Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (17 page)

“Tania?” Cupping her shoulder, he turned her to face him. The smell of salt water swirled. He wrapped her up tight again and, his mouth pressed to her temple, asked, “Are you all right?”

Unresisting, she settled into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Honey, I’m sorry I scared you. I can explain everything, but Jesus...please talk to me,” he said, feeling her bioenergy dip into fatigue. “I need to know if you’re hurt.”

Still shivering, she drew her arms up. Her hands pushed against his chest. Stuck together, her lashes rose like dark spikes, and he got his first glimpse of her face. Jesus. She was so pale, and her gaze? Unfocused. Full of shock, which...God help him. Made his heart ache.

He cursed under his breath. It was his fault...the look in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty. All of it.

“My hands,” she whispered, her hoarse rasp telling him all he needed to know. She’d screamed her throat raw down there. Choking on remorse, Mac massaged the tense muscle bracketing her spine. “I t-think...”

As she trailed off on a hiccup, Mac glanced down. Jesus H. Christ. He needed to get her inside his cabin right now. She required medical attention. Or at least her hands did.
Raw at the tips, her fingers were bleeding, nails torn to shreds.

With a muttered curse, Mac clenched his teeth, hating himself for causing her pain. Now, however, was no time to dwell on his stupidity. “Keep your hands above the water, okay? It’ll sting less that way.”

When she nodded, Mac hooked one arm under both hers. The Coast Guard lifesaving technique worked like a charm, his shoulder supporting her head as he towed her through the water. Powerful strokes took him across the cove toward the dock. Wispy clouds parted and moonlight glowed, glinting off inky waves, lighting the way toward the pier.

“How’re we doing?” he asked, worry biting deep when she started to shiver again.

And no wonder. She was losing heat fast. He’d kept her warm while they floated, but with each hard draw and pull of his arm, cold water washed between them while frigid autumn air rushed over her damp skin exposed above the surface of the water.

Goose bumps broke across the nape of her neck. Mac growled, disliking the sign of her bone-deep chill. Shit on a stick. Next time he’d heat the whole frickin’ bay, but...

His brows collided. Next time? Not frickin’ likely. There wouldn’t be a
next time
. Not if he could help it.

Each one of his strokes fast and true, Mac swam up to the dock edge. He didn’t bother with the ladder. With a murmured command, the sea obeyed, bubbling beneath him. On a quick inhale, Tania panicked, squirming in his embrace. He tightened his hold on her and—

Splash!

The water thrust up, launching him skyward, up and out of the inky chill. Holding on tight, he swung Tania against his chest midflight, one arm hooked under her legs, the other supporting her back. She gasped. His bare feet touched down, contacting with the wide planks of the dock. Wood groaned as the pier went topsy-turvy, and the tendrils of water receded, releasing them one wet finger at a time.

The second he was free, Mac put his feet in gear and ran down the pier toward the limestone steps that climbed the steep embankment and led to the cabin overlooking the bay.

Twisting in his arms, Tania’s teeth chattered. “I can w-walk.”

“I know you can,” he said, soothing her pride while refusing to let her go. She was out of luck, and he was out of time. No way could he put her down. Not with his dragon riding shotgun and his protective instincts up and running. “But this way’s faster.”

More efficient too.

Racing up the staircase, heart pounding, legs pumping like pistons, Mac reached out with his mind. His magic flared, rolling toward the cabin sitting at the top of the rise. Electricity crackled and industrial batteries—fed by the high-tech solar system—powered up. Interior lights came on, along with the LEDs flanking the footpath. He crested the last step. Another thirty seconds and he’d be inside.

Flipping open the double dead bolts with nothing more than a thought, he swung the front door wide. Within seconds, he crossed the threshold into his home, only one thing on his mind. Tania needed his care. And no matter how much she protested, that was exactly what she would get.

