Fury of Obsession (Dragonfury Series Book 5) (39 page)

“Love you too.” She grinned against the side of his throat. “When will we go? Today?”

“Tomorrow’s better,” he said, a teasing lilt in his tone. “Right now, I have plans that don’t include traveling.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, more hum than answer. “I’m going to take my time with you. Love you so well, make you come so hard and so often, you forget how to walk. And the
n . . .
”

With a snort, Evelyn retreated enough to look at him. She arched a brow. “And then?”

“I’ll take you home.”

“To meet your family?”

“To initiate you into the Nightfury pack.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, it is,” he said, fingertips swirling along her back. Her lips parted on a rush of pleasure. Unwrapping her like a gift, he tossed the quilt aside. Soft skin met his. He hummed and sent his hands south to caress the curve of her bare bottom. The sexy sound ramped arousal higher. With a growl, he gripped the back of her knee. He tugged, parting her thighs before lifting her feet off the floor. Satisfaction soared when she took the cue and wrapped her legs around his hips. Turning with her in his arms, he walked toward the be
d . . .
and an evening full of mutual satisfaction. “Daimler will do a jig of joy and bake cookies in celebration.”

She laughed and slid her hands into his hair. Nails grazing his scalp, she leaned in to tease him with a gentle kiss. Her lips brushed over his. “Okay. I’m in. Two thumbs way,
way
up.”

His mouth curved.

Praise his good luck. Thank whatever god was listening. He’d found his mate and claimed her for his own. At long last, once and for all. He wasn’t alone anymore. Evelyn had stepped into the breach, filling his heart to bursting. With her laughter and charm. With her grace and beauty. With the wonder of her presence in his arms. Nothing left to do now but hold on tight, treat her right, and celebrate with the female he’d waited his entire life to find.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Three dead. Four injured. A garage full of devastation.

All in all, not a good day.

Boots planted on the edge of the loading dock, Zidane looked over the slaughter. Hunks of twisted steel littered the floor. A veritable rainbow of wreckage—yellow and orange, blue and gray, black, white, and red—lay strewn across scorched concrete. Maseratis dead beside vintage Mustangs. Mercedes mangled beside one-of-a-kind Corvettes. Garage doors blown wide open, right off heavy-duty hinges. Moonlight flooded through gaping holes in the facade, shining a spotlight on the destruction.

He clenched his teeth.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he skimmed the mess again. His gaze landed on the guard room. Well, at least, what remained of it. Equipped with nothing but the best, his favorite Dodge Ram—the one he’d imported all the way from New Hampshire and waited months to receive—sat in place of the office. Front end smashed against the back wall. Truck bed bent beyond repair. Office walls half destroyed. The Ram’s rear tires hovering above crushed gypsum and shattered windowpanes. A hint of smoke and the smell of motor oil hung in the air, driving the truth home.

He’d screwed up. In unforgivable ways.

Rage rumbled through him. The burn spread, raging like wildfire, knotting his muscles as regret sped through his veins. Pressure built between his temples. Discomfort expanded. Swallowing a curse, Zidane funneled the flow, channeling fury in more productive directions. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. Neither would losing himself in heart-wrenching loss.

Brows drawn, he toed a shard of debris with his boot. Glass skittered across concrete, clanging against a chunk of steel, joining the buzz of industrial fluorescents. His throat went tight.
Kristus
. His best friend lay dead. Was nothing but a pile of ash now. Much like the collection of automobiles inside his palatial home.

Entirely his fault.

One hundred percent his mess to clean up too.

Asshole Nightfuries. Bane of his existence.

Literally. No word of a lie.

He couldn’t escape the bastards. Inside his home. Around the dinner table. While attending the fights at the club every week. No matter where he went, he lived with his sire’s paranoia. The yakety-yak-yak never stopped. Morning, noon, and night, it went on and o
n . . .
and on—Bastian this, the Nightfury pack that. Ivar, and the problems brewing a world away in Seattle. Rodin’s preoccupation bordered on obsessive. One driven by fear—and the sure knowledge that if Bastian made a play for the Archguard, it would be over. Done. Close up shop and call it a decade. No matter how powerful, Rodin wasn’t well loved and couldn’t compete. Not with the likes of the Nightfury commander. Hence his sire’s unhealthy fixation and the never-ending chatter. All the warnings too.

