Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (8 page)

Excellent in theory. The problem? He’d never touched Tania. Had never been close enough to kiss her, never mind make love to her.

More’s the pity.

’Cause, wow...he thought about it. A lot. And his dreams? Oh baby. Nothing PG about them. Hot, sweaty, so beautifully satisfying the images of him entwined with Tania seemed real, like memories instead of fantasies. God,
sometimes he swore he could taste her; he actually relived the softness of her skin, the decadence of her scent as she moaned his name and begged him for more.

Desire licked through him.

As need curled into must-have, Mac cranked the door to the underground lair open. Reinforced steel slammed into the wall, then rebounded. Avoiding the backlash, Mac roared over the threshold, leaving the other Nightfuries in his wake. The boys didn’t waste a second, heavy footfalls slamming out a rhythm, spilling through the doorway as Mac sprinted down the double-wide corridor.

Round lights embedded in the concrete floor led the way, throwing light up the chiseled stone walls. He blew by the entrance to Sloan’s computer lab. Empty. Thank God. The last thing he needed was for the guy to jump out and ambush him. But the computer genius was tricky like that. Sloan loved shortcuts, using them to reach the underground lair and the com center the male slept in most days. The medical clinic came up on his right. Mac glanced through the sliding glass door, getting a flash of stainless steel cabinetry and state-of-the-art hospital equipment. No one milling around in there, either.

Home free. He was almost there, one more stretch of corridor to navigate before he reached the magical portal that led out to the LZ. Just in time too. His spidey senses were tingling. The sun was setting. In less than a minute, night would descend, blanketing Seattle in a cocoon of darkness. And the instant it did? He’d shift into dragon form and leave the lair, fly south toward Tania and hope like hell he reached her in time.

Before she landed on the Razorbacks’ radar and Ivar came out to play.

Standing in the anteroom of his laboratory, Ivar stared through the two-way mirror at the dying humans. He took another sip of his Jimmy Beam. Ice rattled, playing clink-and-bump with the rim of his glass. He shook his head. Goddamn good-for-nothing humans. The insects always did the unexpected. And surprises? Oh so not his thing.

He liked measurable results. Pie graphs and chartable outcomes were more his speed. Not the fistful of fuck-all he had right now.

Disgusted with himself, Ivar sighed. His attitude needed a readjustment. A serious one. Otherwise the failures would get to him. Make him give up instead of pressing on to discover the right biological weapon (aka Project Supervirus).

Frowning, Ivar swirled the whiskey in his glass. The low light reflected off the ice cubes, sending a prism of color arching against cut crystal. The rainbow chilled him out, and as his tension eased, he reevaluated, clinging to reason. Science wasn’t perfect. Experimentation and the results of any controlled study zigzagged, never traveling in a straight line. And really? After years spent studying, he ought to be accustomed to the twists and turns by now.

“Patience,” he murmured to himself. He tipped his glass again, swallowing more of the color-me-happy JB. “Adapt and adjust. Do it better next time.”

His motto. Somehow, though, his go-to pep talk pissed him off today. Fucking humans. Bane of his existence. Why couldn’t they just die predictably? But oh no...no amount of scientific testing or viral load adjustment evened the playing field. No matter what he threw at his test subjects, they
surprised him: fighting off his bioengineered superbugs, their immune systems reacting in strange ways.

Defiant. The assholes were a biological nightmare. How the hell was he supposed to work with that?

He needed the precise kill ratio, the right combination of time and contamination before setting a group of sick humans loose in the world to infect the entire race. Mass genocide without the mess of violence. The perfect way to free Dragonkind from the ecological disasters headed their way as the planet died a slow, agonizing death. As the human race pumped more and more poison into the air, contaminating the ground soil and water tables that sustained all life.

Simple. Pure. Effective. That’s the plan he needed.

Too bad the perfect viral cocktail kept eluding him.

Ivar cursed under his breath and downed the rest of his drink. Look at them in there...dying way too fast. Damned annoying. He really couldn’t stand much more of the humans’ stupidity. Christ, another hurricane had rolled up the coast last night, KOing half the Eastern Seaboard while tornados ravaged the Midwest. And the insects thought that was normal? A coincidence? Just another series of monster storms without a cause and effect?

Well, he had news for the idiots.

They
were the cause—the whole nasty lot of them—and the continued damage to the planet, the effect. It had to stop. All of it before the point of no return and recovery became impossible.

With a growl, Ivar glared through the glass. Six human males lay on the other side, barely breathing, puss-filled blisters oozing poison, polluting the hermetically sealed chamber where he’d imprisoned them. Bloody handprints
marred the limestone floor where one had pulled himself out from behind the kitchen island. Now he lay still as death, but Ivar knew he wasn’t. He could see the rise and fall of his chest, mucus and blood splattered on the tile in front of his face.

Ivar almost felt sorry for the human. Almost, but not quite.

Pain and suffering were necessary parts of the process. He needed to see, measure, and catalog the symptoms and half-life of his superbugs. How else was he to know how his babies would react and spread in the wilds of human society? But just like the first virus, this one—officially named Baby Number 2—was a bust. It killed too quickly. Wouldn’t thrive in a human host long enough to spread to others and wreak maximum damage.

Turning away from the window, Ivar crossed the antechamber. The bank of wall monitors gleamed in the low light. He issued a mental command. Color exploded across the screens as the computer came online and gears whirled into motion. The sound made him hum. God, he L-O-V-E-D the lab in his new lair: state of the art, effective, and deadly...his favorite combination in the world.

