Coreene Callahan - Fury of Desire

Silence greeted the entreaty.

With a growl, Nian pushed away from the desk and strode past the wall of windows. Snow swirled beyond the glass outside his study, howling along with the winter wind. He watched it a moment, wondering if staying home had been the best decision tonight. Maybe he should’ve abandoned his computer and gone downtown to the Emblem Club instead. A favorite spot of the Metallics, the swanky cigar bar drew the pair like a couple of magpies. The warriors had spent most of the festival entrenched in a back corner booth, drinking expensive Scotch, smoking cigars, pleasing whatever female approached them.

A trio of vices. Add the love of a good poker game to the mix, and their sins multiplied.

At the moment, though, he hoped the pair weren’t anywhere near the Emblem. He prayed Gage and Haider were smarter than that. The cigar bar was too obvious. Every member of the Archguard knew the males favored the place. Nothing about the Nightfuries had gone unnoticed by the high council. Which made Nian nervous. Rodin hadn’t risen to power by being stupid. He might already have the Metallics in custody. Not an impossibility, considering the numerous death squads the bastard commanded.

Which explained the radio silence, didn’t it?

With a muttered curse, Nian stopped in front of the sideboard. Snatching a glass tumbler off the gold tray, he grabbed a bottle of bourbon by the neck and splashed himself a finger of the alcohol. As he turned and leaned against the antique, he glared at the computer. He wanted to toss the thing out the nearest window. Just wind up and—

A thump sounded outside his study.

Listening hard, Nian stared at the closed double doors. Nothing but quiet came back. Pushing away from his perch, he crossed the room. The Turkish rug whispered, cushioning his footfalls. With a quick mental flick, he turned the handle and pulled the door wide. The threshold opened into the soft glow of candlelight.

Another bump-thump rattled through the silence.

He frowned. “Lapier?”

When the call went unanswered, Nian stepped into the central corridor, searching for his servant. The noises were no doubt the male’s doing. True to his Numbai nature, Lapier never went the night without tidying or polishing something. And yet as Nian scanned the shadows at the end of the hall, a chill snaked over his skin. Something was off. Not by much, but…

His night vision sparked. Nian pivoted toward the front foyer. He called out for Lapier again and jogged down a set of five stairs. Huge oak doors that guarded his home loomed in the shadows. As he cleared the last step, he saw Lapier. On the floor beside the round table sitting in the center of the vestibule, the Numbai lay in a limp sprawl: arms flung wide, head turned away from him, tuxedo vest in disarray.

“What the hell?”

Concern for his servant followed his outburst, sending him across the mosaic floor. The second he knelt next to Lapier, Nian realized his mistake. But it was too late. The enemy was already inside the gate. As he spun to protect himself, a whistle sizzled through the air. Pressure lanced the back of his shoulder. Two prongs cut through his shirt to puncture his skin. An electrical charge lit him up, making his muscles seize, paralyzing him with the press of a button.

God help him. A Taser.

Complete electrical overload. The only thing that could render a Dragonkind male powerless. The smart bastards. They’d used his weakness to effect. No mercy or the slightest hesitation, the male hit him with another forty thousand volts. His body spasmed, tunneling his vision, locking the air in his lungs, stealing his ability to move. Unable to breathe, Nian wheezed, falling facedown on the floor as agony threw him over the edge and unconsciousness reached up to claim him.

Hidden inside a cloaking spell, Ivar touched down in the parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath his paws, scraping against his claws. The grating sound drew him tight. Worry took him the rest of the way, plunging him into uncertainty. Dependence on another. Not his strong suit. Relying on anyone when it came to his science seemed, well… unnatural.

A kind of cop-out that sat beneath his skin, irritating itch inevitable.

A leader in the field of virology and microbiology, he never allowed another to take the wheel. Or rather the microscope. But as the water treatment plant rose in the man-made clearing, standing alongside ancient trees, rising beneath moonlight, Ivar admitted that after two failures in his lab, Hamersveld’s idea held the most promise. The best chance for success, and honestly? After all was said and done, it didn’t matter who hatched the plan. The prospect of unleashing one of his babies—supervirus number three—upon the world outpaced his unease, jazzing him like nothing else had in a while.

Granite Falls, Washington. Everytown, USA.

With a population of just over three thousand, it was the perfect target. Rural. Picturesque. Nestled in the shadows of the Cascade Mountain Range, northeast of Seattle… not too far, but close enough. But better than that? The municipality was home to couples and families, a young community full of healthy immune systems. A shiver of excitement skittered through him, rattling the spikes along his spine. So much promise. So much fun. So much to do. If he could infect Granite Falls and get his virus to spread, then he could do it the world over.

In any city he wanted.

Humming with anticipation, Ivar bared his fangs. A bona fide test run in the wilds of human society. God. Other than fucking a female while he drained her dry, he couldn’t think of anything better.

Coming in on a slow glide, Hamersveld landed beside him. The big male wing flapped. Smooth shark-gray scales clicked together, and tribal ink danced, rippling beneath heavy muscle. Shifting into human form, the Norwegian glanced skyward. “Fen… on the roof. Keep watch. Any sign of trouble, give us a shout.”

The wren shrieked in answer. The terrible sound throbbed in the air, obliterating the quiet, invading his skull, slamming against his temples.

Ivar cringed. “Jesus, he’s loud.”

“That’s nothing,” Hamersveld murmured, watching Ivar stomp his feet into his boots. Gravel skittered sideways, pinging off the metal base of a lamppost. “Wait until you hear him in combat. He’ll bring a male to ground, completely disorient him with his cry.”

“Then gut him?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good thing he’s on our side, then.”

“Believe it.” Amusement in his gaze, Hamersveld raised a brow. “Are you ready?”

“Born ready.”

As the male laughed, Ivar smiled and, allowing his excitement free rein, strode between two parked cars. His new comrade fell in behind him, following him across the parking lot toward the front entrance. Brand spanking new, the facility was a towering example of technological advancement. Good for him and his plans. Not so great for the humans who called Granite Falls home.

Not that Ivar cared. The whole idea was to wipe them from the face of the earth. Eliminate the unending strife, the environmental reign of terror their race committed day after day… year after year. A few dead kids along the way didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

With nothing more than a thought, Ivar swung the front doors wide. The work of seconds, he disabled the security system. As the beep-beep-beeping settled into silence, he scanned the corridor. Not a human in sight. Perfect. Not that it would’ve mattered. Still cloaked in magic, the inferior race would see neither him nor Hamersveld.

Handy, wasn’t it? Invisibility. The calling card of his kind.

After a series of twists and turns through labyrinth-like hallways, past advanced filtration equipment and pipework, Ivar stood where he wanted to be… in front of a holding tank. Full of purified water, the contents were good to go. A mere turn of the tap away from being pumped into a human’s home. Unleashing his magic, Ivar conjured the hermetically sealed test tube. As smooth metal settled against his palm, Hamersveld stopped beside him, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder.