Page 10 of Red Fury
I’m dressed all in black. Before going any further, I check my weapons one final time. I have a blade strapped to my ankle and another one in a sheath inside my right sleeve at the wrist. I have a lock pick, and all my senses are on high alert.
It’s time for some answers.
My dragon stirs, eager for violence, eager to shift and deal with this threat the old-fashioned way. Fire and claws.
“No, girl,” I whisper to her. “We can’t! Stay calm…please.” I haven’t shifted in three long weeks. It’s been tough to stay in my human skin for so long. It becomes particularly apparent at times like these when I need to remain calm and centered.
We can do this!
The apartment building is a converted warehouse in a trendy part of downtown D.C. Four stories, brick facade, the kind ofplace that caters to young professionals. Perfect cover for an operative.
I’ve been watching the building for hours. There are no security cameras on the back-alley entrance, minimal foot traffic, and the fire escape ladder is rusted but functional.
I scale the building easily, making quick work of it. Fourth floor, corner unit. I memorized his address from the personnel files I accessed earlier.
The window leading to his apartment is cracked open slightly. Rookie mistake…or maybe he’s more confident than he should be. He probably assumed that, like most Draigers, my senses are not as honed or as sharp as his.
Wrong!
The funny thing is, the longer I’m on the Mainland suppressing my dragon, the keener my senses have become. The more in touch I am with my beast. It’s weird, but there it is. He should not have assumed, and he’s going to have to pay the price.
I slip through the opening, my feet touching the hardwood floor without a sound. The apartment is dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the blinds.
I note the expensive furniture and minimalist décor. There are no personal photos or belongings visible. I’d say it came furnished…a rental. How does he afford this on the salary of a bodyguard? He doesn’t, that’s how. It’s also clearly the home of someone who doesn’t plan to stay long. It’s all too sterile.
I move through the living room toward the hallway, every sense sharp. His scent is stronger here, that distinctive dragon smoke and male…all male. From the smell of soap and mint, I’d say he showered before bed.
The bedroom door is open, and I can hear the steady rhythm of deep breathing. Asleep. Perfect.
I peer around the doorframe and freeze.
Holy shit.
He’s lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, dark hair tousled against the white pillowcase. The sheet is riding low on his hips, revealing a torso that looks like it was carved from freaking stone. Broad shoulders, a defined chest, and abs that could stop bullets.
And then there are the tattoos. Intricate designs cover his arms and chest, black ink with flashes of deep red woven throughout the patterns. A Red. Just as I suspected.
I suppress a sigh. Such a pity he has to die. He’s damned pretty, I’ll give him that.
I draw the blade from my ankle holster and move into the room, careful to be silent. Three steps to the bed. Two. One…
I launch myself onto him, straddling his abdomen with my thighs and press the razor-sharp edge of the blade against his throat in one fluid motion.
His eyes snap open instantly, no grogginess, no confusion. Just immediate, alert awareness. Dark blue eyes that seem to look right through me.
He doesn’t struggle or panic. Instead, he slowly raises both hands in surrender, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Cocky bastard!
“It’s you,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “I have to admit, I’m shocked. You managed to scent me out,” he continues. “You also managed to sneak up on me?” He lifts his brows. “I underestimated you, Draiger.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I lean forward, putting more weight behind the blade. “Damien Marsh, my ass. What is your real name, Red?”
“Fury. And yours?”
“I’m the one asking the questions.”
“Fair enough, but you know mine and…” he shrugs, “it’s only polite for you to return the favor.”
