Fury of Ice (Dragonfury Series #2) Read online

  “Missing persons reports for your female. I went back eight months.” With a shrug, Sloan veered right toward the large table near the back wall of his domain. Set up like a conference room, black leather chairs—looking decidedly normal…thank fuck…easier on the eyes than ugly-ass purple—crowded around the solid wood top. Setting the box down on polished cedar, he said, “All young females, late teens to late twenties. No idea whether they’re high-energy or not, but maybe Angela will find a connection. Something we can tie to the Razorbacks.”

  “Hunting habits and prey drive.” Rikar nodded, liking the idea.

  If Angela could put names and faces to the female captives with the MP reports, it would help identify the variables: age, background, race, and habits. Males tended to like one type of female, and if Lothair was the one doing the cherry-picking, there might be a pattern of behavior. A method to his madness, so to speak. Locations. Dates. Times.

  But even better, analyzing the data—nailing the victimology—would take time. Would keep Angela busy and safe inside the lair. And while she shuffled paperwork, he’d be out killing the bastard who’d hurt her.

  Perfect.

  Now all he needed to do was convince her the plan was a good one. And get a freaking move on. Rikar didn’t trust her to stay put. Not after she’d given him the hairy eyeball as he left her planted in a chair beside a still-sleeping Mac. Smart and suspicious were her middle names, after all, and she’d guessed right. He was up to something. Planned to watch the video and still have time to beat the snot out of Forge if the male had so much as looked at her the wrong way.

  “So…” Dark eyes full of speculation, Sloan raised a brow. “Whatcha need?”

  “Video feed from the cellblock.”

  Pushing the box into the middle of the table, his buddy strode over to his expensive toys. One flick of the mouse. A few command keys tapped and…voilà. The giant screen came alive, showcasing a frozen image, complete with throw cushions and females.

  “Christ.” Rikar leaned in to get a better look. Shit. Sloan was da bomb. He grinned at his buddy. “You cued it up already.”

  “Figured you’d want to see it. What with your female and Myst playing Spy Game down there.”

  Rikar snorted. Spy Game. He liked that movie. No surprise there. Espionage was his thing, after all. Well, except for now. He didn’t like the game Angela played. Or the fact she’d been anywhere near Forge. The male was not what he seemed. Which made him incredibly dangerous.

  “So, what are we thinking here?” Sloan asked. “Something off with the Razorback?”

  “Yeah…way, way off.” Snagging a chair from the conference table, Rikar dragged it over and dropped into the leather seat. He glanced at Sloan, wanting to see his buddy’s reaction as he said, “I don’t think he’s a Razorback. Or ever was one.”

  Sloan’s brows popped, reaching his forehead. “Helluva risk to us if you’re wrong.”

  “I know.” His eyes on the screen, he leaned forward, planted his elbows on his knees, and settled in for the show. “Just roll it, will ya?”

  Palming the back of his ugly-ass chair, his buddy unloaded his weight on the thing. Metal groaned while stitching popped, standing out in stark contrast against the hideous purple leather. A crease between his brows, fingers flying over the keyboard, Sloan worked his magic and…

  Roll film.

  Rikar held it together until the ten-minute mark. After that, everything went downhill. Jesus fucking Christ. Forge and his big mouth…his solid heart, too. The male’s concern for Angela—his kindness and advice—floored Rikar, and as his throat went tight, the male nailed him again by saying…

  “It’s not your fault, Angela. Let it go.”

  “Fuck me,” Rikar murmured, his eyes stinging as he watched his female struggle.

  God, she was so strong. Made him so proud. She bore the hurt like a warrior: keeping it together, not crying, digging deep even though she didn’t have to. And Forge…goddamn, the male was straight-up honest. Giving Angela the truth instead of polluting her with fear. Pushing her toward Rikar instead of urging her to back away.

  The SOB could’ve ruined Rikar’s chances with her. Instead, he’d done the legwork, belying her fears while he piqued her curiosity. Rikar frowned. No wonder she’d let him touch her. She’d wanted to know…to experience feeding him firsthand. But stranger than that was the fact Forge was now his ally on the win-Angela-over front.