Which meant he didn’t have an excuse.

Not a real one anyway.

He’d heard the cautionary tales for years.
Never trust a Nightfury. The only good Nightfury is a dead one.
How many times had he listened to his sire say things like that? A hundred? A thousand?
Hovno
, he didn’t know. He’d lost count eons ago. Scowling at a decapitated Porsche Spyder, Zidane blew out a long breath. He should’ve known better. Ferland had been lethal in a fight, but, well, not the brightest Skittle in the pack. He swallowed a snarl. Another mistake to lay at his feet. He never should’ve asked his friend to handle Gage on his own.

And Osgard? An image of the male rose in his mind’s eye.

Zidane bared his teeth. “Traitor.”

The hiss in his voice slithered over the wreckage. Fucking youngling. The playback of video footage damned the brat, branding him a traitor in picture-perfect quality. He’d led the Nightfuries to freedom. Shown them the way through the underground tunnels. Set up members of his own pack—allowed their slaughter—while jumping ship to join another. The realization should’ve surprised him. Somehow, though, it didn’t. Osgard might’ve been his favorite plaything—fun to torture, great to bend to his will—but the male wasn’t easy. The brat had never broken. Or begged for mercy. He’d remained silent instead, fighting his possession without ever saying a word.

He frowned.

Guess he should’ve paid better attention. If he had, Osgard would already be dead, instead of out ther
e . . .
somewher
e . . .
providing insider information to the Nightfury pack and—

Broken glass crackled against concrete behind him.

The sharp sound rose in the quiet.

The deep voice followed, making his skin tingle. “Zidane.”

Dragging his attention from the wreckage, Zidane glanced over his shoulder. Eyes more black than brown met his. “Father.”

Dressed in a dinner jacket, expression set in hard lines, Rodin shook his head. Shined to a high polish, his wing-tip shoes gleamed as he picked his way through the debris and walked across the loading dock. Speculation in his dark eyes, he stopped beside him. Six inches shorter, a great deal slighter of frame, his sire broke eye contact to take in the destruction.

Zidane tensed, but remained silent. No sense speaking before spoken to. His sire enjoyed claiming the first word. Fine by him. Rodin could have it. Every. Single. Time. Zidane always preferred having the last word anyway.

His sire raised a brow. “Care to explain?”

“The bastards had help, but the fault is mine,” he said, owning the mistake. Much as he hated to admit guilt, he refused to back away from the truth. The Nightfury escape—the responsibility along with the failure—sat squarely on his shoulders. “I underestimated Gage.”

“Will you make the same mistake again?”

“No.” Conviction rang in his tone. Rage made another appearance, making a home inside his heart. Zidane rolled his shoulders, easing the tension, fighting the seductive pull of anger, and cleared his mind. He needed a plan. A good one. Something to feed his sire and keep the peace. Mind churning, he searched for an angle an
d . . .
hmm. Yes. That one would do. Huge bark. Brutal amount of bite. A strategy full of retaliatory effect. Exactly what he required to soothe the leader of the Archguard’s pride. “Give me a second chance, Father. Allow me to make it right.”

“How?”

“By going after them.”

“Where are the Nightfuries now?”

“Gone,” he said. “We tracked the Bentley to an airstrip twenty miles from here. The bastards boarded a private jet long before we got there.”

“With Nian?”

“Osgard too.”

“A problem.” Worry in his eyes, Rodin frowned. “Nian knows too much. Bastian will use him against us.”

“Maybe, but not if we strike first.” Zidane tipped his chin toward the mess. “See all this? Tremendously useful. A perfect way to discredit Nian before he points a finger at us. If we can link him to the Nightfury pack, we can frame Bastian. No one knows about Scotland, so—”

“We twist the truth to our advantage.” A consummate strategist, his sire stared at him. His eyes narrowed in thought. “Inform the high council of the attack. Say that the murder of my personal guard was an attempt on my life and that Bastian ordered the hit in hopes of overthrowing the Archguard. Demand the entire Nightfury pack be charged with treason.”

