Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (3 page)

“Be sure that you do. Otherwise, I’ll hand you over to Sergei.” Pale eyes holding hers, Markov dug his nails into her arm. Blood welled on her skin. Swallowing a whimper, Evelyn shifted sideways against the car, trying to retreat as he raised his other hand. Calloused fingers brushed over her cheekbone. She turned her face away, hating her helplessness almost as much as his proximity. With a hum of enjoyment, he traced the line of her jaw, then tapped the underside of her chin. “You’ve such beautiful skin, Evelyn. So soft and smooth. Far too fine to see marred by the edge of a blade.”

Her stomach revolted, pitching in protest. “Let me go.”

He laughed and released her wrist. “Fly away, little dove. One day ’til I see you again.”

The instant Markov stepped back, Evelyn scooped her purse off the ground and escaped, slipping from between him and her car. All without looking him in the eye. The action smacked of cowardice, a condition she couldn’t stand, but her
e . . .
right this secon
d . . .
couldn’t avoid either. If she met his gaze again, she’d crumble. Cry uncle. Make a fool of herself, plead for mercy and more time. Which would get her nowhere fast. Markov didn’t have any mercy. He wasn’t allowed to and keep his thuggish job. And honestly, Seattle didn’t need another unemployed psychopath with an axe to grind.

Serial killers were born that way. Knife-wielding maniacs like Sergei too.

Another shiver rolled down her spine. Evelyn drew her shrug higher, wrapping the cashmere over her nape, crossing it over her breasts, desperate to insulate herself from the cold and the ugliness. She could feel Markov’s gaze boring into the back of her head. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Barely sane. And as she crossed the road, stilettos clicking against cracked pavement, and entered the circular drive in front of the Luxmore, she wondered—not for the first time—how things had gone so horribly wrong.

She frowned. God must not like her very much.

Evidence of his disfavor peppered her life—financial ruin, emotional hardship, self-worth in shamble
s . . .
the mob after her. Holy hell and a hula hoop, could it get any worse? The second the question entered her mind, Evelyn shoved it away. Dumb question. Of course it could get worse. It already had. Proof positive loomed ten steps in front of her, a stretch of hotel doors and one hellish night ahead.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and, knee-length dress pulling at her thighs, kept walking. The frostbitten plants surrounding the drive welcomed her. Deep-seated dread joined the click of her high heels on cobblestone, sounding lonely in the night air. Standing post alongside the chrome-clad doors and art deco opulence, the valets heard her coming. She put some sway into her approach, let her hips roll, kept her chin level, and stepped out of the shadows along the garden walkway. The doorman closest to her inhaled in surprise. A second later, his jaw dropped. Evelyn smiled. Good. His reaction was an excellent start. If she could wow the employees with her appearance—look rich and act the part—no one would guess the reason behind her visit tonight.

A big bonus considering her true purpose.

The pair stepped forward as she mounted the sidewalk in front of the Luxmore. Each wished her good evening. She answered with silence, opting to nod instead before gesturing toward the middle door. The duo jumped to open it, fumbling over themselves, bumping shoulders in an attempt to serve her first. Evelyn almost laughed. God, it was so easy to fool people into believing that she belonged. Inevitable, she guessed. She’d perfected the art of blending in. Had spent countless hours in high-priced boardrooms, wielding authority like an executive, subduing powerful CEOs who didn’t enjoy hearing the truth about company finances.

The door opened with a whisper.

Without hesitation, Evelyn stepped over the threshold and into the grand lobby. Three stories high, the space screamed elegance. Art deco perfection with marble floors set in an intricate pattern, muted orange, sharp gray, black inlay accenting the whole. Black lacquered smooth-faced columns ran the gauntlet, standing sentry beside pale walls that showcased a sweeping staircase, delicate steel banister rising from stair treads to meet the curved railing.

