Fury of Affliction (Dragonfury 2.0)

Fight Club

FIGHT CLUB

WICK IN THE WIND

“ G oddamn it, Sloan! Get the hell out of there before?—”

The explosion cut Venom off. The concussive boom! ripped through the frigid air, blowing him back past a row of parked dump trucks. Ravenous flames followed, lighting up the night sky, blistering yellow industrial-grade paint and melting steel like ice cream in the noonday sun.

Perfect. Just what he didn’t need. Wick on the rampage.

Flipping guy. Trust the male to come in hot, hammer the enemy while threading the needle between his comrades with a nasty exhale. His best friend needed his head examined. Or a serious boot to the ass. Venom couldn’t decide, but either option would do. Maybe then Wick would exercise some caution and use the gray matter between his ears. Of which, he possessed a considerable amount…

Under normal circumstances.

Tonight, though, didn’t qualify as normal .

The Razorbacks had tried to take one of their own—a female who belonged to a member of their pack. Why Wick cared was anyone’s guess. The male hardly ever talked, even to Venom, so yeah, it was a crapshoot. One big “what the hell’s he thinking now.” Not that anyone gave a damn at the moment. The Nightfury warriors were too busy, 100 percent dialed in and on the warpath, chasing the rogues back into the city, away from Mac and his injured mate.

The target had been a natural one. High-energy females always were for the bastards. And no wonder. Rarer than four leaf clovers, women who drew pure power from the Meridian—the source that fed Dragonkind and kept them alive—were valuable. Which meant the war raging between Nightfury and Razorback had reached new heights.

Escalation to the nth degree.

And Ivar, leader of the Razorbacks, was to blame.

The bastard kept crossing the line. He shamed Dragonkind at every turn, targeting H-E females, imprisoning them inside his lair, conducting scientific experiments designed to…

Hell, Venom didn’t know exactly. But whatever the nutbar’s end game, it couldn’t be good. Especially considering the fact he called his pet project a breeding program . Jesus, the asshole was hurting females…innocents in a world that preached honor, discipline and the protection of those weaker than themselves.

The thought of what Ivar planned made Venom cringe. Then again, so did Wick.

Equal parts vicious and crazy, his best friend was uncontrollable. A casualty of his upbringing, Wick’s rage ran hot, neck and neck with the death wish he carried around like luggage. Venom understood his friend’s propensity for violence. Encouraged it even, at least in battle. But sometimes his intensity got to Venom. Made him sad on a soul deep level he found difficult to ignore. Especially since the compulsion had nothing to do with right and wrong, never mind honor or duty. What drove Wick went deeper than that, and like it or not, Venom couldn’t do anything to help him.

He’d been there, tried everything he could think of…to no avail.

With a curse, Venom extended his wings, slowing his freefall toward cracked concrete and twisted steel. Air caught in the webbing, and his muscles squawked, stretching under the strain. Good thing he was armored up and buttoned down. His dragon scales were doing their job, making him fire retardant. Convenient, really, cuz yup…the flames were gathering speed, heading toward the shoulder of the road.

Oh, so not advisable.

A forest fire would bring the humans running. They’d call in air support along with cops, forest rangers and firefighters. And a crowd wasn’t something Venom wanted, never mind could afford. Not with the rogues in full retreat, desperate to find a way out, one Venom refused to hand them by sending up a giant smoke signal to human authorities.

One eye on the sky, the other on the inferno, Venom banked hard, his wingtip inches from the ground, and breathed out. A luminous green wave shot from between his fangs, frothing over broken asphalt, stealing the air to douse the flames. Smoke billowed, throwing the smell of burnt rubber and sweet grass up to meet moonlight.

Mission accomplished. No firefighters required.

Now for the Razorback jackoffs dogging his tail. Or rather, on his radar. His sonar pinged, picking up movement over the forest. Ah, hell. Not again. The buggers were playing hide and seek, hop-scotching across rough terrain, hightailing it back to the city in the hopes of losing the Nightfury warriors somewhere along the way.

Losing the enemies’ signal in the smoke, Venom fired up mind-speak. “Wick.”

A yellow Razorback streaked over the ripped-to-shreds asphalt.

