Fury of Desire

brothers-in-arms still fought. Leaving the rogue to dissolve into a pile of cinders, he stayed low and rocketed over an apartment complex.

The blow back from his wings rushed over the neighborhood. Treetops swayed. Vehicles rocked on their tires. Car alarms started to shriek. A few lights came on. Wick tightened the cloaking spell, strengthening his magic. Invisibility was an absolute must. Scaring the neighbors, after all, was never a good idea.

Neither was showing up on the evening news.

Night vision pinpoint sharp, Wick scanned the sky. Nada. No one in sight. He sent out an exploratory ping. “Venom.”

“What?”

Wick swallowed a snort. Wow. His friend sounded pissed off… and out of breath. Looked like he’d arrived just in time. “Four down. I’m free and clear.”

“Bully for you.” Scales rattled. Venom grunted. “I still got three on my tail.”

“Should be a walk in the park for you, Ven.”

“Screw off, Sloan,” Venom growled. “Get your ass over here and help me.”

Sloan huffed. “If you want my help, move the hell over. I’m coming in hot.”

“About frigging time.”

Following his buddies energy signal, Wick rocketed over a rooftop. A yellow Razorback came at him out of nowhere. Collision inevitable, Wick put the brakes on and ducked. The bastard streaked past, clipping him with a wing tip. The burn streaked over his shoulder. Holy shit. That had been close, and… he blinked, plucking the cause of the male’s hysteria out of thin air. Well, all right then. The enemy dragon had good reason to haul ass.

Right on the rogue’s tail, Rikar’s white scales flashed in the gloom. Frost swirling in his wake, the Nightfury XO glared at him. “Good of you to join us, hotshot.”

“I was a little busy.” His XO “uh-huhed.” Wick grinned, enjoying the artistic blast as Rikar blew by him.

“Wick,” Bastian said, a snarl in his voice. Wick’s focus snapped right. Scanning the horizon, he spotted B. Deep in combat, claws gleaming in the moonlight, his commander lashed out. A male screamed as B applied pressure, cracking the enemy’s spine in half. “Help Mac and Forge. Get an angle and take a shot. Down Ivar, but don’t incinerate him. We need him alive.”

Good plan. Ivar the Asshole had a nasty agenda. One that included a breeding program and a stable full of unwilling HE females. So yeah. Taking the rogue leader alive made a ton of sense. The problem? Ivar wasn’t stupid… or alone. He’d armored up and buttoned down, keeping a scaly wall of muscle between him and the wonder twins.

Which meant tactical advantage time. He needed a solid one. An approach the enemy wouldn’t see coming.

Eyes narrowed, Wick looked for an avenue. He needed a window just wide enough to slip through while Mac and Forge kept the rogues busy. Not a stretch by any means. The warriors were doing a good job of it already, hammering Ivar’s front line of defense. Wick hummed as Forge exhaled. Fire-acid shot between the male’s fangs, lighting up the night sky. Hamersveld countered, throwing up a wall of water. The stream of fire hit the barrier with a popping hiss, then flickered and went out like a lightbulb. Mac growled and unleashed his magic. The tidal wave evaporated, throwing mist toward the clouds like confetti.

“Heads up,” Wick murmured, keeping a low profile, slithering in like a snake. “Get ready to bug out.”

Elbowing a rogue, Mac spun around and fed him a mouthful of water spear. As the male went poof, he growled, “Line it up.”

“Say when.” Flipping sideways, Forge took out another sentry.

“Give me a second…”

Sneaking in from behind, Wick rolled in on a smooth glide. His gaze narrowed on Ivar, painting a target on red scales. Three hundred and fifty yards out. Not close enough yet. Just a little further. Just a little longer. Ten seconds tops before he entered the kill zone. The optimal distance to ensure he singed Ivar’s wings. The second his exhale reached Ivar, burning the vulnerable webbing, the bastard wouldn’t be able to fly. And once on the ground? He’d hit him hard. Make him hurt. Exact the toll, keeping him just alive enough to answer B’s line of inquiry.

Answers. Wick wanted them as much as his commander.

The enemy was hurting those most vulnerable. Females like his own. It didn’t matter that he refused to mate her. The claiming was irrelevant. He needed to know when he let her go, Jamison could walk out of Black Diamond into a safer world. One in which Ivar didn’t exist, and the code most of Dragonkind lived by held sway.

Preserve life. Protect the weak. Respect a female’s right to choose.

Drawing a deep breath, Wick let his magic roll. His exhale gathered, spilling into the back of his throat and —

The wren protecting Hamersveld whipped full circle. Yellow eyes met his, then widened. Baring his small fangs, the miniature dragon shrieked in warning. Thunderous sound erupted like a volcano, blowing sky-high, blasting Wick with debilitating shockwaves. Mind-bending pain hammered his temples. Pressure expanded, warping perception, ripping at his eardrums, making his head whiplash.

His vision dimmed.

The wren screamed again.

Auditory overload battered the inside of his skull. Wick roared in agony. His muscles spasmed. He lost control of the fireball. The blaze shot from his mouth and heat roared, eating through the frigid air. Mac cursed and dodged. Forge shouted as he got caught in the crossfire. But it was too late. The ravenous ball clipped him, hurling the Scot sideways. As his body whiplashed, the inferno slammed into a skyscraper behind him. A sonic boom rippled, spreading like poison over the cityscape. Lava splashed in a deadly arc. Glass and steel exploded. Shrapnel blew outward, ripping through Forge’s side.

Dragons—Razorback and Nightfury alike—screamed in pain.

The horror expanded, and Wick gave voice to his anguish, yelling his throat raw as he watched Forge fall from the sky.

24

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of a gym mat, J.?J. flipped through another file. Worn by time, water stains dotted the dog-eared paper. Finished reading the page, she flipped it up, folding it over the top of the folder, and frowned. More gobbledegook. An equal amount of nothing special. Just like the last… hmm, let’s see. How many was that now? File number ten or eleven? She’s lost count a couple of hours ago.

Not that she was complaining. Busy was preferable to twiddling her thumbs.

Especially since Tania had abandoned her to the stacks. Probably a good idea, all things considered. Her sister’s mind wasn’t in the game. She was too busy dreaming big, drawing a new set of architectural plans. Ones that included an outdoor garden along with a swimming pool for Mac. Thumbing the corner of the page, J.?J. smiled. Landscape design. The story of her sister’s life.

Well, that and being a worrywart.

An honorable pastime, really. Concern for another, after all, carried weight. Signaled caring… deep-seated love too. J.?J. huffed. Ironic, wasn’t it? Before tonight she never would’ve qualified as a worrier. But over the last few hours? She’d done little else, so…

Bring it on. Pile on the paperwork. Make it last ’til morning.

Until Wick walked back through the door. Safe, sound, and into her arms once more.

Raking her hair behind her ears, J.?J. shook her head. Such craziness. Her concern for him amounted to idiocy. He was a warrior: born strong, bred to fight, lethal beyond compare. She knew it. Had seen him in action