Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (28 page)

Asshole rogues. Heartless bastards. Ivar needed his head ripped off in a big way.

Leaning on the jamb, he cleared his throat to avoid startling her. She glanced over her shoulder, and he got nailed by intelligent hazel eyes. “Whatcha doing down here, Detective? Daimler kick you out of the dining room?”

“I left my gun on the dining room table again.” She fingered the Glock strapped to her thigh. “He wasn’t happy.”

“The M25?” A gift from her mate, the sniper rifle was a beautiful piece. More so for what Angela could do with the thing. A crack shot, she took out moving targets from eight hundred to one thousand yards away. Astonishing by any standards. Kick-ass useful by his. “You scratch the table?”

Angela grimaced, then held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A little bit.”

“Ah,” he said, fighting a grin. Made sense. Their resident go-to guy was picky about stuff like that. A real neat freak, Daimler liked rules and woe betide anyone who didn’t toe the line. Guess Angela had just found that out the hard way.

Venom’s focus jumped back to the wall behind her. Glossy eight-by-ten pictures glinted in the low light. He tipped his chin. “How’s it going? You find anything yet?”

The questions put Angela on high alert. Her eyes narrowed on him, and Venom saw her mental wheels turning. She was trying to decide whether to share the information or hold on to her grudge against him.

Venom didn’t blame her.

He hadn’t made it easy for her to like him. She loved Mac, backed the male up at every turn. And as far as the newest Nightfury was concerned? Venom was the Antichrist, so...no question. It was only natural for Angela to resent him. He and Mac had issues; calling each other names wasn’t the least of them. They were like oil and water...constantly divided. Although after last night’s performance—the one in which Mac saved his noodle...goddamn it—Venom knew he needed to cut the fledgling some slack.

Holding her gaze, Venom gave in to the urge to explain. “You know the thing between me and Mac?”

“The thing being...what? You acting like an ass?”

His lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Rikar’s female was strong, as direct as a sledgehammer to the head.

“Maybe,” he said, conceding the point. “It isn’t personal. This is my pack. Has been for the better part of sixty years. Rikar and the others are my family...mine to protect and keep safe. I take that vow seriously. A weak male in the mix will get one of us killed. I can’t allow that.”

“You haven’t given him a chance, Venom.” Adjusting her gun, she leaned back against the lip of the table. “How long did it take you to get your crap together after your
change
?”

Venom flinched, not liking the reminder. Or his sire’s role in the memory. “A while.”

“Mac’s been Dragonkind for just over a month. Add that to the fact his transition was anything but normal and—”

“We’re at war, Angela. I don’t have time to coddle a male,” he said. “He’s either an asset to our pack or he isn’t. No leeway there.”

“So stop being a naysayer and”—giving him the stink eye, she pointed at him with her pen—“help Forge get him up to speed.”

Flexing his hands, Venom examined his bruised knuckles, vacillating, wondering whether he should give in and back off. Capitulation wasn’t his favorite thing. Once he decided something...he
decided
. But when Angela stood strong, refusing to retreat, he folded like a dirty shirt. Pleading hazel eyes could do that to a male. And Angela...God love her...wasn’t above playing dirty.

“All right,” he said, the words tasting sour. Venom swallowed the burn. Giving in was the right thing to do, no matter how much it stung his pride. “You win, Detective. I’ll lay off.”

“And help him too. Teach him a few tricks along the way.”

Okay. Now she was just pushing it. “Maybe.”

Nowhere near humble in victory, she grinned at him. “Truce, then.”

Thank God. It was about frigging time.

He needed to take a load off. And standing around arguing with her wasn’t helping him. Pushing away from the doorframe, he limped into the room. He glanced at Sloan’s ugly purple chair. Ugh. What a travesty. The thing belonged in a dumpster, but it looked solid enough, so...

Steel groaned as he gripped the armrests and lowered himself into the seat.

“Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he murmured, lying through his teeth, pain twisting his muscles into knots. Venom bit down on a grunt. Shifting in the chair, he tried to get comfortable. But comfort wasn’t in the cards. Not tonight anyway.

Boots scuffed the floor. “I’ll get Myst.”

“Don’t bother.” Agony settled into a throb, beating against his abdomen. Venom released a pent-up breath and shook his head. “It’s nothing time won’t heal. And painkillers don’t work on me, so...no point.”

