Crossing the threshold, he flipped the duvet back with his mind and settled Hamersveld on pale sheets. Belly down, the male sighed and threw his arms wide. Pillows went flying, rolling over the side of the king-size mattress as the warrior burrowed in. A quick flick of the coverlet and…
Fantastic. Mission accomplished.
The newest member of the Razorbacks was covered up, bare ass no longer waving in the breeze. Good thing too. With Hamersveld sleeping it off, he could get back to business. The next superbug waited inside his laboratory, its nastiness caged inside liquid nitrogen. Pressing his chin to his chest, Ivar rubbed the back of his neck. The knots left by tension and fatigue loosened as he turned toward the door. A couple of hours… that’s all he needed. Maybe if he played with the viral load—tweaked the dosage, upped the incubation-to-infection rate—virus number three would prove more—
A blue light flashed in his periphery.
Ivar glanced toward the flat screen TV mounted on the wall opposite him. The video chat blinked on and then off, a name written in neon at its center.
“Ah, Christ.”
Lacing his fingers on top of his head, Ivar blew out a long breath. Just what he didn’t need. Rodin skyping in from Prague. He’d called every week for the past month, demanding an update. Denzeil usually fielded the calls, leaving Ivar to avoid the prick along with the fallout. But with his warrior out hunting, answering the phone fell to him.
Ivar sighed. First Hamersveld, now Rodin. The night kept going from bad to worse.
Annoyance mixing with dread, he skirted the end of the bed. His bare feet brushing over bamboo planks, Ivar crossed to the laptop sitting on the marble-topped bar. A quick flick opened the computer. He tapped on the mouse and…
Terrific. Rodin in all his glory.
“Ivar,” the male growled, dark eyes narrowed on him. “About time you answered my call. Denzeil and his trucker talk annoy me. Where have you been?”
Good to know. Another reason to keep his warrior around. “In the lab working out the viral load sequence.”
“Any progress?”
“Some. I’m still unsatisfied with the results. I’ll be testing another bug soon.”
“Good.” Fingering an expensive Mont Blanc, Rodin picked up the pen and turned it in his hand. “And the breeding program?”
“Underway on our end,” he said, watching the older male closely. Rodin was after more than just an update. Sure, he asked all the right questions, but something about the way he held himself warned Ivar. The leader of the Archguard might be an ally now, but one never knew about tomorrow. “Yours?”
“We’re on the hunt. I’ve got a dependable crew searching the city for HE females,” Rodin said, the pride in his tone telling. A dependable crew. Right. The word choice could only mean one thing… Zidane, Rodin’s firstborn son was involved. “So far, we’ve come up empty.”
“Keep looking,” Ivar murmured. “If you find one, you’ll find more. HEs gravitate toward one another. They tend to be related or live together.”
Rodin grunted and changed the subject. “How’s your cash flow?”
“I could use more.”
“You always want more.”
Ivar shrugged. “Science is an expensive sport.”
“A bloody one, I hear.”
“It’s better that way.”
The male huffed. “I knew there was a reason I like you.”
“Just working with what God gave me.”
A sparkle lit in Rodin’s eyes. Ivar narrowed his and unleashed what he did best. Analysis. Ferreting out facts. Putting each into context. Funny, but… huh. He swore the gleam in the older male’s eyes approached paternal pride. A strange thing considering Rodin was as cold-blooded as they came. Hell, the prick had never looked at Lothair that way, and his late XO had been Rodin’s youngest son.
Turning his head to one side, Rodin tapped his pen against the keyboard. “Check your accounts. I just wired you another half mill.”
“In exchange for?”
“Information and… your honesty.”
Weighing the pros and cons, Ivar examined the idea, searching for pitfalls. Truth, after all, was a tricky beast. It owned varying shades of gray. The kind a male could manipulate if he were smart enough to see the shift in color. “What is it you wish to know?”
“I hear there is a member of the Scottish pack in Seattle.”
Ivar frowned, not liking the implication in the inquiry. The intel was far too accurate. Forge, the only Scot he knew, had arrived a few months ago. The warrior had briefly danced to the Razorback tune before switching alliances to join the Nightfury pack. The loss still rankled, leaving a bad taste in Ivar’s mouth. Clenching his teeth, he bit down on a snarl. The backstabbing Scot had promised one thing, but delivered quite another.
The lying bastard. Forge had screwed with his plans.
Not that it mattered now. The past belonged where it already sat… in the past. He couldn’t change it. The future, however? Hmm, that bad boy was up for grabs, which meant he must be careful. Rodin’s interest in Forge—and how he’d come by the information—raised his internal radar. Something was off. Way, way off, ’cause… shit. It sounded as though the leader of the Archguard had a spy inside the Razorback ranks.
Not surprising. But by no means good either.
In order to function well, Ivar needed less scrutiny, not more. So, what to do, what to do? Share the information or stonewall Rodin? Misdirection, after all, was his specialty. Ivar debated a moment, determining the course that would best service him and—
Why not? “His name is Forge. He is a member of the Nightfury pack.”
“One of Bastian’s warriors now,” Rodin said, his pallor turning ashen.
Ivar nodded, wondering at Rodin’s reaction. The male didn’t scare easily. He knew it firsthand. Had witnessed the older male wield his power while under the Archguard’s thumb. But something about the Bastian/Forge connection shook the male from his lofty perch.
Interesting. Maybe even fortuitous.
With Rodin shaken up, now might be the time to cut through all the bullshit, get straight to the point, and reveal Lothair’s death.
He’d held onto the information, hiding the truth for fear of Rodin’s wrath. Not against him. Ivar could handle whatever the asshole sent his way. What he didn’t want was the male in Seattle. He needed to avenge his best friend without any outside interference. And Rodin, with one of his death squads in tow, amounted to a serious disruption.
“One other thing you should know, Rodin.”
Dark eyes snapped back to his.
“Lothair is dead… murdered by the Nightfuries.”
Rodin snarled, baring his teeth as rage flamed in his gaze. Raising his hands, he slammed both fists against the desktop. Wood crackled. The computer jumped, jarring the image. With a roar of fury, the male exploded in a flurry of movement. Mouth hanging wide open, Ivar watched the leader of the Archguard lose control from halfway around the world. A blurry swipe of arms, a brutal thrust of a booted foot, and… slam-bang! Lift off. The desk toppled, sending the computer tumbling end over end. Pale walls whirled past in the frenzy. The screen slammed into something. Static came through the breach, replacing the picture as the connection shattered.
12
Ahead of the pack, Venom came down through the clouds like a serial killer in search of his next victim. Alert. Focused. Watchful. Too bad he didn’t have a target. He’d left all hope of one behind in the city… along with the rogues. Now nothing but thick forest stretched out for miles, staring up at him as a storm gathered in the sky above him. Rain threatened, the distant rumble of thunder a warning, the thick mist that hung over the land another.