Chapter Nine
Worrying blew . . . big time. So did being hungry every minute of the day. Toss in the fatigue that always accompanied his near-starved state and—yeah. It sucked to be him.
Sitting on the sofa in the great room, Mac tried to watch the game. One–nothing Blackhawks. He didn’t give a shit. Unusual to say the least. He enjoyed hockey. Got a kick out of Rikar’s obsession with the game and all the body contact. His mouth curved. Hell, those guys could hit. Sometimes with enough force to break bones.
Always fun to watch.
A plate balanced on one knee, Mac picked up his fork. Eggs. Bacon. Crispy potato wedges. All of it smothered in maple syrup, the real kind, one hundred percent authentic. Mouthwatering aromas rose on a curl of steam. He frowned at his stack of pancakes. The commentator droned on about a penalty—a stick infraction, some kind of shot to the head. Mac sighed. Enough stalling. Might as well get on with it. No sense beating the issue to death. He might not be able to stop worry from eating him alive. He could, however, fill the bottomless pit he called his belly.
His stomach growled.
Frustration tightened his muscles.
An awful ache bloomed beneath his skin. Nothing new there. Every time he moved, the discomfort reminded him he wasn’t normal. Hell. Mac huffed. He was always in the dark. Left to flounder, a male without any idea of his origins or what the ink etched into his skin signified. He hadn’t signed up for it. Hadn’t sat in an artist’s chair or picked it from a book full of example tattoos downtown. The damn thing arrived with the change, his first shift into dragon form. Still, he wished he knew what it meant. Or that one of the other Nightfury warriors did. Information, a boatload of knowledge, would go a long way to easing his worry right now, but . . . no dice. None of the other Nightfuries owned a tattoo or had the first clue why navy-blue ink covered one side of his torso.
Rotating his elbow, Mac stretched his muscles, causing himself pain just to be contrary, and stabbed a forkful of eggs. With more determination than enthusiasm, he shoveled the load into his mouth. Chew and swallow. He took another bite. And then another, making steady work of the abundance on his plate. He’d go back for seconds. Maybe even thirds before his hunger subsided and let his appetite rest.
“Good?”
The last bite halfway to his mouth, Mac glanced to his left. His heart skipped a beat. Damn thing always did when he looked at Tania—his mate, his love, the only woman in the world for him.
Seated beside him, she nibbled on a piece of bacon.
Her gorgeous brown eyes met his.
Meal forgotten in a blast of molten lust, he reached out and gripped the nape of her neck. Thick and luxurious, her hair caressed the back of his hand. Mac leaned in. He couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to either. He needed a kiss, a little taste, a lot of contact . . . everything she had to give. Touching her—making love to her—was his manna. Pleasing her never got old. She nourished him in ways he couldn’t explain, and didn’t want to do without.
His mouth met hers. He licked in, seeking her tongue. She opened and, fingers buried in his hair, gave him all he asked and everything he needed.
“Yum. You taste like pancakes and . . .” Her lips brushed his again. She flicked him with the tip of her tongue. “Hmm, sex.”
“Insatiable woman.”
“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” She leaned away. A twinkle in her eyes, Tania raised a brow. “Are you complaining?”
“No way. I can’t get enough of you, mo chroí.”
“I know.” Tania grinned and came in for another kiss. Mac groaned into her mouth. She tasted delicious, the perfect combination of smart, sweet, and smoking-hot female. “You’ve got that look. Finish eating, and we’ll go.”
To bed.
She didn’t say it. Fuck, she didn’t need to. Mac knew what his mate wanted. What she needed, craved—all the explosive pleasure he adored giving her. He wasn’t any better. His yearning for her surpassed normal. Each day. Every night. He wanted her with a fervor that bordered on insanity. A state of being that troubled him a little. He was so needy, and his female was a giver. Tania never said no. Most males would’ve been happy about that. Mac worried instead. He fed every day, activating energy-fuse, connecting to the Meridian through her, drawing the nourishment he required to stay healthy and strong.
Sometimes, though, Mac worried he took too much.
As a general rule, Dragonkind males fed once a month. Some of his kind could go much, much longer without finding a human female with strong enough energy to feed. Not him. His hunger never abated. It gnawed on him with steely teeth instead. Normal, Rikar assured him, given his abrupt transition into Dragonkind. He was a fledgling—a warrior in training—and what his pack called a late bloomer. A male who’d experienced his first shift years later than usual. Why his dragon DNA had lain dormant was anyone’s guess. But the second he’d encountered his own kind—by way of being attacked by an asshole Razorback at his old SPD precinct—the transition began. Scary at the time. Still disconcerting months later, considering he had yet to find his footing.
