Fury of Fate: A Dragonfury Short Story (2 page)

“
Where the hell are you?
”

“
In the lab.
”

“
Bullshit.
”

Inevitable.
Denzeil might be a pain, but the male wasn’t stupid. “
Really?
”

“
Ja,
” Denzeil said, reverting to his failsafe...German, his mother tongue. A habit of his whenever the warrior became annoyed. “
Particularly since I’m standing in your lab and you’re not here.
”

He sighed. “
I’m on my way home.
”

A pregnant pause followed that statement, then...

“
Scheiße. You promised, Ivar. You promised you wouldn’t—
”

“
Watch it, Denzeil,
” he said, soft tone full of warning. “
You are not my keeper.
”

“
I know, but you shouldn’t be out on your own. The Nightfury pack—
”

“
Fuck the Nightfuries.
” An excellent sentiment. Now if only the enemy would die as planned. Not an easy thing to accomplish. Luckier than most, the Nightfuries were like cats. The assholes kept landing on their feet. “
Downtown is quiet. None of the bastards are around tonight.
”

“
Regardless...
” The sound of heavy footfalls came through mind-speak. “
I’m coming out to meet you anyway.
”

“
Don’t bother.
” Focused on the north end of the city, Ivar increased his wing speed. A blast of frigid air skimmed over him. The spikes along his spine rattled, providing a symphony of sound as tall buildings gave way to squat apartment buildings, leading him toward Suburbia. “
I’m a few minutes out.
”

“
Five minutes. I’m giving you five minutes then I’m—
”

“
Yeah, yeah.
” Ivar growled, severing mind-speak.

The connection shattered. Static hissed
, curling inside his ears as his warrior’s voice faded along with the concern in his tone. Silence settled in like an old friend, rushing him across the night sky and over houses full of sleeping humans. Ivar exhaled in relief. Quiet was always welcome. Particularly when Denzeil went on the warpath, charging in on a worry rampage. Ivar huffed. Fucking male. Mother hen to the next power. Not that Ivar didn’t appreciate the sentiment or that his warrior cared. He did. Well, most of the time anyway, but—

Jesus.

Sometimes the babysitting routine got to be too much. And sometimes he needed to break away. To get out from beneath the yoke of leadership. To step away from the harsh reality of war and responsibility. To feel unencumbered, free of the weight he carried as commander of the Razorback Nation and just live. Maybe even pretend all was right with his world.

At least, every once in a while.

Not too much to ask...right? Ivar nodded. His scales rattled, clicking together as he angled his wings, banking right to line up his final approach. His night vision sparked. Details sprang in pinpoint focus. A brick façade with wide windows and pale cornerstones flashed in the moon-glow up ahead. Ivar’s mouth curved. Hmm, there it was...

28 Walton Street.
Home sweet home.

Built in the 1950s, the old fire station anchored the entire neighborhood, rising about the tiny A-frame houses it sat alongside. Neglected for years, the property sat on thirteen glorious acres half an hour from downtown and still needed a helluva lot of work. Ivar didn’t mind. He enjoyed challenges. Building the underground lair beneath the property had proven an excellent one. Almost complete, the subterranean lair he now called home was a thing of beauty—high-tech, sophisticated, and comfortable. But the absolute best part...the detail he loved most about his new digs? The complex operated on a closed electrical circuit.
Was completely off the grid. No need to draw from city power sources. No reason to become involved with the human race. No carbon footprint to speak of, 100 percent eco-friendly and self-sustaining.

Just the way he liked it.

Flipping up and over, Ivar angled into the last turn. Icy air streaming from his wing-tips, he rocketed over an abandoned gas station. His eyes narrowed on the fire station two streets over. Almost there. One hundred and fifty feet out. X marked the spot on the blacktop in front of 28 Walton Street. Twin lines of reflective road paint flashed on asphalt below.

Ivar tucked his wings.

Gravity took hold, yanking him out of the sky. The chill of midnight blasted over his scales. He hummed, relishing the rush as his paws thumped down. An answering vibration rumbled along the street. Recycling bins sitting on the sidewalk jumped. Window glass rattled. Lamp posts swayed, making electrical cables click together. The cacophony of sound echoed, pinging off aluminum siding and cheap chain-link fences planted in front yards. Still cloaked in magic, Ivar froze in the middle of the street and listened hard, waiting for the racket to wake the neighborhood. Cold seeping into the pads of his paws, he glanced over his shoulder. Nada. Zero movement. No lights came on. No front doors opened. Not a peep from the sleepy section of Suburbia he called home.

