Coreene Callahan: Fury of Desire

Black eyes rimmed by light blue met his. The male held out his hand.

Ivar’s stomach clenched. Time to pay the piper. With a nod, and a boatload of trust, he handed his baby to his new buddy. “Just like in the lab.”

“No deviation. A walk in the park,” Hamersveld said, his voice hushed. Full of reverence, the Norwegian’s quiet tone put things into perspective. They were about to make history. Change the trajectory of the planet’s future for the better. “I’ll infuse the water molecules with the viral load, magically fusing the two. Any human who comes into contact with it will be infected. Then we’ll—”

“Sit back, record the RO factor, and see how fast the disease spreads.” Ivar knew the plan. He’d helped put it together, for Christ’s sake. Had spent the better part of twenty-four hours testing the delivery method alongside Hamersveld in his lab. But now that he stood on the precipice, nerves got the better of him. Jesus. He hoped like hell it worked outside a sterile environment. Blowing out a breath, Ivar gave the go-ahead. “Do it.”

With a nod, Hamersveld pivoted. Leaving Ivar standing beside the holding tank, he walked to a large pipe running the length of the room. He stopped in front of a raised hatch embedded on top of the water mainline. The warrior unleashed his magic. Prickles exploded across Ivar’s skin, raising the hair on his nape as the airlock released with a hiss. Purified water bubbled up through the opening. With a murmur, his new friend controlled it, making it rise like a cobra from a basket. Plunging his hand into the wet swirl, he relinquished the test tube. Hamersveld pulled his hand free of the water. Ivar watched the stainless steel casing float in the waves for a moment, then cracked the cryogenic seal.

The microorganism entered the stream. Hamersveld bared his teeth and, unleashing magic, tweaked the spell. The deadly virus fused with H 2O molecules, becoming one with the water supply.

Wonder picked Ivar up and carried him along. Finally. After all this time…

“It’s done.”

“No going back now,” Hamersveld murmured, Norwegian accent thicker than usual. Pride in his eyes, he watched the water retreat into the pipe. Metal hinges whined as the hatch swung closed and the valve spun, sealing the mainline. “We should celebrate.”

“Hell, yeah.” Elation tightened his chest. He’d done it. Really done it this time. Slapping Hamersveld on the shoulder, Ivar cupped his new best friend’s nape. A grin. A hardy jostle. A howl of triumph threatening, he asked, “What do you feel like, Sveld… Deuce’s?”

Eyes gleaming, Hamersveld gave him a playful shove. “Deuce’s will do.”

Fantastic. One superbug unleashed and on its way. And the promise of multiple females to fuck inside his club. The night couldn’t possibly get any better.

Set up on the rooftop across from Deuce’s, Venom crouched behind a low wall. Out of sight. Undetectable. His mouth curved. The quiet before the storm. The Razorbacks didn’t have a clue he’d descended on their little patch of heaven.

Just the way he liked it. Exactly the way he wanted to keep it too.

At least, for now. Later—after all the recon was in the can—would be soon enough to send a wake-up call… in the form of a firestorm.

Rotating on the balls of his feet, he shuffled left, gaze narrowed on the building opposite him. Stone face awash with moonlight, the nothing-special facade looked innocent enough. No awning out front to welcome visitors. No bouncers or doormen either. Just a plain black door emblazoned with a gold plaque. Venom huffed. Smart ploy. Big payoff. A passerby would never guess the private club existed, never mind that it catered to upscale, wealthy people with bizarre tastes.

Or so he’d heard. But after laying eyes on the place? Seeing slid into believing, ’cause… oh yeah, there were plenty of Dragonkind inside. He could feel the bastards. Not hard to do. The magical trace each male left in his wake sent out a clear signal. So did the scent of sex in the air. Hell, he could smell the coital heat from all the way across the street.

A rogue playground in the middle of Seattle.

With a hum of anticipation, Venom pinged his comrades. “We’re good to go. All’s quiet on our end so far.”

“Here tae.” Hunkered down with Mac a couple miles east of the club, Forge sighed, the sound one of exasperation. “Shouldae brought a pack of cards tae pass the time. I’m bored tae tears.”

Mac grumbled, seconding the opinion.

Clenching his teeth, Venom swallowed his amusement. No sense laughing at the wonder twins. The pair might take it personally. Which would suck. Particularly since he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not while stuck on outlook without any hope of kicking their asses when they mouthed off. Besides, his heart wouldn’t be in the squabble. He understood their impatience. Stakeouts weren’t his favorite thing either. He preferred to start shit, not sit around waiting for it to happen.

But a plan was a plan. Three fighting units: Rikar and Bastian to the north; the wonder twins to the east; while he, Wick, and Sloan kept eyes on the prize. The setup was a good one, providing three avenues of attack if Azrad screwed them over…

And the rogues came out to play.

“Stay sharp, boys,” Rikar said, the crackle of frost in his undertone. “Let it play out.”

“Fifteen more minutes.” Heavy footfalls came through mind-speak along with B’s voice. As the thud-thud got going, Venom realized his commander was pacing. Unusual for Bastian. The male was rock solid, as calm as they came under normal circumstances. But with Azrad in the mix, B’s edge was sharper than usual. “If Azrad proves trustworthy and doesn’t show, we go in. KO every rogue inside. Burn the fucker to the ground.”

Venom rolled his shoulders, beyond ready for the green light. He adored the seek-and-destroy missions. The covert ops—the thrill of the hunt—jazzed him like nothing else could. Anticipation prickled through him, cranking him tight. He wanted to go right now. Just leap over the roof edge, put feet to asphalt, and cross the street. The work of seconds, and he’d be through the outer door, in prime put-the-screws-to-the-enemy position while Wick set fire to the club. An excellent strategy, but for one thing…

He glanced to his right. Yup. No change there. Wick was still distracted as hell.

Crouched a few feet away, Wick stared at his knuckles instead of the target. Not a good sign. Venom frowned as unease spiraled into concern. He’d never seen Wick act like this before, so… well, he didn’t know exactly. Unfocused. Oblivious to his surroundings. In a world of his own, mind on something other than the mission.

Which scared the hell out of Venom.

Wick might not say much, but he always… always … paid attention. He never missed a thing and saw more than most. So, yeah… a not-so-present Wick was cause for concern. No one wanted to go into battle with Wick’s focus split. Their most vicious warrior, Venom and the others needed him onboard, raring for fight, not lost in thought. Thinking about what? Venom cursed under his breath. Making the leap from supposition to certainty wasn’t difficult. Jamison Jordan. Goddamn it. The female was screwing with his best friend’s head… all the way from the frigging lair… messing with Wick’s ability to concentrate.

A serious problem, considering the game plan.

Worry made Venom glance over his shoulder. Perched on a chimney in dragon form, scales clicked as Sloan shook his head. He registered his buddy’s tension, and the disquiet that drove it, all the same. The male knew what was up with Wick and didn’t like it either.