Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (13 page)

His sonar pinged, casting a wide net. Like an invisible blanket, his magic settled over the terrain: trees and rocks, tall buildings and compact houses, shifting through all the electrical interference. He sorted through the intel rapid-fire, reading the smallest vibration, taking what he needed, tossing the rest.

Two minutes out. A measly 120 seconds before the rogues attacked en masse.

Calling on his magic once more, Mac conjured a matched set of Sig 40s. The ammo came next, landing in his lap. Not wasting a second, he flipped the cardboard top open, ejected the magazine clip from the first weapon, and started loading it.

“Jeepers!” The bullets rattled. Tania flinched. The car swerved, bobbing on the tiny tires. “Good God...what...how...”

As she trailed off, Mac finished with one clip and loaded the other. “Floor it, Tania. Head for the bridge.”

“But the hotel. My bag. I need my—”

“Forget about your stuff.” Ramping the second magazine home, he chambered a round in each gun. The clickety-click made her eyes widen another notch and...shit. He should apologize for that: for frightening her, for not explaining, for deliberately keeping the truth from her. And he would...later. Right now, all he wanted to do was get her out in one piece. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

“Bigger...” She paused, her expression a combination of confusion and panic. “You don’t understand. I need a phone. I did something stupid...an interview that will hurt my sister if it gets out. I need to reach the reporter and stop—”

“It’s too late.” Taking his eyes off her for a moment, he glanced out the back window, listening to the chatter on frequency Nightfury. The guys were airborne, flying in fast to protect them. Close. The enemy was way too close, and his brothers-in-arms still too far away. Night vision pinpoint sharp, he scanned the sky again. “It already aired...was all over the evening news. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Oh my God.” Devastation surfaced in her eyes.

Mac’s heart clenched. Jesus. He couldn’t stand it or ignore her pain. Murmuring her name, he ditched one of his Sigs. Metal thunked against the center console as he reached out to cup her cheek. The softness of her skin grazed his palm. Stress made her energy spike. The powerful wave shivered through him and Mac swallowed, fighting his reaction to her. Tears welled in her eyes. He wanted to kiss them away, soothe her into comfort. He drew on her energy instead, took some of the anxiety to calm her. “Stay with me,
mo chroí
. Just a little longer. Trust me a little farther. I promise it’ll be all right.”

When she nodded, he murmured, “Atta girl” and, breaking eye contact, pinged his commander.
“Bastian...how many you got?”

“A shitload,”
B growled, aggression and something more—worry, maybe—in his answer.
“Too many to track.”

Not good. The situation had just been upgraded from critical to goat-fucked. Bastian always acted as a sounding board, picking apart a male’s abilities from a distance. The skill was a rare one and came in handy in a firefight. Thanks to B, the Nightfuries always knew what to expect—the age and skill of the rogues, what poison each breathed—before the enemy flew into range.

So, yeah, the outnumbered thing? Not good. If Bastian couldn’t keep track of the bastards, it meant a platoon of Razorbacks could be headed their way. And seven against twenty-something males? Not great odds in battle.

Adrenaline hit Mac like a body shot. The need to fight amped him up, but...no way he could do that. Or leave the car to join his comrades in the fight. Tania was his responsibility. She needed his protection. He refused to leave her. Not until he knew she was secure.

“Listen up.”
Magic pounded through his veins as he connected to each one of his brothers-in-arms. “
New plan.
We’re heading over the bridge into Tacoma. Once we’re in the city, I’ll find a safe place for her and come back for you.”

Rikar growled.
“No fucking way.”

“
Stay with your female,”
Bastian said, his tone brooking no argument.
“Get her out, Mac. We’ll hold the line until you do.”

“Shit,” Mac muttered as they reached the ramp onto the Narrows Bridge. Deserted, nothing but double lanes, concrete, and big-ass pole lamps, the bridge stretched out in front of them. “Floor it, Tania!”

She put her foot down. The car jerked, and his magic rolled. Thunder rumbled overhead. The smell of rain in the air, the first drops splattered the windshield. Almost there. Another five hundred yards and—

A fireball streaked across the night sky.