Thank Jesus. The last think he needed was—

Beep-beep-honk! Whoop-whoop-screech!

Baring his fangs, Ivar whipped around as a car alarm went off. Spiked tail flying overhead, the tips of his claws gouged grooves in the asphalt, pushing jagged pebbles between his talons. He ignored the discomfort in favor of finding the source. His gaze narrowed on the banged up Jeep shrieking three houses down. Taillights flashed, lighting up the neighborhood. He clenched his teeth. Goddamn son of a whore. Not again. The mud-splattered POS doubling as a 4x4 went off every time he turned around. Tonight made
...well, he didn’t know how many times the stupid thing had gone off this week. Three? Four? Ivar frowned. He’d lost count after the old lady down the street called the cops and a black and white rolled up to give the owner a warning.

Ivar growled.
Beyond annoying. The absolute worst kind of neighbor. Which meant the human who’d moved into the tidy little A-frame three weeks ago needed a lesson. A big one, and fast. Before the old lady complained again. Before the cops came back. Before human authorities looked too closely at the fire station and unearthed the underground complex beneath it. Swallowing a curse, Ivar shifted into human form, conjured his clothes, and stomping his feet into his combat boots, started toward the rust bucket pretending to be a Jeep. No time like the present. He and his new neighbor were due for a chat.

Then again, maybe not.

Talking, after all, was overrated. Action suited him better. Violence too. Brutality got results like nothing else could, so...yeah. Maybe he’d go with plan B and snap the troublemaker’s neck instead. Simple. Easy. Expedient. All components in a good strategy. Particularly since hiding the body—and getting rid of the vehicle—would prove no challenge at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Blind dates sucked. And on-line dating services? Slamming the front door behind her with a bang, Sasha Cooper sighed in disgust.
Nothing but a cesspool full of bad intentions. Add a colossal waste of time to the mix and...yup. It was official.

Cupid
hated her.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she tossed her purse onto the countertop in her kitchen,
then just stood there in her sexy-as-sin, never-before-worn boots not knowing what to do. Shake her fist at the heavens? Tip her head back and scream in frustration? Take a magic marker to a picture of Cupid and draw horns on his head? The latter seemed like the best option. The effect of the devil, after all, suited the chubby beast better than a bow and arrow. The little prick. He refused to give her a break. Annoying as hell. Beyond exasperating. Unfair too. Sasha fingered her keys as she glanced toward the only handbag she owned—a knock-off, not at all her usual thing, but...

Je
ez. She might as well admit it.

Date night changed a woman. Or maybe that was just her. Witness the fact she’d jumped on the short-skirt, stiletto-sporting, buy-a handbag-to-impress-a-man bandwagon this evening.
Pathetic in more ways than one. Too bad there appeared to be no way around it. Not if she wanted to be the recipient of a man-made orgasm anytime soon.

With a sigh, Sasha shook her head and tossed her keys toward the fake Prada. Metal jingled in mid-air. The heavy key-ring thunked down and slid across the kitchen peninsula, coming to rest above a drawer that held a tray full of Sharpies. Her eyes narrowed on the tarnished drawer handle.
One tug. A smooth reverse glide and...bam! Marker heaven. Every color of the rainbow within easy reach. Sasha pursed her lips. Never let it be said she wasn’t prepared to deface the love god at moment’s notice, cuz...yup. No doubt about it. Taking a marker to Cupid was looking better all the time considering she stood inside the tiny bungalow she rented instead of downtown Seattle getting her grove on with cyber-set-up number three.

Or rather, the man who might’ve turned out to be Mr. Right.

God, that sounded pitiful. Especially since the guy in question hadn’t bothered to show up. No excuse sent by way of a text. No explanation delivered via email either. Grabbing her handbag by the neck, Sasha rifled through it, looking for her cell phone. Bright, shiny and new, the Samsung slid into her hand. As she pulled it free of faux leather, light from the nearby lamp bounced off its glossy face. Angling her hand to eliminate the glare, she tapped the touch screen. Nope. Still nothing. Not a single phone call, never mind a message saying “sorry, Sasha but I won’t be able to make it tonight.” Instead, she’d sat for nearly an hour inside an upscale restaurant, watching lovey-dovey couples while she fiddled with her wine glass, feeling foolish and alone, but mostly...

Unwanted.

A pang hit her chest level. All dressed up. Some place to go, but no one to be with. The story of her life lately.

