Fury of Ice (43 page)

She knew what he wanted, and it had little to do with sex. What he craved reached beyond physical intimacy into trust. He needed her to trust him completely. To throw caution aside and have faith—in him and herself. Enough to let go of the fear and give him everything. No misgivings. No holding back. Just straight-up, in-your-face vulnerability.

It was psychology 101: face what you most fear.

His fingers continued to play, winding her tight, coaxing her with pleasure. Her breath hitched as he kissed her and waited for an answer. For the green light and…

Screw it. She was going to let him. Rikar deserved better than that from her. He yearned for her trust, so she would hand him the power to give while taking and trust him to catch her when she fell.

Holding his gaze, she dipped her chin. A simple nod. A barely-there shift in movement, but it was all he needed and everything he asked. Murmuring her name, he nipped her once, then kissed her deep, walking them forward toward the padded lip of a weight machine. Within seconds, he stripped her bare and wrapped her up, holding her close while he—

“Oooh, God.” What clever, clever fingers he had. Smoothing his hand over her belly, he nipped her shoulder, kissed her nape, and then bent her forward. Her hipbones pressed into the padded edge of a weight machine, he settled behind her, his hips against her bottom. “Rikar?”

“Easy angel,” he whispered. “And hang on tight. I’m gonna take you on a ride.”

Her hands found purchase, grasping onto the metal bars in front of her.

Spreading her legs wider, he stepped between while his hands caressed her from shoulders to lower back, playing in delicate hollows and sensitive valleys. He took it slow, brushing kisses along her spine. One hand settled on her hip, the other traveled, slipping between her thighs. He stroked deep, making her moan, the pace so beautifully erotic she forgot what he wanted to do and moved with him. Simply existed, riding the pleasure he gave her.

A breath away from coming, he withdrew from her core. She moaned her disappointment. He answered, coming back to please her, entering her from behind. Angela gasped, arching beneath the press of his hands, fighting to accommodate him as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

God, he was deep…so very deep.

“Fucking hell.” His big hands bracketing her hips, he withdrew and came back, circling his hips, touching…just…the right…spot. “Sweet Christ, I…oh, yeah. That’s it, Angela…move with me. Move, love.”

Pinned beneath him, heart hammering, body throbbing, she used what little leverage she possessed to please him. To please herself. He cursed, the sound half pleasure, half pain, each thrust a slow, devastating glide. The coil and release of his body brought her closer, took her higher, made her ache and plead and need him more.

How. Amazing.

He was devastation in motion. Perfection personified. Made just for her. And as bliss swelled on a wave of delight, she moaned his name. He praised her in return, upping the rhythm, riding her so well she begged him for release.

“Come on, angel,” he growled, working himself deep, his hips slapping against her bottom. “I want it. Give it to me.”

With a gasp, she let herself go, lost herself in driving heat and greedy pleasure with the words
I love you
tangled on the tip of her tongue. Angela wanted to tell him. To lay herself bare and give him all but couldn’t make herself say the words. Couldn’t be that vulnerable. Not yet. Not until she was assured of his love in return.

So she showed him instead, took him to the hilt, trusting him completely, giving him her heart with deed instead of word. And as she exploded around him, Angela dragged him with her. Into the light. Into oblivion where bliss lived, and love, she hoped, had already found a home in the deepest reaches of his heart.

Chapter Twenty-six

His wings spread in flight, Lothair flew over the apartment complex. Eighth and Columbia Street. Perfect. He’d made it in under ten minutes. Then again, the female’s home had only been a quick glide away. He could’ve reached her on foot if he’d wanted to, but hell, flying in was a better bet.

Safer, too.

He didn’t want any Nightfuries mucking up the plan. The assholes had been everywhere lately.

Lothair’s night vision sparked, picked up trace as he circled overhead. The full moon helped, glowing in a cloudless sky, washing Seattle in blue-gray light. He made another pass and scanned the terrain. Tidy brick pathways led to and from buildings below. Pushed by a chilly autumn breeze, colorful treetops swayed in the common. A grassy knoll swelled beneath the great beeches in front of the complex, providing a comfortable root base, rolling to the edge of a paved lot packed tight with cars.

All of it pulsed with energy. Animate. Inanimate. It didn’t matter. Everything—big, small…alive or not—carried a signature. No female energy, though, came through the Meridian’s midnight blanket. Nothing but a single male pushing through the front door. Destination unknown.

Not him, though. Lothair knew exactly where he was going and what he would do when he got there. Tania Solares awaited. Jesus, he hoped the female was high-energy. She was the second-to-last one: number six for cellblock A. Now all he needed to do was drop in and grab her.

Fifth window in. Eleven floors up.

The lights were on. Tania had taken the bait, and now she waited, his for the taking. And he would…take her. Probably in her own bed. Maybe several times before he carried her off to the Razorback lair and secured her in her cell. The instant that happened, he’d be one step closer to his real goal—killing the she-cop.

Angling his wings, Lothair set down without a sound on the female’s balcony. He shifted without thought, scales turning to skin, claws and talons to feet and hands. As his boots settled on his feet, her name slithered through his mind. Angela Keen. He rubbed the side of his face, fingertips grazing the spot where she’d nailed him with the box cutter. Completely healed now, he didn’t feel a thing. No scar or imperfection marred his cheek. But the gash had gone more than skin deep. It had cut him wide open inside. Now the wound festered, revving up his need to get even.

Rolling his shoulders, he mind-spoke to his warriors circling overhead.
“Wait for me. I’ll be half an hour.”

He got a bunch of “roger thats” from the males flying with him.

“Need some help?”
Denzeil asked, sounding hopeful.

“Stay outside.”