Orange flame roared, eating through the gloom. Ravenous, it hammered the center of the bridge. Asphalt and bits of steel exploded, mushrooming into a thick cloud. Shrapnel peppered the front of the car, blowing the hood off as the road gave way, caving in toward the water.

A red dragon, pink eyes aglow, materialized out of the darkness.

Wings spread in flight, sharp fangs flashed in the storm glow. Ivar inhaled, drawing air past his fangs. Pink flame gathered in the back of his throat. Tania screamed, feet churning as she tried to retreat. But neither of them had anywhere to go. Except...

With a snarl, Mac unclipped her seat belt and hauled Tania over the center console. The second she landed in his lap, he grabbed the steering wheel and cranked. The Mini swerved, tipping dangerously on two tires. Another fireball lit up the night sky. The inferno roared toward them. The car’s front end hit the guardrail, twisted metal acting like a ramp and—

Fucking A. Mission accomplished.

They were airborne. Hurtling through thin air. In a Mini Cooper–cum–death trap. Heading straight toward the choppy surface of the harbor below.

“Ah, hell.”
On point and ahead of the others, Venom flew in fast, battling a case of WTF as a load of red with white racing stripes launched off the side of the bridge.
“He’s overboard.”

Bastian growled.
“Shit.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,”
Rikar said, white scales gleaming, snow flying as he rocketed out of thick cloud cover.
“Never a dull moment.”

“God love the lad.”

Venom glanced overhead. He caught a flash of deep purple scales and glared at it. Frigging Forge. Trust that male to back up Mac’s decision to perform a swan dive in a tin can with wheels. In a month, the two had become inseparable, the mentor–student racket forming an unbreakable bond between males. Not a bad thing. Optimal in many ways. Still, Venom couldn’t get behind the become-a-projectile-in-a-Mini-Cooper thing. He seconded his commander’s motion instead, ignored Forge’s “atta boy,” and jumped on the beat-the-hell-out-of-Mac bandwagon.

Stupid fledgling. The male had done that on purpose.

The car’s front end dipped into a nosedive. He watched the free fall for a second, then scanned the bridge behind it. Nothing. No red dragon in sight. But he knew Ivar was here. He’d seen the bastard. Would recognize the pink-eyed SOB anywhere. Now all he needed to do was find and take him out. You know what they say: cut the head off the snake and the body died.

Kill the leader, destroy the movement.

Venom hoped that was true. That the Razorback organization started and ended with Ivar. No tentacles. No deep roots planted inside Dragonkind. No breach in his race’s defenses for Razorback ideology to find a foothold. Just a rogue faction working on its own.

Somehow, though, he didn’t think so.

The Razorbacks were hard-core. Motivated. Persuasive. Well able to camouflage their particular brand of crazy with patriotic love. And a lot of males—both powerful and inconsequential—fell for their bullshit all the time. How did he know? The proof was in the pudding, so to speak. In the number of rogues converging on his pack over the small town of Gig Harbor.

Someone was supplying Ivar’s psychotic band of misfits. Someone with money and influence. Someone who wanted humankind as dead and gone as Ivar did. Genocide on a global scale. Extinction at its most lethal. All carefully disguised under the veil of an environmental agenda.

Brilliant. And oh so dangerous.

The trick now? Proving it.

Venom’s night vision sparked. His eyes glowed, throwing a red wash out in front of him as he searched for his prey. Dark green scales glinting beneath the storm glow, he rocketed over the marina. Water churned in his wake.
Sailboat masts snapped like toothpicks, slumping over bows as smaller boats capsized in the fury of his wings’ blowback. He didn’t care. He’d trash the whole frigging place. KO every human in sight to protect his pack.

Even Mac, the inexperienced pansy-ass idiot.

Although...

Now that he thought about it, he had to admit the whole drive-and-dive idea was a pretty slick move. An insane one, for sure, but slick all the same. Especially considering the water dragon crap Mac had going on. Venom suppressed a super willy. Even after a month of trying, the ocean thing still unnerved him. Lit him up in ways he didn’t want to contemplate, never mind examine too closely. But no matter how hard he fought it, he couldn’t get the past out of his head. Or his sire’s cruelty.

