Fury of Ice (32 page)

All part of the game.

At the moment, though, the red flags were flying. He couldn’t see anything through the pillow pile, but his hearing worked just fine. Better than
fine
, actually. He could hear everything. The hum of the dimmed-out halogens overhead, water rushing in the pipes behind the walls…the faint sound of someone breathing. And something else too. A flipping sound, almost as though paper rasped against paper.

Keeping the movement smooth, he reached for the other side of the bed. Nada. No warm body. Not an ounce of soft skin anywhere. Mac thanked God, then paused to wonder what the hell was wrong with him. He’d never been relieved to wake up alone before and…

Goddamn. He was losing it.

He scrubbed his hand over the rat’s nest on top of his head. Man, he needed a haircut. And a fucking clue.

Frowning so hard the space between his eyebrows stung, Mac thought back and—

Ta-da. The memory surfaced on cue. Mac blew out the breath he’d been holding. The last thing he remembered was the salt bath. And Sloan sewing him up.

Fifty-seven stitches.

He knew because he’d counted, trying not to whine like a little girl while the needle got pulled through again and again. Frickin’ Sloan. Someone needed to haul the guy out of the dark ages. Inform him topical anesthesia and painkillers existed. Spare the next guy in line the one-way trip into Ouchville.

He didn’t feel bad now, though. In fact, he felt pretty damn good, considering the Razorbacks had used him as a pincushion less than…

Mac pushed the corner of a pillow out of his line of sight. He squinted at the wide-faced wall clock hanging above glossy white cabinets across the room. Shit. He’d been whacked less than six hours ago. That was wild. A few hours of sleep and he’d healed up good and tight. All right. Maybe he was exaggerating a little. His right shoulder still ached, after all, telling him that although the sliced muscle was on the mend, he wasn’t quite 100 percent. At least not yet. Give him some more Zs, though, and he’d be good as new.

Fingering the bandage, he turned onto his side and—

“Jesus Christ!”

“Rise and shine, partner.”

Dark green hoodie zipped all the way up, half a deck of cards in her hand, others spread out on the quilt in front of her, Angela sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. Solitaire. Fuck. Wasn’t that just like her…to sit with him, patiently playing a game while she waited for him to wake up. While she waited to see if he was all right. His throat went tight as he spied the concern on her face.

Biting her bottom lip, she shuffled the cards in her hand. “How we doing this morning?”

“Jesus, Ange,” he said, voice cracking as his gaze met hers. Her eyes filled with tears. His followed suit, stinging at the corners. God, he was so frickin’ glad to see her. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Without warning, she launched herself at him. Cards went flying. Mac sat up in a hurry, catching her in mid-flight, wrapping her in a big bear hug. The kind a brother gave his sister after not seeing her for a while.

Hanging on tight, she gave him a squeeze. “I’m so happy to see you.”

The viselike pressure banding his chest backed off a notch, allowing him to take a full breath. Thank God for Ange. She had that effect on him. Always calmed him down. Made him think before he acted, which was why he’d lasted on the force for so long. A quirk of fate had paired them up just over two years ago, and he was so grateful for that. He’d gained more than a kick-ass partner that day. He’d found his family.

But now, he had a new one. Dragonkind.

Mac swallowed, suddenly nervous. Would Angela understand his new circumstances? Would she accept what he was and would become with the Nightfuries’ help? Or would his dragon side freak her out and send her running?

He hoped not. The last thing he wanted to do was lose her.

Taking a fortifying breath, he backed out of the embrace. She gave him one last squeeze, then released him, shuffling backward on the mattress, putting a comfortable distance between them. And yeah, that was about right. He and Angela might love each other, but it was purely platonic. Exactly the way both of them liked it. So hugging didn’t happen often, and when it did, the embrace was heartfelt, but brief.

Wiping beneath her eyes, she ran her gaze over him, cataloging the almost-healed scrapes and fading bruises. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Right as rain.”

