Page 15 of Red Fury
Fury
I shift in the leather seat, trying to focus on the security briefing documents spread across the tray table in front of me, but I can’t get my mind off the burner phone in my jacket pocket. I’ve received two messages from Steel in the last few hours.
My superior wants an update, and I’ve been avoiding giving him one, for obvious reasons. How exactly do I explain that I found the Draiger, and that we now have a tentative truce…atleast for now? That’s not going to go over well with anyone back on Mistveil, that’s for sure.
I can’t keep putting this off. I need to give Steel an update. Things are going to be busy once we land. I might not get another chance until late tonight.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to the security specialist sitting beside me, pushing up from my seat. “I need to use the facilities.” I point in the direction of the toilets and then head down the aisle.
The aircraft’s restroom is more spacious than most, but it still feels cramped when you’re six-foot-eight and built like a linebacker. I lock the door behind me and finally pull out the burner, scrolling through the messages.
Now there are three texts from Steel, each one more demanding than the last:
Status report needed. Have you located the Draiger?
Send a brief report as soon as you can!
You read the last 2 messages, why haven’t you responded? You had better have a good reason.
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keypad. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? That I found her, and instead of neutralizing the threat, I made a deal with her? That every instinct I have is telling me she’s dangerous, but I can’t bring myself to eliminate her? Not yet, anyway. I might need her. She could be useful to have around.
In the end, I type out a lie:
No contact with target yet. Still investigating. Will report when I have solid intel.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately delete the conversation thread. The small device goes back into the hidden compartment sewn into the lining of my jacket. It’s a little modification I had made before leaving the island.
I flush the toilet and wash my hands, studying my reflection in the mirror. The mark on my throat from Shadow’s blade is already healing, but it’s still visible – a thin red scar that will be gone in a few hours. Dragon shifters heal fast, but not instantaneously.
I’m drying my hands when I unlock the door and step out, nearly colliding with a familiar figure in a navy suit. Her skirt is just above the knee, and her jacket and blouse give nothing away, which is somehow more enticing than if she’d been showing off her body. She’s especially enticing now that I have an idea of what she is hiding under there. Her breasts are not overly large but plenty big enough, like ripe little peaches. Her nipples like cherries, wanting to be plucked.
“Oh!” The Draiger steps back, her eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“No problem,” I say, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. “I was just finishing up.” I let her go.
For a moment, we’re standing too close in the narrow aisle, and I catch that subtle scent of candy with a hint of smoke.
Makes my mouth water.
“Oh…um…Damien,” she says, her voice quickly turning professional.
“Um…yes…hi.” I frown, pretending to be in thought. “Please remind me of your name,” I lie through my teeth. I know full well what it is, both the real one and the fake one.
She levels me with a stare but quickly schools her expression. “Claire. It’s Claire Douglas.” She tilts her head slightly, studyingmy face with those sharp eyes. “How are you settling in? This is some first day. You’re already on a jet to New York.”
“Great. Loving it.”
Her eyes narrow on my throat. Her lips twitch. “It looks like you cut yourself shaving. Right there on your neck.”
I reach up and touch the mark, feigning surprise. “Yep, new razor. Still getting used to it. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes dance. “You might want to be more careful.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, stepping slightly closer. “Wouldn’t want to have any…accidents.”
“No,” she agrees. “Accidents can be so darned messy.”
“They can, indeed.”