Venom wobbled in midair, squad buildings and narrow alleyways blending into indistinct blurs below him. Circling overhead, looking for a safe place to land, he stretched his wings wider, trying to compensate. The north wind didn’t cooperate, buffeting him into a downdraft, making him work harder to stay airborne. He bit down on a groan as pain took him for a ride, tearing at the numerous cuts crisscrossing his torso.

Goddamn, that hurt. But worse? The gash bisecting his abdomen.

Venom sucked in an agonizing breath. Trouble didn’t begin to describe the situation. He was in crisis country, still bleeding like a sieve. Plasma flowed like rivulets of water, coating his dark green scales from lower belly to knee. Fatigue pulled at him. A sick wave of nausea joined the party, teaming up with the holy hell brigade already pounding on him.

Down. He needed to get his paws on the ground. Right now. Before he lost consciousness and kamikazied into the nearest building.

He had lots to choose from...unfortunately. The human ghetto was full of rundown-and-unlivable, the dilapidated housing units the norm instead of the exception. But worse, at least for him, no one seemed to have gone beddy-bye tonight. The street was way too busy: females working on corners, males milling around with heavy-duty bling displayed over dark hoodies pulling meet and greets, supplying product to customers. Music thumped too, bass pounding from stereo speakers as humans trolled, looking for drug action or asking a female’s going rate in the predawn hours.

Frigging hell. Too many witnesses with camera-equipped cell phones. Too many humans to mind-scrub, never mind avoid after he face-planted into the side of a building. Which...God give him strength...was looking more and more plausible with each passing minute.

Another wave of weakness rolled through him. A terrible yearning followed. He wanted to go home to Black Diamond. Craved the safety of the underground lair and the medical facility that sat in the middle of it, instead of this BS. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Not now. Or anytime soon, either.

He couldn’t fly anymore. His body was failing. The injury he’d sustained too serious to fight anymore. And after roof hopping most of the night to screw with the enemy’s head? The twenty-minute flight home through fresh mountain air and pine-scented forests wasn’t doable. Not for him.

God. Talk about screwed with a capital
S
.

He’d always been the strongest warrior. Not in the magic department. B and Rikar took top marks for that, but physically he outdid them all. Was the biggest, fastest,
the most deadly in a physical fight...in a pack renowned for its prowess. And that was before he tossed his stamina into the ring, in battle, while on covert operations...wherever. The other males in his pack admired him for it, counted on him in tight situations. So the fact his strength—the very thing he prided himself on—had abandoned him?

Not cool. Or even a bit fun.

He growled, grinding upper fangs against lower. The gritting noise sent his head sideways. As his brain ping-ponged, banging around inside his skull, another round of weakness hit. Blinking rapid-fire, Venom watched the flickering red glow of his gaze light up the gloom in front of him. Pain throbbed through his abdomen, dialing him down another notch.

No doubt about it. Time to land.

Throwing a Hail Mary pass in a losing game, he mind-spoke,
“Wick.”

Nothing came back. No answer. No growled response. No f-bomb or the rushing flap of wings.

Venom wasn’t surprised. Wick didn’t talk much...even to him. And hell, he was the male’s best friend. Not that it mattered. He understood Wick. Knew what his friend had suffered and the conditioning that made him the way he was, so it was a no-brainer. His quiet nature and one-syllable responses never bothered Venom. But right now? He wanted to hear Wick’s “fuck off, Ven” so badly his head hurt.

He hoped his brother-in-arms was all right. Was on his way back from leading the Razorbacks away. The second Wick had gotten a load of his injuries, the vicious SOB went supersonic, attacking four rogues to protect Venom. A wicked strategy. One that worked like a charm and was
not only a testament to Wick’s sharp intelligence and quick thinking but the enemies’ stupidity. They’d taken the bait and flown after his friend, leaving Venom to escape in the other direction. Now, though, Venom worried his friend was injured.

Why the hell wasn’t Wick back yet?