He raised a brow. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

With a huff, Angela settled on her knees, bum to heels, and flicked the edge of his bandage. “Like you’re one to talk?”

He shrugged, ignoring the twinge of pain, trying to figure out how to tell her. Where should he start? At the beginning? Near the end? Mac didn’t know, but somehow blurting out
Surprise, I’m half-dragon, just like the bastards that kidnapped and tortured you
didn’t seem the right tack to take.

Yeah. Like that would win him any brownie points.

“I didn’t know you were inked.” Reaching out, she touched one of the tattooed lines on his forearm.

“I wasn’t…until yesterday,” he murmured, staring at the design—the swirling navy-blue lines he’d never consented to getting.

Rikar thought magic was at the root of the tattoo. Something to do with being a water dragon. Mac frowned at it, flexing his arm, watching the pattern shift with his muscle. Maybe his XO was right. The tat, after all, had come with his transition. Along with his claws and the sharp blade running along his spine in dragon form. But unlike the horns on his head, the ink stayed in place, shifting from scales to skin, marring one half of his torso before moving over his left shoulder, down and around his biceps to his forearm. Human. Dragon. It didn’t matter what form he took, the pattern never changed.

Which meant he was stuck with the thing. Whether he liked it or not.

“Wow, look at that.” Her gaze on his tattoo, Angela leaned closer and watched the ink morph on his skin. The marking shimmered, moved from dark to light blue where she touched his arm. “Cool.”

Cool?
He blinked. Okay, he bought that. Most chicks liked ink, but right now that wasn’t his primary concern. He needed to man up, grow a pair, and tell her things had changed. That
he
had changed.

Mac cleared his throat, searching for the right words. None came, so he copped out, and said, “You think?”

Angela snorted. “You’re a pansy, you know that?”

Mac frowned and glanced up. Angela met his gaze head-on. His breath hitched as he saw the understanding in her eyes. “Holy shit. You know.”

She nodded. “Rikar filled me in.”

Mac closed his eyes, relief hitting him chest-level. His partner knew, and yet she was still sitting with him. Wasn’t running in the opposite direction. Still wanted to be his friend…his family. Jesus. Her strength floored him, renewed his faith in all things good. And had the situation been reversed, he probably would’ve been out the door.

“I always knew you were different,” she said, smiling a little, breaking his heart. “I just didn’t know how different. So I guess dragon DNA explains it.”

“God, Ange,” he said, so proud of her his heart ached. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“I saw him, you know,” she said, tone soft with wonder. “Rikar…in dragon form…when he came to get me. I have to admit, it was pretty spectacular. Could’ve been the blood loss and delirium talking, though, so don’t get your hopes up. I might freak out yet and shoot you.”

“Right…” Grabbing her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll get ready for the psychotic break.”

She huffed.

Mac grinned at her. He couldn’t help it. Trust Angela to accept easily what would scare the pants off of most people. She’d always been like that. Insatiably curious. Way too smart for her own good. Which begged the question. One that revolved around his new XO. Mac’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath. Huh. He could smell Rikar all over her—the scent screaming
Stay away, or get your ass kicked
.

Interesting. And dangerous.

Two of his favorite words. Especially since he’d be the one doing the ass kicking if Angela got hurt along the way. First-in-command or not, Rikar would treat her right or answer to him.

Holding her gaze, he tipped his chin. “You hooking up with him, Ange?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

She threw him a hardcore it’s-none-of-your-freaking-business look.

“Bullshit.” No way would he let her con him. He wasn’t buying it or about to let her off the hook. He wanted answers. Needed to know what he was dealing with because…shit. He might not understand a lot about Dragonkind yet, but Mac knew it was serious business. And her welfare was too important to shrug it off. “Anything to do with you…here.” Releasing her hand, he raised his own, circled his index finger in the air, the gesture all-encompassing. “In this world. At Black Diamond. You’re my business. So get over it and dish.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she sighed and looked away. Not a good sign. It reeked of uncertainty. He could practically smell her vulnerability. And that was before she started picking at the quilt, worrying a loose thread with her fingernail. Mac’s stomach twisted into a giant knot.

