Fury of Ice (17 page)

Rikar’s gaze strayed to Angela. He traced the outside curve of her ear with his fingertip, temptation circling like a son of a bitch. It would feel so good to slide in beside her…to pretend she belonged to him as he held her. If only for a little while. But that was just plain selfish. What he needed shouldn’t matter. His dragon half, though, wanted what it
wanted
. And as the beast stirred, male need and territorial instinct mixed into a volatile cocktail. Rikar shifted on the mattress, aching to have her in his arms.

Wrong. It was so fucking wrong.

He rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling like his skin was three sizes too small. “I don’t think—”

“Then don’t,” Sloan said, pushing away from the wall. “Think of the benefits for her instead.” His buddy’s shitkickers thudded softly, joining the beep of the heart rate monitor as he rounded the end of the bed. Grabbing the blankets, Sloan flipped them back, pouring more gasoline on Rikar’s fire. “You settle in with her…share your energy? And she’ll have less of a scar. Maybe nothing at all. All those bruises and cuts, buddy? Gone. And that’s just for starters.”

A little desperate now, Rikar shook his head. “She won’t like waking up with me.”

“She won’t get the rest she needs if she doesn’t.” Holding his ground, Sloan rammed his point home with a verbal hammer. “She needs you with her.”

“Fuck…” Rikar ran his hand over his skull-trim. Rubbing his nape, he stared at the smooth expanse of mattress Sloan had exposed beside his female. Exhaling hard, he stood and shrugged out of his leather jacket. “You’re an asshole.”

His buddy huffed, catching the leather load Rikar tossed at him. “Takes one to know one.”

Didn’t it always
, Rikar thought as he ditched the rest of his clothes and slid in next to Angela.

Mac came awake with a suddenness that startled him. The stiffness hit him next and, as his cramped muscles screamed for release, he cracked an eye open. The brick wall wavered into focus. Next? All the upended furniture jammed beneath tall, arching windows. Three of them, black glass rippling in waves, like the surface of a lake.

Hmm, yeah. Water.

He could do with a little splash action right now. A steady front crawl across the marina would straighten him out. Well, either that or a chiropractor. Goddamn, what had he been doing all day…an excellent imitation of a pretzel?

With a groan, he closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders. First one, and then the other. His bones clicked in their sockets, protesting where sore muscles left off, aching like a son of a bitch. And God, his head hurt too. Pain thumped his temples, then slid around to hammer the back of his skull. Mac clenched his teeth on another moan. Sound wasn’t a good idea right now. Not with his body one big throb of pain.

What had he been thinking? The feeling—and the morning-after regret that came with it—was all too familiar…tequila. Most likely an entire bottleful of Patrón. Although, why the hell he’d been hitting the good stuff was anyone’s guess. Drinking to excess and blackouts weren’t his usual MO. At least not anymore.

Mac shook his head, instantly regretting it as the hammering got worse, but something was way, way off. None of what he felt made sense. He hadn’t been drinking. Mac frowned. Had he?

As the accusation circled, he tried to remember. Tidbits came at him, flipping into place inside his head. He labeled each one like evidence at a crime scene, retracing his steps. Last thing he remembered he’d been—

Jesus fucking Christ.

Angela.

Mac’s head came up. Something rattled with his movement, and his focus snapped toward the windows. A blurry outline took shape. Mother of God. A dragon. Blue-gray scales glimmering in the low light, the thing stared back at him: unblinking, unmoving, its stare holding his. He went stone-still, not wanting to spook it. The horned head froze too, like it was waiting for his next move or—

Wait a second.

He blinked. The beast blinked back, aquamarine eyes fixed on him. He turned his head a little to the left. Yup, the dragon followed, mirroring each movement. As a load of WTF got rolling, Mac breathed faster, air sawing in and out of his lungs. The scaled chest rose and fell with his, the clickety-click of scales sounding loud in the silence.

Uh-uh. No way. His brows collided. That couldn’t be him. It
couldn’t
be, but—

The dragon’s eyes were the same color as his, and a memory was chasing its tail inside his head. Leading the recall parade? A deep voice talking to him, echoing inside his head, helping him change into—

Holy shit. He was a dragon.

