Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (10 page)

“Yeah. She’s on the move, though. Nine miles out, but...”
The signal grew stronger, making Mac twitchy. Shit. That wasn’t good. His scales felt like they were two sizes too small...as though he’d been shrink-wrapped or left to dry out in the sun.
“I shouldn’t know that, should I?”

Energy zapped him. The beacon throbbed through him, tunneling into sinew and muscle, torquing him into a full-body twist. He lost altitude, urban lights winking below him as he went topsy-turvy in midair. Forge cursed and dodged right, getting out of his way.

“Motherfuck,”
Mac growled, flinching as the pain moved from gut-wrenching to manageable. Leveling his wings, he exhaled long and smooth, combating the discomfort.
“Tell me what happened?”

Silence met his demand.

Venom looped up and over, staying on task, following Mac’s rapid descent toward human houses. Aligned in neat suburban rows, bungalows and two-story walk-ups sat together, coexisting peacefully, shoulder to shoulder on the edge of blacktopped roads and twinkling street lamps.

Nice. Normal. Nothing to get in a twist about.

Mac didn’t care. He wanted to know everything no one wanted to tell him.
“Come on, guys.”

“Rikar...dish. No use hiding it,”
B said, the regret in his tone putting Mac on high alert.
“He’ll find out eventually. Better now than later.”

“Shit,”
Rikar said, pale eyes glowing like twin spotlights above him.
“How close are we, Mac?”

“Seven miles...give or take.”

“
B, peel off,”
Rikar said.

His commander nodded.
“Meet you on the flip side. Venom, Wick...you’re with me.”

“On your six.”
Wick banked left, breaking formation to follow Bastian. Venom followed suit, taking the opposite wingman position.

Leading the kick-ass trifecta, Bastian turned south toward Gig Harbor.
“Sloan tracked her credit card to a hotel. We’ll set up there. If you intercept her en route, give us a shout.”

Rikar um-hmmed.
“Holler if company comes calling.”

“Will do.”

“What the fuck is going on?”
Mac growled, his gaze ping-ponging between Forge and Rikar.
“Stop screwing around. Tell me why I can feel her. I’ve never touched her, so no way I should be able to track her.”

“Not true,”
Rikar murmured, his tone tinged with chagrin—and something more. Shame, maybe?
“I...Christ, I know you don’t remember. No male ever remembers going through his change, but...”

As his XO trailed off, Mac’s throat went tight.

“
Fuck it.”
Rikar sighed. Frost shot from his nostrils.
“No easy way to tell you. You needed a female...would’ve died without one to stabilize your energy stream, so we used what we had and...”
Rikar glanced at him sideways.
“You can feel her because she fed you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Mac wobbled in midair before righting himself. Mother of God. Tania had fed him.
Fed him.
And he didn’t remember? How in the hell could he have—

Wait a minute.

“The dreams.”
Mac’s brows collided.
“I’ve been having dreams about her.”

Rikar shook his head.
“Residual memories.”

“Did you—”

“No one watched. We hid out in the bathroom until it was over.”

“Did I hurt her?”
Jesus, what an awful thought.
“Did I...?”

“No.”
With a growl, Rikar glared at him.
“You didn’t force her. She was willing...wanted you badly. We tried to separate you...had the escort Sloan called all lined up, but Tania wouldn’t let you go. It was either injure her to get her to release you or let her have you.”
His XO paused. Silence and more hung in the space where words wouldn’t suffice. After a full minute of torture, his friend said,
“You needed her. She wanted you. We let her have you.”

Mac’s heart throbbed in his chest. God help him. He’d never...hadn’t ever...
Jesus.
How was he supposed to live with that? With the idea that Tania might not have been 100 percent—

“A rock and a hard place.”
Lightning struck overhead. Lit up by the flash, his mentor flipped up and over, rotating into a slow spin. As he settled beside him once more, Forge’s brogue grew thicker as he said,
“Damned if you do...”