Right on the rogue’s tail, Wick’s black amber-tipped scales flashed in the gloom. “What?”

“Holster the fireworks, will yah? I’m in the target zone.”

“Well, get the fuck out of there,” Wick said, his tone all Elementary, my dear Watson. “I’ll smoke the rest out.”

“Give me a minute.”

“You got thirty-seconds before I unleash.”

Terrific. His buddy was a flipping peach. “Remind me to kick your ass when we get home.”

“Right,” Wick said, anticipation in his tone.

Flipping into a somersault, Venom flew over a downed crane to scan the gully on the opposite side of the highway. Piled up like broken Tonka toys, the steel carcasses, tires still alight and smoking, littered the bottom of the ravine. Hmm…good cover down there. A nice place to hide if a rogue felt so inclined.

Venom rounded the end of a downed dump truck and…bingo. He spotted the Razorback within seconds. Bright blue scales smeared with motor oil, eyes trained on the sky, the male crouched like a cat, no doubt waiting to blow him to kingdom come when he flew over. Venom snorted, a load of “you gotta be kidding me” making the rounds inside his head.

He sighed instead, and angling his wings, changed course. Slithering in on a slow glide, he snarled at the male, startling the idiot. The enemy dragon jumped like a jackrabbit then dodged to avoid his razor-sharp claws. Too late. Venom struck, grabbing the bastard by the tail. Sharp spikes sliced the palm of his talon. He ignored the pain and yanked. A quick flip. A sickening twist and…crack! He snapped the rogue’s neck, leaving his ashes to float above blackened field grass.

Using the roof of a backhoe as a launch pad, Venom leapt skyward. He had five seconds before Wick exhaled and?—

A flash exploded through the darkness.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Sloan growled, catching Venoms’ updraft as he cleared the tops of ancient redwoods hugging the stretch of blacktop.

Venom growled as round two rolled in. Blue-orange flame streaked over the treetops, a horrific whistling sound in its wake. Heat went cataclysmic, sucking the oxygen from Venom’s lungs. Choking on the smell of sulfur, he tucked his wings and rocketed into a tight spiral. The fireball roared past, singeing his scales, missing him by inches. He counted off the seconds, eager to see what Wick’s arsenal unearthed. Three. Two. One…

The ravenous fireball struck.

Sound boomed, warping perception as shock waves expanded into a brutal surge. Newly poured concrete buckled then heaved, erupting skyward, as the lava encased inside Wick’s fireball splattered in all directions. Enemy dragons screamed, abandoning their hidey-holes behind hapless graders and industrial-sized bulldozers.

Venom almost snarled in satisfaction, then thought better of it. No need to get cocky. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. Especially with Wick unleashed and on the loose.

The screaming never got old. Neither did the pain. Oh, the sweet, sweet sound of pain: held high on midnight air, emerging from enemy throats, the violent clicking of scales and flapping wings. The stink of desperation on bitter wind as the Razorbacks tried to get away. To avoid the wide arcing splatter of Wick’s magma-filled exhale.

Deadly. Efficient. Incendiary. A trifecta of nastiness that never failed; a gift that just kept on giving.

Thank fuck.

The chaos was heartwarming. The cause and effect one Wick relished about the striking ferocity of his arsenal…along with the panic and the confusion he left in his wake. The enemy never saw it coming. Not that he lamented the fact. The chemical complexities of his exhale elevated his game, giving him the advantage in a firefight. Like Jawbreaker candy humans enjoyed sucking on, the fireballs he unleashed had layers: the undeniable sweetness of blue flame on the outside, the ooey-gooey goodness of lava on the inside, a layer of poisonous gas between the two.

Sweet and sour with a hit of hot sauce. Wicked boom-boom factor with a healthy dose of holy shit.

Hot on the tail of a Razorback, Wick banked hard, avoiding the upthrust of a twisted crane boom. Leaving the broken highway and devastation behind, he streaked across the winter-black sky, tracking the enemy, letting them draw him away from comrades and the fighting. Stupid rogues. Thick as thieves, the three stooges meant to slink away…to leave their buddies high and dry, prey to the Nightfury warriors he called brothers.