“Reinstate
Xzinile
, Father, and we will have the law on our side.”

“And a clear shot at Bastian.”

“Sanctioned assassinatio
n . . .
signed, sealed, and delivered,” Zidane murmured, eagerness in his voice. He couldn’t help it. Or stem the tide of anticipation. Just the thought of getting his hands on Gage again sent his mind reeling. Oh, the possibilitie
s . . .
all the lovely
possibilities
. “No one need know about the kidnapping.”

“Or of the Nightfuries’ stay inside our kill room.”

“Gage and Haider can’t prove anything. Neither can Nian.” Excitement tingled through him. His mouth curved. “It’ll be your word—esteemed leader of the Archguard, head of a respected family—against theirs.”

Flexing his hands, Rodin growled. “I will call the high council and pack commanders to order immediately.”

“Good.” Already preparing his plan of attack, Zidane threw his sire a sidelong look. “But before you do, I would ask one thing.”

“You wish to lead the death squad to Seattle?”

“I want revenge.”

“For Lothair?”

Mention of his younger brother made his heart clench. Fucking Nightfuries. First Lothair, now Ferland. Both murdered, dead long before their time. A muscle twitched along his jaw. Zidane cleared his throat. “For Ferland too, Father.”

“Done.” With a quick about-face, Rodin strode toward the hallway at the back of the loading dock. A second before he disappeared into the labyrinth, his sire paused. Dark eyes shimmering, his gaze burned through the gloom, reaching out to warn him. “Choose your warriors with care, son. Prepare yourself accordingly. You leave as soon as the vote is complete and the council signs off.”

Hot damn. The sweet, sweet taste of victory.

If all went according to plan, he’d be airborne within weeks. One if he got lucky, more than a few if he didn’t. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have time to bask in the glow of his sire’s approval. Or dwell on what the future would bring. Bragging belonged to fools. Warriors, on the other hand, prepared for every eventuality. Rodin was right. Actions spoke louder than words, and he didn’t have a moment to waste. Running down a list inside his head, Zidane pivoted toward the tunnel and walked away from the garage. The cleanup could wait. Preparations for travel could not. Whatever the timeline, he must be ready to move—the members of his death squad chosen and trained—the instant the high council reinstated
Xzinile
and put a bounty on each Nightfury warrior’s head.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wearing nothing but an oversize T-shirt, Evelyn tiptoed past floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Soft cotton brushed the tops of her thighs. Wide-planked floorboards creaked. She tried not to notice. A hard sell, considering Venom lay belly down on silk sheets across the room, fast asleep after an afternoon spent in bed with her. Her mouth curved. Poor baby. She’d worn him out—ridden him hard and put him away wet. Not that she would ever admit it out loud. Oh, no . . . not her. She possessed more pride than that. And honestly? After making her moan and plead for the pleasure of his touch, Venom’s ego was out of control.

No need to feed that beast. He already knew he was fantastic in bed.

“Thank God for that,” she murmured, running her fingertips over colorful book spines.

Sighing in contentment, Evelyn slowed her pace and, trying to be quiet, bypassed another bookcase. She paused to read the titles. As she skimmed each one, she shook her head. Incredible. So many choices. Another shelf cramped with books she’d never heard of before. The whole room was like that—full of literature that ran the gamut, hopscotching from crime fiction and historical treatises to Shakespeare, ancient leather-bound texts, and an impressive collection of novels.

She ought to be accustomed to the two-story library by now—or rather, Venom’s bedroom inside Black Diamond. Lord knew she spent enough time in it.

Somehow, though, she wasn’t.

