Fury of Ice (45 page)

Sharp claws raked Rikar’s side, tearing through his scales to reach bone. Blood welled on his rib cage. He gritted his teeth and swung right, avoiding enemy talons as he hammered a Razorback on the flyby. The bright blue dragon recoiled, somersaulting into a backflip, smashing into one of his buddies. As their wings got tangled, Rikar heard the pair curse, but didn’t pause to admire his handiwork. More rogues were coming, converging like a pack of raptors, all their focus on him.

The FUBAR factor should’ve fazed him. But he didn’t give a shit. As long as the bastards stayed away from the cliff edge and Angela, he’d hold the line. Put a bull’s-eye on his skull to keep her safe.

The next thirty seconds were all about time. About the dash and dive. About distracting the enemy pack long enough so B and the others could reach him. The instant they did, he’d fly for the ridgeline and his mate. He needed to get her the hell out of range. The aerial dogfight was too intense, the sky filled with dragons drifting closer to her position by the second.

Rotating into a side-flip, he avoided another set of enemy claws. The up-and-over did the job, positioning him above one of the bastards’ spiked spine. Still upside down, halfway through the spin, he reached for the rogue’s head. His talons curled around enemy horns. A quick grab. A faster twist and…

Crack!

Rikar snapped the male’s neck. Quick. Effective. Deadly. Hoorah, one down. Nine to go. And it couldn’t happen fast enough.

He couldn’t see Lothair anymore. The male had slunk away, made for the beaches along the coastline, another dragon in tow. Fuck, the Razorback XO was smart: hanging back, using a look-alike and the other rogues as cover. Rikar snarled, knowing exactly what the asshole was after. Angela. The rat-bastard wouldn’t pass up a chance to recapture her.

Fear lit him up at as he slashed a red dragon, snapping the enemy’s forepaw. As the rogue howled, Rikar thanked God for Forge. The male would keep her cloaked and Lothair from finding her.

His wings stretched to capacity, Rikar banked into a tight turn. Four Razorbacks followed, coming at him from different angles. Rikar dodged, but not fast enough. Enemy claws struck, scoring his scales before sinking into his shoulder. With a curse, he twisted, shaking off the blow as he rocketed into a tight spiral.

The sharp report of rifle rang out, a harsh crack beneath a starry sky.

The yellow dragon chasing him jerked, head whiplashing, blood arcing from his temple. As the rogue ashed out, the night wind blew the gray flakes into Rikar’s face. He growled. What was Angela doing…trying to put a target on her freaking back? Another round of fear rolled through him. She needed to move, right now. The report of the rifle was too loud, and if she didn’t stop shooting, every rogue would turn in her direction.

A second shot echoed. Another rogue fell.

Rikar cursed even as he tried to be thankful for her help, but…shit. Just wait until he got a hold of her. He’d turn her over his knee. After he kissed the hell out of her, because man, she was good. Wicked accurate, picking dragons out of the sky like heat-seeking missiles took out fighter jets. Good thing Forge was—

“Rikar…hard left.”
A purple streak roared in on his flank.

Rikar shifted, tucking his wings as his comrade exhaled. Fire-acid flew from Forge’s throat, setting a rogue on fire. The Razorback shrieked, falling out of the sky, the smell of burning flesh washing through the night chill.

Rikar hammered another Razorback and snarled through mind-speak,
“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Later,”
Forge said, breathing hard from his rocketlike flight from the cliff…where he’d left Angela alone and uncloaked.
“And she’s safe.”

“You asshole.”
Whipping around, Rikar slashed a brown dragon with his tail.

Forge came up over his spine. Rikar ducked his head, giving the male the space he needed to maneuver. His new warrior came in hot, elbowing a rogue in the head. A crack sounded as he knocked the bastard’s teeth down his throat. Rounding on another, Rikar’s claws caught scales. He gutted the enemy, protecting Forge’s flank with a shitload of down and dirty.

“Get back over there.”
Rikar slashed another rogue to keep the bastard at bay.
“I can’t find Lothair and—”

“Mac’ll move her if shit gets critical.”

“Son of a…”
Rikar trailed off as he grabbed a Razorback by the tail. Pulling a spin and toss, he hurled the enemy toward the farmhouse below him. The red dragon hit the ground with a crunch and slid, cutting a swath through the paddock, mounding the earth before he smashed into the barn. Wood siding exploded into kindling.
“…bitch.”

“Fuck off, Frosty.”
Forge breathed out. A stream of orange flame shot from his throat, flashing across the night sky. Bang-on accurate, he torched the pile of rubble beneath the rogue on the ground, lighting the entire mess on fire.
“Eye on the ball.”

Freaking Forge. He didn’t care how effective the warrior was with his flamethrower-cum-mouth. He would skin the male alive when this was over.

But first things first. Where the hell was the cavalry? Yeah, he and Forge might be doing the job keeping the rogues at bay, but not by much. It was hard, after all, to KO the enemy while playing defense.

