Page 16 of Fury of Affliction
Envy played a part, sure. So did grief. Neither kept him from being happy for his friend. Ivar deserved a female to call his own. Someone who helped him take the edge off. Someone who encouraged him to relax. And if his friend found contentment in the arms of a blonde dynamo obsessed with the environment and saving bats, all the better.
The pang in his gut wasn’t about that—or anyone else. It came from a deep inside him, welling up each time he acknowledged what he’d lost. Ivar’s love affair shone a spotlight on the truth, making regret rise and pain spiral. He’d been suffering for weeks, fighting despair, denying the heartbreak, struggling to get back to baseline.
Nothing worked except fighting. Expressing the anguish physically expelled the excess energy. He needed the break along with the distraction. Denzeil’s transgression served that role, providing an outlet, allowing him to direct his wrath at a guilty party.
He growled.
The yellow-bellied prick. If the male had any balls at all, he would’ve stood strong. Taken his licks. Instead, the Razorback IT expert skirted responsibility for his actions by hiding behind Ivar, citing pack protocol. Regulations that stated Hamersveld as Ivar’s number two couldn’t beat the snot of the warriors under his command.
Pansy-ass rule.
One he’d spent the last two months ignoring.
Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned left. The smell of roast beef and garlic bread hit him. His stomach growled as he stalked beneath the high arch into the kitchen. Three sets of eyes swung in his direction.
His gaze narrowed on the trio. “Where’d he go?”
The bravest of the three, Rampart raised a dark brow. “Who?”
“Don’t fuck around, Ram.” He curled his hands into fists. His knuckles cracked. The sharp snap-snap-snap echoed like warning shots as he eyeballed his friend. “Unless you want me to switch focus.”
His packmate’s mouth curved. “Could use the exercise.”
The casual comment took the wind out of his sails. Hamersveld frowned. Was the male yanking his chain? Actuallyteasinghim, a lone dragon with a reputation so bad Dragonkind warriors all over the world refused to approach, never mind tangle with him.
Not that he blamed them.
His past wasn’t pretty. Uncaring who he hurt, he’d left death and destruction in his wake for decades. Pain, after all, bred more of the same. Years spent without friends. No pack to call his own. Zero kinship or the chance for camaraderie.
Simple things.
Necessary things.
Things now that he had them, Hamersveld didn’t want to live without. An unexpected revelation. He’d moved through the world alone for centuries, existing without really living, until he met Ivar and joined the Razorback pack. So, the fact Rampart felt comfortable enough to razz him in his current mood counted as progress. Surprising, but also welcome. The male’s comfort level told him clearer than anything else he was accepted and appreciated, trusted despite his brutal nature.
“Nightfall. You and me, Sveld,” Rampart said, anticipation in his eyes. “Two, maybe three rounds of dragon combat training.”
“You’re on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Rampart smiled.
He scowled and strode farther into the kitchen. “But that doesn’t answer my original question—where did Denzeil go? The lair in the Cascades?”
Unfazed by his hard tone, Rampart shrugged.
He bared sharp canines in warning.
Reacting to the show of aggression, Syndor sidestepped, taking cover behind the long length of kitchen island. “As far away from you as possible, I imagine.”
“Good plan, given the looks of you.” Ass-planted on one of the low-back stools, oversized mug in hand, Midion sipped his coffee. Black gaze locked on him, he hummed as brew strong enough to blow a lesser male’s hair back, hit his taste buds. “You need to calm the fuck down, Sveld. Have a drink. Get laid. Something.Anythingas long as it improves your mood.”
Get laid.
Hristos, if only it were that simple. Too bad an easy fix wasn’t a possibility for him. Only one thing would elevate what ailed him, and he’d sent her away.
“Beating the shit out of D isn’t the answer, brother. Neither is hunting Nightfuries…or releasing some pressure by fighting with me,” Rampart murmured, talking sense, making him want to hammer the male so hard his teeth hit the floor. “You need to find her. To soothe your dragon half by wrapping yourself up in her. Nothing else is going to work.”
The words hit him center mass. A pain-filled sound escaped him.