A sound of distress left his throat. The whimper sounded raw, on the edge of fear, but Mac didn’t care. The weak-ass reaction could go to hell. Something bad had happened, and now, he was in monster territory. Not a big problem on a normal day. He dealt with the human variety all the time, but…

God help him.

He scrambled backward, away from the reflection. The scrape of claws on wood floors bounced around, echoing off brick walls, making the black glass swell and ripple. The clatter made him look down. He flexed his hand. A huge talon responded, curling and releasing on command. Jesus Christ.
That
didn’t belong to him. It couldn’t, but as he spread his fingers and stared at the webbing between the claws, he knew denial wasn’t an option. He wasn’t dreaming. The blue-gray dragon was not only real, he was
it
. It was
him
. One and the frickin’ same.

His breath came faster. Twin tendrils of steam rose from his nostrils, freaking him out as viselike pressure roped his rib cage. One crank at a time, the band tightened until he couldn’t breathe and the walls closed in. Claustrophobia lit him up, warning him to get the hell out before he got buried alive. His gaze swung to the patio doors on the other side of the loft. Could he make it? Would he fit through them like—

“It’s all right, buddy.” Hushed and even, the voice came from out of the shadows. Mac latched onto it as panic spun him around the lip of insanity. The sucking whirlpool tunneled his vision, narrowing his world until he couldn’t see anything but blur. “Easy. You’re all right.”

“Out,” he rasped, not recognizing his own voice. He sounded like a monster, all growl and hiss, nothing like his normal self. Pressed up against the back wall, he shook his head, and sensation tingled, slid across his temples, then up to surround the horns on…Jesus. The things were growing out of
his
skull. “I need…out.”

“I hear ya, but not yet,” the voice said, sounding a lot closer. “Hang tight, buddy…let me explain. We’ll get you straightened out.”

“Can’t wait.” Seeing spots now, a second away from hyperventilating, Mac clung to the only thing that mattered. Kept his sanity by focusing on Angela. As always, she helped ground him, driving the “holy shit” reaction to the back of his mind. He needed to find her…to make sure she was safe. “Ange…my partner…she’s in trouble and—”

“Not anymore.” Shadows morphed into the outline of a man. Raising his hands, the guy turned his palms up, a gesture meant to reassure. But it was the eyes Mac focused on. The shimmering green felt like a lifeline and, as he grabbed hold, the guy said, “Rikar’s got her. She’s safe, Mac.”

Mac’s brows collided.
Rikar
. He knew that name. Remembered the voice and the patience. The kindness over the hours he’d spent in hell. And God…right this minute? Big sissy or not, he needed to hear it again.

“Where is he?”

“With Angela. Protecting her…making sure she’s okay.”

Relief rolled through him. Which was just plain stupid. He didn’t know this guy. Didn’t trust him, but his cop instincts were squawking again, telling him that despite the blurry eyesight and the fucked-up situation, the guy was solid—for real in a trustworthy kind of way—and Mac wanted to believe him.

Claws clicked as he set his foot back down on the floor. “Where?”

“At Black Diamond…our lair.” A little closer now, the voice came at him like a sidewinder through the blur. “It’s solid, Mac. Our enemies can’t track her there.”

“Let’s go,” he said, needing more than reassurance. No way he would believe it until he saw her for himself. Add that to the bonus of getting the hell out of the loft’s confining space, and yup, it was win-win all the way around. “I want to see her…to make sure.”

“Sun’s coming up, big guy.”

Mac frowned, a big “so what?” rolling around inside his head.

Like a mind reader, the guy murmured, “One thing you need to know about our kind, Mac. We don’t tolerate sunlight. You go out now? You’ll get fried.”

“Shit.” Guess now he knew why he didn’t sleep much. He’d always been that way, staying up all night, falling into bed when morning lit to catch a few Zs. It explained a lot, actually, and as the puzzle piece clicked into place, his brain came back online. Along with the mental focus, his vision evened out. He studied the guy standing in front of him. Dark hair. Green eyes. With the intensity of a lightning strike and the muscle to back it up, he looked human enough, but…yeah, not quite. “You’re Bastian. Rikar’s commander.”