“Damned if you don’t,”
Mac rasped, finishing the sentence, his voice so hoarse it was almost nonexistent.
“Will she remember?”

“B mind-scrubbed her afterward, but...probably. High-energy females have strong minds. Most recover the memory when a male touches them again. It happened to Angela and me,”
Rikar said, his tone as soft as Mac’s had been.
“I’m sorry it played out this way. I know it’s an ass-kicker, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry?
Jesus, the apology didn’t begin to cover it.

The problem? A catch-22 never came calling without leaving a load of trouble in its wake. It was always messy. Unwanted. Hard to clean up. And as much as Mac wanted to deny it—and kick Rikar’s ass in the process—he understood his XO’s dilemma. In the heat of that moment,
Rikar had made a choice...let him die or get him what he needed to live.

Rikar had made the hard call and saved his life. Thank God, but...shit. Mac despised the fallout. The aftermath that left him swimming in guilt, facing the possibility that Tania would hate him on sight.

Mac shook his head. How selfish was that? Very. Incredibly self-centered.

How he felt didn’t matter. None of this was about him. It was about her. All about keeping her safe from bastards who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her. So fuck it. He could live with her hate, if it came to that. But man, he prayed he wouldn’t have to. Hoped with all his heart that she remembered she’d wanted him too much to let him go...that she’d forgive him for touching her even though he couldn’t remember his part in it.

Not clearly anyway.

The dreams weren’t enough. All the heat and pleasure. All the yearning and relief; his need to please her, to touch and taste her until she came apart in his arms; the welcoming sounds she’d made, the way she’d moved against him, ridden him, her small hands in his hair. God. She’d been perfection in his arms, but as memory spilled through him, Mac frowned. The dreamlike quality persisted, muddying the water, mucking with his recall until—

Was any of it real...her response...his reaction? Or was his mind playing tricks on him, inventing things he wanted to be true?

Wrestling with self-recrimination, Mac thought back, replaying the scene, looking for clues. Shit. He wasn’t sure.

He’d seen what happened to a woman when a male fed. Heat and need always turned to uncontrollable lust.
How did he know? Forge. His mentor believed in thoroughness, never leaving anything to chance. So, yeah, the male had taken him into town—to a Seattle nightclub one night last week—and taught him how to tap into the Meridian’s electrostatic current...all while satisfying a female in the best possible way. Willingness was a prerequisite for a Nightfury. Woman were to be cherished and pleased, not used.

Still, an awful suspicion burrowed deep inside him, unearthing terrible questions. Had Tania really wanted him? Or had the Meridian surged, ensnaring her in a magical web...one too strong for her to resist?

Mac didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. Especially since it painted him with a black brush. But as he flew over the narrows, watching whitecaps kick up as open water gave way to beachfront, then the dark green of an ancient forest, Mac knew he couldn’t avoid the inevitable. He needed to know. Felt Tania with every breath he took, so...

No contest. He would find her first and somehow, someway, make it right for her again.

His heart aching so hard his chest hurt, Mac came up over a tall rise of weathered pine trees. Two lanes of asphalt, yellow lines reflecting in the weak moon glow, stretched out below him. The rural route snaked through rocky terrain, high bluffs reigning supreme along one side. A car engine whined, the smooth downshift of gears held aloft by gusts of frigid wind. Night vision pinpoint sharp, Mac’s head snapped right. Red with white racing stripes, a Mini Cooper swung around an S curve.

His eyes narrowed on the car. Tania. The aura of her energy hummed, calling to him, washing the Mini’s
windows with soft blue light. The hue of the ocean, his favorite color in the world.

“Inside the car,”
he murmured, giving his boys a heads-up.

“The tin can with wheels?”

Forge snorted.
“It’s vintage, Rikar. A fucking classic.”

“Looks like a death trap to me.”