Mac scowled. Fucking tattoo.
“Don’t worry.” Wrapping her arms around him, Tania snuggled into his side. His whole being sighed in relief. Taut muscles relaxed. He closed his arms around her before the thought to hold her even occurred to him. “Forge is going to be fine. I like Hope. She seems okay. I’m choosing to trust her with him.”
“I hope you’re right. Forge is pretty pissed off.”
“He’ll get over it,” Tania whispered, nestling her head beneath his chin.
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
“How?”
Tania snorted, the inelegant sound conveying better than words she thought he was an idiot.
Mac lifted his head to peer down at her. “I know that look . . . pure mischief. Tell me how you know, honey.”
“Well,” she said. “He seems quite taken with her.”
“So?”
“I have a feeling he’ll forgive you the second he gets her into bed.”
Surprise overrode mental acuity for a second. He frowned. “She’s not here for that. He isn’t supposed to—”
“What—screw her?” Tania snorted. “Oh, that’s going to happen. Forge won’t be able to keep his hands off her, and Hope won’t be able to resist him. He’s got that whole Highlander thing going on. Wicked hot.”
Mac opened his mouth. Words escaped him. He closed it again. Wicked hot? Seriously? What the hell was Tania thinking? He gave his mate the stink eye.
The love of his life rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Put the jealousy away. Just because I can appreciate Forge’s hotness doesn’t mean I want him. You’re the only guy who gets me hot, Mac.”
And wet.
Again, she didn’t say the words. No need. The meaning was implied. All of a sudden, Mac felt better. Excellent. Ego salvaged. Male pride soothed. Jealously tucked back where it belonged. Just in case, though . . .
He nipped her bottom lip, tasting her again. “Let’s go. I need to fuck.”
Tania blushed. “Mac!”
“How many orgasms do you want?” he asked, teasing her as she glanced around to see who might’ve overheard. Gage met her gaze and grinned. Tania went from rosy to bright red. Mac chuckled and, dipping his head, nuzzled her ear. “I’m going to make you scream my name. Everybody’s going to hear.”
“Oh my God! You—”
He kissed her hard, interrupting her mid-scold.
She gasped in outrage.
Setting his plate aside, Mac grasped her hand and pushed off the couch. A quick tug brought his mate to her feet.
Glaring at him, Tania laced her fingers with his. “You are so bad.”
“You love it.”
“Don’t know what it says about me, but . . . yes, I do.” She sighed. All show. How did he know? The blistering heat in her eyes told the tale. She wanted him as much as he needed her. And yeah—he smiled—talking dirty turned his female on. “Come on, Lover Boy. Let’s get you looked after.”
“And you thoroughly fucked,” he said, keeping his voice low, for her ears alone.
Tania turned an even brighter shade of red. She cursed him under her breath. Mac laughed. Bewitching. Beyond beautiful. He adored the way she reacted—with feminine disapproval and an overwhelming dose of lust. He could see it on her face, in her eyes, in the shift of her scent. White-hot arousal, pure and simple, gorgeous and full bodied. A few well-placed words, and his female went from simmering to wild and ready.
God. He loved that about her.
Her hand clasped in his, he pivoted toward the door. Time to make a quick getaway. Wick and J. J. were already gone, behind closed doors, sweating up the sheets, no doubt. And Venom and Evelyn? Mac glanced toward the wall of windows east of the big screen and the row of wide-assed armchairs. He huffed. Shit. Those two weren’t shy. Mouth fused to Evelyn’s, hands cupping her ass, Venom lifted his mate onto the lip of the pool table. Evelyn wrapped her legs around his waist. Venom groaned in appreciation and settled in, inhaling his female as though he might die if he stopped kissing her.
No one paid attention.
Different day, same story.
Venom couldn’t keep his hands off his mate. Hell, the male didn’t even try.
Mac snorted in amusement. As if he was one to talk. He was just as bad. A real sex addict when it came to Tania. And speaking of which . . .
He headed for the exit, his mate in tow.
A few feet from the archway, a wave of heat rippled over his nape. Someone hissed his name, the voice more static than substance. “Exshaw—Exshaw is coming.” The words echoed inside his head. Mac paused mid-stride. Tania stopped beside him. He glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary. Game on screen. Chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of it. Half-empty plates perched on his brothers’ laps.
Mac frowned.
The low hiss came again. “Exshaw—Exshaw is coming.”
