Exhaling long and slow, Nian reached for his magic. The mental flick swung one of the double doors wide. Cold stone chilling the soles of his bare feet, he strode over the threshold and into the central corridor. Pale walls slid into Arab archways, then reached up to touch the fluted ceiling overhead. Lush with tradition, Turkish rugs streamed the length of the hallway to cover colorful mosaic floor tiles underfoot. Simple yet beautiful. He loved the house, appreciated its isolation, enjoyed the flawless symmetry along with the craftsmanship that spoke of another culture in another time.
Home sweet home. Warm. Inviting. Safe.
Crossing into his study, he gave the windows dominating one side of the room a quick once-over. Enchanted by a spell, the clear glass rippled, darkening by the second, protecting him from the awakening sun. His focus on the magical metamorphosis, Nian reached into the pocket of his pants. The lighter he carried slid into his palm.
Instant relaxation. Perfection in solace.
With a flick, he thumbed the gold top. The lighter snapped open. Nian stared at the wick a moment, then snapped the lid closed. The sharp sound echoed like a question. What should he do? Force the issue? Disappear for a few days and make a secret trip to Seattle to corner Bastian himself? Rolling his shoulders, Nian stared at the fresco on the domed ceiling. Wood nymphs in full frolic. He frowned at the half-naked females. No answers there. He flipped the lighter again. Click-click-snap. Click-click—
Ding-ding… ping.
Nian blinked. What the hell was that?
Frowning, he scanned his study. The noise came again. His attention snapped toward his desk. Ding-ding… ping. His gaze narrowed on the computer he’d set up a month ago. Not his favorite thing. Technology belonged to humans, not Dragonkind. But he couldn’t argue with progress. Or his inability to connect to his contact through mind-speak. The male was too far away for him to link in and use the cosmic connection his kind favored, which made the computer a necessary evil.
One he really needed to learn how to use.
Oriental rug soft beneath his feet, he rounded the corner of his desk and glanced at the monitor. Black from disuse, a small red icon blinked in the center of the screen. Nian drew in a quick breath. Oh, thank Christ. A message. He had a—
Ding-ding… ping.
Focused on the icon, he tossed his lighter on his desk blotter and reached for the mouse. The second he touched it, the screen went active. A box with the words “video conference” flashed in the middle. Hope hit hard, banding around his chest, making his heart thump and throat go tight. He swallowed past the knot and, repositioning the cursor, clicked on the link. A circular whirligig spun center screen a moment, then…
Movement flashed as a male looked away from the book he held. Dark-blue eyes narrowed on him. “Where the hell have you been?”
The tone should’ve pissed him off. Nian’s lips curved, instead. He couldn’t help it. Was so glad to see the warrior, relief superseded the usual respect he demanded. “Around. It’s good to see you, Azrad.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Raptor flat, Azrad’s gaze ate across time and space, threatening to devour him. The metal-stud piercing in his eyebrow winked, drawing attention to the burgundy highlights in his hair. A rough look. All Goth, no sophistication in sight. Not that it mattered. Nian didn’t care how the warrior looked. Lethal with loads of cunning, the male wielded know-how like a razor-toothed club… without mercy or an ounce of hesitation. The perfect instrument in the game Nian played. “The Nightfuries are a pain in the ass. There’s some really strange shit going on over here.”
Hope lit Nian up. “But you’re in?”
“Set up and on a roll,” Azrad said, looking more like a kingpin than a former slave kicking back in the office chair. “Haven’t met Bastian yet, but that’ll come.”
“And the rest of the Nightfuries?”
“Nearly got clipped by two of them tonight.”
“But you—”
“Yeah. First contact’s been made. Meeting’s set for tomorrow at midnight… Seattle time. Bastian’ll be there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” The chair squeaked as Azrad cupped the back of his head with both hands. Elbows folded out, he leaned into the backrest. “I put on a good show… got their attention in a big way. He won’t be able to resist meeting me. Will wanna know what I’m up to… and why I’m in his territory.”
“Well done.”
The warrior snorted. “Was there any doubt?”
Some. Nian didn’t voice the opinion, though. Azrad, for all his skill, wasn’t the most trustworthy. He was too strong-willed. Far too smart. Forget the fact he’d been little more than a slave less than two months ago, the warrior did as he pleased. Nian had known it the moment he secured Azrad’s release. He’d done it in secret. Made a deal with the devil right under the Archguard’s nose and offered the one thing the warrior wanted most in the world…
Freedom. Payback too, a chance to right the wrongs Rodin had done him.
Nian tipped his chin. “I’ll be at my computer, waiting for your call.”
“Uh-huh.” Staring at him from half a world away, Azrad lowered his arms and reached forward. His finger poised above the keyboard, the warrior winked at him. “Later.”
Hell, he hoped so. One never knew with Azrad.
All he could do was cross his fingers and pray Azrad kept his word.
Faith and honor. Two very big words he hoped played in his favor. ’Cause sure as he lived in Prague, Azrad possessed an agenda of his own. The warrior had craved more than just his freedom. He’d wanted to travel to Seattle. And now, for the first time, Nian wondered why.
10
Venom took the flight of stairs at a dead run. Three treads at a time. His chest heaved, burning from lack of oxygen. Clenching his teeth, his gaze riveted to the next landing, he pushed the pain away and pumped his arms, turning his legs into pistons.
Up. Up. Up.
He needed to reach the roof. Shift into dragon form and get airborne.
Knees acting like shock absorbers, the slam of his combat boots echoed the urgency, banging out a harsh rhythm. Sound reverberated in the enclosed space, taking up all the room inside his head. Grabbing the steel railing, Venom pulled, propelling himself into another tight turn and up another set of stairs. Muscles along his arm screamed in protest. He ignored the pain. Only one thing mattered… reaching his brothers-in-arms before the Razorbacks zeroed in and took out the SUV.
Zip. Bang. Gone.
That’s how it would go down. The Razorbacks would blow the vehicle sky-high the second they spotted it. And realized who sat inside. Unless, of course, he did something…
Like, oh, say, reach Swedish Medical’s frigging rooftop. Become rogue bait and his brothers’ shield. Buy enough time for everyone to find cover.
Cover. Right. Wishful thinking much? Probably. The Razorbacks might not be rocket scientists, but once locked on, the pack became efficient. Proof positive lay in the fact the bastards had nearly killed him two weeks ago. Venom wanted to say it had been a lucky shot but knew the truth. The enemy had used superior numbers to effect, cutting him off from the other Nightfuries in order to pick him apart in the swarm.
Pretty good strategy, all things considered. One-on-one, none could beat him. Hell, strike that. Three against one still came out in his favor, ’cause… yeah. He was just that strong, a powerhouse in a physical fight. The biggest, strongest, most—
All right, maybe not the most vicious.