Busy tonight, the lobby was full of people. Some no doubt waiting for tables in the bar and restaurant. Others content to sip their drinks and spend the night surrounded by friends and luxury. Leaving the edge of the fray, Evelyn swept the scene, searching for her contact. Not on the couches pushed up against the far wall. Not sitting in the smattering of leather armchairs clustered throughout the space either. She glanced to her left. A trio of puffs, firm circular cushions with high seat-back towers in the center, occupied the left side of the room. A twenty-something brunette, decked out in Chanel, met her gaze. Trixie, the woman she’d met two days ago in the Luxmore’s bar. She’d been applying for a job as a bartender (desperation, after all, couldn’t be denied) and ended up chatting with Trixie instead.

A smart woman. The calculating kind, an
d . . .
wait for i
t . . .
one of Seattle’s most successful madams.

Not that the police knew it.

Trixie understood the terrain and knew how to fly under the radar. She accepted few women into her fold and only dealt with rich clientele. Add sophistication and oodles of charm into the mix, an
d . . .
little doubt. The cops didn’t stand a chance. No one wanted to get on Trixie’s bad side, the men who enjoyed her escort service included. Evelyn had no doubt the madam would wield her little black book—and all the names inside it—to ensure protection for her girls and save her own hide.

Legs crossed, posture relaxed, confidence out in full force, Trixie smiled as she approached. She patted the seat next to her with a manicured hand. “I didn’t think you would show up tonight.”

Evelyn swallowed. “Neither did I.”

Sliding onto the puff next to her new friend, she scanned the room. Rich men wearing expensive suits, sipping expensive drinks from VIP tumblers. Everywhere she looked she saw the divide—the have-nots serving the have-alls. It didn’t seem fair. Then again, not much in life ever was—witness the fact she sat inside a posh hotel about to prostitute herself to save her own neck. Revulsion spread like poison, burning a hole in her belly. God, it was disgusting. And more than just a step down. It equaled failure on a grand scale. But the broke and halfway-to-being-murdered couldn’t be picky. The deterioration of her situation demanded a quick plan and steady heart. But even as she told herself no other choice existed, dread, fear, and the inevitable questions circled.

Was she really going to do this? Could she really see it through to the end?

Markov’s face morphed in her mind’s eye.

Dragging her gaze away from the throng, Evelyn smoothed her palm over her skirt. Do or die. Hadn’t she said that earlier? Yes. Absolutely. She was out of options and little choice remained.

“It’s not forever, Trixie.” Crossing her legs, she turned toward the madam. “I need the money right now, that’s all.”

Concern spiked in Trixie’s eyes. “Someone threatening you?”

“The reasons don’t matter, but fair warning,” she said, deciding to be honest. “As soon as I make enough, I’m gone. As long as you understand that, we’ll have no problems.”

“Honest of you.”

“Fair play is one of my strong suits.”

“Mine as well. You’ll have no trouble from me, but you have my support.” Trixie gave her a pointed look. “If you have any issues—any at all—you come to me. Understood?”

Evelyn nodded.

Respect in her eyes, Trixie opened the clutch in her lap. A quick search. An even faster sleight of hand, and she slid a room keycard toward Evelyn across the upholstery between them. “Room 30
1 . . .
take the stairs, then a left at the top. The suite is to your right, along the first corridor.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, an
d . . .
ah, crap. Reduced to thanking a madam who ran a high-end escort service. One who now employed her. Forget the shame. The whole thing was a total catastrophe. Smoothing her skirt one last time, Evelyn pushed to her feet. “See you later.”

“Evelyn?”

A lump in her throat, she glanced over her shoulder.

Green eyes full of understanding, Trixie met her gaze. “The first time is always the hardest, my dear. It gets easier with time.”

Dear God, she hoped not.

Evelyn didn’t want it to get any easier. She wanted to remember this feeling, the one rooted in self-loathing and hardship. Time wouldn’t blunt it. Neither would the idea of necessity. And as she walked across the lobby, around rich patrons, past beautiful furniture, and climbed the stairs, she knew the ugliness would stay with her forever. It had come down to thi
s . . .
to her and the awfulness of the moment. Her life or her virtue. Sad to say, but right now she couldn’t have both.