“Good luck with that,” he murmured, sincere in the well-wishing.

And why not? Wishing them luck wouldn’t change the facts. Or what would happen to the Dickless Three trying to escape him.

Locked on, Wick’s gaze narrowed on the enemy males desperate to stay out of range. He wanted to roll his eyes at the futility. He snarled instead, brutality and intent melding in his low growl. It was only fair. The rogues he pursued over thick forest deserved the warning. Did it matter that they didn’t stand a chance? That giving the Razorback posse a head start, and a head’s up, wouldn’t spare them in the end? Nah, not really.

Nothing and no one would save them.

Not with him on their trail.

Inevitable was, after all, just that— inevitable . Unavoidable…whatever. Choose the adjective, whatever one worked. Each male had sealed his fate the instant the rogue pack attacked his brothers-in-arms. So yippee, roll out the red carpet. Let the flash of fireballs fly. Payback was a bitch, and the rogues would end up where each belonged—dead and gone, nothing but ash drifting on a winter-fed breeze in the middle of nowhere.

Good thing the enemy hadn’t realized it yet.

The Razorbacks still thought they had a chance of evading him. Perfect. He didn’t want them to turn belly up and beg for mercy. Where, after all, was the fun in that? No chase equaled zero satisfaction. Not something Wick wanted to entertain. He needed the challenge. Loved the hunt. Thrived in battle and the brutal place every fight took him—back to the core of who and what he was…

A natural born killer.

Night vision pinpoint sharp, his golden eyes glowed, throwing yellow light out to illuminate the darkness. Enemy scales glimmered up ahead. Satisfaction spiked as Wick’s sonar pinged. Sensation curled around his horns, making his scales tingle. Almost there, but he couldn’t unleash…

Not yet.

He needed to time his attack. Make certain he struck at the precise moment. Otherwise, he wouldn’t get what he needed.

Rogue blood coating his talons. More dead Razorbacks to add to his running tally.

Gritting upper fangs into lower, he wound his magic tight, forcing the gathering power to chase its tail. Incendiary, the brutal swell built into a lethal force, frothing at the rim of his control. The instant it boiled over Wick tossed it like dice. The death-dealing wave slithered on chilly air, then whiplashed, blanketing the rough terrain. Trace energy bounced back, bringing information along with it.

Wick’s lip curled, exposing one of his fangs. Excellent. The idiots were in the pipe, all three in the hot seat. If he exhaled now, he’d nail all three, inflict maximum damage with little effort.

A solid plan. No doubt the best course of action, but…

No way would he take the easy way out.

Neat and tidy wasn’t his thing. Wick disliked crisp corners and pretty bows on packages. Messy was more his style, which meant he was about to catch hell. Again. Not from the assholes up ahead, but from Venom. His friend wouldn’t be pleased. Not with the three-to-one odds, never mind him. He’d want Wick to wait. To fall back and track the rogues while he called for backup.

Wick grunted. Backup . Right. Like that was going to happen? No fun lay in that direction, just more of the same. Boredom with a slap-happy helping of zero challenge. Venom accused him of having a death wish. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe not, but whatever the case, the whys and wherefores weren’t important now. All that mattered was that he got what he needed—a ball busting fight, and the release that always accompanied it.

Tucking his wings, Wick rocketed between two huge pines. Rocky outcroppings grew into high bluffs, reaching jagged hands toward shrouded skies. His sonar pinged again. He zeroed in, flying toward the cliffs, herding the rogues ahead of him. Close. He was close now and gaining fast, a mere football field from the tip of the lead dragon’s tail.

With a growl, Wick increased his wing speed. His velocity moved from oh-my-God fast to holy shit supersonic. Wind whistled over his scales, sound whirling out to touch enemy ears. The rogues reacted, changing course like a flock of panicked geese. Frosty air rolled into his throat as he breathed deep, filling his lungs to capacity. Fire grew, feeding on oxygen as lava flowed into the back of his throat. A dangerous cocktail, poisonous gas joined the party, marrying magma with flame.

Exhaling hard, Wick unleashed, aiming left of center. The fireball rocketed between his fangs and?—

Slam!

Oh, baby. Bull’s-eye. Right on target.

