With just three days to go until the release of FURY OF PERSUASION (Dragonfury Scotland Book 4), I’m fairly itching with excitement. It’s been a long time coming, and I can hardly wait until Vyroth and Nicole’s story hits shelves on Tuesday.

To celebrate, I’ve decided to share the first chapter of the book with you! I don’t often do it, but this time I thought–why not? Let’s have some fun with the Scottish Dragon Pack and give you a sneak peek of what’s to come.

Happy reading!

~ Coreene

Fury of Persuasion (Dragonfury Scotland Book 4):

Chapter 1

Location Unknown – Europe

Vyroth would’ve killed for a little quiet. A strange thing to wish for after spending two months alone. Days ticked by with no one to talk to and nothing to occupy his mind. Sixty days in what amounted to a hole. Solitary confinement with nasty undertones, given he was locked deep underground, location unknown, surrounded by the most powerful energy shield he’d ever encountered.

Miles of solid rock wrapped in impenetrable magic. 

A supermax prison designed by a psychopath. 

The mother of all mind-fucks for a Dragonkind warrior accustomed to fresh air and wide-open skies.

If heavy duty magic was all he needed to fight, he could’ve coped. Handled the mistreatment. Dealt with the soul-withering hunger. Remained patient long enough to find a way around the security measures. Lying prone on the uneven floor in his cell, Vyroth ran down the list inside his head. Again. For the umpteenth time.

Multiple layers of high-end security.

The best system money could buy.

Not easy to circumvent in his weakened state. But with nothing to do but keep his mind busy, his imagination ran wild.

Everything was on the table. 

Digging through the floor. Tunneling through a wall. Risking life and limb testing the energy shield for weak spots. He’d dreamed up all kinds of scenarios. Unraveled each one like a candy wrapper, with meticulous care, paying close attention to foot patrols and changes in guards, collecting the details, hunting for scraps of information to facilitate an escape.

Too bad none of it mattered.

All the careful planning amounted to less than nothing when he couldn’t get past the first hurdle—the saltwater frothing around his little patch of heaven. Set in the middle of a raging river, the tiny island was diabolical. Brutal. Brilliant. A real fuck-you to his dragon half, given the salt water would kill him if he attempted to swim it.

He had to give the bastard credit.

Montgomery knew what he was doing. Had done his due diligence, discovered his weakness, then used it to maximum effect, giving him nowhere to go and even fewer places to hide.

Flat on his back in the center of the island, Vyroth opened his eyes. Same old, same old. Hard rock beneath him. The vaulted curves of the cave above him. Dragon-made, claw marks scored across the granite. He knew each gouge by heart. Had counted every fleck of sparkling quartz in the damp, stone cage imprisoning him. Lived with the maddening hum of the energy shield. Listened to the rage-inducing rumble of a river that never shut up. 

Gritting his teeth, he stacked his hands behind his head and stared at the white vein bisecting the black granite above him. A pale slash in a sea of dark stone. Something to look at while he descended deeper into energy-greed, his hunger so profound Vyroth didn’t know if he’d survive it. He was close. So very close to tumbling off the edge into insanity. From slipping away and…

“Hellfire,” he growled, fisting his hands in his hair.

He pulled on the strands. Pain streaked across his scalp as he fought to find level, but… no way around it. Desperation had come calling. He needed a female. Needed to feed before his dragon half shriveled up and died. Needed to get the hell out of Montgomery’s prison and figure out what the hell was going on. Why he’d been ambushed, drugged, flown goddess-only-knew-where, and locked down.

Could be any number of reasons. 

Could be any number of males.

He wasn’t the most likable fellow. Social interaction wasn’t his strong suit. He preferred when his fists talked for him, but that couldn’t be it. He hadn’t pissed anyone off of late. He’d been careful. Flown under the radar. No scuffles. No rough words exchanged. Zero footprint in Prague, a city he knew well.

His mission required stealth.

The quiet gathering of intel, the skilled tapping of information through informants friendly to his pack.

He’d been a whisper away from the truth—from uncovering new leads and following the trail. Intel remained scarce. Most reports were sketchy, but he knew enough now. 

Forge was alive.

His cousin was out there… somewhere.

All he needed to do was find him.

Right now, though, Forge was on his own. Priorities must be established. Number one on his ever-lengthening list involved a long, thorough feeding. He’d settled for a visit from a low energy female. Or better yet, a wee taste of one from home.

Brain burning, his mind circled the drain. Memories tortured him with thoughts of Aberdeen. Goddess, he missed his brothers. Missed Scotland’s open skies and the smell of Highland heaths. Longed for a return to normal—laughing with his packmates inside the Dragon’s Horn, the pub he owned with his brothers-in-arms. All the obnoxious teasing. All the shared meals. All the comforts of home inside the lair he shared with the other Scottish dragon warriors.

Good food.

A soft bed and warm, willing females.

The quick tempers and close comradery he’d taken for granted for too long. 

Closing his eyes, Vyroth exhaled a rough breath. He wanted to go home. Wanted to see his brothers’ faces instead of picturing them inside his head. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he heard their voices, listened to the laughter, tasted the Scotch.

