Fury of Desire

livered chicken, for his aversion. Most males relished time with the opposite sex. Enjoyed the slap and tickle. Craved the contact and mutual pleasure. Not him. He dreaded it, feeling inadequate, unprepared, unable to give the bliss-fueled ecstasy a female demanded while males of his kind fed. Shit. He didn’t even know what that meant. Had never experienced true pleasure, never mind provided any for another living soul.

Too bad compulsion and hunger didn’t care.

He was a slave to his nature and the energy his kind needed to survive. The Goddess of All Things had seen to that, cursing his race long ago. Some said she’d cast the spell to exact revenge. Others thought her methods a judicial righting of wrongs. Wick didn’t give a shit either way. All he cared about was the outcome, and Dragonkind’s utter dependence on human females—to not only procreate but also connect to the Meridian, the electrostatic current that fed his kind. Ringing the planet, the energy source nurtured plant and animal alike. The process was an automatic one for all living things, with the exception of Dragonkind. Thanks to the goddess—and her colossal snit—the direct link between the Meridian and his kind lay shattered. Now, a male needed a female to survive. Which entailed connecting to the Meridian’s energy stream through her. Getting up close and personal, so close skin touched skin and…

Wick stifled a shiver. Brutal punishment with sharp teeth and a big-ass bite. Unfair? Without question. Too bad fair had nothing to do with it. Silfer the dragon god had screwed up, pissing off the wrong deity with his cheating ways. Now all of Dragonkind suffered for his stupidity. Which sucked, but hey…

It was what it was. Flip the dossier closed. File it under Fucked Up and get on with it.

Good strategy. The best, really… logical, straightforward, precise. Too bad none of that helped him. He couldn’t quell the dread. Or turn off his brain as he lined up his approach, gliding over building tops and the avenue below. Cloaked by an invisibility spell, he scanned the city streets. Seattle was busy tonight. Humans were everywhere, huddled into their coats, collars turned up, hands jammed in pockets, the fast click of high heels echoing as they hustled along sidewalks. Music drifted, thumping bass rolling out of nightclubs, enticing males and females out of taxicabs, toward neon signs and closed doors.

Another Friday night. Same outcome.

Humans liked to party. The faint smell of alcohol and perfume told him the scene was in full swing. Good for Venom. Not so great for him. It meant there would be lots to choose from, and more action than he could handle.

The thought cranked Wick one notch tighter. He didn’t want to do it. Then again, he never did. The brush of strange hands against his body—the unpleasant rush of sensation—made him cringe and curl inward, away from the prickling pain of overload. Away from bone-bending pressure and the mind-warping hunger that shoved him to the edge of endurance, messing with his control.

Fight or flight.

An instinctive response, nature’s own and one Wick couldn’t avoid. Not that he didn’t try… all the time. But Venom was right. He couldn’t go after Jamison and repay his debt while hungry. He wanted to rescue the female, not endanger her. So, no getting around it. No negotiating with it either. He needed to grow a pair and allow closeness with a stranger. Someone who didn’t give a damn about him. A human who only wanted one thing… the promise of pleasure and its rapid delivery.

With a grimace, Wick circled into a holding pattern, wheeling like a bird of prey over a low-lying rooftop. Pleasure. The word gave him the chills. His dragon shied, not appreciating the psychological deep freeze or the implications behind it. Shit, he wasn’t any good at this, and no matter his eighty- seven years and all past feedings, it never got any easier. He always felt inadequate… completely out of his league. Unable to provide what a female demanded as he took what he needed.

All right, so Venom helped. Was ever constant, smoothing out the rough patches, supporting him through the process, providing what he couldn’t for himself. Sad, but true. He couldn’t feed without Venom present. Panic always picked Wick up, then shut him down, forcing him into freak-out mode the instant a female got too close. Disgust sank deep, cutting through to sear his soul. Damaged. He was beyond redeemable. Shamed by the inability to provide for himself.

