Coreene Callahan: Fury of Desire

“Oh, Ange, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said, the admission splitting her wide open. She knew what that felt like: to be cornered, held down, and… forced. That it had happened at the hands of her boyfriend didn’t make the experience any less horrific. Young. Stupid. Naive. She’d trusted him not to hurt her. Instead, he’d torn her apart, obliterating her confidence along with any sense of self. “How long were you there?”

“Not long. Twelve hours, but then…” Angela’s voice cracked. As she regrouped, she flexed her hands, making twin fists. “It doesn’t take long to destroy a person… take their life while leaving them alive… does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Shuffling the papers in her lap, Angela cleared her throat. “You should share how you feel with Wick. He’ll help you let go of the pain, along with the past. Rikar does wonders for me.”

J. J. nodded, believing every word. Wick was power personified. Intense, yet kind. Lethal in a fight, yet gentle with her. Unassuming yet oh-so-hot in bed, he made her want, need, yearn in ways she never had before. An image of him, golden eyes shimmering as he loved her, flared in her mind’s eye. Desire rose on a heated wave. J. J. shifted on the mat and… yup. Sex kitten tendencies, here she came. Just thinking about him—how he felt against her, inside her, his skin brushing over hers, his taste in her mouth—and…

Good lord. She needed to get a grip. Or hop into a cold shower. Quick. Before she embarrassed herself in front of an ex-cop who missed nothing and—

“Accept it and move on.” A twinkle in her eyes, Angela grinned. “Rikar does that to me too. I get hot just thinking about him.”

“Must make for an interesting scene when he walks through the door each morning.”

“You have no idea.”

“Uh, hello,” she said, making a funny face. “I think I do.”

Angela laughed. J. J. joined in. God, it felt so good to laugh… seemed normal to share a moment without studying the angles. Without wondering if what she said would get her killed. Or in hot water with the prison guards. But then, that wasn’t her life anymore. She was safe in a place where no one wanted to hurt her. The thought stilled her mind. The realization shifted her perspective, and as it sank deep, so did the idea of freedom.

From everything: the fear, past mistakes, all the pain.

Now she possessed the power to choose a different path and create a new reality. So time to pack up the past and put it away. No good would come from denying the truth. Or fighting what she felt for Wick. He was part of the equation now, and were she honest? Everything she wanted for her future.

The truth tightened her throat, even as it set her free. “Hey, Ange?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Can you read Rikar’s mind?” As her new friend blinked in surprise, J. J. hurried to explain. “I mean, how powerful is the connection… all the energy-fuse stuff, ’cause I know things about Wick that I shouldn’t. Things he hasn’t told me about his past. I know it sounds weird, but when I’m with him, it’s as though I’m plugged in… being fed information. Images. Experiences. How he feels about both.”

“Welcome to the club,” Angela said. “The connection between mates is a powerful one. I cherry-pick stuff off Rikar’s mind all the time. Thoughts. Worries. The stuff he doesn’t want me to know because he’s trying to protect me. Sometimes, it’s just a feeling… like a vibration. Other times, I get snippets of residual memory.”

Snippets. Right. Made sense. Except she’d gotten a heck of a lot more than that from Wick. A full-on movie seemed like a better description. While lying in his arms, listening to him breathe, watching him sleep, she’d seen things he tried to hide. Borne witness to the cruelty: the cage and collar, the fighting and killing… that first day when he’d balked, and that awful man had tied a knife to his hand, then thrust him into the ring. God. The images made her ache from the inside out. For the little boy with the golden eyes, looking so lost and afraid. For the young man as Wick struggled against chains, screaming in agony as the red-hot poker seared his skin.

Leaving the terrible brand behind on his forearm.

Goddamn sons of bitches. The bastards had hurt him so badly.

Tears stung her eyes as sorrow invaded her heart. J. J. willed them away. Crying would only make Angela ask questions. Ones she refused to answer. Wick deserved his privacy. His past was his own to share. Or not. The decision belonged to him and—

“My lady!” The bellow echoed down the corridor.

Sharing a look with Angela, J. J. vaulted to her feet. Something was wrong. She could hear it in Daimler’s voice. Heard it in the rapid thump of footfalls outside the gymnasium door. Felt it in every beat as her heart picked up the vibe, hammering the inside of her breastbone.

“My lady, where are you?” Daimler yelled, his tone so panic-filled it raised the fine hair on J. J.’s nape. “Myst!”

“In the clinic, Daimler,” she shouted even though she couldn’t see the butler yet. Ahead of Angela, J. J. sprinted across the gym. As she reached the door, Daimler sped past, tuxedo tails flapping, arms and legs pumping. Oh no. Oh shit… shit, shit, shit. Not good. The elf seemed an unflappable sort, but right now? Calm was history, leaving nothing but alarm in its wake. “She’s in the clinic!”

“What’s wrong?” Shoving past her, Angela skidded to a stop in the middle of the hall. Breathing hard, her eyes glued to the elf, she watched him run toward the clinic. “Who’s injured?”

Dark eyes wide with fear, Daimler glanced over his shoulder without breaking stride. “I don’t know, my lady, but it’s bad and—”

The wall dead-ending the corridor wavered.

Rooted to the floor, J. J. held her breath. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

“Please, God,” Angela whispered, gaze riveted to the magical entrance. “Not Rikar. Please don’t let it be…”

A dull roar in her ears, J. J. didn’t hear her friend say the last word, but filled in the blank, erasing Rikar’s name to insert Wick’s. Please, don’t let it be Wick. As the words bounced around inside her head, J. J. understood true desperation, and how very awful she could be. God, how depraved. How completely bent… to wish harm on another so that the man she loved stayed whole. But she couldn’t help it. The thought of Wick injured sent her into a tailspin. Did terrible things to her sense of right and wrong. To her sense of fair play. All she wanted in that moment was for it to be anyone but him.

Selfish. Twisted. Beyond terrible, considering she stood beside a woman mated to a Nightfury warrior. One who would die the instant he did.

Her throat closed as ancient stone rippled, undulating in the low light. The portal expanded to form a doorway, allowing her to see into the cavern beyond. A trio came into view. Three dark heads bent, two warriors bookended one, half carrying, half dragging the injured party. Her gaze riveted to the group, J. J. shook her head. Tears stung the corner of her eyes as one of them looked her way. Fierce golden eyes met hers. J. J.’s knees went weak. Oh, thank God. Not Wick. It wasn’t Wick. He wasn’t hurt, but…

Jesus be merciful. Forge.

The warrior was in bad shape. Worse than bad. He looked dead: unconscious, toes of his boots dragging on the ground, blood covering his torso—as Mac and Wick carried him into the clinic, leaving bloody streaks on the floor in their wake.

Head pounding like a motherfucker, Wick lifted his injured comrade onto the examination table. Injured. Fuck, what an understatement. Forge was torn wide open, still bleeding like a sieve, so close to death Wick didn’t know what to do. Scream in agony for his fallen comrade. Or pick up a scalpel and gut himself for hurting his friend.