Chapter Twenty-One
Standing in the antechamber connected to his laboratory, Ivar tapped his fingertips against the keyboard space bar. The bank of monitors mounted to the wall woke up, the prompt for his password an island surrounded by an ocean of blue screen. He stared at it a moment, worry sitting like a hair ball in the pit of his stomach.
He’d landed less than five minutes ago.
The instant the timer on his watch went off, and the first round of Dragonkind Olympics had concluded, he’d dragged Hamersveld out of the hot tub and flown home. The male wasn’t happy. Ivar didn’t care. His XO needed to get his head screwed on straight. Choosing males to breed his HE females when the Meridian realigned might be important, but the development of his antiviral drug took precedence. Females were dying—babies, toddlers, teenagers, mothers or not. The virus he’d released in Granite Falls didn’t discriminate. Which meant, as much fun as the competition was turning out to be . . .
Playtime was over.
The need to know had pointed him home. Upon arrival, he hadn’t hesitated. His feet had taken him across his backyard, up the stairs of 28 Walton Street, into the elevator, and down to his underground lair where the test results waited. Hamersveld on his heels the whole way. Now, his XO stood at the back of the room, shoulders propped against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a frown on his face.
Ivar clenched his teeth. Jesus be good to him, he needed his current attempt to work. Otherwise, the warrior standing at his back would doubt him, along with every male in the Razorback pack. Not the best place for a leader to find himself. Military coups started that way—when dissatisfaction turned to frustration, and anger into action.
Disquiet jangled his already-frayed nerves.
Ivar scowled. Enough of the bullshit. The unease chattering inside his head needed to shut the hell up. What the males he commanded thought of his efforts—and lack of results—didn’t matter. Time, however, did. The longer he delayed examining the results, the more females would die.
Fingertips striking the keyboard, he tapped in his password and slid his thumb over the trackpad. The cursor landed on the video file he needed. One click and—
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, staring at a computer screen full of dead virus. Raising his arms, he cupped the back of his head. His chest tightened. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. After all this time. After all his attempts. After all the frustration and failure. “I did it—I fucking did it.”
His quiet words spiraled into the room. A beep sounded as the video ended. The computer screen shifted back to blue.
A large hand landed on his shoulder.
“Jesus!” Fists raised, Ivar swung around.
Hamersveld took a giant step backward, moving out of striking range. “Sorry. Thought you heard me.”
Ivar scowled. “The hell you did.”
The sadist SOB smirked, then tipped his chin at the screen. “It’s done?”
“Almost. The antiviral works. Now—”
“Thank God,” Hamersveld said, the tension in his face relaxing.
Ivar nodded, the same kind of relief taking hold. “I need to make more of it—prepare individual doses.”
“How long will that take?”
“Minutes.” A fast timeline. Unheard of—hell, undoable—in the human world. But now that he knew the basic compound, he could use his magic and replicate the antiviral drug in a fraction of the time. Storing it wouldn’t be a problem either. The vault in his mind held more than enough room to transport the required dosages to the CDC quarantine center in Granite Falls. “Five at most, and I’ll have everything we need.”
“How long to dose the infected females?”
“A couple of hours.”
Hamersveld glanced at the clock hanging above the door. “One a.m. Ten-minute flight time, a couple of hours there, another ten to get home.” Thoughts churning behind his eyes, Hamersveld cocked his head. “We still have time to make it to the hospital and do what needs to be done tonight. Get a move on, Ivar. If you’re fast enough, I’ll get a swim in before dawn.”
Ivar raised a brow. “Thought you got enough in your homemade hot tub earlier.”
“That wasn’t a swim, man,” Hamersveld murmured, a wicked gleam in his blue-rimmed, shark-black eyes. “Just fun.”
His lips twitched. Crazy water dragon. The male never quit. Or stopped asking for time in Puget Sound, a favorite watering hole of Hamersveld’s. Ridiculous most nights, but . . . the warrior spent more time submerged than in open air. It was amazing the male wasn’t permanently pruned. Not that it mattered. With the cure in hand, Ivar had bigger fish to fry. His antiviral needed to be made without delay. Closing his eyes, Ivar fisted his hands and bowed his head. Centered inside his magic, he called on his beast.
His dragon half rose.
Inferno-like heat streamed into his veins.
