Fury of Desire

The thing shrieked, coming through the fog fangs first.

With a curse, Ivar dodged as the miniature dragon lunged at him. Shield up, he avoided the quick strike of a duel-clawed forepaw and countered, feeding the wren a face full of magical steel. A brutal crack! ricocheted. Fen’s horned head snapped to the side. Scales the same shark-gray as his master’s clicked as the wren’s gaze swung back to him. The move was slow, measured, full of aggression and twice as deadly. Ivar froze, hoping the male got the message. He meant no harm. Didn’t know much about wrens either. By all accounts, the subspecies of Dragonkind owned a matched set… equal parts vicious and merciless.

Lovely for Hamersveld. Not so hot for him at the moment.

Fen didn’t know him from Adam. And it showed.

Tilting his small head, the spikes lying flat against the wren’s neck flipped out, making him look as though he wore a barbed collar. The thing looked positively wicked. Deadly too. Attributes Ivar appreciated. At least under normal circumstances. But here… locked in combat with a miniature dragon inside his bedroom? Not so much. He couldn’t shift into dragon form to protect himself. Deep underground, surrounded by bedrock and concrete, the space was nowhere near sufficient. He’d get squished while Hamersveld and his wren ended up dead. A terrible outcome, considering he’d spent hours playing nursemaid to the Norwegian.

“Hamersveld!” Half-yell, half-growl, the entreaty bounced around the room. “Wake the fuck up!”

Venomous tail rattling, Fen curled his paws over the footboard. Yellow eyes full of lethal intent, he bared his razor-sharp teeth, leaned into the crouch, and—

“Fen… stop!” Hamersveld lunged to his feet behind the wren. Big hands encircled the male’s throat from behind. The second skin touched scales, Fen submitted. The collar of dragon spikes flattened, folding back against his neck as the wren turned and pressed his horned head beneath his master’s chin. Ivar blinked. Jesus. The thing wanted a hug. Hamersveld didn’t deny him. Blond hair sticking up at odd angles, the warrior stood on the mattress and ran his hands over Fen, petting him like a dog. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”

“I’m all right too.” With a grumble, Ivar dropped his guard. Magic crackled, then dissipated, taking his invisible shield with it. “Thanks for asking.”

Black eyes rimmed by pale blue met his over Fen’s head. “Sorry about that. He’s always a bit jumpy when he transitions out.”

Just a bit? Fuck him, if that constituted a bit, Ivar needed a new set of parameters. Or a new dictionary. One or the other, ’cause… hell. Hamersveld’s description lacked a certain something when it came to the entire wren experience. “Protective of you too.”

“Believe it,” Hamersveld murmured. “I’m his host. If I die, so does he.”

Not understanding, Ivar shook his head and ran a critical eye over Fen. Less than half his size in dragon form, the wren looked tiny to him. Then again, allowance must be made considering the male didn’t have an ounce of human in him. A pure species, the wrens’ chromosomal DNA diverged, making them related to Dragonkind but separate too. Which meant the subspecies operated under the yoke of a different set of magical principles. Interesting. Especially from an empirical point of view. Chromosomal mutations fascinated him, putting his love of all things scientific to work.

And the wren? Shit, the miniature dragon was a gold mine. Mapping the structure of Fen’s DNA would keep him busy for months, if not years. And now—with Hamersveld in the fold—he had the perfect opportunity to explore the possibility.

Careful in his approach, Ivar crossed to the foot of the bed. He ran his gaze over Fen’s flank and reached out. As his hand touched down on shark-gray scales, the wren hissed. Hamersveld murmured, soothing the male, allowing Ivar the examination. Huh. Very cool. The miniature dragon wasn’t much different from the rest of Dragonkind: ridged scales, sharp claws, spikes running the length of his spine to the tip of his tail. He was quite simply a smaller specimen of a bigger version, the only deviation being the two-taloned forepaws instead of the regular five claws.

Extreme curiosity picked Ivar up, driving him toward the need to know. “How does it work?”

“The bond he and I share?”

Ivar nodded.

“What do you know about wrens?”

“Not much beyond the fact they are a magically distinct species.” Stepping around the end of the bed, Ivar touched one of the spikes along the wren’s spine. A pinprick of blood welled on his fingertip. “And that we nearly hunted them into extinction a few centuries ago.”

“A brutal practice that forced wrens underground… or rather, into the Ether.”

“Jesus,” Ivar murmured, surprise spinning him full circle. No one entered the Ether and lived to tell about it. Owned by a deity, the vast space lay between Heaven and Earth. The magical wasteland acted as a cushion, protecting the creators of all things from the earthly realm, but was ruled by one. “The Goddess of All Things allowed this?”

“She offered all wrens sanctuary, inviting them to make a home within the enchanted lands.” Dark eyes intense, Hamersveld pushed Fen away to sit on the side of the bed. As the Norwegian’s bare feet touched down, the wren curled around his master from behind, half on the bed, half off, and laid his head in his lap. “With a proviso.”

Typical fare for the goddess. She was a vindictive bitch. One who never gave without taking something in return. Witness the fact she’d punished all of Dragonkind for the mistake of a philandering idiot—Silfer, the dragon god—tying his race to humankind, cursing them to procreate with the inferior species, taking their ability to feed themselves from the Meridian and sire female offspring. A circumstance Ivar hoped to change with his serum and the breeding program.

“What did she demand in return?” Ivar asked, repositioning the chair beside the bed. Angled toward Hamersveld now, he sat and, lifting his legs, propped his feet on the bed. The journal he’d left perched on the arm slid sideways. Quick reflexes allowed him to snap it up. His gaze glued to his new friend, he rotated the red leather-bound book in his hands. “A lifetime of servitude?”

Hamersveld shook his head. “Her hatred of us does not extend to our relatives.”

“What then?”

“She changed their magical makeup.”

“Forced evolution.” Made sense. A species might evolve over time, helping the subset adjust to changing ecological conditions, but it didn’t happen fast. Or all at once. Which gave Ivar a clue. Hell. She’d remade an entire species to protect them from inevitable extinction. “So now a wren must bond to a Dragonkind male to ensure his survival. He doesn’t feed in the usual fashion, does he? You nourish him via your energy, the same way human females feed us.”

“Very good, Ivar. You’re a quick study.” Hands moving in continuous sweeps, he stroked his pet’s scales. Fen purred in reaction. “The tribal ink I wear acts as an outlet… a kind of conduit. Whenever Fen is hungry, he plugs in, becoming one with the tattoo and connects to the Meridian through me.”

“And only a male with the right ink can own a wren.”

“Exactly.”

“How can I get one?”

“You can’t. The marking comes with the change. Either a male is gifted with the ink or he isn’t. No negotiating it.” Hamersveld’s focus cut to the journal in his hands. “The moment a male transitions, the tattoo sends out a beacon, allowing the colony of wrens to detect him. After that, it’s a race to the finish line. All wrens wish to return to Earth. It’s a better life. But only the strongest and fastest will reach the Dragonkind male first and—”

“Create the bond necessary for him to remain on Earth.”

As Hamersveld nodded, Ivar cursed. “So the Nightfury water-rat?”

“He wears the ink. It is only a matter of time before a wren reaches him.”

“How soon will it happen?”

“Depends. The journey out of the Ether is a long one. It took Fen almost a year to reach me.”

“We need to kill him before that happens.” As in… right fucking now. “Bastian has enough weapons at his disposal. With a wren in their camp… Jesus. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“The whelp may not live through the bonding period. Only the strongest males survive it. I became very sick when Fen melded his life force with mine.” Lost in the memory, Hamersveld shook his head. “But don’t worry. One