Page 15 of Fury of Affliction
Bleeping the locks on her F-150, Natalie popped the door open and swung inside. What she didn’t do was answer. She’d already lied to Dr. Angles once. No need to compound the issueand do it again. So instead, she signed off by saying a heartfelt “goodbye”, then fired up her truck and pointed it north. Toward Seattle. Toward the man-dragon who’d wanted her once, but might not anymore. Weeks had passed without contact. Doubt had crept in, eroding her confidence, making her question every moment she spent with him.
Would he be happy to see her again? Or annoyed?
Would he want their child? Or ask her to?—
Natalie shook her head to shake the horrible thought loose. No. No way. She refused to entertain the possibility. A smart decision given she couldn’t go back and change it. Didn’t want to either, so…
Onward.
Into the fray.
Barreling straight into the jaws of uncertainty. Hearing the miles fall away beneath the hum of oversized tires. Closing the distance between her and Hamersveld, regardless of the fact he’d warned her to never come back.
2
28 WALTON STREET—LATE AFTERNOON, THE RAZORBACK LAIR
Five stories below ground, tucked away from deadly UV rays, Hamersveld exited his bedroom and turned into the main corridor. A highway of sorts, one that funneled his packmates toward the heart of the Razorback home—the kitchen where he and his packmates ate together each afternoon.
Boots thumping over limestone tiles, he kept his pace steady, using the walk to modulate his mood, but…
No joy in the journey. An abysmal attempt at self-regulation.
Lack of sleep didn’t help. Neither did his nature. The constant need to kill someone never took a break, keeping violent tendencies close to his surface. An asset during the night while out hunting. Not so great in recent weeks with the Nightfury pack lying low and no targets in the sky.
Enter Denzeil.
The crafty little prick was an excellent place to paint a bull’s-eye. The safest way for him to vent…and had been for weeks with good reason. The male had earned his attention by sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. But as Hamersveld strode up the hall, it became apparent disappointment hovered on the horizon. He sent out an exploratory ping anyway, hoping hewas wrong. Magic rippled out in concentric circles, washing over everything it touched and?—
He scowled.
His dragon half had called it.
Denzeil wasn’t inside the lair. The coward had flown the coop before dawn, desperate to avoid being trapped inside the city lair with Hamersveld. Not a bad move. Smart given he was grounded by daylight, unable to move until night pushed the sun out of the sky.
An annoying twist of circumstance he accepted.
All Dragonkind warriors did.
Prolonged exposure to UV rays was dangerous. Sunlight equaled blindness, followed by an agonizing death for his kind. Which made traveling by night a necessity, so…yeah. Denzeil might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid, denying him what he needed most right now—a ball-busting fight in which he broke more of the whelp’s bones.
A shame.
Frustrating too as he turned a corner. The space opened up. Cloud white walls arched into fifteen-foot ceilings. Recessed lighting led the way, drawing him past unoccupied bedrooms closed in by solid wooden doors, then past the entrance into Ivar’s laboratory. Magic rumbling in his veins, he scanned the space without entering. No heat signature. No lethal vibe. His best friend, commander of the Razorback pack, wasn’t playing mad scientist today.
Eyes narrowed, he deepened the search and?—
Not inside the lair, either.
His friend must be across the street, inside the little A-frame, availing himself of Sasha Cooper’s charms…along with the softness of her bed.
“Good for him,” he muttered as an ache opened behind his breastbone.
Looked like jealousy.
Smelled like jealousy.
It wasn’t.