Chapter Three

Cloaked in magic, invisible to human eyes, Venom walked into the Luxmore looking for three things. A drink, a beautiful female, and sex. The hit list equaled sanity on a large scale. And the upscale boutique hotel? He smiled. Sheer perfection. The first item on his list would be simple enough to acquire. Jägermeister on ice, three shots straight up. The promise of it lay one right turn and fifty ground-eating strides across the lobby, a wide, single archway between him and the Triton Bar & Grill. An easy walk under normal circumstances. Tonight, though, didn’t fall into that category.

Easy
had nothing to do with it. Not while out in the cit
y . . .

Without a wingman to watch his six.

Slipping into the shadows beside the front doors, he set up shop next to a potted plant and, pressing his shoulder blades to the wall, shoved his hands into his jean pockets. Probably not the best way to go. The Levi’s, along with his T-shirt and leather jacket, screamed underdressed. Venom didn’t care. He hadn’t made the trip into Seattle to socialize with the city’s elite. He’d done enough of that while living in Prague with his sir
e . . .
before his
change
. Before his dragon DNA activated, allowing him to shift from human to dragon form. The memories weren’t good ones. His father had seen to it. Meant to belittle and hurt hi
m . . .
break him—no matter how well dressed or behaved he’d been.

Sadistic males were like that, brutalizing those they deemed unworthy. Trumped-up charges. Imagined offenses. Unfounded accusations. All came part and parcel with the package. Nothing Venom could’ve done to stem the tide of his sire’s rage. The general hadn’t needed a reason to hurt him. His own amusement had been reason enough.

The thought made his throat tighten.

Venom shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about it. About the thick post standing upright on the beachhead. About being tied to it at low tide—hands bound by heavy rope, spine flush against the wooden pole, heart hammering as salt water washed around his feet, then rose above his head. Shit, he’d only been nine years old when his sire started the punishment. Too young to understand. Far too vulnerable to fight back. Unable to protect himself from the one male who should’ve shielded him, not hurt him.

All right, so the beatings hadn’t killed him.

And he’d never drowned.

But it had been close more than once. He relived the horror of it every time he closed his eyes. Had nightmares of the world going dark, of doctors rushing to revive him, of his sire reprimanding him for his lack of stamina—his inability to hold his breath and stay afloat in the cold ocean froth. Venom shivered. He could still smell the brine. Still felt the water in his mouth, rolling down his throat, filling up his lungs. No matter how much he tried to put it behind him, the ugliness continued to taunt him. He’d never been good enough. Not for his sire, never mind the Dragonkind aristocracy he’d been born into, s
o . . .

Screw the Luxmore fat cats in their expensive suits and shiny shoes.

He didn’t give a shit about etiquette. Or toeing the line in the human world. The self-important assholes could all go straight to hell. No passing
GO
. No collecting their money on the way out.

Eyes narrowed on the crowd, Venom lifted the cloaking spell, allowing the shadows free rein as he stared at the entrance into the bar area. Yeah. No sweat. A simple hop, skip, and jump away from an establishment full of females. Dragging his gaze from Triton’s, he swept the lobby again, hopscotching over human heads. Fluted wall sconces and chrome chandeliers threw illumination like dice, enveloping the circular space in a warm glow. Chatter rose around him, male voices mixing with female, sound rising to meet the ceiling three stories up. Habit made him search for trouble. Instinct told him there wasn’t any to be found. His dragon senses pinged, backing up intuition. No danger on the wide mezzanine at the top of the stairs. No Razorbacks hiding in the throng of humans. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Venom nodded. Excellent. All clear. Time to go to work.

And yet, he didn’t move.