Almost a month with him, and, still, she marveled at the changes. In her life, sure. But mostly in the way she felt. Safe. Secure. Relaxed, well loved, and accepted. Toss in the fact she’d never slept better and . . . bingo. She owned a recipe for success. One that had her up and energized before Venom opened his eyes and got up for the evening. And yet, despite all the improvements—the smoothing out of her once-screwed-up life—she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. A bunch of Dragonkind guys. One Numbai. And four incredible women. Sounded like a movie title. The effect, however, was all too real. Particularly since Myst, Angela, Tania, and J. J. (or the Fab Four, as she liked to call them) had become her best friends in the space of a few weeks. Had she said incredible earlier? Well, slap surreal on the situation instead.

The gift of friendship. A man to call her own. A safe haven far from Markov and the mess her mother had left her.

All in a month’s time.

Her throat went tight. Unbelievable, yet totally real. Evelyn shook her head. God was good, and she was thankful. So damned glad Venom had found her, she didn’t know how to control the emotional fallout half the time. Sometimes, she didn’t. Sometimes it overcame her, and she went from steady to teary eyed in a heartbeat. Venom disliked seeing her that way. Hated her tears almost as much as the Razorbacks. Not that it mattered. Even though she tried, she couldn’t always hold it in. Gratefulness, it seemed, always took prisoners, caging her on the weepy side of thankful.

Skirting the spiral staircase to the mezzanine—and the library’s second level—she glanced toward the bed. Stretched out in the center of the mattress, Venom slept on: head half-buried beneath his pillow, top sheet bunched around his hips, arms flung wide, an ocean of golden skin on display. A shiver of pleasure ghosted down her spine. Evelyn swallowed a hum of appreciation. She wanted to wake him up—kiss her way between his shoulder blades, nuzzle his ear, flip him over and . . .

Make love with him again.

A great plan but for one thing. She wasn’t ready yet. She needed more time. Not a lot. Hardly any at all. Just enough to shore up her courage before she caressed Venom awake and asked the question. Broached the subject . . . whatever. She didn’t need to label it. What she wanted was answers. Some clarification too. Curiosity demanded it along with her pride, ’cause . . . yeah. Ever since meeting the other girls, she’d been wondering about something. Taboo subject matter, no doubt, but . . .

Butterflies attacked her stomach.

Ignoring the flutter, she walked past the stone-clad fireplace, stepped around the leather couch, and drifted to a stop next to the bed. Her gaze strayed to the night table. Stacked high, books littered the surface, hiding an expanse of glossy mahogany before spilling onto the floor. More books. Bigger piles. Untold variety on a wide range of topics. Evelyn smiled, loving the fact Venom liked stories . . . and often read aloud to her before bed each morning.

She enjoyed that almost as much as his lovemaking. Hearing the deep rumble of his voice while lying snug in his arms, warm under the quilt as he tilted the book so light fell on the page. Funny, but she never would’ve guessed that about him. Or that being read to was such a luxury, one she’d missed growing up in her household.

Dragging her gaze from the messy stacks, she returned her attention to Venom. He stirred in his sleep. Evelyn drew a deep breath and, mind whirling, went over what she wanted to ask. Again. For what seemed like the thousandth time. But, well, she couldn’t help it. Practice made perfect. Phrasing was important. She needed it to come out right when she finally voiced her concern and—

“
Mazleiha
.”

Husky with sleep, the warmth of Venom’s voice washed over her. Pinpricks of pleasure exploded across her skin. Desire welled in the pit of her stomach as he turned over. Hard muscle flexed. Silk slid over his hip, across his ribbed abdomen, then settled, molding to the front of his body, showcasing intimate details, making her mouth water. Which was . . . well, disconcerting to say the least. Downright gluttonous, to say the most. She’d already had him—countless times—and yet, she wanted him again. Right now. Screw the question along with her curiosity. Except . . .

Her attitude was all wrong.

There were too many things left unsaid. And she needed to know.

Stuffing a pillow behind his head, Venom resettled on the mattress. Back against the headboard, bare chest on display, sheet riding low, sleepy ruby-red eyes met hers. He studied her a moment, then tipped his chin. “What has you worried, Evie?”

She pursed her lips. The moment of truth. Time to dive in and find out. “I have a question.”

