should never have happened.

His gaze riveted to the front doors, Ivar swallowed a snarl.

Another sin to lay at the Goddess of All Things’ feet.

Damned curse. Totally unfair.

What the hell did the deity know about suffering anyway? About pain and loss? How dare she damn an entire race for the sins of one male? For infidelity, a crime no one ever went to jail for, and yet, his kind had been imprisoned for years. Bound to humankind. Cut off from the direct source that nurtured his species’ dragon half—and the magical abilities each male possessed. His brows collided. No doubt in his mind. Dragonkind had suffered enough. The goddess must realize her mistake by now—the outright selfishness of her action
s . . .
temper tantru
m . . .
or whatever she labeled it.

Yet, nothing changed.

Everything stayed the same. And his race remained cursed. Tied to humans in irrevocable ways. Forced to procreate with an inferior race. One hundred percent dependent on someone else to survive.

Gritting his teeth, Ivar reached the entryway. With a mental tug, he tightened the cloaking spell, then grabbed one of the door handles. Cold metal slid against his palm. He yanked. The door flew open. Glass rattled in the steel frame. Hinges hissed. Ignoring the squawk fest, he strode over the threshold, into an open space with thirty-foot ceilings.

Hamersveld veered right, heading toward the reception desk.
“Call if you need me.”

“Uh-huh,”
he said, turning toward the staircase.

Tucked behind the sweep of open treads, a hallway snaked off the main entrance. His gaze bounced to the corner wall. A sign with block letters and red arrows pointed the way, giving him the lay of the land. A quick left turn took him down a short corridor and—

Bingo. Emergency Room, dead ahead.

Pace steady, Ivar entered the main lobby. Wide sliding glass doors led outside. An island of chairs occupied the middle ground, each one empty. Pale walls. Ugly picture frames. Nary a human in sight. Made sense. Humans might be annoying, but they were efficient. Particularly in medical emergencies. Shutdown protocol explained the non-action inside the ER. With his superbug in full swing, the hospital had done what he expected—raised the threat level, cleared the hospital of all nonessential personnel, diverted incoming patients to other medical facilities.