Flexing his hands, he shifted his shoulders against the wall. Being here alone wasn’t the best move. Then again, he’d known that before flying away from the lair. And no matter how much his conscience squawked and the past taunted, his intentions hadn’t changed. He needed a distraction. Something to hold his attention long enough to alleviate the tension. Venom could feel the pressure building. The dangerous swell dragged him closer to the edge, making discontent seethe just beneath the surface of his skin.

By no means a great way to start the night. Seduction required patience and a gentle hand. Which necessitated keeping his cool long enough to achieve his goal. A good plan all the way around. Particularly since females ran scared at the first hint of his temper, s
o . . .
yeah. Time to shut down the bullshit. Otherwise he wouldn’t get what he craved—connection and closeness, the slick, creamy slide between a female’s thighs.

The thought sent a thrum of anticipation through him.

Reality leaned in to rain on his parade.

Goddamned limitations. Forty minutes with a female wasn’t going to be enough. He needed more tonight. More time. More than a brief taste. And a helluva lot more touch. He wanted to hold and be held in return. To talk the night away while luxuriating in a female’s arms. Wishing for something, however, never made it happen. Or changed the facts. The poison in his veins wouldn’t allow that kind of intimacy.

Venom swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment. Reduced to small snatches of time with the opposite sex. Such a frigging tragedy. An unchangeable one he accepted without question. Well, at least most of the time. Sometimes—like tonigh
t . . .
when his loneliness escalated—he despised the magic in his blood. And the fact he could kill a female with his touch if he wasn’t careful.

The neurotoxins in his skin worked fast.

A fantastic asset in dragon form. Not so hot while standing in a lobby full of females, most of whom wouldn’t survive the intensity of his touch. Low-energy females never could. So yeah. No matter how burning his need, his strategy remained the same. Seduce a female with good energy—and a strong link to the Meridian, the electrostatic bands that ringed the planet and nourished all living things—obtain what he needed to keep breathing, then get out, and go home.

Before anyone realized he was gone.

The last part of the plan was paramount. He didn’t want Bastian and the boys coming after him. Particularly since he wasn’t 100 percent on the physical front. The flash’n fly from the lair had drained the last of his resources. Throw in all the booze and the fact he hadn’t touched a female in days an
d . . .
no question. He needed to feed. Could feel the energy drain and accompanying muscle weakness. A shot of female energy would plug him back in—restore his core strength, nourish his body, giving him what he required to stay healthy.

A necessity considering he couldn’t link into the Meridian on his own.

Cursed by the Goddess of All Things centuries ago, the connection between Dragonkind and the source of all power lay shattered. Serious damage. No hope of repairing it. A single moment in time, the totality of which equaled unfair in big ways. The fracture changed everything. Now his kind stood on the brink—outnumbered thousands to one by the human race, forced to rely on their females for survival, hemmed in by circumstance and a rift so wide magic couldn’t span it. Not that he blamed the goddess for throwing the legendary hissy fit. Some things, after all, a female didn’t forgive.

Infidelity appeared to be one of them.

Venom sighed. The dragon god screwed up royally that day. He flexed his hands again, itching to put his hands around the deity’s throat and squeeze. What the hell had possessed the male to sleep with a wood nymph when he should’ve been at home—in bed—with the Goddess of All Things? The action smacked of idiocy. He frowned. Or selfishness. Venom didn’t know which, but one thing for sure? Silfer had outdone himsel
f . . .
and dragged all of Dragonkind down with him.

Stupid dragon god. Dumb-ass to the next power.

Rolling his shoulders, Venom pushed away from the wall and strode toward the Triton. His eyes skipped over the crowd again. He pursed his lips. Nah. Forget the lobby. No good candidates there. Time to take a look-see inside the bar. The sooner he found a female with strong energy, the quicker he could go home. And pretend like he’d been a good warrior, played by the rules, and stayed at Black Diamond. An excellent strategy. Particularly since it would ensure he fell into bed without any bruises.

Or a row of cracked ribs.