Which always happened when he got anywhere near water.

So screw the newest member of the Nightfury pack. He’d cling to his objections—his suspicion and mistrust—thank you very much. At least until Mac grew a brain and learned to control the element he commanded...one of the most destructive forces on earth.

Screwed-up fledgling bonehead. The idiot was going to get them all killed.

Venom went wings vertical, rocketing toward the bridge’s support pillars. Or what was left of them. Blown wide open, the structure sagged, listing to one side, fighting gravity’s pull toward the narrows of Puget Sound. A growl came from inside the car, swirling out across the chop and churn of water. The female screamed again. The long, terror-filled sound knotted the pit of Venom’s stomach. Idiot male. Mac was scaring the hell out of her. Oh so not cool, but—

Rivets popped. The Mini’s roof twisted beneath the pressure. Steel groaned, then rolled back and away. Mac emerged in dragon form, one talon cradling the female, eyes aglow, the razor-sharp blade along his spine opening the car up like a tin of sardines.

Venom blinked. Holy hell. Talk about a wicked move and, well...all right. Undeniably cool too. Who knew the blockhead could be used as a can opener?

Red scales flashed in Venom’s periphery.

Already on the other side of the bridge, he tried to compensate, but...God. Ivar had the prime position, hanging over the bridge like a gargoyle, his gaze locked on Mac as he dove toward the ocean. With a curse, Venom put the brakes on. Wings stretched to capacity, he inhaled deep, desperate to unleash his poisonous exhale to incapacitate Ivar, trying to protect—

Mac flipped up and over. One razor-sharp talon curled around his female, the other gripping the car, he hurled the Mini like a baseball. Venom snarled, liking the plan, watching it unfold as he wheeled around. And wow. What a shot: pinpoint accurate with the velocity to match. Blockhead had an arm on him—he’d give him that—and it belonged in the big-time major leagues.

Right on target, the steel skeleton screamed toward Ivar. The rogue leader shrieked and, swallowing his fireball, dodged left. His spiked tail collided with a lamppost. Concrete crumbled. Steel buckled, and the mangled shaft went airborne. Venom cursed and banked left to avoid being stabbed by the flying projectile. The post whistled through the air, then touched down on the roadway, ripping up more asphalt. The Mini sailed past, missing Ivar by inches.

Too bad. Venom would’ve liked to see the rogue leader go splat...while plummeting from the sky with a face full of metal.

Swooping in behind, Venom attacked Ivar’s flank, angling for a shot. His claws met red scales. Muscles along his side pulled as he raked Ivar on the flyby. The smell of blood joined the scent of rain, rising in the night air. Wheeling around, Venom went at the bastard again. No way would he let Ivar retreat behind the approaching wave of his warriors. The maniacal SOB always stayed on the sidelines, rarely coming out to play. And now that he had him in his sights? He planned to make the most of it before his lackeys flew in to save him.

Almost out of time, Venom bared his fangs and—

Splash! Well, all right then. Water dragon away. No need to worry about Mac anymore. Once in the ocean, no one—neither rogue nor Nightfury—could catch him. Which left the playing field wide open.

But it was too late.

The wave of rogues hit, collapsing the pocket around him. Cut off from Ivar, Venom tucked his wings and went supersonic, rocketing into a spiral. He broke through the Razorbacks’ front line. Into the middle of the pack and away from his own.

Ah, hell. Not good. Not the brightest idea, either. Now he was cut off. No wingman. No one to watch his back. A thick wall of scaly muscle between him and his Nightfury brothers.

“Venom,”
Wick growled.
“Get the fuck out of there!”

Great advice, buddy. Like he wasn’t trying?

Ducking his head, he swooped beneath the underside of an oncoming rogue. Front talons spread wide, the asshole
lashed out. Enemy claws flashed in the weak moonlight. Venom twisted into another spin. The rogue nailed him, ripping a bloody trail along his shoulder. Pain flared, then spiraled into an agonizing burn. Venom ignored it. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not with multiple rogues on his tail and more closing in fast.