Page 7 of Red Fury

Arctic nods, “Successfully complete this mission, and the position of Head of Security for Mistveil Island is yours.”

My heart stops for a few moments before starting back up again.

Head of Security. The position I’ve wanted for years. The role I’ve worked my entire career toward. It’s right there, dangling in front of me.

But the price… Good thing I have very little to lose.

“I understand the risks,” I say. “When do I leave?”

“Monday,” Steel replies. “Five days from now. That gives us time to establish your cover and get you properly equipped.”

I nod, my mind already shifting into mission mode. “I’ll need detailed information on Secretary Harrison. His routines, his security protocols, his personal preferences. Everything.”

“Already being compiled,” Arctic assures me. “I take it you’re on board?” He lifts his brows.

“Yes, I am.”

I’m not sure what the hell I’m getting myself into, but I’m doing it anyway.

3

Fury

The humidity hits me like a wall as I step out of the black SUV onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Why couldn’t this assignment have taken place during winter? I suppose I shouldn’t complain since this is the kind of weather I’m used to on the island. I may not have survived snowstorms and black ice.

Sweat starts to form under my black suit jacket. I adjust my gray tie and button my jacket, trying to look like I belong in this world.

As if.

“Ready, Marsh?” For a second, I don’t react –I’m Marsh, dammit– but then quickly fall into character.

I turn to face Laurence Webb, Head of Operations for Sentinel Security Solutions. He’s a stocky man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of confidence that comes from years of protecting high-profile clients. His navy suit is perfectly tailored, not a wrinkle in sight despite the oppressive heat.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, falling into step beside him as we approach the imposing entrance to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security headquarters. I have a visitor’s badge clipped to my lapel. Laurence has an ID on a lanyard around his neck. I’ll get my own later, once I complete the induction training.

My dragon stirs. Three days on the Mainland, and I still haven’t adjusted to keeping my beast locked down this tight. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to shift, to stretch my wings, to breathe fire. Instead, I’m wearing a monkey suit and pretending to be human.

Soon. We’ll find somewhere to shift soon.

I tell him, and he settles. Thankfully, I have a tight handle on my beast, unlike the Draiger on Mainland soil, which worries me. I need to find this male as a matter of urgency.

“You need to remember that Secretary Harrison is old school. He appreciates directness but not insubordination,” Webb tells me. “You’re there to protect him and not to be his friend.”

“Of course,” I say.

The guards wave us through the metal detectors. The guard on the other side scrutinizes my ID tag before nodding once. I’m Damien Marsh, former Army Ranger turned private security specialist. The identity Steel’s team created for me is solid.

The elevator ride to the seventh floor is silent. Webb checks his watch, then straightens his already perfect tie. This meeting is important to him, too. Sentinel Security landed this contract after the previous firm had what Webb called “an incident.” I didn’t ask for details.

“Here we go,” Webb murmurs as the elevator doors slide open.

The hallway is all shiny floors and government-issued artwork. American flags stand at attention outside important-looking doors. That must be where we are going.

We stop outside a door marked with a brass nameplate: Secretary of Homeland Security James Harrison. Webb straightens his shoulders and knocks twice.

“Come in,” calls a voice from within.

“Please go right in. He’s ready for you,” a lady behind the desk tells us. She has short black hair and the most beautiful green eyes. She’s gorgeous, with bronzed skin and high cheekbones. I have to force myself to look away as I follow Webb.