He crooked his finger, asking her to come closer. The second she stepped within range, he grabbed her hand. His calloused palm played against hers. Anticipation twisted the screw, urging her away from conversation and toward desire. She shivered, loving the feel of him, but held the line, refusing her body what it wanted in favor of satisfying her mind. Lacing their fingers, Venom tugged, drawing her onto the mattress. Her knees touched down beside his hip and . . . ah, to hell with it. She threw her leg over and straddled him. He sucked in a quick breath. She hummed. God, she loved being like this with him. Almost skin-to-skin. So close, yet still too far away. Nothing but a thin, silk sheet between them as she settled in his lap, pressing her core to his erection.

“Goddamn,” he said, appreciation in his tone. Sitting up a little straighter, he slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, palmed her bare bottom, and adjusted their fit.

She wiggled, settling in, making him groan. “So . . . my question.”

“Shoot. Ask me anything.”

“When are we going to get married?”

Surprise sparked in his eyes. Venom blinked. He opened his mouth—once, twice . . . a third time—before closing it again, as though he’d fallen into speechlessness.

“I mean . . .” She trailed off, nerves getting the better of her. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she searched for the right words. All the ones she’d practiced. None arrived. Each well-practiced word abandoned her. She cleared her throat, stalling for time, then blurted, “I’ve been talking with the other girls, and they all have mating marks, but we haven’t talked about it. Or about the mating ceremony, and I just . . . well, I want to know if . . . if . . .”

“You want to get married?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” Relief relaxed his expression. Raising his hand, he cupped her cheek. As he caressed her skin, Venom murmured something in Dragonese. A prayer? Words offered up in gratitude? Evelyn didn’t know. Didn’t much care either, just as long as she hadn’t overstepped her bounds and pushed him too far, too fast. “I’ve been waiting . . . hoping that—”

“I would ask?”

He nodded. “I don’t want to rush you, Evie. I want you to be ready. The mating ceremony is heavy-duty shit. No take-backs. Once it’s done, the binding spell can never be broken. I wanted to give you time. The chance to decide . . . to be 100 percent sure I’m what you want.”

“Venom.” Turning into his touch, Evelyn nestled her face against his palm, soothing him the only way she knew how—with her acceptance. Lord love him. He was the most complicated man she’d ever met. One moment confident, the next, completely unsure. The insecurity—his desire to protect her, even from himself—simply made her love him more. Her need for him tightened its grip on her heart, infusing her with everything she felt for him. “I don’t want a
take-back
. My decision was made the moment I met you. I might not have known it then, but I know it now. I’m yours, love. I want a mating mark of my own.”

“Well, in that case . . .” A smile surfaced in his eyes as Venom trailed off. He shifted beneath her and reached toward the bedside table. With a flick, he pulled the drawer open and withdrew a blue box topped with a frilly black bow. Evelyn’s breath caught as he cupped the back of her hand and placed the gift in her palm. “Open it, Evie.”

A frisson of excitement skittered down her spine. Evelyn didn’t hesitate. She tugged on the bow, watched it unravel, lifted the box top and—

“Oh, my.” Air left her lungs in a rush. Awe circled deep, dragging tears to the surface and . . . ah, crap. Here she went again, tumbling into weepiness. “Oh, Venom.”

“Do you like it?”

Did she
like
it? Was he insane? The ring was a masterpiece, one without equal. Set in white gold, a huge yellow diamond winked from a bed of white ones. Wonder closed her throat. Joy lifted the corners of her mouth, blooming into a wide smile. “Oh my God, Venom. It’s incredible . . . the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Pleasure in his eyes, Venom plucked the ring from the box. Gaze locked on hers, he slid the band on her ring finger. The gemstone settled, looking as though it belonged next to her skin. “Evelyn Victoria Foxe, I love you. Marry me,
mazleiha
.”

“Yes.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Perfect.”

And it was. Simply
perfect
.

Nothing better in the world. No one better than Venom.

And as he drew her into his arms and held her close, Evelyn felt the weight of the ring on her finger and a startling lightness in her heart. At last. Thank God. She’d finally come home. Was exactly where she longed to be, committed to the man she was meant to love . . . forever.