Wick raised his combat boot, aiming for Azrad’s head.
The warrior swung around and countered, hammering his friend with a right cross. Bone cracked against bone. Wick’s head cranked to one side, and Venom took advantage. One arm at his throat, the other around his chest, he wrapped his friend up from behind and hauled him sideways. Up. Off. And over. Fantastic. He had liftoff… the kind that arrived with a crapload of imbalance.
Venom cursed as he careened backward. His arms locked around Wick’s chest, the male came with him, both of them acting like pinballs, bouncing off tables, sending chairs flying, reeling across the narrow space. Bolted to the floor in the center of the room, a massive hardwood table stood strong and—
Ah, hell. This was going to hurt.
He was right.
Pain bit, scoring his hipbone as he collided with the thing. The table edge sent him up and over. With his friend along for the ride, he hit the floor on the other side with a bone-jarring thump and slid, knocking a quartet of club chairs askew. Refusing to let go, he clamped down on Wick. An unnecessary move. His buddy stayed put—thank God—and glanced over his shoulder. Shimmering golden eyes met his. Calm. Steady. Not an ounce of pissed off in sight. Venom frowned. What the hell was going on? After that display, he’d figured Wick would fight to regain his footing.
Go ape-shit crazy to take another shot at Azrad.
The corner of Wick’s mouth curved instead. “I made my point.”
“Did you ever,” Azrad grumbled from the other side of the room. “Fuck me, I think my front teeth are loose.”
“You deserved it.” Shoving out of his hold, Wick rolled to his feet.
Not trusting his friend for a second, Venom scrambled to join him next to the table. No sense making the same mistake twice. The free-for-all was his fault. He should’ve been ready. Should’ve known Wick would go after Azrad at the first possible opportunity.
“I know.” On one knee next to the coffee bar, Azrad swiped at the blood dripping from his chin. He missed a drop and it went splat on the wooden floor. With a curse, he grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and wiped the mess off his face. “You always make statements like that, Nightfury?”
Wick shrugged. “Usually.”
“Effective.”
“Get the message?”
“Yeah. No fucking with females under your protection.” With a grimace, Azrad pushed to his feet. Rotating his shoulder, he stretched out sore muscles, then paused to frown at his bruised knuckles. As he flexed his hand, the male threw Wick an intense look. “How is she?”
“Hurt.”
“I had no wish to harm her.”
Skirting a downed chair, Wick moved into the center of the room. “Why did you then?”
Amazed by the exchange, Venom’s attention volleyed. As he looked from Wick to Azrad, then back again, he shook his head. His friend never talked to anyone, so… why was he now? What was the impetus? His eyes narrowed. There had to be one. Wick might be quiet, but he possessed more than his fair share of brains. The male was wicked smart. Add in hyper-observant and… yeah.
Wick knew something he didn’t.
Dealing with a load of WTF, Venom glanced toward his XO.
Pale eyes sharp, Rikar pinged him through mind-speak. “You see what he does?”
“Not yet,” he said, following his XO’s lead, keeping the conversation on the down low.
“Take a closer look at Azrad,” Rikar murmured. “Look like anyone we know?”
Venom reversed course. He glanced at Azrad, scanning the male’s face, looking past the nicks and cuts, trying to make the connection. It was hard. All the heavy metal—the eyebrow and nose stud—distracted him. The tattoo, black web supporting a freaky-looking red spider on the side of his neck, didn’t help either. He stared at Azrad a little harder, stripped away all the bells and whistles—the spiked mohawk, the tat, the hard-core attitude—to reach the truth. The male’s coloring and features moved to the forefront, and—
Venom sucked in a quick breath. “Holy shit.”
“Bingo.”
Rendered speechless, Venom opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I regret the necessity, warrior,” Azrad said, his soft tone full of sincerity.
“The name’s Wick.”
Azrad nodded. “I wouldn’t have taken her out of the hospital room, but with a squadron of rogues inbound, my options were—”
“Limited?” Bastian raised a brow.
The comment turned Azrad’s attention. His gaze landed on B. Something akin to awe washed over his expression. He swallowed so hard Venom saw his throat bob. “I… I’m… you’re…”
“Bastian, commander of the Nightfury pack.” Green eyes locked on Azrad, B hauled his captive to his feet. He gave the male a solid shove. The blond growled, but took the hint and crossed the room. Rikar followed his commander’s lead, unlocking the full nelson on the warrior with a black patch over one eye. Silence descended. The room reshuffled, all players headed to their respective corners to surround and shield their leaders. “But the greater question… the only one I’m more interested in… is: who the fuck are you?”
“I have something to show you.” Reaching inside his jacket pocket, Azrad pulled out a slim leather-bound book. Worn by age, cracked along the spine, the journal bobbed in his fingertips. “I received this just over a year ago. It belonged to—”
“I know who it belonged to.” Aggression rolling off him in waves, B put his boots in gear and crossed the shop. His target? Take a guess. The new boy with the old book. Azrad had just painted a bull’s-eye on his forehead. Not advisable or even close to smart. An angry Bastian amounted to the equivalent of a shark-infested marina with blood in the water. “Where did you get it?”
“It was given to me by a Numbai. It belonged to my sire.”
“Bullshit,” Bastian said, his tone dipping into melodic. Venom smoothed his expression, smothering a grimace, and got ready to move. The proverbial shit was about to hit the imaginary fan. He knew it from B’s intonation. Whenever his commander used it, death almost always followed. “My father didn’t sire anymore sons before his death. I have no siblings.”
“Not true.” Dark-blue eyes full of emotion, he stared at Bastian. “You have me.”
Magic rippled, electrifying the air as Bastian snarled.
The warning was low and lethal, the kind of growl that sent smart males running. Venom tightened the loop instead, moving to stand at his commander’s shoulder, showing support as Rikar and Wick took up post positions behind them. Trapped between a wall of male muscle and the raised countertop behind him, Azrad leveled his chin and stood his ground. Stupid? Brave? Venom couldn’t decide. It was far too soon to tell. One thing for sure, though? Despite the uncanny resemblance between Bastian and Azrad, the male needed to tread lightly. Whatever the newcomer said in the next thirty seconds would seal his fate.
“Do you know how long I have waited to meet you?” Azrad asked, desperation in his voice. “From the moment I learned the truth. From the second I read the journals, I… Jesus. Months of rotting in that godforsaken place… of knowing the truth with little chance of escape. Of living with the hope of meeting a brother I never knew existed.” A muscle twitched along his jaw. He flexed his fist, fighting for control. “Bastian… I would no sooner lie to you now than cut off my own balls. You are my brother. We are blood kin. I swear it on my life.”
Unwilling to believe, Bastian glared at him.
With a growl, Azrad shrugged out of his coat. As the army jacket hit the floor, he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Bare chested in the dim light, muscle flexed as he bared his teeth and threw the crumpled cotton at Venom’s chest. Reflex made him catch it, the scent of blood and male rising from its folds. “Blood doesn’t lie. Check the fucking DNA.”