Fury of Desire

bit, gouging the surface of the tiled asphalt as Venom slid to a stop behind him. “Lead on.”

With a nod, Wick grabbed the handrail and, throwing his legs over, leapt to the concrete lane below used to transport patients on gurneys. His eyes on the door at the end of the ramp, he strode down a slight incline. With nothing but a thought, he flipped the lock, swung the door wide, and crossed the threshold into the large foyer beyond. A bank of elevators waited along the far wall. Wick punched the button with his mind. Magic tingled, zipping along his spine as machinery went to work, propelling the cage up from a lower floor.

Venom joined him in front of the double doors. His gaze narrowed on the numbers above the Otis. The red digits blinked, telling them to get ready.

Wick glanced over his shoulder. “Room number?”

“Fifth floor.” Dark eyes intent, Sloan met his gaze as he stopped behind him. “Room 573.”

Purpose roared through Wick, lighting the fuse on his anticipation. Almost there. Five minutes tops, and he’d see Jamison in person. Look into those sky-blue eyes while he made sure she was all right. Ensured her safety. Moved her out of harm’s way and into whatever vehicle Forge and Mac (a.k.a. the wonder twins) procured for their getaway. Eyes narrowed, he recalled the mental map he’d made of Swedish Medical. He went over the plan again, charting the fastest route to her room, and nodded in satisfaction.

Good odds. Solid game plan. Success lay just a few floors down and inches away.

The elevator opened with a soft ping.

Thirty seconds and a smooth ride later, Wick stepped out into the fifth-floor hallway. A whole lot of nothing special greeted him. To be expected. Hospitals were designed using strict building codes, where form followed function. Boring and utilitarian? Both fit the bill. So did all the closed doors. Like soldiers walking a military line, the steel frames interspaced an ocean of pale walls. At an intersection, Wick made the first turn. The narrow corridor dumped him into a much wider one. Excellent. It wouldn’t be long now. Another right, two more lefts, and he’d find what he was looking for…

The fifth-floor hub.

A processing area, the large circular-shaped space sat at the center of each floor. Its purpose? Traffic control. The hub kept people moving from points A to B in a sprawling complex that felt more like a small city than a single building. The population inside the facility confirmed it. Even at midnight, the halls were busy, nurses scurrying to and fro, doctors making their rounds, patients being shuttled in wheelchairs and gurneys to their next destination.

And speak of the devil. A horde of humans at one o’clock.

Wick paused on the lip of the T-shaped intersection. Rubber wheels on a rolling hospital bed squeaked. Oblivious to the sound, a team of medical professionals surrounded the gurney, voices raised, terms like intubate and chest compressions fogging the air around them. As the group rushed toward him, a gap between human shoulders opened, and he got a look at the patient. A young girl. Maybe five years old. Wick assessed the situation in under a second flat. The human’s biological grid, compete with vital signs, went up on his mental light board.

Wick clenched his teeth. A defect… the youngster’s heart was failing.

His gaze on her small face, he hesitated a moment and—

Ah, fuck it. He was here anyway. Aiding the child wouldn’t cost him a thing. While doing nothing would cost the girl her life. Given those facts, it seemed a shame not to interfere.

With a murmur, he gathered his magic. Heat blazed, swirling like magma-infused whirlpools in the center of his palms. He waited until the girl-child came even with him, then let it roll, enveloping the kid in a healing swirl. She gasped as her heart kicked over. A full breath came next, tiny chest rising and falling beneath a doctor’s hands. The medical team paused, hovering above her. One shouted “I got a pulse!” and they were off, galloping down the hallway at breakneck speed.

Venom slapped the back of his shoulder. “Such a do-gooder.”

Sloan snorted.

Wick brushed off the comment and stayed silent. What could he say? That he had a soft spot for kids? That seeing one suffer bothered him? That childhood should be full of ice cream, lollipops, and cartwheels? His chest went tight. Shit. Like that would go over well. None of his brothers would understand. Not that it mattered. He did what he wanted. Always had… no need to explain further.

Shrugging Venom’s big mitt off his shoulder, Wick got back with the program. A speaker crackled overhead, paging Dr. Somebody-or-other to cardiology. His mouth curved. Good. The humans were on the ball. Not that the girl-child needed the attention anymore. His magic had done its job, sewing up the hole in her left ventricle.

Footfalls silent on the industrial-grade floor, he made the last turn and…

Strode straight into hell.

He grimaced, registering all the activity. Nurses in scrubs. Doctors in white coats. Visitors and patients sitting in chairs waiting their turn.

“Goddamn,” Venom muttered behind him.

No kidding. The place was a logistical nightmare. “Far corridor on the other side of the hub.”

“The one next to the nurses’ station?”

Wick nodded and, scanning the space, moved toward his target. The sooner he entered the hallway, the quicker he’d find Jamison’s room.

“Later, boys.” Leather bag slung over his shoulder, Sloan peeled off, heading in the opposite direction. Skirting a man on crutches and a child playing hopscotch on different-colored floor tiles, he crossed the threshold. Disappearing inside the belly of the beast, he mind-spoke, “I’ll holler when I’m done at the com-center.”

Venom answered in the affirmative.

Wick didn’t say a word. No need. Sloan required no encouragement. The male would do what he did best: crack the database and take what he wanted without leaving a trace. No worries on that front. “Meet us street level afterward.”

“Uh-huh,” Sloan said, mind already on his mission.

Stepping around a row of chairs and the human occupants, Wick moved toward his destination. As he bypassed the high counter of the nurses’ station, a prickle ghosted over the nape of his neck. His pace slowed to a stop. Combat boots planted, dragon half rising, Wick sank deep inside his senses, hunting for the signal. Another round of snap, crackle ’n pop. The muscles bracketing his spine tightened, putting him on high alert.

Shit. Trouble. Not the good kind either.

With a growl, Wick glanced over his shoulder.

“I feel it. We’ve got company.” Red eyes shimmering, Venom scanned the hub, searching for an enemy. When he came up empty, he glanced Wick’s way. “Rogue?”

Wick shook his head. “Maybe. Can’t tell. There’s too much electrical interference here.”

His friend cursed.

Wick seconded the motion and put himself in gear. No sense standing around with his thumb up his ass. Hanging back—waiting for something to happen—wasn’t his style. The role of game changer suited him better. Natural born killer worked too, and as Wick closed the distance, the predator inside him rose, answering the call of duty. Moving with intent, he crossed into the mouth of the corridor. Static hissed inside his head. He mined the signal, adjusting the dial on his sonar, pinpointing the precise location.

Close. So very close. The unknown male was on the move, but—

Jesus fucking Christ. He spotted the bastard.

Pushing a wheelchair and dressed like an orderly, the male paused, slowing to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Wick stopped walking and widened his stance, blocking the end of the corridor as he sized up the stranger. Tall. Strong, but on the lean side. A Dragonkind male who carried himself with the confidence of a warrior. But odder still, the male sported a spider tattoo on the side of his neck and burgundy streaks in his hair.