The compound took shape and form inside his mind. Calibrating each dose, Ivar manufactured one vial after another. A stockpile grew inside his mental vault. Stack after stack. Crate after crate, while he sent countless thank-yous to the goddess. Without divine intervention, he never would’ve found the antidote in time. Without her grace, human females would continue to die, dragging all of Dragonkind down with them.
The last time he left Cascade Valley Hospital, Ivar vowed never to return. He’d done his job. Completed the task, only to discover the disastrous results later on. Tonight, though, would be different. It wasn’t about wreaking havoc, but fixing what he’d broken.
Righting wrongs. Mending ruined lives. Healing human bodies.
White streams trailing from his wing tips, Ivar banked into a tight turn, circling the building from above. Oh, the irony—him playing the hero to humankind. The situation bordered on laughable, but as he returned his attention to the flat roof, he didn’t laugh. He got ready instead, sharpening his senses as his personal guard flew by and fanned out, taking up protective positions around the hospital. Tucking his wings, he dropped out of the sky as the pack settled and Hamersveld landed behind him.
Huge talons thumped down on frozen grass.
His friend shrugged his shoulders. Once. Twice. A third time.
Ivar’s mouth curved as the male’s wings caught air. Rolling gusts rushed down the street. Cars rocked on tires. Leafless tree limbs swayed as debris blew down the street. His friend shifted from dragon to human form. He followed suit, conjured his clothes, and stomping his feet into his boots, stepped off the curb.
Hamersveld tipped his chin. “You all right?”
“Never better,” Ivar said, his attention on the front doors.
A pause. The sound of cracking knuckles.
Ivar glanced over his shoulder. Seeing Hamersveld’s expression, he raised a brow. “What?”
His XO’s focus jumped from him to the building, then back again. “I think I should come in with you.”
He threw his friend his best what-the-hell look. “You hate hospitals.”
“I know, but . . .”
He waited—and waited, and waited some more—for the male to spit out whatever was stuck between his teeth. Total silence. Nothing on the enlightenment front. Nary a peep from a male who enjoyed being blunt and never pulled his punches.
Hamersveld pursed his lips. “I hesitate to mention it.”
Ivar lost his patience. “Just tell me, already.”
Scratching the blond stubble on his chin, Hamersveld glanced at the hospital again. “Last time you went in there, you blew a hole in the side of the building.”
Ivar scowled. “Not on purpose. Venom ambushed me.”
“Still—”
“Nyet,” Ivar said, cutting off his friend. He’d screwed up, lost Evelyn Foxe—a valuable HE female—in the fray, and started a global pandemic. He clenched his teeth. Jesus. Like he needed reminding. Holding his friend’s gaze, he shook his head. “Stay here. Keep an eye out. If any Nightfuries—”
“Bastards,” Hamersveld growled.
“—show up,” Ivar said, rolling over the interruption. “Start a fight first, let me know second.”
“I hope they do. I need to kill someone.”
Ivar’s lips twitched. “Stay sharp.”
“Uh-huh.” Eyes aglow, Hamersveld stared at him, then shook his head, and shifted back to dragon form. Magic expanded and contracted. Water blew into the air, coating his clothes in a fine mist. Smooth gray scales glinting in the low light, his friend lifted off, jagged sawtooth spine rippling as his webbed paws left the ground. Wing tips even with the building top, his friend glanced down and switched to mind-speak. “Get it done, Ivar. I don’t want to be here all night.”
Giving Hamersveld the one-finger salute, Ivar put himself in gear. No sense arguing with the bossy male. His XO was right. He hadn’t flown all the way from Seattle to stand around all night. Time to get a move on.
Five minutes and some fast walking later, he stopped outside the CDC’s quarantine area. Ivar glanced at the electronic keypad on the wall beside the door. Disengaging the lock with a thought, he swung the door open and stepped over the threshold into a makeshift prep area. Plastic tables to his right. A myriad of medical supplies shelved to his left. Not a human in sight. Perfect. Just what the scientist ordered: no pesky witnesses, zero interruptions. Reaching into his mental vault, Ivar grabbed the first antiviral. Already filled and ready to go, the syringe settled in his hand, and he moved, pushing through the sheeting separating him from a long stretch of hallway.
The stench of sickness hit him.
Moments later, the misery registered.