  And that posed a huge problem.

  He had an innocent male chained in the basement. How screwed up was that? Very. A freaking brain twister. One that needed to be solved. Pronto.

  “Holy shit.” Sloan hit the pause button, a frown on his face as he rocked back in his seat. “He doesn’t act like a rogue…I’ll give you that. What the hell are we gonna do with him?”

  “The only thing we can.” The answer came to Rikar in a flash of inspiration. “Flip him.”

  “Are you frigging insane?”

  “He’s a strong male, Sloan. A warrior.” His eyes narrowed in thought, Rikar plucked a pencil off the marble desktop. Staring at the lead tip, he twirled it between his fingertips. “We can use him, man. Ivar doesn’t care who fights for him or why, so he replenishes his numbers faster than we do. We get Forge on-side, and he’ll be a powerful Nightfury asset.”

  “Bastian’s not gonna like it.”

  “B’s already thinking it, buddy…guaranteed.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Rikar stared at the frozen computer screen. His gaze riveted on his mate, he studied Angela’s face while his mind churned, sorting through and then discarding one plan after another. Flipping Forge would take some work. Real ingenuity and team effort…100 percent acceptance from the entire Nightfury pack.

  Easier said than done.

  His pack was a closed group. Untrusting. Suspicious of outsiders. And protective of one another. Inviting a male as strong as Forge into the mix would threaten that balance if Rikar didn’t do it right. Control the variables. Manipulate the outcome. Rikar’s eyes narrowed as an idea sparked, then took form. Pairing him with Mac might work. Would give Forge someone to teach and protect while he assimilated into the group.

  So…a two-pronged attack. Get Forge to agree to join them, and then give him a job.

  Could work. Might be the answer. Only time would tell. But first things first, he needed everyone on board and in on the action.

  He glanced at Sloan. “Meeting in fifteen?”

  With a sigh, his buddy pushed to his feet. “I’ll round up Venom and Wick. You get B.”

  “Shit,” Rikar muttered.

  Hauling his best friend out of bed and away from his female would be tantamount to walking into a fist face-first. Hello, Concussionland. Then again, Sloan’s job wasn’t any easier. Digging Venom and Wick out of video game central would be like pulling teeth…with a spoon. While flying backward.

  Rikar grimaced. Fantastic. The day had officially tanked and hit the shitter. And Christ, Angela hadn’t even caught up with him yet.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The flip-flop of her footwear echoing in the quiet corridor, Angela zipped her hoodie all the way to her chin. Not that she was ever cold. Her internal thermometer always read north of normal. Which was why she kept the temperature in her condo so low. She appreciated a good chill, so the need to button up now was all about confidence.

  Or rather, lack of it.

  Holy hell. Feeling this exposed wasn’t normal. Was it?

  Angela didn’t know. Couldn’t figure out why she felt as though she was about to jump out of her own skin. Her reaction didn’t make any sense. Especially since Mac trailed her, watching her back as she paused at an intersection in the double-wide corridor. Maybe it was the absolute silence. The eerie echo of, well…nothing. No movement. No other voices. Just the thump of her heart and the soft pitter-patter of Mac’s bare feet behind her.

  Which freaked her out the most. Her partner never made a sound. Ever. He was silence personified w
hen he moved. So the fact she could actually hear him didn’t qualify as a good sign. Where the hell was everybody?

  Okay, so it wasn’t everybody she wanted to find. Rikar was the target. Too bad he’d decided to play the part of the invisible man. Freaking guy. Everywhere she looked—the clinic, the computer room, the gym…which, holy crap, had a section with equipment for sharpening dragon claws—she’d come up empty.

  “We gonna walk around all day?” Mac asked. “Or do you have a destination in mind?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and met Mac’s gaze. Inquiring minds wanted to know. So did she, but she’d lost his energy signal thirty seconds ago. “Give me a sec. I need to recalibrate my Rikar radar.”

  “Rikar radar? Jesus,” he murmured, looking intrigued and alarmed at the same time. “You can actually feel him?”

  “Yeah, it’s more of a vibration, though…like I’m tuned into his radio frequency or something.”

