Fury of Ice (29 page)

“Please don’t blame Myst,” she said. “It was my idea.”

He glared at her.

Angela gave ground, backing up a step.

“It’s all right, Ange.” A muscle twitched in her jaw as Myst glared right back, slamming Bastian with a loaded look. “Bastian would sooner put your gun to his head than hurt me.”

“True,” the guy said without slowing his roll. Long legs carried him forward, the thud of his heavy boots sounding loud in the quiet. “Doesn’t mean I won’t turn you over my knee, now does it,
bellmia
?”

While Myst sputtered, choking on the threat, Angela regrouped. Okay, so the guy wouldn’t hurt her friend. Good to know. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t make good on his threat, though and…really. No one needed to get spanked today. Unless, of course, they wanted to, and neither she nor Myst was volunteering for that one.

“Look, Bastian.” Holding her hands palm up, she tried to placate him. “It really is my fault.”

“Fucking hell. I knew it,” a deep voice growled. “Always neck-deep in trouble, aren’t you, angel?”

Angela’s head whipped toward the open door. Oh, crap. Rikar. He had the worst timing. Or the best, depending on which way you looked at it. At least Bastian wouldn’t get the chance to throttle her with her man-dragon in the room. But man oh man, that didn’t mean Rikar wouldn’t take a shot.

Lie or not, she’d just shot herself in the foot.

An unhappy look on his face, he stood between the jambs, a wide-shouldered, long-limbed, too-gorgeous-for-words man. Angela swallowed, trying not to eat him with her eyes, but…mmm, it was hard. She liked looking at him. Liked the way his pale eyes glowed and the way he moved toward her, lethal grace in each stride, muscles coiled with a controlled strength she knew he could unleash without warning. Or mercy.

But not on her.

She could see the truth of it in his eyes. In the pale shimmer of ice-blue irises. In the way his gaze roamed, looking her over to make sure she was unhurt. All right. He was pissed off at her—might even growl and yell—but he wouldn’t touch her with anger. No need for heavy-duty explanations. No need for proof. Angela knew it instinctively.

The second he stopped in front of her, Angela whispered, “I have a good reason to be here. Let me explain.”

“Too late for that, angel.”

His gaze flicked over her again, repeating his examination at close range. Angela stifled a shiver. Holy hell, it wasn’t fair. The way he looked at her was, well…God. It made her feel powerful, desirable, and something else, too…brave. Strong enough to stand her ground. Willing enough to take a chance. To trust him a little further.

Which had crazy written all over it.

She should be backing up a step. Or ten. Giving him a wide berth while she skedaddled out the door. But oh no, not her. What was she doing? Getting courageous at the wrong moment. Wondering about the damn connection they shared. Wanting to get up close and personal to see if she got zapped. Zinged. Carried away by the same mindless pleasure she’d felt in McGovern’s the night he’d touched her.

Rikar stepped in close, crowding her. Raising her chin, Angela planted her feet, refusing to succumb to intimidation. Too bad he was good at it.

Using his body to block her, he met her gaze head-on, tethering her with eye contact as he herded her away from the cell. Planted between her and Forge, he threw her a warning look. Angela chewed on her bottom lip. Message received. He wanted her to stay put. Wanted her behind him where Forge couldn’t see her.

“Frosty,” Forge said, the hum of challenge in his voice. “So nice of you to visit. I’ve been chatting with Angela…thinking about giving you a bit of competition on the suitor front.”

Rikar’s pale eyes went icy, then sparked, making his irises glow.

Angela swallowed. Oh, so not good. Rikar in a snit was one thing, but in full-on lethal mode? That was something she didn’t want to see.

“Isn’t that right, lass?” Giving the tin of shortbread a shove, Forge sent his snack spinning toward the back of cell. The container bumped against the wall, and he pushed to his feet, taking a step toward them. As the invisible barrier snapped, the collar around his neck beeped in warning. “We’ve been planning your future.”

Frost gathered, coating Rikar’s temples, blowing arctic air into her face as he spun to face Forge.

