Fury of Desire (33 page)

All losing propositions.

“Sloan,”
Wick said to his buddy standing sentry outside.

“Here.”

“Find a computer.”

Scales clicked as Sloan shifted on a nearby rooftop.
“What do you need?”

“Warn the Metallics. Rodin’s got a price on their heads.”
One ear on his commander’s conversation with Nian, Wick met his XO’s gaze. Rikar nodded, and he continued.
“Tell ’em to get out of Prague. Under the radar. Most ricky-tick.”

“Roger that.”

The thump of boots on stairs came through mind-speak.

The sound lit Wick up, making his muscles tighten and tension creep across his shoulders. He wanted to yell “hurry!” at his buddy. Wick stayed silent instead. Sloan would do his level best. But computers weren’t as reliable as mind-speak. The message might not get through or be picked up
in time. The entire Nightfury pack had just been forced into a holding pattern. Nothing left to do now but pray Gage and Haider made it out in one piece.

Chair springs squeaked as Nian shifted in his seat, bringing him closer to the computer screen. Forearms stacked on the desktop, he leaned in, picking up details, assessing the situation as he stared at Bastian. Holy Christ and a baseball bat. He’d expected fierce from the Nightfury commander. What he saw topped it. The male was more than warrior strong. Kick-ass with a healthy dose of dangerous, his vibe screamed “don’t mess with me,” and with Bastian’s green gaze pointed in his direction, Nian believed it. Every rumor. Every story. Every word whispered in dark corners about the male and his tactics.

Lucky for him he sat half a world away. Safe enough. Out of range with an entire ocean between them. At least, Nian hoped so. Bastian no doubt possessed a long reach and many allies on both sides of the Atlantic. Males willing to do his bidding without question or at a moment’s notice.

The thought wasn’t a pleasant one.

Good thing he wasn’t faint of heart. Or without power of his own.

Readjusting his position, Nian looked into the screen, out into an open room framed by large windows. Clustered behind Bastian’s chair, the Nightfuries backed their commander. Tall. Strong. Unwavering. Warriors driven to protect, every last one. Nian recognized the breed, but held the line, meeting each male’s gaze before returning his attention to Bastian. So far, so good. All systems were a go.
Mission almost accomplished. Leading with the Gage and Haider angle had been a brilliant stroke of genius. The ploy had captured the Nightfury commander’s attention like nothing else could. Any fool could see Bastian cared about his comrades. His concern was palpable, fogging the air around him, coming through from over five thousand miles away. He wanted Gage and Haider safe. He wanted them secure. He wanted the pair home in Seattle.

Perfect in every way.

Ironic too. In his quest to bring Bastian down, Rodin—and his asinine scheme—had provided the one thing Nian needed above all else… an in with the Nightfury pack. Now he sat nose-to-screen with one of the most powerful males of his kind, minutes away from procuring the support he required to cut the leader of the Archguard off at the knees.

But only if he played his cards right.

Bastian wasn’t stupid. Then again, neither was he.

Gaze still narrowed on him, Bastian lifted his boots from the coffee table. Shifting in the leather club chair, he leaned forward, feet planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, fingers laced between the spread of his thighs. The move brought him closer to the camera. Nian swallowed, resisting the urge to lean back… get out of range before things went apocalyptic. A stupid reaction. Bastian couldn’t touch him. Not right now anyway.

“How did you come by the information, Nian?” Bastian asked, his voice soft. The melodic pitch pricked the nape of Nian’s neck, warning him without words. Something about the tone was off. Far too dangerous to ignore. “You in Rodin’s back pocket?”

Nian shook his head. “No, but I’ve worked hard to cultivate his trust. I’m there now. He’s begun to confide in me. Any information I have comes directly from the bastard. You can trust it.”

“Then tell me…” Same tone. Shivers rolled down Nian’s spine as the Nightfury commander nailed him with shimmering green eyes. “What’s the real reason behind the roundup? What’s Rodin’s true intention?”

Christ. Had he said smart earlier? Well, he’d meant brilliant. Bastian was astute in a way that made a male sit up and take notice. “He knows of Lothair’s death. Learned of it from someone in Seattle.”

