Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (18 page)

Wick shifted into human form beside him. Air rushed at him, blowing his long hair off his forehead. Venom cracked his eyelids and turned his head. Gravel and broken glass bit into the back of his scalp as black combat boots came into view. Crouching beside him, he got a load of Wick’s shimmering golden eyes.

“Hey,”
he said, coughing as he greeted his friend.

His gaze calm and steady, Wick reached out to shackle his wrist. The touch pumped heat through Venom, ghosting down his limbs in a soothing swirl. No surprise there. A fire dragon, Wick was a frigging furnace, his temperature always running hot. Applying pressure, his friend lifted his hand to examine the wound.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

A muscle flexed in Wick’s jaw.
“Stay here.”

Venom blinked, a slow up and down. He tried to snort. It came out as a raspy exhale. Like he was going anywhere anytime soon?

“I’ll get what you need.”

Sure. Fine. No problem. Wick would get what he needed.

Venom frowned, trying to remember what that was exactly. He wasn’t sure anymore. His brain was fried, mental acuity nothing but an afterthought as he floated on wave after glorious wave of numbness. He sighed. So nice. The absence of pain was so frigging good. All he needed before he ashed out and became nothing but a name etched into the Wall of Warriors deep inside Black Diamond.

A sharp clip-clop noise—almost like the clicking of high heels—invaded that lovely thought.

“Venom.”
Wick’s deep growl sounded next to his ear.
“Open your eyes.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to float some more, to be air instead of muscle and bone.

“Come on, buddy.”

The
buddy
prodded Venom’s get-up-and-go. Wick never called him anything other than his name, so...

His eyelids flickered then slid open.

Sliding his arm around his shoulder, Wick sat him up. Pain lurched through Venom as his friend said, “Look...brought you a present.”

“Hi, baby,” a female said, husky voice coming through the mind-fog. A halter top, short skirt, bare midriff showing between the two strips of fabric, wavered into view. Venom’s dragon half came to attention, pushing fatigue aside. “Your friend says you’re looking for a flyer.”

“Or two,” a second female said.

A third giggled. “Make that one more.”

“Straddle him,” Wick said to the first female. Magic snapped in the rain-scented air, joining the smell of rotting garbage. “Get in close.”

And well, well, well, would you look at that? Wick’s telepathic prowess was out of the bag. A noteworthy occasion. Why? His friend hardly ever used the skill, but...

Hell. No one mind-controlled like his buddy. Most males needed to touch someone to control their minds and, by extension, their actions. Not Wick. True to his lifelong hands-off policy, he could manipulate without touching. The talent was rare among their kind, one none of the Nightfuries took lightly. Pissing off Wick, after all, wasn’t smart. That kind of behavior would ensure a warrior woke up good and screwed, with no recollection of how he’d gotten wherever he’d landed.

Par for the course. Wick was just that good. Human. Dragonkind. Plant. Animal. Didn’t matter. If the male wanted to mess with your mind, you got manipulated...hang on to your frigging hat.

“Wick, don’t let me...” Venom trailed off, his voice so weak he didn’t recognize it. But he had to make Wick understand. Energy-greed be damned. Screw his death. He would rather die than kill a female. “Don’t let me hurt—”

“No one’s gonna die. I got three for you. I’ll switch ’em up quick,”
his friend murmured, reverting to mind-speak, propping him up as the first female slid into his lap.
“Feed, Ven.”

Full breasts brushed his chest. Warm thighs settled on the outsides of his. Under Wick’s influence, she cupped the nape of Venom’s neck. Small hands playing in his hair, she offered herself to him. An awful hunger rose, clawing at him, and with a groan, Venom dipped his head and set his mouth to her skin, the beautiful hollow of her collarbone.