Halfway across the lobby, a flash of light caught his eye. Slowing his pace, Venom glanced to his right and—

He sucked in a quick breath. No way. It couldn’t be, bu
t . . .
he blinked and refocused. Yup. Absolutely. No mistaking that glow. His eyes weren’t deceiving him. High-energy female at three o’clock, alone, pretty, bright-yellow aura filling out the space around her. Seated in the middle of a long couch, cell phone in hand and eyes glued to the small screen, the petite brunette was the perfect mark. One more than capable of tolerating his touch while feeding him from the source. Shock spiraled deep. Interest made him tense. Venom shook off both reactions as the truth sank in. Holy shit. Silfer grant him grace—an HE female sitting in plain view, right in the middle of the Luxmore.

No wonder Sloan liked it here so much.

Boots planted fifteen feet away, he ran his gaze over her again. He wavered a moment. She wasn’t his type. Not really. He preferred dark-skinned females to light, but then a hungry male couldn’t be choosy. No matter his preferences, she would do. Only an idiot, after all, encountered an HE and turned away. And no wonder. High-energy females were a unique breed. So rare most males never encountered one in their lifetime. Seattle, however, seemed to be a hotspot for HEs. Which made a lot of sense considering the city sat in the middle of one of the Meridian’s electrostatic bands. Theory suggested more HEs were born near the vertical strips that connected the North and South Poles.

Good for his pack. Better for him right now. Particularly since he was about to get up close and personal with the female absorbed in the contents of her iPhone.

With a quick shift, he changed trajectory, moving toward her and away from the bar. Sensing his approach, she looked up from her phone. Dark-green eyes met his, then roamed his body, assessing him from head to toe. Full lips curved in welcome. Venom swallowed a growl of anticipation. Fantastic. Her expression relayed what he needed to know. She liked what she saw. Was totally into him and up for a little fun.

Boot soles brushing over polished marble, he stopped a few feet away. She tipped her chin, indicating the club chair across from her. He stifled a surge of satisfaction. Fantastic. Just what he’d been looking for—an invitation without any of the usual chitchat. Sidestepping the coffee table, Venom sat and settled in. Leather sighed. Thick cushions acquiesced, doing their job, supporting his frame, letting him get comfortable. Silence swelled, piercing through the human chatter as she took his measure. His mouth curved. Nice. She was even prettier up close. Looked polished in her designer clothes too, but even better than that? She understood the power of a charged pause, wielding it like a homemade weapon.

“Ven,” he said, supplying his name to break the ice.

“Trixie.”

Shifting forward in the chair, he raised a brow. “Short for Beatrix?”

“Maybe.” An amused glint in her eyes, she set the iPhone in her lap. “Fair warning, Ven. I come with conditions.”

Blatant. Sexual. The double entendre wasn’t lost on Venom.
Come with conditions
, indeed. The statement drew him tight. Wow, she was bold. “What kind of conditions?”

“Expensive ones.”

Ah, wel
l . . .
that explained it. A call girl, a well-educated, high-end one by the sound of her. Made sense. Not much of a stretch on the connect-the-dots front. She looked the part. Trim cocktail dress made by Chanel. Thigh-high boots bought at Gucci. Sophisticated. Expensive. And by the guarded light in her eyes, worried he’d condemn her line of work as well.

“Are you worth it?” he asked, teasing her to lighten the mood. He wanted her willing, not wary. Judging another’s life choices wasn’t his style. God knew he didn’t have a clean recor
d . . .
or an untainted past.

Her lips twitched. “Every penny.”

“Then I am willing to pay.” An easier solution. Much faster than seduction. Right up his alley tonight.

“A few questions first.”

“Only fair.” A master of the game, Venom slid to the edge of his seat. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward, needing to get closer to the bio-energy she threw off like a supernova. Heat prickled through him. Venom locked it down. No sense scaring he
r . . .
or losing his chance to convince Trixie he was worth the risk. Habit laced his fingers between the spread of his thighs. Experience coupled with patience helped him settle in for the chat. “Shoot.”