Fury of Ice (39 page)

A dark-haired male thumped Venom on the chest, then pivoted and ass-planted himself beside his buddy. “Zip it, Ven.”

Three syllables loaded with lethal. Forge’s lips twitched. He might not know the golden-eyed male, but he liked the Nightfury’s style already. Especially if he could keep Venom in line.

Rikar came through the force field, cursing, muscles twitching as he left the other Nightfury warriors to join his commander inside his cell. Forge scanned the faces of the four standing in the corridor. Venom and Sloan he’d seen before. The other two he didn’t recognize but knew just by looking both were fighters. Although Venom’s buddy was seasoned, the other male was not. A fledgling maybe. Powerful, but as of yet unaccustomed to his new body and the magic he could wield.

“I hate that fucking thing,” Rikar said, shaking off the aftereffects of the force field.

Forge tugged on the collar. “You should try it from my end.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Figures.” Sweat rolled over one of his eyebrows. Forge swiped at it, wiping the droplet away before it dripped into his eye. “Fucking pussy.”

Rikar laughed, throwing off the insult like air. Which was beyond strange. And a wee bit alarming. So much for getting a rise out of the male. “What’s up, lads? We in for a communal beatdown?”

“Nah,” Bastian said. “Just a chat.”

Forge’s eyes narrowed on the Nightfury commander. He watched Bastian lean, back flat, against the far wall, one ankle crossed over the other. The position said relaxed. The body language screamed alert.

Forge frowned. “You gonnae clue me in, then?”

“Sure,” Rikar said, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to provoke. Far enough away to avoid getting coldcocked. A distinct possibility, considering Forge was surrounded on all sides. “Something you should know first, though.”

“What’s that?”

“This place?” Pale eyes riveted on him, Rikar twirled his finger in the air. “Wired for sound, my man.”

“Bloody hell.” Forge sighed, the exhale all about exhaustion. He glanced up at the ceiling, looking for hidden microphones while remembering what he’d said to the females. “You heard.”

“Everything,” Rikar said. “Watched it, too.”

“Video?”

Frosty nodded.

“I should’ve guessed.”

But he hadn’t. Which embarrassed the hell out of him.

Curling his hands into fists, Forge shook his head. Jesus. He was slipping in a major way, letting imprisonment, all the smoke and mirrors, get to him. The Nightfuries were clever. Beyond smart. Hooked into the human world, and that meant they were masters of modern technology, using it to manipulate and monitor channels, picking up all kinds of useful intel. All of which he would’ve picked up…had he done his flippin’ job and paid attention.

“Look, Forge. You don’t trust me, I get that, but…” Rikar cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable in his own skin. “My female needed to hear what you said. You helped her. Made her trust instead of fear me. I owe you for that.”

“The fuck you do,” Forge said through clenched teeth. The Nightfury XO could go fry himself. No way would he accept the gratitude. “I did it for her, asshole, not you.”

“I know. Still…”

“Christ, Frosty. Whatcha want from me? A love-in or some shite?” Forge growled, heart aching for the proud SOB who was thanking him. For the male whose female had been brutalized by the Razorbacks. Had Caroline been hurt like that he would’ve—

Fuck. Torn the city apart to find the sadistic bastard. Ripped the rogue’s spinal cord out with one vicious yank.

He glared at Rikar, wanting to hit the male for making him sympathize. For making him feel anything at all. “Wannae give me a hug and call it even?”

Venom snorted, the amused sound carrying through the barrier.

Bastian’s mouth curved. “Hugging isn’t really Rikar’s MO.”

“Mine, either.”

“Good to know,” Rikar said, his eyes glinting with humor. “I got something that is, though. Wanna hear it?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

Forge cracked his knuckles. “Whether or not it involves me beating the shite out of you.”

Rikar grinned. “I’ll give you a shot…after you agree.”

He raised a brow, asking without words.

“To become part of our pack,” Bastian said, his tone casual, the words heavy-duty.

The offer hit Forge like a body shot, knocking the wind out of him. He blinked, trying to breathe. It was a no-go. His lungs were on lockdown. His brain? The thing was in WTF mode, sending his body the wrong signals, and as his hands started to shake, Forge knew he’d misheard. No way the Nightfuries wanted him as one of their own.