“Knock it off, Forge,” she said, trying to dial down the frost factor. Seeing more of Rikar’s back now than the prisoner, she peeked around his shoulder. He widened his stance, trying to block her. Angela gave in to the childish urge and rolled her eyes. Uh-huh, right. As if she needed protection from a guy locked behind a force field with a dog collar around his throat. “You’re being an idiot…not helpful.”

“Never said I’d help, Ange,” Forge said, purring her nickname like a lover.

Angela winced. Well, crap…just crap. The jerk was obviously angling for the Stupidest Move in History Award, because winding Rikar up to watch him go wasn’t the best move. Unless, of course, the guy wanted to get his head ripped off.

A distinct possibility, considering—

Rikar snarled, cranking his fists tight.

Ah, hell. “Rikar…don’t. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Oh, come on,
angel
,” Forge said, borrowing Rikar’s endearment for her. A wicked gleam in his eyes, he rolled his shoulders, getting ready for the fight he was trying to start. “Admit it. I’m the better male. You’ll be happier with me.”

Angela’s mouth dropped open.

“B?” Rigid with fury, Rikar cracked his knuckles. The sound ricocheted, sending shivers down her spine. “I’m gonna mess him up a bit. You can still talk to a quadriplegic.”

“I’m good with that,” Bastian said, tone soft yet somehow lethal.

“Ah, Bastian?” Myst said. “I don’t think that’s—”

“Time to go,
bellmia
.”

The soft scrape of boots on concrete drifted from behind Angela. Movement flashed in her periphery, and Myst gasped. Wonderful. Bastian was on the move, scooping his mate up and headed toward the door. Next stop? Angela. She read his intention without any effort. He planned to grab her on the fly and haul both her and Myst out of the cellblock. Which…yup. Would leave Rikar to beat the snot out of Forge in private.

One eye on Bastian, Angela kicked out of her footwear. She needed traction, and bare feet worked better on concrete than smooth-soled flip-flops. Timing it just right, Angela slid beneath Rikar’s arm, avoiding Bastian’s hand as he reached for her. A quick one-two sidestep and…

Bam!

She planted herself in front of Rikar. “Back off, man. It isn’t gonna happen.”

Ice-blue eyes met hers. She held up her hands. Rikar growled, warning her without words. Angela stifled a shiver but stood her ground. No way could she allow him anywhere near Forge. She needed the guy. He’d provided valuable intel. Would no doubt give her more. So, yeah. Rearranging the prisoner’s face wasn’t on Rikar’s menu. Not today. Maybe not ever.

“I’m touched, Ange,” Forge said, playing it up for his audience. “I didnae know you cared so—”

“Shut up,” she said, snapping at him. “Stop being such a jackass.”

“Move, angel.”

“No.”

A muscle jumped along Rikar’s jaw. He dodged right. She slapped her hands against his chest, keeping him in front of her.

Electricity leapt, arcing from her palms. She sucked in a quick breath. Rikar cursed as the current grabbed hold, swirling up her arms to flow unrestricted to her heart. It paused midbeat as pleasure spun through her, making her skin tingle as sensation lit her up and heat settled woman-low.

She gasped. Holy moly. Heat lightning. Orgasm in a bottle. Full-on pleasure. How fascinating. The big bang without the sex.

“Fuck me,” Rikar groaned, retreating as she pushed him toward the back wall. “Angela…let go. You gotta…oh, God.”

Let go? No chance in hell. He felt too good. She didn’t want to back away and…

God, he smelled fantastic, like chilly winter mornings and fresh arctic air. Combine that with the current throbbing through her veins, and oh, man…she needed more.

“Rikar? Can you…just…” Her breath caught as she closed the distance, brushing her body against his. Moving closer, she pressed her cheek to his chest. Right over his heart, and gasped, “Gimme more.”

“Good Christ.” His back collided with the wall as he encircled her wrists. Pressing his thumbs to her pulse points, he drew her closer while simultaneously trying to push her away. “Baby, you’re…holy shit.”

Forge laughed. “A wee bit peckish, arenae you, Frosty?”

Ignoring the jerk in the cage, she said, “Please, Rikar.”