Tucking his wings, Wick dropped like a rock between two tall buildings. Glass shuddered and rattled in steel frames, reflecting his black amber-tipped scales and the fierce glow of his gaze. As the golden light refracted, skipping across asphalt, Wick touched down on the brownstone’s rooftop. The razor-sharp tips of his talons screeched across metal, setting him on edge.

Not a great start. Especially since he was already wound way too tight.

Dark-green scales flashed overhead, glinting in the moonlight. A moment later, Venom touched down without a sound beside him. Rolling his massive shoulders, his friend wing flapped, sending rock dust swirling into mini-tornados. Muscles rippled along the male’s flank, showcasing his strength as he folded his wings, drawing the black webbing against his sides.

Ruby-red eyes shimmering, Venom nodded. “The Gridiron. Good choice.”

Good had nothing to do with it. The nightclub, and the humans it catered to, drew his friend like a loadstone. Venom liked a rough crowd and lithe, Gothed-out females, so… no shit, Sherlock. It was a no-brainer. Considering the favor Venom did him, Wick always went with his friend’s favorite.

“Shove over.” The low growl, spiked with a hint of the Highlands, came through mind-speak, vibrating between Wick’s temples. A second later, the purple-scaled Scot uncloaked, coming in on a fast glide. Smoke swirling in his wake, Forge bared his fangs. “Or better yet, get gone. Not a lot of real estate down there. We cannae land if you wankers donnae move.”

“Do we have to?” Mac grumbled, rotating into a slow flip behind the Scot as he lined up his approach. “I hate the Gridiron. It’s too fucking loud.”

Venom rolled his eyes but shifted, moving from dragon to human form. Wick followed suit, and stomping his feet into his shitkickers, headed for the rooftop door. The staircase made its home behind steel, and a whole bar full of “just-kill-me-now” lay beyond that. But hey, no time like the present. The quicker he got the job done, the sooner he could go on his way. Be all the way across town, kicking ass inside Swedish Medical.

Not here, looking FUBARed in the face.

“Shut your yap, Mac.” Dark-brown scales glimmering, Sloan tucked his horned head, somersaulting in midair to land on the roof edge. Snow-white talons played a game of clickety-click against the building side as the triple scorpion-like stingers tipping the male’s tail glinted in the city glow. “Not all of us have a personal plaything feeding us at home.”

“My mate’s not a plaything,” Mac said, the snarl in his tone undeniable. He flexed a huge blue-gray talon, razor-sharp claws promising aggression. “You say anything like that about Tania again, I’ll rip your face off.”

Wick snorted, boots crunching on stone dust as he crossed the roof. He liked Mac’s style. Easy to do. The male might be new to Dragonkind—and the magical abilities that accompanied the change—but he packed a helluva wallop and didn’t take shit from anyone. Both big pluses… at least in his opinion.

With a chuckle, Forge thumped the newest member of their pack with the side of his spiked tail.

Mac threw the Scot a dirty look.

Sloan bared his teeth, the smile half-amusement, half-challenge. “Bring it on, Irish.”

“Stop mucking around.” Deep voice rolling like thunder, Venom stretched his shoulders. Leather creaked as his biker jacket protested. “I’m hungry, and we got a female in the mix tonight. The sooner we feed and get out of here, the better.”

The statement sobered the group.

And no wonder. Pulling an injured female out of danger would take some doing. Strange, but the idea enlivened Wick. Not for the discomfort he would cause, but for the good he might do… for the peace he would bring Mac and his female. For the debt he would repay. And, yes, for the chance to screw over human authorities and flout their ridiculous laws. He’d read the police report and court transcripts. Jamison had protected herself. And for that she’d been imprisoned, and now mistreated.

Wick’s eyes narrowed. The metal handle settled in his hand, frosting his palm. He cranked the door wide, barely registering the cold. Injustice. It came in so many forms. He was a prime example. His imprisonment—all