The imagined chorus of his packmates sparked in the depths of his mind, urging him on. Told him to keep fighting, never surrender, to be who he’d always been—stubborn to the core, powerful and vicious, a lethal Dragonkind warrior most males avoided at all costs. 

Vyroth huffed.

Times had obviously changed. 

And no wonder. 

He’d been an idiot, believing he could fly into Europe alone. If he managed to escape and return to Scotland, Cyprus would tear a strip off him.

His twin didn’t suffer fools lightly.

Neither did his brothers-in-arms. 

The brutal males might love him, but that wouldn’t stop them. His pack would convey their displeasure in the old way—with tail, tooth and claw—beating their displeasure into his hide while hammering home the facts.

None of which he could deny. 

He had been foolish.

He’d let his guard down. Taken a night off. Lost focus and his attention to detail. Though, the female he bedded that evening hadn’t complained. She’d received all kinds of his attention. But then, his distraction had been the point. Part of her job. The entire reason she’d been hired—the lead operative in a takedown, one who looked delicious in a short skirt and come-hither smile.

Cursing his stupidity, Vyroth rubbed his hands over his face.

Long stubble scratched over his palms. Forget the soft bed. He needed a shave. The beard made his skin itch and his temper boil. His hair annoyed him too, but long strands falling into his eyes bothered him less than the facial hair. Forced upon him, the scruff grated as much as the river rumbling around him.

He listened to it a moment, detecting the change.

The air cooled a degree. Fog rolled in, curling over the tops of his bare feet. 

Vyroth clenched his teeth. Dawn must be on the horizon. The subterranean river streaming around his island always cooled at daybreak, bringing a chill so frigid Vyroth wondered at the location of the fortress sitting above him.

A country other than the Czech Republic?

Had the bastard brought him further north?

Into a region he didn’t know?

All good questions. Ones Vyroth wanted answered. Too bad he couldn’t recall. Hit with a powerful tranquilizer, he’d been incoherent for the trip. He kept trying to remember, but memory was a tricky thing. His mind kept moving the target, making him question what was real and what he’d imagined. All he knew for sure was that he’d woken up underground—messed up and alone, with a huge hole in his memory.

Fighting a shiver, Vyroth watched the fog thicken. He glanced toward the edge of his platform and the river. Raising fast. Frothing over the edges of his island. Two hundred and fifty yards between him and the steel door on the opposite shore.

He’d attempted the crossing more than once. 

Once should’ve been enough. Burnt skin, sapped strength, the rapid drain of his magic (along with near drowning) had been the result. He stared at the river, then at the door, wondering if he should try it again. Wondering if—

Rapid tapping interrupted his musing, coming through the wall behind him.

Vyroth rolled to his feet. Uneven stone beneath his bare feet, he stood in the center of his island and listened to the message. A series of short raps interspaced by long scrapes. Morse Code, a favorite of Humankind’s.

His chest went tight.

Thank fuck.

His mystery friend was back.

He hadn’t heard anything all night. The absence felt like weeks. He might not know who stood on the opposite side of the wall, but Vyroth thanked the Goddess for him every day. The intermittent interactions kept him tethered to reality, providing clarity in the midst of insanity. 

“You there?”

Calling on what little magic remained, he reached out with his mind. A rock clip broke away from the jagged side wall. Marshalling his strength, he propelled the small stone with magic and a murmur, rapping it against stone, answering the unknown male’s call. “Here.”

“Okay?”

“Still alive, less than well.”

“Haven’t fed you yet?”

“No… you?”

“Female just left. I fought to keep her, but…”

“No luck?”

“Took five guards.”

Vyroth smiled. “Kill any?”

“One. A second’s in rough shape.”

Good. Bloody bastards. The guards deserved what they got. “Recharged?”

“Low energy female, but got enough.” A pause, then more forceful tapping. “Feeling better. Stronger.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes, happy for the male, fearful for himself. “Not sure feeding me is in the cards.” 

“Positive thinking.”

Vyroth snorted. Two months of positive thinking hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He was tired of—

A whisper of sound rolled across the surface of the water.

Pebble poised to strike granite, Vyroth stilled. Coaxing his weakened dragon half to life, he sent his senses searching. His eyes narrowed. Aye, definitely… movement in front of his cell door. 

“Hold on.” Cocking his head, Vyroth listened harder.

Beeping sounded.

The energy shield powered down.

Soft and light, footsteps paused outside his door. He tapped a rapid, “Someone’s here. Gotta go.”

“Good luck,” his friend tapped.

“Later.”

Loosing the stone, Vyroth let it fall and shifted to the back of his island, into the shadows. The move wasn’t much, barely enough to protect him. But until he laid eyes on the intruder—determined the extent of the threat—something was better than nothing. Gaze riveted on the door, he crouched, making himself a smaller target. Blood rush whispered in his ears as he listened. A muffled thud. A low curse. Steel groaned against metal. The locking mechanism began to turn. Too weak to fight, left with few defenses, he watched in helpless fascination as the heavy bar lifted and the cell door began to open.

Copyright © Coreene Callahan