  Mac huffed. “He might as well have a GPS chip embedded in his ass.”

  Too bad he didn’t. She was accustomed to technology-based stuff. Enjoyed high-tech computer systems and wiretaps. And using satellites to track phones, cars, and people? Awesome with a capital A. But the sudden appearance of a built-in supernatural homing device inside her head would take a little getting used to.

  Along with a crapload of practice.

  Controlling it wasn’t easy and concentration was key. Mining the signal—connecting to him—took effort. Maybe with time it would get easier, but for now, she needed to stay focused and in tracking mode.

  Taking a deep breath, Angela turned inward, sank into her center, the place where stillness lived and chaos took a backseat. The connection flared, linking her to Rikar like an electrical appliance plugged into a wall socket. The muscles bracketing her spine coiled. Sensation swirled across the nape of her neck, then ghosted down, releasing the tension thread by thread.

  She glanced at the ceiling. “Got him. We need to go up.”

  “Gotta be stairs somewhere,” Mac said, brushing her shoulder as he strode past her.

  Angela put her feet in gear, following his lead.

  Embedded in the concrete floor, twin tracks of light acted like a runway, drawing her eyes forward while illuminating the walls with splashing V patterns that didn’t quite reach the twelve-foot ceilings. The place was impressive. Big. Modern. Clean as hell. Jeez, whoever cleaned Black Diamond had a serious case of OCD. Well, either that or was a total germophobe.

  Mac slowed his roll as he came to another intersection. Two options. Continue straight along the main corridor. Or turn left down a narrower one.

  He glanced at her. “Which way?”

  “Straight.” Yup. Definitely. She knew exactly where she was now from her foray into the lair with Myst. “There are elevators farther up.”

  “Goddamn, this built-in GPS shit is wicked good.”

  Angela snorted. “You won’t think so when some woman nails you with it, Mr. Commitment-Phobe.”

  “Am not.” He tossed her a dirty look and lengthened his stride. No doubt in a hurry to leave the conversation behind.

  Too bad. No way would she let that one lie. Mac was delusional if he thought for one second she didn’t see right through him. Besides, like any self-respecting sister, she couldn’t pass up teasing him. Poking at him was way too much fun.

  “Oh, please.” Keeping pace with his cut-and-run routine, Angela jogged alongside him. “The thought of settling down scares the crap out of you.”

  “Does not.”

  “Does too,” she threw back, sliding to a stop in front of twin Otises.

  He hammered the up button with the side of his fist. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Missed me, didn’t ya?” He rolled his eyes. She grinned at him. Man, settling into routine with him felt so good. Normal. Comfortable. Just like old times. Unable to resist, she stuck it to him again. “How many different women do you sleep with in a week? Five…ten? How do you keep them all straight? Assign each chick a night? You know…Candy the stripper is on Mondays. Fluffy the airhead takes Tuesdays and—”

  “Oh, shut up.” He tossed her a disgruntled look. “A guy’s got needs, you know?”

  Oh, boy, did she ever. Kissing Rikar had reminded her of that. Reminded her of something else, too…that she was a woman with needs of her own. Umm, his mouth. He tasted like icicles and snow cones at midnight. Decadent. Delicious. Rich with male spice and pure pleasure. That she could crave his touch after all she’d been through surprised her. Most victims didn’t want anything to do with a guy after the attack. But she was headed in the opposite direction.

  Well, at least she was consistent. Running toward trouble instead of away had always been her MO. And, yup, curiosity always played a huge part. Incurably intrigued. Her cross to bear. A problem, particularly since it landed her in…

  Angela bit her bottom lip. Oh, man. Was she really thinking about hopping into bed with Rikar?

  Frowning, she ran through the list of pros and cons in her head. On one hand, it might be too soon for physical intimacy—might freak her out and send her into a tailspin. On the other, she’d really enjoyed feeding him; ran hot when she got that close to him; craved his touch; went nuts for his taste; responded to his gentleness and the desire she saw in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Add in the curiosity factor—about him, his magic, and the connection they shared—and the con column ran more than a touch thin. It was practically anorexic.

  So the count was…what now? Seven reasons pro-Rikar and one big fat con.