“You’re shitting me,” he rasped, sounding like an idiot. But it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Just the thought…of…of…Jesus save him from assholes. If the males aimed to hurt him, they’d hit the bull’s-eye dead center. He yearned for a home. A place to belong again. A chance to raise his son, make a difference, and kill some rogues while he put a dent in Ivar’s operation and avenged Caroline. “What kind of game are you playing, Nightfury?”

“No games,” Bastian said. “Just straight-up logic.”

Forge frowned so hard the space between his brows stung. His gaze ping-ponged, moving from Rikar to Bastian, then back again. Holy shite. They were serious. No kidding. No pulling any punches. Just hardcore, all-in commitment.

He shook his head, viselike pressure snaking around his chest. He glanced at the other Nightfuries, meeting each of their gazes through the invisible force field. No one laughed. No one shouted,
Surprise, asshole…you’ve been punked!
The entire pack was tight, down with the idea of him staying at Black Diamond.

His eyes started to water. Tears? The fuck-you of surprise? He didn’t know. Didn’t care much either as he asked Bastian, “Your idea?”

“Mine, actually,” Rikar said, surprising him. Of all the males to push for his induction into the pack, he never would’ve picked Frosty. “You need a home. We need another warrior. It’s a win-win, my man.”

“Decision time, Forge.” Bastian pushed away against the wall. “Yes or no?”

Forge opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it again. Fuck him, he needed to get a grip, but surprise had him by the balls, stealing his voice, pushing mental acuity into a holding pattern. Only one thought resonated. Acceptance. A real, honest-to-God pack to call his own. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. It was a no-brainer. Better than he’d expected. More than he deserved.

Swallowing the burn of unshed tears, he murmured, “Aye.”

Rikar’s mouth curved. “Good. I’d rather have you for my brother then KO your ass.”

“You tried that once already, remember? Didnae go well for you,” Forge said, getting his brainpower back, enjoying Rikar’s snort of amusement as he held his soon-to-be commander’s gaze. “There’s a ceremony, one that will complete the energy-fuse with Myst…tae join your life force with hers. It must be performed before the birth tae keep her safe.”

“
Mervaiz, zi kamir
,” Bastian said, speaking to him in Dragonese.
Many thanks, my brother
. “And we’ll get to that, but first, I want your blood oath.”

To be expected.

The ritual was a time-honored tradition among warriors. As a male being offered membership into a new pack, blood must be spilled to honor the bond and cement his status. Still, as Forge lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head, a pang of uncertainty hit him.

What if the Nightfury didn’t mean it? What if it was all a nasty joke? One designed to lower his defenses so Rikar could deliver the death blow?

Acceptance in one hand, death in the other. It was a helluva gamble.

Forge released a long, slow breath, trying to stay calm as Bastian approached from across the cell. All of his senses amplified, firing up instinct and the need to protect himself. He stayed the course, remained unmoving, picking up trace like a garbage man picked up litter.

Shifting through sounds and scent, he heard the soft scrape of Bastian’s footfalls on the floor and the creak of leather. Scented the male along with a hint of Myst’s fragrance still on his skin. Listened as the other males murmured in the quiet. But mostly, he heard his own heartbeat, the rush of blood in his ears along with the thump-thump-thump. And as the Nightfury commander came within striking distance, Forge murmured a silent prayer, banking on acceptance instead of trickery.

He yearned to hold his son. Wanted a new life. Needed a second chance.

But if he was wrong, and the male struck, death, at least, would come quickly.

Chapter Twenty-four

Backing Bastian’s play, Rikar crossed the prison cell. As the soles of his shitkickers rasped against concrete, he heard the other Nightfury males shift behind him. Uh-oh. Not a good idea. No way he wanted them anywhere near Forge. Not right now. The male’s dial was already cranked to nuclear. Add any more muscle to the inside of the cell, and things would go from manageable to messy in a heartbeat.

Slowing his pace, Rikar glanced over his shoulder. He met Venom’s gaze and shook his head. His warrior nodded, receiving the message loud and clear, and took a step back, resuming his previous position—shoulder blades flat against the back wall, arms folded over his chest, one boot planted on the floor, the other against the wall. With a quiet shuffle, the other Nightfuries followed the big male’s lead, staying on the other side of the invisible barrier, settling in for the show.