Prickles tightened his scalp. He glanced toward the windows. Weird, but it felt as though something approached. Something fast. Something furious. Something unstoppable. Transfixed by the sensation, Mac tried to get a bead on it. His tattoo pulsed. Pressure built behind his eyes, then funneled, whirling through his mind before coiling around his rib cage. Pain knifed along his spine. Heat slithered beneath his skin, then spread, pushing an inferno through his veins. His vision blurred. His mind hazed. He blinked, trying to focus, to beat back his confusion, but . . . seething red fog rolled in, swamping his senses, stealing his air.
He swayed on his feet.
“Mac?” Coming from far away, Tania’s voice reached through the thick mental sludge. Cold hands touched his face. “Mac? Talk to me. What’s wrong, baby—tell me what’s happening.”
“I can’t breathe.” Sucking wind, he doubled over. A second later, he hit his knees. Bile touched the back of his throat. His stomach heaved. His windpipe contracted. He lost his breakfast in one violent, muscle-torquing go.
“Oh God—help! Rikar, help! I need—”
“Step aside, Tania. Let me see him.”
Mac threw up again.
“Christ.” Rikar’s voice. Tania crying out in concern. Strong hands, bigger than Tania’s, bracketed Mac’s head. “Gage, get some water. Haider, get to the clinic, start a salt bath. He’s too hot.”
“Fuck,” B said, palm pressed against Mac’s forehead. “He’s burning up.”
“Get him downstairs,” a female said, tone full of command. Still on his knees, tears in his eyes, Mac fought through the mind-fog. He knew that voice. Not Tania, but . . . Myst, maybe? “He needs fluids. I want to get an IV going.”
Pain turned a corner, rushing into unbearable.
Mac cursed. His skin—the tattoo—throbbed. Needle-thin, razor-sharp points ripped over his ribs. His muscles cramped. The debilitating burn arched his spine. Twisting in agony, Mac fought the hands holding him down.
“Get it off. Get it off!” Clawing at his T-shirt, he tried to pull it over his head. “Jesus fuck—get it off!”
Rikar yanked the cotton over his head. “Holy shit.”
Bastian dropped another f-bomb. “Myst—get moving. Sloan—go with her. We’ll be right behind you.”
As B rolled him onto his back, Mac opened his eyes. Rikar’s face jumped into focus, then blurred. His lungs clogged as he looked down at his chest. Poker hot, the tattoo glowed bright red, lighting up his skin, throbbing like a psychotic heartbeat.
Mac groaned. “What the fuck?”
“Good question.” Bastian’s even tone gave him hope. His commander wasn’t freaking out. Which could only be a good thing . . . right? Mac frowned. Right. Excellent deduction, except for one problem. B never got too worked up about anything. Calm as hell. Steady as a rock. The guy never panicked. Was always cool under fire, especially when bad shit went down. “Let’s get you upright and mobile, then figure it out . . . yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mac rasped, trying to move his legs. But God, it hurt and . . . motherfuck. There wasn’t enough air. “Tania?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“Need you.”
“I’ve got you,” she said, the worry in her voice almost killing him.
Mac didn’t want to cause her pain. He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around. She shouldn’t have to worry about anything, least of all him.
“Mo chroí . . .”
“Easy, my love. I’m right here.”
Cool hands touched his abdomen and slid up, over his skin. Powerful energy sped from her fingertips, sinking into his bones, soothing him, helping his muscles unlock. His chest expanded. Oxygen filled his lungs.
He refocused, desperate to see her face. “Stay with me.”
Tears in her eyes, Tania leaned over him. “I’m not going anywhere. Now—get up.”
A command from his female.
Mac redoubled his efforts. His dragon half responded, lending him strength. Sweat trickled over his temple, the slow, wet slide registering an instant before his body cooperated. With a grunt, he rolled and, using Rikar and Bastian as crutches, struggled to his feet. His head bobbed on his shoulders. His brain sloshed inside his skull. Gritting his teeth, he reached for Tania. His fingers brushed her hair and—
A wind gust blew into the room.
The sizzle beneath his skin intensified. A chant started up, the beat hammering his temples. “Exshaw—Exshaw is coming.”
Mac turned toward the windows.
Blinding light exploded through the highest pane.
Like a long-tailed comet, the horrific glow rocketed across the great room. An unearthly shriek echoed. Mac sucked in a breath. The fireball slammed into the center of his chest. Air exited his lungs. Fiery tendrils attacked his tattoo, burrowing into the tribal markings. Pain ripped him apart as the shock wave threw him backward. In full flight, Mac hit the wall. Gypsum cracked behind his back. Two-by-fours shattered as his shoulders smashed through wood. The big screen exploded, hurling shards of glass toward twin billiard tables.
Tania screamed his name.
His brothers-in-arms shouted in alarm.
Mac slid to the floor with a thud, his body failing, the world sinking beneath a veil of darkness.