Her brows furrowed, she stared harder at her phone, willing it to ring. Nothing happened. And no wonder. After midnight now, it was past the point of no return. Blind date number three—aka the jerk who’d stood her up—knew it too. Proof positive sat in her hand—not ringing.
Which meant she’d sunk to an all time new low. Now guys she’d never even met were blowing her off. It shouldn’t bother her. Really, it shouldn’t, but even as she told herself one broken date didn’t matter, her heart hitched and hurt rose. Resignation followed, making her wonder why she bothered. Sheer torture, plain and simple. And yet, she played the dating game anyway, putting herself in the line of fire, searching for meaningful connection...someone to love and be loved by in return.

Cinderella in the twenty-first century syndrome.

Sasha rubbed her temples, admitting she suffered from it. She’d bought into the fairytale years ago—the way five year old girls did when presented with a princess dress and the Disney channel. A pity, really. Futile in so many ways. Particularly since the disease seemed to have metastasized in recent days. Fueled by a promise made to her best friend, the love bug was growing out of control, spreading into areas of her life that usually remained untouched.

Case in point?
Her job versus the man distraction she carried to work every day.

“Stupid promise.”
Sasha glared at her phone. “I never should have agreed.”

But she had, accepting the challenge over one too many margaritas, allowing her BFF to put her on-line profile up
on e-whatever-it-was-called. More fool her. Not anywhere near her usual MO either. She never caved beneath the pressure applied by her soon-to-be-married best friend. Sasha scowled. Damn Lily and her harebrained idea anyway. Her friend was wrong. She didn’t need a man. All right, so maybe she wanted one—secretly, covertly, with a longing buried deep in the recesses of her Disney-obsessed brain—but
need
wasn’t part of the equation. Smart. Strong. Independent. She ticked all the boxes, putting the word
go
into go-getter. Which, come to think of it, might be part of the problem on the find-a-man-front.

Not that her boss complained about her abysmal social life.

Dr. Preston appreciated her ambition and drive. Her passion for the environment too. Wildlife ecology—and the conservation projects she spearheaded and supervised—required all three. So did the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. Half-assed wasn’t in the job description. Neither was part-time. Sasha huffed in wary amusement. Make that full-time plus, plus...
plus
. An eighty hour work week was the rule, not the exception. To be expected. At least, for her. As lead scientist attached to the research division, she spent weeks in the field, setting up surveillance, collecting data on fauna and environmental erosion all over the state.

Not tha
t she minded the long absences.

Or the time and energy she expended hiking in and out of remote locations to check on her equipment.
A perk of the job. Science required dedication, and saving endangered species from ecological devastation, true focus. Which left little time for anything else. Like oh say, landing a man and getting laid. The dreaded dry spell spoke volumes. Eighteen months and counting. Not that she was counting, but...ah frig. Who was she kidding?
She
was counting. So was Lily, which naturally prompted the month long dating challenge.

God.
St. Valentine’s Day couldn’t come soon enough.

February 14th. All she needed to do was make it to V-day,
then she’d be free. Emancipated from the evil clutches of e-what’s-its-name. Able to wipe her face—along with her profile—off the internet forever and return to the life she knew and loved. Except...

Someone just shoot her, ’cause...curse it all. That was a bald-faced lie. No one liked being alone. And despite her vehement denials to the contrary, neither did she.

Grumbling under her breath, Sasha scrolled through the list of contacts on her phone. Finding the right one, she tapped the screen. The Samsung paused, then went to work, ringing in her ear. With a smooth shoulder roll, she shrugged out of her leather jacket. Cool air caressed her exposed skin. Goose bumps rose beneath her slinky wrap dress. Ignoring the chill, she skirted the kitchen peninsula, tossed her coat over a breakfast bar stool, and high heels clicking on hardwood, walked into her living room. Instant relief. Open plan layout and ready comfort punctuated by a slip-covered couch, a cozy armchair, and teak end tables. White on white with warm wood accents. Shabby chic perfection. Easy living in a small space that boasted loads of charm.

Sasha’s mouth curved.
Wham, bam, thank you ma’am real estate broker.

The bungalow might be a small one bedroom, but it ran the line right into perfection.
Such a surprise. The ultimate find in a tight rental market and the best of all worlds—renovated by the owner, close to Sasha’s office, a real 1950s gem. And love at first sight when she’d visited a month ago. Lily still thought she’d lost her mind. Sasha begged to differ. Living downtown had been fun for a while, but big city life wasn’t for her. She preferred quaint and quiet. So when her lease on the condo ended—and Lily moved out to live with her fiancé—Sasha made the leap, getting the hell out of Dodge and the downtown core.