“Fucking hell.” Standing behind his commander’s chair, a blond, pale-eyed warrior scowled at him. “Ivar. The asshole’s been chatting with Rodin.”

“I assume as much,” Nian said, dragging his focus from the blond warrior back to Bastian. “I can’t prove the connection yet, but I think Rodin is funding the Razorbacks. He’s running underground fight clubs and female slave auctions. Making a ton of money from both enterprises and—”

“How do you know?” A knowing light in his eyes, Bastian tilted his head and stared at him, the glare full of predatory intent. “You been visiting Rodin’s playground?”

Nian opened his mouth to answer.

Bastian cut him off. “Why don’t you tell me about the female?”

“What female?”

“The one you purchased last week at an auction.”

Surprise made him twitch. Recall made his throat go dry. Ah, Christ. Not good. He didn’t want anyone digging up that skeleton. It needed to stay buried, six feet under where it belonged. Otherwise, the truth of that night would
get him killed. But even as Nian told himself to keep it under wraps, to remain impassive, calm, well able to deny the accusation, memory spun him in dangerous directions.

Grace von Ziger. The beautiful blond with big brown eyes and gorgeous energy. Not that most males noticed. His talent for illusion had unearthed her deception when she woke in his home. An HE female—rarest of the rare—Grace was a
zinmera,
so evolved she could disguise her connection to the Meridian. The chameleon-like ability served her well, allowing her to fool members of his kind into believing she was low energy, prompting them to overlook her.

Too bad that didn’t apply to him.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been unable to look away. Or allow another male to own her. Touch her. Possess and treat her like a sexual prize.

Lifting his hand from the leather blotter, he sat back and, reaching beneath the desk edge, fingered the driver’s license he’d wedged under the wooden lip. Lapier thought he’d thrown it away, erasing all trace of her, but he’d been unable to do it. He liked the laminated paper within easy reach. Often flipped it open to look at her picture. To imagine her safe in America, starting a new life with the seed money he’d provided. But as his fingertips ghosted over the crisp fold and he held Bastian’s gaze, Nian knew he should throw it away… burn it along with the file folder in his floor safe, the one that held all her personal information.

Keeping a piece of her, after all, was foolhardy, not to mention dangerous.

As dangerous as the warrior pack seated in Seattle.

“How long have you been spying on me?” he asked, feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner. Hell, Bastian no doubt had someone watching him right now.

“Long enough to know you bought a first-class ticket out of Prague. Question is… who was on the plane? Not you, so…” Bastian raised a brow. “The flight landed in New York. You want me to do some digging? Check passenger manifests? Track travel plans stateside? I can send a couple of warriors to—”

“Stay away from her,” he growled, rage lighting his fuse.

“She mean that much to you?”

Nian stayed silent, a warning in his eyes. He understood Bastian’s intent… received the message loud and clear. The bastard wanted him to know he wasn’t invulnerable, that anyone could be gotten to with the right amount of leverage. And Bastian—clever tactician that he was—knew how to crank the hell out of it. But if the Nightfury warriors went anywhere near Grace, Nian would show no mercy. He’d use every ounce of power he possessed to level the Nightfury pack. Alliance be damned. She deserved a fresh start, and he hadn’t saved her life—and risked his own in the doing—to turn around and thrust her back into danger.

“All right,” Bastian murmured, watching him closely. “But the offer stands. We don’t hurt females, Nian. If she gets into trouble… needs help… let me know. My pack is closer, able to reach her faster.”

Nian should’ve appreciated the offer. It pissed him off instead. If Grace got into trouble, he’d jump the pond to ensure her safety. No one else would be involved, and the Nightfury commander would be the last to know.

Done with the bullshit, Nian challenged the warrior threatening him. “You done screwing around? Can we get back on point now?”

A slow smile spread across Bastian’s face. The amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as we understand each other.”

“No doubt of that,” Nian said, anger mixing with respect. Bold bastard. Whatever else his claim to fame, Bastian knew how to operate, and as much as it chafed Nian to admit it, he admired the warrior for it. “I’m almost positive Rodin and Ivar are in league together. All the income from the fight clubs and slave auctions… and there is a lot of it… isn’t hitting his personal accounts. It’s being funneled elsewhere.”