Motherfuck, he didn’t like her reaction. Angela was the only constant in his life. No matter how screwed-up things became, he could always count on her to kick his butt when he needed it. But now she was the one hurting. So, yeah. He would be the steady one…for a frickin’ change.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding way too young. Way too confused. Way too vulnerable. “I’m drawn to him. It’s like we share a weird connection or something. The more time I spend with him, the closer I want to get and…crap. I know it sounds crazy, but…” Plucking a seven of spades off the bed, she turned the card over in her hand. “I like him, Mac…a lot. But I’m afraid, too.”

Like was good. Scared was not. “Has he hurt you?”

She rocked backward on her knees, shock flaring in her eyes. “No. He would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Then you’re good to go.”

Her brows collided, and Mac knew exactly what she was thinking. The unspoken
you’re nuts, bro
didn’t need saying to be heard.

Hell, maybe he was. He didn’t know Rikar all that well. All right, so he respected the guy, liked him even. It was easy to do. But that didn’t change the facts. The Nightfury first-in-command was a warrior with loads of aggression to spare. A good thing on a battlefield. You wanted that kind of male covering your six in a dogfight. But with a woman, it wasn’t the best combination.

Then again, what did he know?

He was just as deadly as Rikar—always had been—and he’d never hurt a woman. Not once. Would rather blow his own head off with a matched set of Sigs then abuse a female. So the question then became: Why would Rikar feel any differently? The short answer? He wouldn’t. The male was straight-up solid. No way would Rikar ever hurt Angela.

Mac blew out a long breath. All right, then. Crisis averted. Which meant he could play the hell out of Cupid. There were definite advantages to the whole Angela/Rikar hookup. He wouldn’t be forced to give up his baby sister. Selfish much? Without a doubt. Mac didn’t care. The upside of keeping her around was too tempting to pass up.

“You’re cool with the fact he’s half-dragon?”

“Duh. I’m okay with the fact
you’re
Dragonkind, so…”

“Okay, chill. Just checking,” he said, settling back into their normal routine, loving the fact nothing had changed between them even though everything else had gone to hell around them. “So you’ll give Rikar a shot?”

Angela shrugged. “The whole thing still freaks me out, but…yeah, I guess.”

“Take it slow. Give yourself time, Ange, but don’t let fear shut you down. Rikar’s a patient guy. He’ll wait for you to figure it out.”

She flicked the card at him, nailing him in the center of the forehead. As he cursed, she said, “So what now…you go half-dragon on me and suddenly you’re channeling Dr. Phil?”

He rubbed his forehead. Shit, like he didn’t have enough bruises, already? “Smart-ass.”

“You know it.” She laughed, giving him a big grin. Oh, how he’d missed her. “Now, are you gonna stick around here or…?”

Mac raised a brow, waiting for the punch line. Angela loved alternatives. And he enjoyed it when she came up with them. The fact her options nearly always landed them in trouble—and closer to the truth—just threw more fun into the pot. Kind of like the bonus round on a game show.

“Are you coming?” She scooted to the edge of the bed.

He followed, conjuring a pair of Lucky Sevens as he went. As the denim settled at his waist and against his thighs, he asked, “Where we going?”

“To ambush Rikar,” she said, tone nonchalant as though she’d just suggested they go for a couple of lattes or something. Not tweak a dragon’s tail. “He’s hiding something from me. I wanna know what it is.”

His lips twitched. “You know where he’s at?”

“No clue.”

“Hmm…a scavenger hunt.”

“X marks the spot.” Angela hopped to the floor. Slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops, she headed for the door.

Not bothering with boots, Mac hotfooted after her in his bare feet. Oh, goody. Angela scented blood in the water, and he couldn’t wait for the show. Rikar was so frickin’ dead when she caught up to him. And lucky him. He’d have a front row seat while it all went down.

Mac smiled. God love her. It was just like old times.