  “You gonna roll him when you see him?”

  Angela glanced sideways at her partner. Mac raised a brow, a knowing glint in his eyes. She pursed her lips, considered lying for a second, but well…hell. What good would that do? Mac had always been way too perceptive, and a boatload of dragon DNA hadn’t changed that.

  With a shrug, she admitted, “I’m thinking about it.”

  The elevator pinged and the shiny double doors slid open.

  “Think fast.” Grabbing her arm, Mac hauled her into the elevator behind him. “And play fair, Ange. No teasing allowed. Lay him out or don’t. But know which way you’re gonna jump before you step off the elevator. Rikar deserves better than a ball-busting letdown.”

  Crap. So much for “all’s fair in love and war.” But she knew Mac was right. Getting Rikar jazzed only to run away if she got scared wasn’t fair. She needed to go all out…or not at all.

  Angela sighed. Just her luck. She had less than a minute to decide which way to jump.

  Seated on a stool at the end of the kitchen island, Rikar looked at the males gathered around him. Wick and Venom sat to his left, shoulder-to-shoulder in their regular spots. Sloan bookended the pair at the other end while Bastian leaned against the cabinets across the way, arms crossed, an unhappy look on his face.

  And no wonder.

  Rikar would’ve been pissed too, had someone pulled him out of bed and away from his female for a round-table discussion. Meeting his commander’s gaze, Rikar raised a brow, wanting B to get the powwow underway. Angela was on the move. He could feel her, icy sensation ghosting down his spine as he tracked her progress in the underground lair below the main house. Christ, she was close to the elevators now, zeroing in on him like a heat-seeking missile.

  Just his freaking luck.

  The last thing he needed was his female in on the convo. Especially since the second she realized what was up she’d want in on the action. Which…yeah, pretty much jacked his reaction into no-chance-in-hell territory.

  Bastian scowled at him, then tipped his chin. Rikar’s mouth curved. Well, all right. Looked like he had the floor.

  His focus returned to the males around him. He looked at each one in turn, remembering past battles, their strengths, and how well they all worked together. Cohesive. Tight-knit. Committed to one another, bonded by lineage, experience, and shared purpose. The Nightfuries were a strong pack. And as Rikar glanced around the
huge island now dwarfed by the warriors around it, he was proud to call each one his brother.

  Even Wick.

  Big surprise there. Rikar hadn’t held out much hope for the golden-eyed male when he’d first arrived. Wick had been shut down in more ways than one, but the tough SOB had come a long way. Earning Wick’s trust was part of it. Complete acceptance from the pack was another. Time and effort were good teachers, and eventually he and the other Nightfuries had broken through Wick’s ultrathick guard. Now he was a solid member of their pack.

  Thank fuck for that. Lethal, after all, was always welcome.

  “So we’re all agreed?” Rikar asked.

  As his gaze shifted to Venom, the male said, “You sure it wouldn’t be better if I just bashed his head in?”

  Rikar grinned. Trust Venom to pick the path of least resistance.

  Bastian snorted. “Come on, Ven. If we flip Forge, we gain another strong warrior. Better for us.”

  “If?” Venom perked up. “You mean there’s still a chance I’ll get to—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Venom,” Wick said, planting his forearms on the countertop, golden eyes shimmering as he stared unblinking at his friend. “I was worse than Forge when you pulled me out. After that BS…” Wick shrugged, broke eye contact, and murmured, “Flipping Forge’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Silence ballooned like an air pocket in the wake of the male’s words, filling the space. Rikar blinked. Holy Christ. Three complete sentences. A huge first for Wick. One Rikar didn’t know what to do with.

  It was like watching an infant take his first step. A necessary thing, but painful to endure without reaching out to offer help. And as Venom laid his hand on the back of Wick’s neck and squeezed, Rikar asked the same question he always did when faced with their friendship. What the hell had happened to them? He knew something serious had gone down. Had pieced together some of it—like the fact Venom had pulled Wick out of a nasty shithole before his change. But beyond that, no one knew much. None of them had ever asked, and the two warriors sitting shoulder-to-shoulder never volunteered the information.