The phone clicked in her ear. A familiar voice came over the line. “Please tell me you’re about to get laid.”

“Depends,” Sasha said, flopping down in the middle of the couch. Deep-seated cushions hugged her from behind. She slid into a slouch, enjoying the abundance of thick-fluffy-and comfortable, and stared up at the tongue-and-groove ceiling. “Does my pulsating showerhead count?”

“Ah crap. You’re home alone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happened?”

Sasha shrugged even though her friend couldn’t see her. “He didn’t show.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Crossing one leg over the other, Sasha studied the toe of her fancy boot. Not that the pair was expensive. Like her handbag, the knee-highs were knock-offs. Pretty convincing ones done up in black leather with suede accents and three inch heels, but...nah. The matching set had nothing on real Guccis. Fine by her. She preferred her hiking boots anyway. Much more comfortable, not to mention practical. Particularly since it looked as though a man-made orgasm wasn’t on the menu. Or anywhere near her immediate future. “Blind dates...sooo unreliable. Who knew, right?”

Lily sighed, the harsh exhale unhappy. “Men are idiots.”

A masculine voice grumbled, coming through the speaker.

“Not you, babe,” Lily said, reassuring the boy toy she called fiancé. And Sasha called Ben.
A good guy, great catch, and all around perfect boyfriend to her BFF. The two were joined at the hip, so content it made Sasha’s heart pang and envy make an unscheduled stop inside her head. Not that she wasn’t thrilled for Lily. She was...without question. Her friend deserved the best of the best, but even as happiness for Lily rose, Sasha couldn’t deny the truth. She wanted a happily-ever-after of her own. “I meant single guys, Ben. You’re perfect, of course.”

“Pukesville, Lil.”

“Eat your heart out, Sash,” her friend said, a grin in her voice. “You’re just cranky ’cause you’re not getting any.”

True enough. “That’s me...totally orgasm deprived.”

Lily laughed. Ben mumbled something in the background. “You know, babe...that’s not a bad idea.”

Uh-oh.
Not good. The wonder couple was ganging up on her. “Don’t tell me what he just said. I really don’t want to know.”

Her smart-ass best friend ignored her. “Ben thinks you should just go out and get laid.”

Sasha blinked. “What?”

“You know...have a one night stand.”

“You want me to sleep with a stranger?”

Ben got up close and personal with the phone. “It would solve the orgasm deprivation problem.”

Sasha snorted.

“Hang on, Sash. Not so fast,” Lily said, enthusiasm in her tone, warming to her fiancé’s idiotic idea. “Forget the dating scene for a minute. New mission strategy.”

Oh God. Someone please shoot her...right now. “I don’t think—”

“Perfect.” Something creaked as Ben moved. A second later, a rustle that sounded suspiciously like cotton sheets came over the airwaves. Sasha sighed.
Terrific. Just wonderful. The pair were in bed...no doubt about to do the nasty. Again. She should be accustomed to it by now. Every time Sasha called her friend at home she caught them in one of three positions—in the middle of the act, about to do the act, or breathing hard from just having completed the act. God help her. “Don’t think. Go get your rocks off instead.”

“You’re a lunatic, Ben.”

“Yeah, but a sexually satisfied one,” he said, laughing at her. “You on the other hand—”

“Oh, shut up.”

With a chuckle, Lily stole the phone back. “Why not, Sasha?”

The question unearthed her imagination.
Sex with a stranger. Sasha bit down on her bottom lip. Was her best friend serious? Probably. The queen of one night stands in college, Lily didn’t suffer from compunction. At least, not of the sexual variety. Her friend always followed her fancy, did as she pleased along with anyone she wanted. Raised to be a good girl instead of a free spirit, Sasha had never been sexually adventurous. In her mind, sex equaled commitment. But that wasn’t true, was it? Women slept with men and walked away all the time. Easy-peasy...no strings attached. No guilt or the least bit of shame involved.

An interesting concept.
Completely taboo. A fantasy in the making.

All right, so it sat on the far edge of her comfort zone, but well...

Sasha pushed away from the couch back. Sex with a smokin’ hot stranger. Sex without any strings. Sex, sex, nothing but sex, so help her God...free and clear in the morning. Perched on the edge of the seat cushion, knees pressed together, she frowned. Holy crap. She was actually thinking about it—wondering, imagining, fantasizing about the guy she would pick out of a crowd. Weird, but...she could picture it. See the scene unfolding in her mind’s eye. Frame by frame. Each touch. Every sigh. All the pleasure as she—