Wick grinned as the cliff side exploded. Rock and molten spray shot fifty feet into the air. Razorbacks squawked. Hmm, yeah. Lovely. The pricks were 100 percent predictable. And now headed exactly where he wanted them to go…into the open-pit mine abandoned by humans over a decade ago. Deep and wide, the quarry’s mouth gaped, the striated walls spiraling toward damp earth and into dark corners. Fine by him. The deeper the hole, the better Wick liked it. Especially if it took him into the bowels of the Earth, allowing him to curl up next to lava flow and?—

“Wick.” The deep voice came through mind-speak. “Give us your twenty.”

Wick clenched his teeth. Fucking Sloan. The male had the worst timing, piping in when least expected. Interrupting his grove, interfering with a triple kill on the horizon.

Just what he didn’t need.

Too bad he was about to get a face-full of the male.

Sloan might not be able to triangulate his exact position, but Venom could. His best friend knew him like no other. Venom fought with him night after night and was hooked into the unique energy signal that curled from his wing-tips like gas fumes. Which meant he had a minute—maybe three, tops—before his packmate entered the fray and screwed with his mojo.

“I’m so kicking your ass.”

Ah, speak of the devil. Pain in the ass best friend officially in the house.

“Fuck off,” Wick said, relying on his favorite two words. “I’ve got ’em cornered.”

Sloan cursed. “Ah, come on, man—share.”

“No.” Sharing wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Less than twenty yards away, the enemy was almost in range. Another few seconds and he’d engage, rattle the rogues’ cages with a shitload of down and dirty. “Go find your own playmates.”

“KO’d them all.” Venom said through clenched teeth. “How many you got in the pipe?”

“Three.”

“Crazy son of a bitch,” Sloan murmured.

“Goddamn it, Wick. We’re thirty seconds out. Wait until we get there.”

The worry in Venom’s voice cranked Wick tight. He hated that tone, the one that said be reasonable . Why? Every time his friend used it, he knew he was right. Waiting was smarter, the safer bet all the way around. But he couldn’t do it. He needed the burn of release, the calming effect killing the enemy would bring. Sad? Absolutely. True? Undeniably. Venom recognized it, and so did Wick. His sickness went soul deep, turning his insides black, egging him on, building the pressure inside his skull until reason stepped aside and compulsion took over. Until he lost himself in the ugly swirl of impulse and aggression.

So yeah, as much as he disliked causing his friend to worry, he was going in. Maybe then, he’d be able to sleep when he got home.

Focus razor-sharp and narrowed on his prey, Wick streaked over the lip of the quarry. Within seconds, he closed the distance and, claws deployed, grabbed the yellow dragon’s tail. Knife-like spikes lashed him, slicing his palm wide open. Blood pooled on his skin. Pain streaked up his forearm. Ignoring the discomfort, he yanked.

Taut muscles stretched, setting his side on fire as he dragged the rogue backward. The poison-dipped tips of his claws sliced through hard scales. The Razorback shrieked again. Wick tightened his grip, digging into the flesh beneath, reveling in the warm rush of dragon blood between his talons. Satisfaction rose, and Wick snarled as the enemy screamed. Without mercy, he flipped up and over. A quick twist. A gratifying snap and?—

Crack!

The rogue’s spine shattered. Bones splintered, coming apart in his paws.

With a flick, Wick hurled the male toward the jagged cliff face. The male’s neck whiplashed as his skull slammed into granite. The horns on the rogue’s head snapped in half, the ugly sound accompanying the violent splash of blood across striated rock. Wings spread wide, Wick banked into a hard turn and watched the rogue fall. Moments before he hit the ground, the male ashed out, his flaky remains drifting to meet the quarry floor before becoming one with rumble and stone dust.

A beautiful sight.

One he couldn’t enjoy. Not right now.

Time was of the essence. He could feel his brothers-in-arms now. Both were coming in hot, flying in fast to back his play. So only one thing left to do. Play eenie-meenie-miney-mo and decide which one of the remaining rogues to kill first before his Venom arrived and ripped him a new one.

Read more about Wick and his happily-ever-after in FURY OF DESIRE.

Grab your copy today!