Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (7 page)

“Sun sets in an hour.”

The time frame cranked Mac into overdrive. Tearing his gaze from Tania’s face, he growled, “I’m going with you.”

Rikar cursed.

B shook his head. “Mac—”

“No one touches her but me.” He drilled his commander with a glare, daring Bastian to contradict him. Let him try. The male might be big, but he wouldn’t get far. “Any of you go near her...I’ll rip your heads off.”

No contest. He didn’t give a damn about protocol or the chain of command. The how and why of his reaction to Tania didn’t matter. She belonged to him. He would protect her at all costs. End of story.

As the prisoners left single file, Tania waved at her sister. Dark as a raven’s wing, J.J.’s long hair shimmered as she tipped her chin, returning her good-bye. Love mixed with envy. She loved her sibling, no question. But honestly, she’d always coveted her sister’s pin-straight do. And wonder of wonders? J.J. still dreamed of one day having her wavy J. Lo–like locks.

Strange, wasn’t it? To want what you didn’t have.

Today, though, Tania didn’t want to change a thing. She felt grateful for the first time in, well...she didn’t know how long. Forever maybe? It seemed like a stretch—like an exaggeration without end—but it wasn’t. Not after all she and J.J. had suffered together. And now, in the fading light of the closing day, bright and shining hope came calling. Finally something good had come home to roost. Knocked on their collective doors...whatever. The analogy didn’t matter.

The letter in her back pocket, however? That mattered a heck of a lot. Meant everything and more as she watched her sister disappear from view. To return to her cell, nothing but a number printed neatly on the top of a prison file folder.

Well, not anymore. Parole. God help her...
parole
!

She rechecked the back pocket of her jeans. The piece of paper was still there. Snug. Secure. Safe from nosey parkers and away from prying eyes. Just how her sister wanted it. Too bad, really. Had it been her, she would’ve wanted to keep the letter with her...to read it over and over, early in the morning, late at night, between meals and trips to the prison yard, until the shock wore off and the contents began to feel real. Like a serious possibility instead of a homespun dream.

But it wasn’t her neck on the line. And if her sister thought smuggling the paper out of the prison would keep her safe, Tania refused to argue. Squabbling, after all, took time, which was something she didn’t have. Not right now.

Spinning toward the door, Tania hightailed it out of the visitor center. She needed to get to her cell phone and make a call ASAP. Before she sank any deeper into trouble. Before bad became worse. Before that stupid interview on KING channel 5 news went live and she screwed up J.J. for good.

Worry streamed through her, hitching her heartbeat into a gallop. Feet moving rapid-fire, Tania crossed the threshold into the waiting room. Without an abrupt “excuse me,” she breezed by a woman with a bad perm and, ignoring the dirty look thrown her way, skidded up to the guard booth. An exchange took place, the plastic claim tag she held in return for the officer’s scowl and her oversize handbag. She swung her purse off its perch. The monstrosity knocked against her thigh, throwing her off balance for a second. As she shuffled sideways and turned toward the exit, she blew out a long breath. Downsizing in the handbag department sounded like a good idea, and after this? She would go smaller. Become more practical on the fashion front and less, well...ridiculous for lack of a better word.

Slinging the Versace over her shoulder, she beat feet and, retracing her steps, headed for the front door. She needed to make the call outside. Prison walls had ears, so no question. The farther away she got from the guards and their snoop-o-meters, the better.

Boot heels ringing in the corridor, she unzipped her bag and dug for her iPhone. Stalling the reporter was mission critical. Vital for more reasons than one. Not the
first of which involved keeping the SPD happy. Pissing off a bunch of cops, after all, wasn’t the best idea.

Tania shook her head. What the hell had she been thinking? Well, all right. Dumb question. She knew the
what
along with the
why
. Myst was still out there, alone, probably scared, and in need of help. The kind only the SPD could provide, but somehow it had all gone sideways, not to mention upside down and backward. The brilliant plan to save her best friend had backfired on her sister. J.J. couldn’t afford the police attention. Not after killing the younger brother of one of SPD’s finest.

Which meant...

Yup, you guessed it.

Big brother cop would show up at the parole hearing if he got wind of it. A first-rate asshole, the guy didn’t care that his brother had been a bad guy—a drug-dealing, abusive jerk with nothing better to do than hurt her sister. Nor did he give a damn that J.J. was a good person who’d gotten caught up in a bad situation and made a big mistake. Blood ran thicker than water, and the bonehead would muck up J.J’s chances just for the fun of it.

Going round two with the inside of her bag, Tania frowned. Where the heck was it? She could have sworn she’d pocketed her cell phone before leaving—

“Ah, jeez,” she said, slowing from speed walk to stop. Rooted to the floor in the middle of the corridor, Tania tipped her head back and closed her eyes. The name-calling came next. “I’m an idiot. A total freaking schizo.”

She’d plugged in her iPhone for a quick recharge while she’d used the landline, then forgotten it. On the kitchen counter. Again. It happened at least once a week. But unlike those times, she didn’t have the luxury of turning around
and driving back to her apartment. And a two-hour drive to collect her cell phone? Just plain stupid on the strategy front.

With a sigh, Tania flipped her bag shut and made for the exit. As her feet picked up the pace, she rethought her plan. A forgotten iPhone wasn’t the end of the world. She might not have her contact list at her fingertips just this second, but her iPad sat in her car, waiting to be used. God, she hoped she’d synced the thing lately. Otherwise she wouldn’t have the reporter’s phone number or contact information.