“So last night?”

“No anesthesia.” Just straight-up surgery without the relief of drug-fueled oblivion. Hell on earth.

“Ouch.” Angela grimaced. “Why doesn’t it work on you?”

“I’m a poison breather. Full of toxins in and out of dragon form. Anything foreign enters my bloodstream, it gets killed. Instantly.”

“Guess that makes flu season a breeze for you, huh?”

Venom snorted, then cursed under his breath. He pressed his hand to his side. Frigging hell. Laughing with a belly wound...not a good idea.

“Pretty much. But forget about me.” Sliding into a slouch, his nape touched down on the seat back. He pointed to the white board screwed into the wall—and the collection of pictures taped to it. “Whatcha working on?”

“The missing women.” Her attention snapped back to her handiwork. In red marker on one side of the board, she’d written a name, the date, and time of abduction under each female’s picture. On the other side, she’d tacked newspaper clippings, all kinds of notes, and a dog-eared map of Seattle. “These women fit the pattern. All in their early to midtwenties. All highly intelligent. Huge overachievers.”

She paused to chew on her bottom lip.

Venom murmured, encouraging her to continue.

“Every single one, without exception, was abducted from or close to Seattle U’s campus.” Her pen jogged in midair, pointing to each female in turn. “The victimology suggests they’re all high-energy females.”

“Young. Bright. Good candidates for the Razorbacks’ breeding program.”

“Exactly,” she whispered, the strain in her voice unmistakable.

But when she turned to look at him, the shadows in her eyes almost killed him. Goddamned Razorbacks. The bastards had hurt Angela so badly, and for that alone, Venom wanted to rip every single one of their heads off. Losing his temper, though, wouldn’t help her. Not now. Not ever, really. Only time and Rikar’s love would heal that wound. Still, as he watched her struggle to contain the pain, the compulsion to help her lit a fire inside him. A slow burn.
A dangerous one that would fuel him when he went back out to hunt the enemy.

Slice and dice. Torture time with a rogue, here he came.

Angela cleared her throat. “All were taken about the same time...just before midnight. I’ve read through the reports...all the eyewitness accounts, hoping to find something...
anything
...that might tell me where to start looking for—”

“Ivar’s lair.”

She nodded, then turned toward him. “Venom, we need to get those women out of there.”

The hitch in her voice cracked him wide open. His predatory instincts flared, dragging his need to protect up front and center. Not surprising, really. Female or not, she belonged to his pack now. Was his to protect and safeguard. And family always looked after and shielded their own. No matter what.

“Maybe I can help.”

Surprise at his offer winged across her face. “How?”

“Wick and I busted into one of the rogues’ old lairs a while ago. About the same time Mac went through the change.” Frowning, Venom thought back, doing some mental inventory. “We were chasing their XO, so we didn’t stop to look around, but...I saw other stuff there.”

Angela perked up. “What kind of stuff?”

“Boxes. Things left behind in a hurry. There could be information...a paper trail...maybe some clue as to—”

“I need to go there. Walk the scene.”

Venom hesitated, wanting to help without putting his own life on the line. No way could he take Angela outside the lair without Rikar’s consent. The energy-fuse/mating stuff was serious business, and that kind of interference
would get him squished faster than an ant under a boot heel. Well, that, or his balls handed to him on the end of a blade. Either way, he refused to step into that powder keg...with a frigging frost dragon. He’d end up in a cryogenic ice block.

So strategy time. He needed to figure out a way to let her down gently without—

“Venom?” The hopeful note in her tone zapped him. “Will you take me there?”

“Take you where, angel?”

The disembodied voice drifted in from the corridor. Shitkickers thudding on polished concrete, Rikar followed, crossing the threshold, pale eyes locked on his mate.

Venom blew out the breath he’d been holding. Saved by the bell. Or rather, the timely appearance of his XO.

“To the Razorbacks’ old lair.” Expression set, Angela met Rikar head-on. “I need to take a look around...see what they left behind.”

“No fucking way,” Rikar growled, then turned to glower at him.