The Meridian surged, whirling in an electrostatic stream that fed his kind. Energy flickered then flared, lighting her up from the inside out. Venom drank deep, pulling sustenance from her core into his own, and marveled at the irony. The situation was a total switch-up...Wick taking care of him for a change. Making sure he got fed instead of the other way around. But as the female raised his head and kissed him, swirling her tongue against his mouth, Venom left the hows and whys behind and opened for her. She tasted too good. He was so hungry. There would be time and more to unravel the mind-twist later.

Tucking her face against Mac’s shoulder, Tania curled her arm around his neck and hung on tight. Cradling her gently, he sprinted toward the cabin door, and she berated herself. She should be struggling to get away, shouting, cursing, or...well, at the very least, complaining. The problem? The pain wouldn’t let her. She hurt every time she moved. And her voice? Shot to hell, so barely there her body went into executive decision mode, overriding mental firepower.

Tania huffed. So much for speaking up. Or defending herself.

From what? Him: his scent, his strength, the comfort of his arms around her. And the heat he radiated? God, it was the last nail in her coffin. She needed to get closer. To burrow in and take more. More warmth. More comfort. More closeness. Which was nuts to the next power. Mac was the reason she was here in the first place. In this condition too. But even as logic pointed out all the flaws, her body only cared about one thing.

He was warm. She was cold. He was helping.

End of story.

With a shiver, she called herself a fool—promised to yell at him later—but curled closer anyway. Just a little longer. She would push him away in a minute or two. After she warmed up. After he let her go. After her brain started to work again. But in the meantime? She’d take what he offered and hope more heat came her way.

Her face pressed to the side of his throat, she burrowed in, borrowing what she needed, drawing strength and more from him. A pleasant prickle ghosted through her. Hmm, that felt good, as though he shared something other than his heat with her. Alluring and powerful, the strange current flowed, drawing her along in its wake. With a sigh, Tania relaxed into the sensation, taking more when Mac murmured against the top of her head. The soft welcome tugged at her. His arms tightened around her, rushing the tingle along her skin, tugging at her tension until sleep called her name.

Tania let her eyes drift closed.

Bad idea. She knew it the moment her head lolled on his shoulder. Falling asleep in Mac’s arms wasn’t a part of the plan. Or at least shouldn’t be, not after the hocus-pocus she’d seen tonight. But as the alluring tug and pull of sensation grew stronger, its familiarity struck her. She’d experienced the feeling before...somewhere, with someone. Mac maybe? Tania frowned, trying to remember. No luck there. The heated draw intensified, messing with her head, cascading around her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

Home. He felt like home...like warm comfort on a cold afternoon and—

Whoa. Time out. That was the wrong thought, ah...wasn’t it? Probably. Too bad she couldn’t get her body to
agree with her. Her muscles kept ignoring direct orders, refusing to move, so...yup, cross fighting off as a viable option. It wasn’t going to happen. Her strength—along with her priorities—were headed south into total compliance. A dangerous place to be with a guy she’d seen transform into a monster less than an hour ago.

“Mac...d-don’t.”

Something clicked and got bumped aside. “Shh, honey. Hang on. Almost there.”

Tania frowned.
Almost where?
Good question. One she should’ve asked the second she’d surfaced with him in the middle of the bay. Knowing where, after all, was almost as important as knowing
what
. As in, what he intended to do to her?

Fighting the backward slide into oblivion, she cracked her eyelids. Bright light nailed her, tunneling through to the back of her brain. She flinched. Mac cursed and, with a whispered “sorry,” flipped the lights off. Brushing the wet hair away from her face, he set her down on something solid. A table? A countertop? Seemed safe to say yes when her legs dangled, soggy boot heels banging into solid panels. The rush of water sounded, as though someone had just cranked on a shower. Tania blinked, seeing nothing but black spots. After a second or two, her vision cleared and—

She got a quick snapshot of Mac. Arm and shoulder muscles flexing, he bent and cupped her heel in his big hand. Her brows drawn tight, she stared at the opposite wall. Painted bright white, tongue-and-groove wainscoting gleamed in the low light. Mac tugged off one of her riding boots. As he dropped her footwear to the floor and attacked the other, Tania glanced at the claw-footed bathtub to her
right. Long and deep, the thing qualified as a super-soaker, the modern-day version of an old-time design.