Cold metal chilled her palm as Tania pushed through the prison’s front door. Thunder boomed overhead. Her brows collided. Weird. Another storm, one more violent than the one that had rolled through on her drive up to Gig Harbor. She glanced skyward, squinting when lightning forked, stroking the underbelly of angry clouds. The first raindrop splattered the concrete steps in front of her. Not wasting a second, she jogged past the perfect flower beds and down the stairs.

Halfway across the parking lot, a truck engine roared to life, the deep rumble joining another round of thunder. Flashing bright white, high-beam headlights lit up the pavement in front of her. A prickle of warning ghosted along her spine. Tania ignored it and, head down, angled her body against the autumn wind gusts.

She needed to grab her iPad and get over to the hotel, into her room, and on the phone. The sooner she reached Gig Harbor and nailed down the reporter, the safer her sister would be.

A curse echoed down the stairwell behind him. Mac didn’t slow down. Or bother to look back, either. He hauled ass, arms and legs pumping, combat boots hammering the stair treads as he descended into the bowels of Black Diamond. The landing zone. He needed to reach the LZ first...wanted to be in dragon form and airborne before Rikar got hold of him.

Or tried to ground him for the night.

Reaching the landing between flights, he grabbed the steel railing and pulled into the turn. Taut muscle stretched. Pain screamed up his arm and across his chest as the soles of his boots slid against the floor, slingshotting him onto the next set of stairs. Another flight down. More ground-eating strides. Each of his footfalls echoed, joining the slam-bang of shitkickers worn by the warriors chasing him down the stairwell.

The second he cleared the last corner, Mac went airborne, leaping over the last section of treads. Wind whistled in his ears. He landed at the bottom with a bone-jarring
thud, feet sliding on the polished concrete of the next landing.

Two flights behind and playing catch-up, Rikar dropped another f-bomb. Mac ignored him. His XO could go to hell, along with the unhappy collection of kick-ass hot on his heels.

Screw ’em all.

To hell with protocol. To hell with his fledgling status and the fact he couldn’t cloak himself yet. Tania was out there somewhere: alone, vulnerable, easy prey for Ivar and the Razorbacks. No way would he sit on his hands inside the lair and do nothing. Not while the other Nightfuries went out and hunted for her. Not when he could find her faster.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

Loaded with pissed off, the growl sliced through the cool air. Bastian. Terrific. Just what he didn’t need: the Nightfury commander in on the chase, watching him break rank and disregard a direct order. Mac gritted his teeth. No doubt about it. The second B got hold of him he was in for a serious ass kicking. The trick, though...the ace up his sleeve? Don’t get caught. Get good and ghost—out of the lair and airborne—before the other warriors laid hands on him.

Rikar hollered at him. “Mac...hold up a second!”

His XO’s voice reverberated in the enclosed space, ping-ponging off stone walls and polished concrete. Mac glanced over his shoulder. Shit. Not good. Rikar was closing in fast, leading the other warriors roaring down the stairs behind him like an organized hurricane, glacial eyes glowing, expression set, his I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up attitude locked in place.

Jesus. He probably should back down. Talk Rikar into letting him go instead of pulling a flash-and-fly. Mac upped his pace instead. He couldn’t chance it. If anyone else touched Tania—another member of his pack, a Razorback—he would...

Lose it. Go totally freaking AWOL.

Which was so messed up.

Being territorial and possessive wasn’t his usual MO. He didn’t do commitment, never mind the hassles that came with it. But he couldn’t deny the pull that drew him into Tania’s sphere, telling him she was his responsibility. That he needed to keep her safe. And along with the mind-fuck of obsession came the sensation. Like a blip on a radar screen, her bioenergy lit him up, plugging him in until he felt the throb of her heartbeat in his veins. And as it pounded on him like a drum, Mac tossed his normally nonchalant attitude and abandoned his principles.

Sayonara, scruples. Hello, insanity.

Heartbeat raging against the wall of his chest, Mac shook his head, trying to clear it. He took the next flight three stairs at a time. His teeth slammed together as he launched himself off the next landing. Down...down...down. His shitkickers bang-bang-banging. Maybe if he jarred himself badly enough, knocked some brain cells together, he’d understand.

His reaction—the pressing need to shield Tania—didn’t make any sense. Only bonded males reacted to a woman this way. How did he know? Dragon combat training. It wasn’t just about physical prowess and aptitude. Forge expected him to hit the books too. And he had...hard, wanting to learn everything he could about Dragonkind and his magic. So, yeah, he knew exactly how a male
acted—and reacted—when energy-fuse took hold. Shit, he lived with two prime examples inside Black Diamond every damned day.

His commander and his XO epitomized the bonded male crap: protective, loving, considerate to the point of Pukesville. Now, it seemed, he’d landed in the same muck hole. Nothing else explained his desperation. Or the fact he could
feel
her.

Except...

Mac frowned. How was that even possible?

Energy-fuse didn’t just happen. The emotional pairing was difficult to achieve. So rare the knowledge of it had been lost over time, until Bastian rediscovered the bond with his chosen female. Now Rikar and Angela enjoyed the energy mating too. Fantastic in so many ways. Not the least of which was the fact Mac got to keep Ange in his life—his sister by choice if not blood. But his partner’s luck with her man didn’t explain Mac’s reaction to Tania. Energy-fuse required a couple of things. One...acceptance from a male’s notoriously fickle dragon half. And two? Contact. A male needed to get close to a female; so close skin met skin and passion exploded as he tapped into the Meridian through her, feeding from the electrostatic current that kept his kind healthy.