Venom quelled the sudden urge to skedaddle. Jeez, like it was his fault? Rikar was mated to the detective, not him. But considering the PO’d look on his XO’s face, only one thing left to do. Shifting in Sloan’s chair, he tossed Angela back in the hot seat. “Don’t get the wrong idea, man. I offered to get her the info, not take her with me.”

“Ah, come on.” Giving Venom an exasperated look, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trained for this...know how to work a crime scene. I’ll notice and remember things you guys won’t.”

Rikar scowled at her. “No.”

“Please?”

Venom blinked. Oh-ho. Trouble wrapped in a gorgeous, hazel-eyed bundle with a
pretty please
on top. Rikar was so cooked. Venom could see it just by looking at him. Yeah, the male had dug in to hold the line—desperate to back up his big-ass
NO
—but Angela knew how to handle her mate. Smiling softly, she approached on silent feet, got in nice and close, and laid her hands flat on Rikar’s chest. Venom shook his head. Holy God. The bonded male crap was some serious stuff. Why? Rikar—one of the strongest males he knew—was folding, his I-must-please-her gene kicking in with the force of nuclear fallout.

“Look, Rikar.” Snuggling in, she encouraged Rikar to return the embrace. His XO didn’t waste a second. He wrapped her up, closing his arms around her before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You and the other warriors will be with me. I’ll be armed and—”

The computer dinged.

Dragging his attention from the lovey-dovey couple, Venom’s attention snapped toward the wall-mounted computer monitors. Bright blue, a video chat box flashed in the center of the middle screen. Not liking his delayed reaction, the ping turned into a squawk, sounding like a bad version of a fire engine.

“Christ,” Rikar muttered. “What the hell is that?”

Venom snorted. Frigging Sloan. Trust him to give a conference call an annoying ringtone.

Paddling with his bare feet, swiveling in the ugly chair, Venom turned to face the desk that stretched wall-to-wall beneath high-tech computer screens. Hell, another travesty. Burned and blistered in places, with hatchet marks cutting into the wood, the work surface was more than ancient. It was a disaster. Sloan really needed to
get a clue. The male was two for two in the design no-no department.

Venom reached out, ignoring a twinge of pain, to palm the mouse. He double clicked on the link, expecting to see one of the Metallics. Too far away to use mind-speak—the cosmic connection required two things...consent between males and no more than five hundred miles between them to forge the link—Haider had been forced to set up a computer to relay messages from Prague.

The video chat opened.

Bronze eyes narrowed on him. “Where the fuck is Sloan?”

Standing behind the chair, Rikar laughed. “Good to see you too, Gage. What’s up?”

Never one for niceties, the male said, “Shitloads.”

“Any of it good?” Venom asked, wanting to make sure. One never knew with Gage. Violent to the point of self-destruction, the male considered what the rest of them labeled FUBARed as fun. “We get any nibbles yet?”

“Yeah. A big one.”

“Oh goody,” Venom said, glad his buddies’ trip to Prague had borne fruit. That had been the idea...drop the hook, see who swam out to take the bait. His commander was smart that way. A consummate chess player, Bastian was always fifty moves ahead...a strategist without equal. And the Archguard’s stupid festival? Perfect cover for some serious reconnaissance. Gage and Haider had gotten the job. Smart move on B’s part. Haider was cunning, a smooth talker with wicked diplomatic skills. Hell, the male could charm the ears off an elephant if he wanted to. Anticipation gripping him, Venom shifted in the chair. “Who?”

“Nian.”

Rikar’s mouth fell open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Yup. That about summed it up. Nian was a big fish, with even bigger family history. One that included his sire murdering Bastian’s father—and becoming sole guardian of B before his change—to take control of the Archguard. Not that anyone could prove it. The sly male had been careful, leaving no trail of evidence for anyone to follow. Supposition upon supposition, that was all they had. Not enough to go after the head of one of the dynastic families that ruled Dragonkind.

And certainly not now. Nian hadn’t even been born when that crap went down.

“You need to tell Bastian.” One hand planted on the desktop in his hotel room, Gage leaned in, getting so close to the webcam Venom saw the stubble on the male’s cheeks. “Protection in exchange for info. That’s the bastard’s game.”

“Is he legit?”

“Fuck no,” Gage said. “The little prick’s power hungry. Wants to be top dragon, just like his sire. Haider’s sniffing around. I’ll let you know what he turns up.”