“God, angel. Whatever you want.” Threading his hand through her hair, he cupped her nape while his other arm came around her. She moaned. He hummed and picked her up, pivoting into a 180-degree turn. Cold steel settled against her back as he whispered, “My beautiful angel, I know you’re not ready for me, but I’m so hungry, love. So fucking hungry.”

Hungry
.

Panic swirled for a second. Fear followed suit, but Angela refused to listen. This was her chance. Maybe the only one she would get to experience the relief Forge had promised her firsthand. So, yeah. All her uncertainty could go hang itself. She wanted Rikar. Needed to touch him and be touched in return. To feel peace instead of the pain. To forget for just a little while and pretend she was the same as she’d always been. Untainted. Unchanged. Unashamed by what had happened to her.

“Relax for me, love. Let me in.” Flicking at her hoodie, Rikar slipped his hand beneath the hem, seeking her skin. As his hand settled, fingers splayed wide on her lower back, he murmured to her. Sweet words filled with praise and reassurance: promises to be gentle, to go slowly, giving her ultimate control. His breath warm against her temple, he pressed his knee between hers, spreading her thighs to make room for his own. “Please, Angela. I need you.”

His
please
did her in. Made her blink back the hot burn of tears. The rat-bastard hadn’t asked. He’d taken: forced and hurt and brutalized. But Rikar wasn’t like him. His hands were gentle, and his voice pleading. Asking her permission. Giving her the choice to draw him in or push him away.

Myst’s voice came back to her…
I like feeding Bastian. A lot
.

And just like that, the last of the fear vanished. Rikar needed her. She would provide for him. End of story.

With a welcoming murmur, Angela pressed her cheek to his. He burrowed into her embrace, nestling in as he set his mouth against her temple. Bliss swirled, reaching deep, rising hard, flowing fast in the face of desire. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring his strength before cupping the nape of his neck. God, his hair was soft. Short, yes, but unbelievably thick. And as she marveled at the feel of him, allowing her fingers to play, his teeth grazed the pulse pounding beneath her skin, making her gasp as she did as he asked and invited him in.

His breath hitched.

She pulled him closer. “It’s all right, Rikar. Take what you need.”

“My beautiful female.” He kissed her softly, an ache in his voice as he whispered, “Forgive me for my greed.”

But as he hugged her close and drank deep, Angela knew there was nothing to forgive. He was what he
was
. She possessed what he needed. No changing that fact. No going back, either.

A delicious scent all around him, Rikar woke up riding a wave of glory-glory-hallelujah. With a hum, he opened his eyes and blinked, getting nothing but blur. He let his lids drift closed again. Shit, he was groggy, deep in the layer between sleep and wakefulness where dreams lived and reality stood on the fringes. And wow. For the first time in a long while, he was full. Completely satisfied. Without the sharp edge of hunger that always gnawed on him from the inside out.

Rubbing the grit from his eyes, he cracked his lids, giving his vision another try. Steel glinted overhead, refracted arcs of light spilling like colorless rainbows across the ceiling. Rikar frowned. What the fuck? A sleepy murmur sounded as a soft body snuggled against him and…

Angela.

Sucking in a quick breath, he glanced down and…oh, yeah. There she was, fast asleep, her back to his chest, her behind nestled against his groin. Memory flooded him, providing the details.

With a curse, Rikar laid his head back down. He was an idiot. One who’d screwed the pooch and wound up in the middle of clusterfuck territory. God help him. He shouldn’t be here with her. Should be in his own bed, holding her close while she slept not…
here
. The instant she touched him, he should’ve picked her up and carried her to his room. What he’d done instead was lose his mind and back her into one of the prison cells. Now they shared real estate. Were horizontal without the possibility of getting vertical anytime soon.

On a fucking prison cot.

Christ. Had he said idiot? Well, he’d meant asshole.

Even knowing he should do right by her—scoop her up and carry her out of the cellblock—Rikar couldn’t move. He wanted to stay right where he was, curled around his female, listening to her deep, even breaths, enjoying the full-body contact. It didn’t matter that they were both still dressed. Being with her wasn’t about sex. At least not this time around. Eventually, it would be, and he’d claim her. But today all he wanted to do was hold her. Protect her. Win her trust by showing her that he could be patient. That being close to her would be enough until she was ready to take things further.