Her second boot hit the tiled floor.

She switched her attention to the oversize shower over Mac’s shoulder. Enclosed by clear glass, gorgeous blue stone covered the back wall. Steam frothed and water droplets formed, streaking marble tile as the rainfall showerhead and body jets did double time, spraying out gentle arcs. All without Mac touching them, which honestly freaked her out more than just a little bit.

The hocus-pocus tightened her mental screws. Thank God. The rag doll routine wasn’t doing her any good. Or helping her to ask the right questions, like, oh say...how Mac had gone from horned head and blue-gray scales to, well,
that
. Six and a half feet of ripped Irish American with an incredible tattoo. One she didn’t remember seeing that night in the loft when they’d...

She frowned, questioning the memory. It flared anyway, defying reason, playing out each moment, shocking her with the details. Her cheeks warmed to a full blush. Dear God, she’d been out of control, so demanding and—

More heated images flashed in her mind’s eye. Of her flat on her back while he...and oh boy. She squirmed on the countertop, forcing herself to reverse course fast. Only an idiot would go there. Thinking of that night—and Mac’s part in it—wasn’t a good idea. Particularly with him a heartbeat away, wearing nothing but skin and a pair of swim trunks.

Which reminded her. The tattoo.

No way he’d been inked when she’d...ahem...
collided
with him at Myst’s place. She would’ve remembered. It wasn’t something a girl forgot. Drawn with skill and care,
the precise lines covered nearly half of his torso, then arched up to trail over one wide shoulder before continuing on to curve around his bicep. And the ink? Navy blue with a...Tania leaned in to get a better look. Yes, it was definitely shimmering. Not a lot, but enough for her to notice. Fascinating. Beautiful. Beyond strange.

“Hey, Mac?” Tania grimaced. Good lord, she sounded like a chain-smoker, one of those three-pack-a-day-ers in the vocal arena.

Crouched in front of her, Mac’s head came up. His gaze on hers, he pushed to his feet and tossed her soggy boots into the tub. “Arms up.”

She blinked. Arms...what?

“Up,” he said, as though he heard the question without her voicing it.

Fisting his hands at the bottom of her sweater, he pulled. Her eyes widened. The wool gave, sliding up her body, carrying her arms toward the ceiling. She squawked in protest, but it was too late. With one last tug, the wet mess joined her boots in the tub, leaving her sitting in nothing but a lacy bra and skintight jeans.

“Hey!” She crossed her wounded hands over her chest. Blood oozed from a cut on her knuckle, rolling along the back of her hand. Tania ignored it, more interested in her modesty than her injuries. “What do you think you’re—”

“Lift your bottom for me.”

“No.” Like she wanted to be bare-assed in front of him? Again!

Well, all right, so technically she wouldn’t be naked. But as lovely as it was, the lingerie wasn’t great cover in the assets department.

Good lord, why had she slipped on La Cirque today? Dumb question. She always wore her expensive stuff on important days: a big meeting at work, a difficult presentation to a client, visiting J.J. at the correctional facility. The fancy underwear gave her a boost. Made her feel prettier, more confident, able to handle the challenges life threw her way. Call it a quirk of character. Call it self-confidence in silk and lace. But whatever you called it, modest wasn’t one of them.

And this set? One of her sexier numbers, pale pink silk trimmed out in black lace and bows. Oh so not for mass consumption. Or Mac. So...no. She wouldn’t be
lifting
anything for him. Not now. Or any other time, either.

When Mac didn’t argue, Tania exhaled in relief. The consolation lasted less than a second. Without looking at her, he leaned to one side and pulled a drawer open. Palming something, he pocketed it, straightened, then slid his hands beneath her butt and scooped her off the countertop. Which naturally sent her into Squawksville, but didn’t affect him at all, because—