“Have fun,”
D said, the grumble in his voice undeniable.

Lothair’s mouth curved as he watched his friend fly overhead, looking for a place to roost. Unlocking the patio door with his mind, he slid it open and strode over the threshold. He took a deep breath, drawing the female’s scent into his lungs, and scanned the shadows. As he swept the scene, he picked up details. No one in the living room or kitchen, but a cell phone sat on the granite countertop. Plugged into its charger, the light blinked on and off, sending a piercing green light through the dimness.

He took it as a good sign. Humans never went anywhere without their cell phones. It was an unwritten rule or something. Either that or an addiction. If they didn’t have the stupid things plastered to their ears, their fingers were busy clicking on keyboards. The whole race was a step away from a catastrophic bout of brain tumors.

Which would be good. If the assholes all died of cancer, Ivar could get out of his lab. Concentrate less on his superbugs and more on hunting.

Lothair pivoted and went right. Double doors lead into the bedroom where he wanted to be, but still, no Tania. Just a magazine on the silk coverlet. He checked the bathroom and frowned. No sign of her.

He rolled through the apartment again, opening cupboard doors, checking closets, wondering if she was hiding. He picked up her iPhone and scrolled through the history but found no clues. She was gone.

Lothair’s temper surged and magic swirled, exploding in a wave as rage took hold. Grabbing the edge of a cabinet door, he tore the wood panel off its hinges and hurled it across the kitchen, then repeated the process. Leaving nothing but kindling in his wake, he leapt over the island. He landed in the living room and attacked the couch, ripping holes in leather cushions. Stuffing flew like confetti, spilling all over the place while his heart hammered and his fists flew. After he was done, he ransacked her bedroom, tearing her mattress in two, bending the metal bed frame in half. And the rampage went on and on. The bathroom sink exploded with a knuckle-bruising punch. Vases smashed against walls, glass shards flying like shrapnel. Tables got upended. Mirrors shattered. All while he cursed the female who’d ruined his plan.

First the she-cop. Now Tania.

His chest pumping with exertion, Lothair stared at the shattered bathroom mirror. His reflection splintered like a sunburst, heading in multiple directions. His eyes narrowed as fury receded and mind sharpened, laying out a plan like playing cards on a table.

After a minute, he snarled,
“D.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Go home.”
Uncurling his hands, Lothair raised one and examined his bruised knuckles.
“Fire up your fucking system and find Tania Solares. Track her recent credit card receipts, the GPS in her car…whatever. Get me a trail to follow.”

Hearing the pissed off in his voice, Denzeil didn’t argue. The sound of wings flapping came through mind-speak as the male took flight.
“Ten-four. I’ll hit you up when I find something.”

Of course the male would…if he knew what was good for him. The warrior’s self-preservation instinct had always been bang-on accurate. Too bad Denzeil couldn’t find Rikar for him. He would rip the Nightfury’s head off as soon as—

Lothair jolted as a tingle slid over the nape of his neck. He stopped breathing, trying to get a handle on the signal, and…oh, happy day. He recognized the energy beacon. The she-cop. Angela Keen was out from beneath the Nightfuries’ thumb and on the move.

Closing his eyes, he turned a slow circle. Wood splinters and ceramic tile crunched beneath his boots as he mined her energy, tracking the source. North…northwest. Near the coastline. Yes, that was definitely her.

Lothair’s hum of satisfaction turned into a growl. It looked like the night hadn’t been a total waste after all. The female was out on her own.

Time to unleash hell. And a shitload of payback.

Throwing Angela’s old energy beacon out with supernova intensity, Rikar set down on the lip of a steep rock face. His claws scraped stone as he scanned the horizon and the flat plateau running out below him. A thousand yards of wide-open space, jagged cliffs falling off the edge into the ocean on one side, thick forest rising on the other, a swath of flat terrain interspacing the two.

The perfect place for an ambush.

He’d hunted all week for the location. Had done nothing but flybys, working his way up the Washington State coastline, searching for just…one…thing. Multiple points of cover. But above all, safety and a back door for Angela if things went wrong.

Rikar snorted, frost rising like smoke rings from his nostrils. Tonight didn’t feel right. Nothing about having Angela in the mix did, but even as the thick rush of unease intensified, he broadcast the signal, wanting to get it over with even as he dreaded the outcome. But the setup was the best he could do. With the humans cleared out of the century-old farmhouse and Angela’s Jeep parked beside it, the Razorbacks would come to the conclusion Rikar wanted them to—that Angela had come to the secluded spot to hide.

Not a bad trap.

Rikar still didn’t like it. Wound tight, muscle flickered along his flank, rattling the spikes along his spine. The sound smacked of nervousness, forcing him to reevaluate. He’d never thought much about battle. Fighting was simply a part of his life, something he did to protect the race, and by extension, humankind. Nothing to wax poetic about, but tonight, everything hinged on Angela getting a clean shot. At a moving target. Within a very limited window of time.

Shifting into human form, he mind-spoke,
“B, heads up. Signal’s gone live. Tell the boys to get ready.”

“You in position?”

“No,”
he said, aware he was about to catch hell.
“Making a pit stop first.”

“Jesus, man.”
When he remained silent, Bastian sighed, knowing a losing battle when he found one.
“Do it fast, then get your ass cliff-side. We’re all good to go.”

“Two minutes tops, and I’m airborne again.”

His best friend cursed.

Rikar ignored the warning and hopped over the top of a huge boulder. He caught air, free-falling ten feet to the ledge below. His shitkickers connected to the granite with a crunch. He swallowed another bout of unease as he got a load of the setup—of Angela, the M25 he’d given her, and the spot she’d chosen to shoot from.