Page 20 of Fury of Affliction
“You mind-scrub her first?”
“Da,” he said, thick Russian accent rolling. “Always. We don’t want the females Montgomery finds to service us knowing where we sleep, but that’s not the point.”
He raised a brow. “What’s the point?”
“I need more exercise. Fucking all day’s fun, but it’s getting old. I need blood on my claws.”
“I’m working on it.”
“The Razorbacks give up anything else?”
“The warriors Ivar loaned us don’t know much. Three of the four are clueless, but one thing for sure…” Spinning the blade, he flipped it again. The perfect blend of craftmanship and beauty, the razor-sharp tip stayed upright, balanced on the pad of his index finger. “Blakmor knows more than he’s saying.”
“You going to take another shot at him?”
“Maybe,” he said, then shrugged. “Though going toe-to-toe with him again might be a mistake.”
Invading the Blakmor’s mind had proven fruitful once, allowing him to steal the direct mind-speak link Ivar used to communicate with his pack. The connection allowed him to cherry-pick Razorback messages out of thin air every time Ivar started a new conversation. Very useful. A definite advantage. One he didn’t want Ivar to know about, which meant being patient. He refused to play his hand too soon.
“Blakmor’s smart, Yakapov. He’s got a mind like a steel trap.” Frowning, Zidane tilted his hand. The knife hilt collapsed against his palm. “His memory is coming back. I think he suspects he got more than just a blow job from the server at The Lucky Dog. If he figures out that I stole the Razorback link from him, he’ll run to Ivar. The risk of what I might find during a second go at him isn’t worth the reward.”
His friend grunted in agreement.
“For now, we stay on track,” he murmured. “Continue to build the shipping business. Sell the guns. Distribute the drugs. Acquire the wealth necessary to avoid the long reach of my sire.”
“Rodin.” The corner of Yakapov’s lip curled, exposing a sharp canine. “Can’t stand the meddling asshole.”
Zidane huffed.
He understood his friend’s reaction. Experienced a similar one whenever he spoke to his sire. Rodin, after all, was a taste most males never acquired.
As leader of the Archguard, his sire wielded a tremendous amount of power. The kind that spanned oceans and reached across continents. Nowhere was out of reach. No Dragonkind male was immune. If Rodin spoke, warriors listened or suffered the consequences…usually at Zidane’s hand. But no longer. No fucking more. He’d put distance between himself and his sire. No way would he ever go back.
Agreeing to hunt Bastian after the high counsel labeled him a traitor by reinstatingXzinile(the ancient practice of exile, and the inevitable death of the warrior who refused to comply with an Archguard decree) had gotten him out of Prague to America.
An opportunity Zidane refused to squander.
After he killed Bastian and his merry band of bastards, he planned to stay. To eliminate the competition and clear the skies. The warriors he handpicked in Prague to follow him across the pond were part of the plan. A powerful group of males. Fierce. Smart. Loyal. Each possessed the kind of nasty streak he not only admired, but needed to succeed. The foundational pieces of a dragon pack he’d build into a dominate force on the West Coast of America. Not just among Dragonkind, but in human circles as well.
Rodin wouldn’t be happy.
Zidane didn’t care.
He had ambition and drive. And honestly, it was time. Time to actualize. Time to optimize. Time to embrace his destiny and fly free without his sire’s constant interference.
Raking the hair out of his face, Yakapov retied the blond strands into a man-bun at the back of his head. “One other thing.”
“Yeah?” Gaze on his friend, Zidane returned the knife to its sheath.
“The boys’ve been talking…” his friend hesitated, then said, “we need a name.”
His brows collided. “A what?”
“A pack name. Something other thanRodin’s Death Squad.” Holding his gaze, Yakapov crossed his arms over his chest. “Bastian labeled his crew Nightfury. Ivar’s got the Razorbacks. We need to define our pack in the same way, Zidane. With a new handle—one that tells outsiders exactly who we are.”
The suggestion struck him as odd.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.