“You tracking it?” the blond male asked.

Nian nodded. “Trying to, but he’s clever. Good at hiding his illegal holdings along with the money trail. But that’s not the most immediate problem.”

Bastian raised a brow. “How do you figure?”

“Rodin is calling a special meeting of the high counsel. He wants Lothair’s death ruled illegal… treated as murder. Charges will be levied against a member of your pack.”

“Who?”

“Forge.”

Bastian cursed. The Nightfury warriors standing behind him backed the sentiment. As f-bombs dropped, clouding the airwaves, Nian dished the rest. “He will demand you deliver Forge to Prague for trial.”

“And execution,” Bastian said, quick on the uptake. The trial would be nothing more than a ruse. A sham conducted behind closed doors. Oh, Rodin would make it look good. Court favor among Dragonkind by playing make-believe—using sleight of hand and rumor to establish the male’s guilt—when in reality, Forge would never see the inside of the Archguard’s tribunal courtroom. “Why Forge?”

“I don’t know, but…” Nian trailed off, then let his suspicions loose. “Rodin is rattled, scrambling to cover up something… afraid of Forge for some reason. But he has no proof of his involvement in Lothair’s death, of that I am certain.”

Bastian snorted. “He’ll manufacture what he needs.”

“Probably, but here’s the kicker.” Plucking his lighter from its perch beside the laptop, Nian flicked at the top. The snap echoed, sounding loud in the quiet. “When you fail to produce Forge, the entire Nightfury pack will fall under suspicion. Rodin will then have reason to reinstate the old laws and—”

“Jesus,” Bastian growled. “
Xzinile.
”

“Exile.” The blond snarled, showing a row of straight white teeth. “And a bull’s-eye on our backs for every bounty hunter around.”

“It’s a power play, Rikar.” Twisting in his seat, the Nightfury commander glanced over his shoulder. He met his warrior’s gaze and shook his head. “Hell, the bastard’s after me.”

As Nian nodded, another round of low curses came through the speakers.

Facing forward once more, Bastian pushed to his feet. Both hands curled into fists, he walked closer to the camera and plugged Nian with an intense look. “When’s the vote?”

“Night after tomorrow.”

“Can you stall it?”

“Maybe.” Nian frowned, mind churning over viable options. The best ones lay in the letter of the law. If he put up too many roadblocks, suspicion would fall on him, and Rodin would guess his game. Turning the lighter over in his hand, he brushed his thumb over the crest engraved in
the gold. “There are certain criteria Rodin must follow to reinstate
Xzinile.
If I make him jump through all the hoops, it’ll take more time.”

“Good,” Bastian said with a nod. “Keep me in the loop.”

Nian leaned forward in his chair. “Can I count on you to keep me in yours?”

A bold inquiry with potentially disastrous consequences. A wise male didn’t tweak a powerful dragon’s tail. Nian knew it but didn’t care… couldn’t pass up the opportunity to secure Bastian’s support. He’d waited months for a face-to-face with the Nightfury commander—to acquire what he needed to move forward with his plans for the Archguard. Now that he’d done his part and given Bastian valuable intel along with his trust? Nian wanted something in return. The warrior’s stamp of approval. Something that wouldn’t cost Bastian much up front, but held the potential to yield vast returns for years to come.

Green eyes narrowed on him. “Excuse me?”

“I scratch your back… you scratch mine.” Holding the lethal male’s gaze, Nian pushed his agenda. “I want what you want, Bastian… Rodin’s head on a platter. I can’t achieve that without your backing. Do I have it?”

Silence met his question. Terrible and effective, the quiet spread, filling the void, slithering in like a poisonous snake—silent, venomous, deadly. Cranked tight by uncertainty, tension wrung him dry as pressure banded around his chest. Smothering his reaction, Nian breathed around the knot in his throat and stayed true, refusing to back down. The outcome was too important. Everything hinged on the next few moments. On Bastian’s decision and—