Ivar set his empty glass on the black countertop. Fingers flying, he typed his password into the prompt box on the touch screen. No sense screwing around. Time to gas the insects, put them out their misery, and start a new batch. Although cleaning up the apartment and tossing in another group of humans would have to wait.

Night was coming.

The prickling awareness slid across the nape of his neck. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes before the sun set, releasing him and his warriors from lockdown. Ivar couldn’t wait.
Revenge and his enemy awaited. Denzeil had it all figured out. Thank fuck. He didn’t have time to chase the female around Seattle and set the trap at the same time, so—

“Hey, boss man.”

Ah, speak of the devil.

Ivar smiled and tapped on the blinking green button in the middle of the touch screen. The closed-circuit ventilation system went to work, hissing as it dispensed the deadly gas into the chamber for the humans to breathe. “What up, D?”

“We’re ready to roll when you are.” Footfalls thudding through the quiet, Denzeil pushed through the lab doors. As they flapped closed behind him, he said, “Sun sets in ten.”

Spinning around to face his warrior, Ivar ass-planted himself on the lip of the counter. “Everybody clear on the plan?”

Halfway across the antechamber with an iPad in his hands, Denzeil nodded.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed on the tablet. “What?”

“We may have a snag.”

“With the female?”

“Yeah...an interview with KING 5 TV aired twenty minutes ago. Tania Solares up front and center.”

Ivar growled, his hands curling into fists. “Shit. Let me see.”

Denzeil handed over the tablet. Flipping it around, Ivar hit play and—

“Son of a bitch.”

There she was...a dark-haired, burgundy-eyed female with more beauty than brains. How did he know? She was on fucking TV, drawing attention to herself...and her
unbelievable energy. Jesus. She was power personified, so high-energy the Meridian’s electrostatic current pulsed in her aura, rushing at him through the small screen.

The energy blast hit him midchest. Ivar sucked in a quick breath. Shit on a stick. Just his luck. No way the Nightfuries would miss her little sojourn on the network news. Which meant...what? Bastian and his band of bastards would be gunning for her. Would try to sweep her from harm’s way before he got hold of her.

No fucking way. Lothair’s death must be avenged. He needed the female to set the trap for the male responsible. So, yeah...the pain-in-his-ass Nightfuries were in for a surprise.

“Make the call.” Ivar handed the iPad back to his warrior. “Triple our numbers.”

Dark eyes gleaming, Denzeil’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “Planning a little surprise party?”

Ivar returned his warrior’s smile. “Dead Nightfuries as goody bags, okay?”

“My favorite kind.”

His too. And although death didn’t visit Bastian’s pack often, tonight would be different. Ivar could feel it in his bones.

Turning the corner, Mac punched it, hauling ass as though his feet were on fire. The corridor’s dead end loomed like a police barricade. Ancient stone blocks stacked one upon the next, the wall stood waiting like an angry ogre, Black Diamond’s formidable energy shield standing guard right alongside it. Mac cursed through clenched teeth. Wonderful. Just terrific. Color him unhappy. Stupid frickin’ portal and its pissy attitude. The thing was screwing with his plan, slowing his roll, getting in his way.

And oh goody, guess what?

He was headed straight toward the fucker, speed somewhere south of supersonic.

Baring his teeth, Mac upped the pace. The sound of his footfalls rebounding in the hallway, he roared toward the thick barrier. Fifteen feet out, he unleashed a spell, requesting safe passage through the portal. Magic whiplashed, warping the air as the shield denied him. Mac snarled at it. Jesus. He didn’t have time for this shit. He needed the doorway to open. And open now. Otherwise he was in for
a face full of granite and an inevitable pileup when the Nightfuries hammered him from behind.

Ten feet from the dead end. Now seven.

Mac slowed down. Taking a running leap at the thing never worked. He’d only get zapped with energy shards on the fly-through. The exact opposite of what he wanted right now. Especially with the beacon throbbing inside his head. He didn’t trust his dragon half yet, and if he went into magical overload? He might lose Tania and the ability to track her. He couldn’t let that happen. It was the only thing holding him together right now. She needed him, and for the first time since his change, so did the Nightfuries.

Thank God. The switch felt good. Felt right. Like he mattered—deserved to be included—for a frickin’ change.

Sending another demand, he thumped on the door with his mind. Stone rippled. Mac growled, satisfaction ghosting through him as the wall moved from solid to wavy. A symphony of ass-hauling whistling in his ears, the boys pounding out a rhythm behind him, Mac employed his p’s and q’s and asked for safe passage into the LZ.

No sense pissing the contrary thing off.

The energy shield had a mind of its own and, more often than not, a bad attitude: whiplashing without warning, closing up fast, spitting males back out after chewing on them for a while. Sometimes it refused to open at all, leaving his new buddies stranded on the wrong side of the doorway, forced to sleep in the underground tunnel connected to the LZ until it decided to let them through.

Not that any of the guys complained about the occasional exile. They liked the pissy bastard. Praised the invisible force field that protected the lair. Revered it for
keeping their home hidden from outsiders, both human and Dragonkind alike.

Three feet away.

Throwing his magic like a sidewinding pitch, Mac banged on the portal again. The shield hissed. His vision narrowed. Energy shards lengthened into a kaleidoscope of color, spinning around, zapping him with static electricity.
Come on
...
come on
...he thumped on it again...
don’t fuck with me
...another rap with magical knuckles...
please, open up...I’ll do any—