Fury of Desire

Now a myriad of questions circled, demanding answers.

He wanted to know every single detail. But more than that? He needed to meet the female behind the prison file. The little things made him wonder, and as curiosity burned, his imagination took flight. Such extreme measures. She’d gone the distance, lured a man to his death… done the unthinkable. At least, for a female. Most women wouldn’t have had the guts. Running and hiding seemed a more likely MO.

Jamison, though, ran contrary to the rule. And like it or not, Wick wanted to know why.

“So…” Flexing his hands, Venom cracked his knuckles. The move smacked of impatience. “We getting to it or what?”

Wick nodded. It was now or never. And since never wasn’t an option with Venom glued to his six, Wick forced himself to move. Picking up his feet, he strode toward the inevitable. The throb behind his temples picked up the pace, making Wick’s head ache. He shoved the discomfort aside, his gaze searching the VIP section and…

Bingo. Mac at three o’clock.

Cloaked by magic, invisible to human eyes, Mac stood in the shadows near the end of the bar, shoulder blades pressed to the wall, eyes moving over the crowd, and a pained look on his face. Wick could relate. He didn’t want to be here either, but necessity was a motherfucker and finding a female he could stomach, an absolute must.

Dragging his attention away from his comrade, Wick scanned the back bar. High-backed chairs lined its length, elevating those seated into visual inference. A wide-faced mirror winked beyond them, colorful bottles reflecting in the dim light. Acute dragon senses picking up trace energy, he assessed each human. Nah, no decent candidates there. He needed a female with strong energy, powerful enough to feed both him and Venom at the same time.

He skimmed over a corner booth.

His gaze snapped right back. Hmm, that looked promising. Or rather, she did. Perfect. Dark-skinned and pretty. She was right up Venom’s alley. His friend preferred African American females and… yeah. She fit the bill with her dark eyes and silky shoulder-length hair. The barely there white dress didn’t hurt either. The fabric clung to her skin, accentuating her breasts and the healthy glow of vitality.

Wick’s mouth curved. Excellent. No way Venom would be able to resist her.

Pausing mid-stride, Wick glanced over his shoulder.

Venom tipped his chin. “Decide yet?”

“Back corner booth.”

“Goddamn… get a load of her.” Venom’s words rasped beneath a throb of hard-core bass. Wick heard it just the same, registering the interest in his friend’s sudden shift. Jackpot. They had liftoff. Venom glanced his way. Simmering ruby-red eyes met his. “You ever gonna pick a female you’re attracted to?”

He shrugged, avoiding the question. The answer to which was… no chance in hell. It wasn’t that he didn’t like females. He got off on a long pair of legs as much as the next male, but a big divide lay between looking and touching. The first he did a lot, studying the opposite sex, appreciating a female for what she was: beautiful and soft, arousing with all that smooth skin on display. Contact, though—anything hands-on—he avoided like a face full of acid.

“You want her or not?”

Venom growled. “No question.”

“Then move it.” Shoving his sleeve up, Wick tapped the face of his watch. “Fifty-seven minutes and counting.”

“Hell,” his friend muttered, but didn’t waste a second.

Boot treads brushing over stained concrete floor, he followed Venom across the lounge. His attention narrowed on the female. Laughing at something her companion said, she took a sip of her drink. Her gaze met his over the rim of her glass. She paused, stiffening as her hand stalled in midair. Locked onto her aura, he registered the spike in her energy. Her eyes went wide. A moment later, alarm picked up her pulse.

Same story. Different night.

Never sure of him, most women shied at first. A normal reaction. One Wick understood, even as regret rose. It wasn’t as if he did it on purpose. Given half a chance, he would have assumed a soothing vibe, not the predatory one he knew he wore, but… hell. He didn’t know how. A hunter through and through, he sent most males running, never mind members of the fairer sex. Even so, he tried to do his part and forced his lips to curve. Maybe a smile would help smooth the way, make her more receptive, help Venom—

His friend stopped in front of her table.

The female blinked and switched focus. The second her gaze landed on Venom, she blew out a pent-up breath, her fear sliding into interest. Tipping her chin up, she gave Venom the once-over, eyes roaming downward, then turned and did the same to him. Wick tensed. She smiled and settled back, relaxing into the seat cushions, her ample charms on display as she made eye contact.

“Well, hello there.”

Wick froze as she continued to hold his gaze. Holy shit. Talk about a switch-up. Strange with an extra helping of fucked up too. Usually Venom got all the attention, but as she bit her bottom lip, Wick got the message. Sexual energy was easy to read. So was feminine arousal, and as her pupils dilated and her lips parted, Wick swallowed. She was 100 percent into him, encouraging him to take the lead. To initiate contact, slide in next to her, and coax her to enter the sexual arena.

Which screwed with his chi. Not to mention his mind.

Jesus help him. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Coming to the rescue, Venom turned her attention. “Hello, beautiful. Mind if I join you?”

She gestured with her hand, inviting his friend into the booth.

“Mervais, talmina,” Venom said in Dragonese, his tone low as he acknowledged her acceptance in the way of their kind.

Wielding a mental whip, Wick ousted the guy next to her. As the human skedaddled, moving as though his life depended on it, Venom settled next to her, taking up a sizable chunk of the real estate inside the booth. Per usual, Wick stood stone-still, setting up shop outside the alcove… with the pair, but not really. Awkward much? Absolutely, but he didn’t know what else do. Two options presented themselves. The first said stay put. The second required walking around the table edge to bookend her on the other side. Seemed like a good move. For a normal male. Too bad he wasn’t normal. He couldn’t make himself move. Shitkickers rooted to the floor, he was stuck in neutral, brain fried, muscles locked, and panic rising. All because she wanted him… was throwing him come-hither looks from beneath her lashes.

Slinging his arm along the back of the banquette, Venom got up close and personal with the female. He whispered something in her ear. She tipped her chin, asking for a kiss. His friend gave it to her, pressing his mouth to the corner of hers, then leaned back to meet her gaze. Fingertips playing in her hair, he brushed the dark strands away from the side of her neck. “What’s your name, talmina?”

“Iesha.”

“Pretty name.” She murmured a “thanks” and Venom got to the point. “So, Iesha… you up for a bit of fun?”

“What kind?” Nibbling on her bottom lip, she glanced in Wick’s direction. Interest and desire sparked, making her aura glow bright orange. “A threesome?”

“All right.” The tease in his tone unmistakable, Venom’s hand dipped beneath the table. She sucked in a quick breath and shifted in her seat. As she tipped her head back, his friend took advantage, uncrossing her legs, spreading her thighs, nuzzling the side of her throat. “You’ve convinced me.”

Her laugh turned into a gasp. “You taking turns?”

“One at a time.”

“Here? Or in the bath—”

“Right here.”

Wick nearly balked. Here? Right fucking here? In full view of the club? Bugger him. Trust Venom to grow impatient and neglect the safe side of decency. Gritting his teeth, Wick unleashed his magic, whipping up a cloaking spell. Shadow enveloped them, hiding their happy little trio from human eyes. Venom murmured something naughty against the female’s collarbone. Wick cursed under