Mac hoped not, but conceded the point. The Mini might be beautiful, but it was tiny. Not something anyone wanted to ding up in a fender bender, never mind a crash. And looking at the terrain—rocky, inhospitable, thick redwoods and towering pines lining the narrow roadway—not a place he wanted to startle Tania, either. She might lose control and roll her car. Which would put him where? In Deepshitsville, playing the Jaws of Life with his talons as he pried her loose from a collision he’d caused.

Oh so not even close to what he wanted.

All his concentration on his female, Mac banked in behind her car. Gliding above the road now, he mind-spoke,
“Forge.”

“Aye?”

“Jam up the asshole in the truck. He’s tailgating her.”

“Do you want the prick dead or just damaged?”

Rikar huffed with laughter.

He glanced sideways at his mentor, then back at the truck. Mac wanted to say “dead.” Lights off, practically riding Tania’s bumper, the impatient SOB needed a lesson. He debated a moment, seriously considering it, but then...

The cop in him kicked in, hitting him with a damnable dose of the law and fair play. He drilled Forge with a look, one that said
behave
.

“Just saying.”
Forge shrugged and flew toward the pickup.
“Dead’s a lot more fun.”

“Just keep him busy. Stop him. Mind-scrub him...whatever.”
His eyes glued to the car, Mac heard the engine rumble as Tania headed into another winding turn. He came in low, wings spread, adjusting his speed, and settled into a glide over her. He needed to time it just right.
“Heads up. I’m getting up close and personal.”

Frost dragon out in full force, Rikar rotated into a slow flip. The raindrops that followed Mac turned to snowfall in his wintery wake.
“Need any help?”

Deep in the storm swirl, Mac shook his head, thunder rumbling behind him, snowflakes curling off his wing tips, a whole lot of “hands off” banging around inside his head. As stupid as it sounded, he didn’t want another male anywhere near Tania. Not even Rikar, a guy he trusted with his life.

Tania was his. His responsibility. His to keep safe. His to hold if she let him.

But first he needed to reach her. And yeah, something told him she wasn’t going to be happy when he dropped in and rained on her parade.

The clutch pressed to the floor, Tania downshifted into the next turn. As her car swung around the bend, she glanced out the side window. Something was, well...off. A little? A lot? She couldn’t tell. Or place the odd feeling, for that matter. Sensation pricked the nape of her neck and intuition whispered, raising awareness, making her think...maybe...

Tania frowned, then shook her head. No. She was being ridiculous. No one was watching her. How could they be? She was in the middle of nowhere. Headlights eating the night gloom, washing over twin center lines. Miles of blacktop in front of her, the prison behind her, racing toward Gig Harbor and the telephone in her hotel room. J.J.’s letter burned a hole in her back pocket while hope did the same to her heart.

Parole.
Unbelievable.

Her sister had a shot at a real life. A better one seeded in a second chance. And Tania refused to screw it up for her. She prayed the reporter agreed to stall the news station and put the interview on the back burner for a while.
All she needed was a month. A measly thirty days to get through the parole board hearing.

Big problem with that demand, though, and it had a name: Clarissa Newton.

Nibbling on her thumbnail, Tania racked her brain, searching for a viable strategy. One that would convince an ambitious woman to postpone an exposé that would no doubt make her career. Nothing came to mind. No clever argument. No aha moment or brilliant flash of clairvoyance.

She blew out a harried breath. All right, so it was a long shot. Tania knew it, but...damn it all. She had to try. J.J. was depending on her and—

A jolt of static electricity hit her.

Tania gasped, twisting in her seat, the tingle ghosting between her shoulder blades. Without mercy, the prickle collided with the base of her skull, then slid around to attack her temples. Ah, jeez. Another headache. The fourth one this week. She rubbed the sore spot between her brows. The throbbing sting was beyond strange. Especially since she wasn’t prone to migraines. Had never suffered one until a month ago. The first had come right after visiting Myst’s loft, and for a split second Tania wondered if the pain had something to do with the disappearance of her best friend. Worry and stress, maybe? The grief and psychological turmoil of heart-wrenching loss?