Rikar swallowed a snort.
Show
. Right. Like he needed any more freaking entertainment this week? With Mac’s transition, Angela’s rescue, and all the energy-fuse hoopla, he’d met his quota three days ago.

Rolling his shoulders to work out the tension, he glanced at Bastian. His commander tipped his chin. Rikar nodded in return and moved forward, closing in from one side while B came at Forge from the other. His gaze locked on the male, Rikar kept his approach slow and even, giving Forge time to adjust, accept…trust. But man, the closer he got, the more tense Forge became, his unease rising like smoke curls, perfuming the air around him.

Rikar’s throat went tight. Unbelievable. The male was straight-up courageous. And as he watched the male bow his head and wait for Bastian to reach him, Rikar’s heart went AWOL, cramping inside his chest, messing with his head, firing up his
thank you, God
reaction.

He really hadn’t wanted to KO the trash-talking idiot.

Which was a big surprise. Not to mention a dumb-ass reaction. Especially since he’d never been averse to killing anything, no matter the circumstances. But with Forge, he’d been dreading the endgame. Hadn’t wanted to repay the male’s kindness to his female with brutality or face Angela with Forge’s blood on his hands. On the way down to the cellblock, he’d dared hope for something more, a meeting of the minds, so to speak. And now that he had it, relief grabbed him by the balls.

Forge would soon become one of them, a Nightfury bound by duty, honor, and purpose. Another strong addition to their pack. Good for him. Better for them. So, yeah. No time like the present.

Rikar wanted the induction ceremony underway and the blood oath done sooner rather than later. Angela would wake up soon. He needed to be there to see her reaction to his gifts. Wanted to see her eyes light up, her smile of pleasure, and to benefit from her gratitude.

Self-serving of him? No doubt, but he couldn’t wait to touch her again. To feel her soft skin against his and have her taste on his tongue. Just the thought—the bold, beautiful promise of her—did unspeakable things to him. Two days with her hadn’t been enough. Hell, he’d never get enough, and if that made him a full-fledged sap, he’d wear the title with pride. He’d claimed his female. She accepted him wholeheartedly. All was right in his world.

He stopped next to Forge, taking up space at the male’s shoulder. The warrior tensed, the taut flex of muscle rolling beneath his T-shirt. Which told Rikar all he needed to know. The male was packing some serious edge. Yeah, he might be on bended knee, but he wasn’t certain about it. He was on lockdown, waiting for the situation to go sideways. Maybe even for death to come.

Rikar didn’t blame him.

What they asked of him wasn’t fair. Total trust without proof. Complete submission without substance. Soul-baring vulnerability without the chance of self-protection. Mind-fuck material. The fact Forge stayed the course—possessed the strength to endure—pushed Rikar past respect right into pride. He shook his head, calling himself fifty different kinds of crazy. Being proud of a warrior he barely knew, one as powerful as Forge, was a touch north of normal.

Not that it mattered. It was what it
was
. No sense arguing with it.

Wanting to reassure him, Rikar laid his hand on their new boy’s shoulder. Forge flinched. He gave him a squeeze. “Easy. It’s all good. Keep it tight.”

Forge nodded but adhered to tradition—respected the ritual—and kept his head down.

B stopped opposite him, flanking Forge’s other shoulder. His movements slow, his best friend reached out and laid his hand on the back of the warrior’s head, just above the collar. Time stilled and silence reigned, throbbing through the cellblock as he and B stood over Forge, their message clear.
Trust us. You’re safe with us. We’ve got your back
.

Seconds ticked past, falling into more. Forge trembled as he uncurled his fists. As his tension drained, his body unwound thread by taut thread and muscle uncoiled, relaxing beneath their hands.

“All right, then,” B murmured, acknowledging the trust, praising the effort.

Rikar tipped his chin in B’s direction. “The collar?”

“Yeah.” Shifting behind the big male, Bastian planted his feet on either side of Forge and grasped the collar with both hands. The pads of his thumbs pressed against the locking mechanism just below the base of Forge’s skull as his fingers spanned the steel, wrapping around his throat from behind. “Hold still while I get this fucker off, okay?”