His stomach clenched in protest. Fucking hell. Never in his wildest imaginings had he envisioned this—so many in such terrible pain. Women lay dying everywhere: on beds lining the corridor, in large rooms with open doors, on gurneys by the high-countered nurses’ station. The female on the cot he stood next to moaned.
She grabbed his pant leg. Brittle nails scratched against his jeans. “My baby . . . Emma. Please check on her. Can you—”
“I will,” he said, soothing her before he thought better of it. Rotating the syringe in his hand, he fit the needle into the notch on her IV and pushed the plunger, sending medicine into a tube attached to her arm. One down, a shitload to go. “I’ll check on her.”
She whispered a weak thank-you.
With a quick swivel, Ivar turned away without responding and entered a hospital room. Boots planted just inside the door, he scanned the windowless space, taking in the rows of narrow beds. The sound of crying tore open the stale air. Ivar frowned and, ignoring the plaintive whimpers, stopped beside the nearest cot and delivered the second dose. One after another. Female after female: young and vibrant, old and crooked; he didn’t discriminate, making steady work, leaving the hospital nursery for last.
Not the brightest idea.
He should’ve done the infants first. Gotten it over with, but . . . Jesus. He didn’t want to go in there and see a host of babies suffering.
Bracing himself, Ivar stepped inside the nursery anyway and . . . almost balked. Good Jesus, just kill him now. So many little girls, each one suffering alone, without the comfort of her mother or sire.
Ivar blinked as the thought snaked through his mind.
Hamersveld would scoff at his show of tenderness. The male would tell him he’d lost his mind along with his hard edges, maybe even call him weak. Months ago, he would’ve done the same and labeled human suffering well deserved. But as minutes passed and he reached the last crib, Ivar couldn’t discount the experience. Or how settled he felt after soothing the little girls, most now fast asleep in their beds. He loved science. Adored working in his lab. Enjoyed the challenge of discovery and busting through new frontiers. But as he stared down at the final infant he needed to help, his gaze on the tuft of red hair nearly the color of his own, something fundamental shifted deep inside him. The crack in his defenses widened. Emotion spilled through the fissure, forcing him to confront a profound truth long forgotten.
He hadn’t always been an uncaring male.
Somewhere along the line, he’d shut out his human side, relying on his dragon half to carry him through difficult times. Half human, half dragon—the building blocks of his kind. Two halves of a whole, a combination of species spliced together by the Goddess of All Things. One he’d spent most of his adult life ignoring instead of—
“Ivar.”
The deep voice cracked through mind-speak, jarring him.
The infant flinched, whimpering in distress.
Ivar cupped her tiny rib cage. Responding to the gentle touch, she settled, making his lips curve as he answered his XO. “Da?”
“Almost done?”
“I just gave the last dose.”
“About time, now—” The click of claws tumbled through mind-speak. “Get the hell out of there. It’s already three-oh-five.”
“Take off, Sveld. Go for your swim, but do something for me first.”
“Aw, hell. I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“Take three of my personal guard with you.”
Hamersveld growled. “Unnecessary.”
Very necessary. An unavoidable precaution. With the Archguard sequestered, Zidane on the loose, and a traitor inside his pack, his XO’s nights of flying off alone were over. “I don’t give a fuck if you like it or not.”
“I don’t need guards,” he said, sounding affronted.
“You are a part of my pack now, Sveld. I will not risk you or Fen,” Ivar said, tightening the noose, bringing Hamersveld to heel, using his wren against him. “No one flies out alone. Not anymore.”
Hamersveld muttered something nasty in Norwegian.
Ivar ignored him. “Rinner, Gillis, Syndor—go with him. Make sure he returns home in one piece.”
“Yes, commander,” the trio said in unison.
“Good,” Ivar said, approval conveyed in one word. “The rest of you wait for me. I’m coming out.”
The remaining four guards murmured in assent.
Hamersveld cursed again.
Ivar severed the link, cutting his friend off mid-grumble, and headed for the exit. Another problem solved. Now on to the next, the one he couldn’t get out of his head. Sasha Cooper, the female forever on his mind. He wanted to ignore her. To forget she existed and move past the night she’d nearly killed him, but . . . hell. His dragon half refused to let him, so . . . yeah. No more putting it off. Time for a late-night visit and an in-depth chat.