“Good…you remember.” Dropping his hands, Bastian nodded, like he approved. “The change is an ass-kicker. Most Dragonkind males come out of it blank even when they know what’s coming…even if they’ve been trained beforehand.”

Dragonkind males
. The words gave him pause. Why? He didn’t know exactly because sure as shit, he was one of them. Frowning, he flexed his talon again, then glanced down and got a load of…good God, look at that thing. A tail, tricked out with razor-sharp edges: top, bottom, around the tip. Trying not to flip out, he curled the length around his paws, took a harder look. Wow. It looked lethal, and if it hadn’t freaked him out, he might’ve thought it was cool.

Awe rose along with disbelief. He glanced at Bastian. “How…I mean…Jesus fucking Christ. I’m thirty-four. How could I not have known I’m not…”

“Human?”

His throat went tight as Mac nodded.

“You are…half human. Born of a human female and a Dragonkind male.” Stepping up close, Bastian rapped his knuckles against his shoulder. High-pitched sound pinged, echoing as though he’d just struck steel instead of his fancy new skin. “I don’t know how you were missed, but your sire didn’t know about you. No way he would’ve left you in the human world if he’d known you existed.”

The old hurt surfaced. It always did when he thought of his father, a man he’d never met…who’d never claimed him. Rescued him from a world where no one gave a damn what happened to him. But the idea that the man he’d dreamed of meeting hadn’t abandoned him after all? Jesus, the knowledge filled the void, the empty corner of his heart where hurt had lived for so long.

Maybe it was bullshit. Maybe it wasn’t. Mac didn’t care. He liked the new version better than the one he’d lived with his entire life. His mother dead on a hospital operating table. No family to claim him. All the years spent at Sacred Heart Orphanage.

Home sweet fucking home.

“I know it doesn’t make sense to you right now, but had your sire known…” Bastian trailed off, and the pause spoke volumes. The guy understood exactly what he felt. What he relived day after day. All the pain he buried deep, trying to forget. “He would’ve come for you.”

Tears burned the back of his throat. Goddamn it. He’d turned into a frickin’ sissy, drawing comfort from a man he didn’t know. But Bastian provided it without hesitation. No doubt about it. The guy was tight in the head, solid in the heart, and man, if he didn’t pull it together in the next three seconds, they’d break into a bawling rendition of “Kumbaya.” Sniffle-sniffle-sob-sob.

Mac cleared his throat. “Look, I’m—”

A tingle swept the back of his neck, rattling the razor blade along his spine. Mac tensed, his spidey sense putting him on high alert. As he watched and waited, a shadow flew in, landing on the balcony beyond the patio door.

What the hell was that? He thought they were alone, but more had joined the party. Now all he sensed was anger. His eyes narrowed. Yup, definitely. A load of pissed off was coming down the pipe in his direction. Shifting right, he stepped around Bastian and into a crouch. Getting low seemed like the thing to do…the best bet when under attack.

With a muttered “fuck,” Bastian slapped a palm to his chest. “Ease up, my man. Nothing doing.”

Bullshit. Something was definitely “doing.”

The patio door slid open. Light exploded through the opening, blinding Mac. With a curse, he squinted, trying to get a read on what was coming at him. A no-go. All he could see was a bright band of sunlight on the horizon. Frickin’ eyes. Stupid daylight. Like he needed an eyeful of spots right now?

Bastian pivoted, planting himself between him and the door. “Anything?”

A dark silhouette crossed the threshold, shook its head. “Lothair went to ground…found a wormhole or something. And we ran out of time.”

“Fucking rogue.” With a growl, the second guy walked into the loft behind the first. The lock clicked as the glass slid closed behind him, shutting out the sun. Thank God. Now all Mac needed to do was clear the dots floating in front of his eyes. As he blinked rapid-fire, guy number two said, “We’ll find him come nightfall. Send his balls back to Ivar in a basket.”