Forcing his sonar to work, Venom sent out a ping, trying to lock onto the magical signal Wick left in his wake. The energy signature was unique to the individual. Each male carried one, Dragonkind’s equivalent of fingerprints. When nothing came back, concern lit him up, but...

He was just so damned tired. Too far gone to search via sonar, never mind go after his buddy.

With a reedy exhale, Venom let exhaustion take him and, tucking his wings, dropped through the thin space between rooftops. His paws thumped down. The rough landing made him wince and asphalt crack beneath his talons. Dumpsters jumped, leaving their wheels before coming back down with a clang. Shifting to human form, he used the last of his strength to conjure his clothes. As leathers settled against his chilled skin, Venom hugged one arm around his middle as his strength gave out. His legs buckled, knees connecting with the debris piled in the center of the alley.

The foul smell of garbage rose. He pinged Wick again. The cosmic connection they shared flared. Swallowing the bad taste in his mouth, he rasped,
“Wick.”

A heartbeat, then two throbbed past. Venom hung his head. His friend must be down or dead. Frigging hell. He’d sent his best friend to his death while he’d flown in the other—

“What the fuck?”

Relief grabbed him by the balls.
“I’m down.”

“No shit,”
Wick growled, the sound of wind coming through mind-speak.
“Where?”

“Not sure.”
His brows drawn tight, he glanced around. Squinting at the mouth of the narrow alleyway, he fought to clear his vision. No luck there. His eyes were shot, leaving him unable to focus.
“In an alley. Between—”

“Got you.”
A tingle lashed Venom as he sensed Wick connect to his signal. A second later a dark shadow flew overhead. His friend circled right, lining up his approach.
“Hang on.”

“The rogues?”

“Lost ’em.”

Good job, Venom wanted to say. He nodded instead, then turned belly-up. As his back touched down on the blacktop, he flattened his hand over his belly, applying pressure to his wound. Blood spilled between his fingers. Oh man, he was so screwed. Deep in Holy-hell-ville and sliding fast. Taking a shallow breath, Venom stared up between buildings, his gaze on the narrow slice of night sky between rooftops. With the storm clouds clearing—thank you very much, Mac...the frigging fledgling was a freak of nature in the waterworks department—the stars came out to play, winking at him from their bed high above the earth. His mind drifted a little.

God, he loved flying. Wanted to feel the rush of air against his scales while he soared. Would he ever get to do that again? Seemed like a good bet to say no. And as anguish tightened its grip, twisting muscle and bone, he wondered if this was it. After eighty-seven years of living, had it all come down to here and now? A slow, agonizing death in a filthy human alleyway?

Calm acceptance drifted through him. Wow. He hadn’t expected that, but...well, he was a warrior. Bred for war. Trained to fight. A killer in every sense of the word. The manner of his death—the violence in it—made perfect sense. Stood to reason he’d die in a cold, dark place, not peacefully in his own bed. And as the end came calling, Venom let his eyes drift closed.

The snick of claws sounded beside him.
“Oh no, you don’t.”

“Let me go, Wick,”
he murmured, so tired he didn’t care anymore.

“Fuck off. I’m taking you home.”

“Not a good idea.”
Silence met that pronouncement. Venom broke through it by explaining,
“Myst and Angela are there.”

“Shit.”

No kidding. A huge understatement.

Especially since the only thing that would save his life now was female energy. And lots of it. A high-energy female would be best, but any human woman would do. He needed to feed to sustain his life force. Was deep in energy-greed—a state all Dragonkind males feared—which meant if he got anywhere near a female now, he’d probably kill her. Drain her dry, take her life to preserve his own.

So you betcha. Going home wasn’t a good idea. If he so much as looked at Angela and Myst the wrong way, his commander and XO would make him nothing but a memory. Zip-bang-gone...no discussion, no second chances, just deader than dead.

Venom swallowed past his dry throat. Not a bad way to go, all things considered. Quick and painless, at least.