“B
,
”
Rikar growled.
“Where the fuck are—”

“On your six,”
his commander said, coming in hot. A Razorback squawked, wing-flapping to get out of Bastian’s way.
“Shove over.”

No problem.

Rikar flipped, tucking into a tight sideways spiral. Midnight-blue scales streaked in his periphery as his friend arrived, flying in with a shitload of kick-ass and the other Nightfury warriors on his tail. As the pack rolled in, the Razorbacks recoiled. The idiots. They were bold when they outnumbered him ten to one, but give them even odds, it was Retreatsville for the assholes.

Thank fuck. He didn’t have a moment to waste.

Swooping in behind Venom and Wick, he mind-spoke,
“B…I’m going cliff-side.”

Bastian grunted, cracking a rogue’s skull.
“Get her out of here.”

Amen to that.

As much as he hated to leave the fight, he couldn’t stay. Not with Angela alone and vulnerable up on the ridgeline. Okay, so she wasn’t alone, but Mac was little better than a cub—unsure of his magic, unused to his new body, unable to use his strength to maximum effect. Leaving her with a fledgling male who didn’t have a clue how to cloak himself, never mind her, wasn’t an option.

Especially with Lothair still MIA.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Retreating to the secondary location wasn’t Angela’s idea of fun. Then again, neither was Mac at the moment. Freaking guy and his strong-arm tactics. He’d hauled her off the ground, stealing her rifle before she could get another shot away. Now he dragged her away from the firefight and Rikar, pushing her ahead of him down the rough pathway toward the beachfront.

Crap. The beach wasn’t a place she wanted to go. Bad memories lay in that direction. Especially after spotting Lothair not far from their primary position on the ledge. Angela clenched her teeth and kept her feet moving. She didn’t want to think about the cabin, the river, or the beachfront where Rikar rescued her. Nothing good lay in rehashing it. But as she navigated the steep incline, boot heels sinking into rock shale, blood rushed in her ears and fear came calling.

Her stomach knotted. She swallowed the sudden surge of bile, struggling to keep her footing on unfriendly terrain. Her boots slid on loose stone. Fist-sized rocks rolled down the slope in front of her, kicking up dust, cracking the sides of boulders. Angela grabbed for a handhold, fighting for balance. Her palm slid on the sheer rock wall. A second before she fell, Mac grabbed the back of her army jacket and hauled her upright.

Angela sucked in a breath. “Mac—”

“Keeping moving.” He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the sky.

“We’re sitting ducks out here,” she whispered, her voice an octave lower than usual. Sound carried for miles out here. They were already in Deep-Shitsville. No need to give away their position by being an idiot. “You can fly. Shift and let’s go airborne.”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

Mac drilled her with a look, aqua-blue eyes shimmering in the gloom. “I haven’t trained enough. Shit, I can barely protect myself up there, never mind you. Staying hidden’s our best bet until we get to the water. Once we’re in, no one will be able to touch me, and I’ll swim you to safety. Get you home.”

“But Rikar—”

“Can handle himself.”

True enough. A bird’s-eye view of his lethal abilities from the ridge told her that much. She’d gotten up close and personal through her scope. Watched him hammer enemy dragons…seen him twist and turn, white scales flashing as he went supersonic in flight to dodge Razorback claws. And that was before the other Nightfuries arrived on the scene.

Still, leaving Rikar out there—without her to cover him—made her go cold inside. Not that she’d had much choice in the matter. Proof positive of that was hauling ass behind her. With her M25 slung over his shoulder, leaving her nothing but the twin Glocks holstered on the outsides of her thighs for protection.

The guys had teased her when she’d strapped on the double gun belt, calling her a Lara Croft wannabe. Bet they weren’t laughing now. Mac certainly wasn’t.

Freaking guy…rifle-stealing pain in her ass.

Grabbing her shoulder, Mac pushed her sideways into a low-lying boulder, military-speak for hold up and get down. As he crouched alongside her, he checked the clip in her rifle, chambered a round, and whispered, “Besides, he’ll kick my ass if I go airborne with you.”

“Better an ass-kicking than getting me killed on the ground,” she said, talking smack to ease the tension. Both of them were wound too tight. Life-and-death situations tended to do that to a couple of cops in over their heads. “He’ll nail your—”

“Shut up,” he said even as his lips twitched. “And keep your head down. We’re headed into a straight stretch.”

She peeked over the top of the huge rock. “An open area?”

Mac nodded. “About a hundred yards worth.”

“Crap.”

“No kidding.”

Wonderful. Angela unholstered one of her Glocks and flipped the safety off. Just what they didn’t need, a clearing complete with sheer rock walls. The perfect spot for an ambush.

After double-checking her weapon, she glanced at Mac. “The plan?”

“Shit,” he said. “We’re supposed to have a plan?”

Angela rolled her eyes. Her partner grinned at her, but she could see the strain and knew what he was thinking because…you betcha. She was thinking the same thing. Mac was Dragonkind now, fast healing, hard to kill in a firefight. Crazy durable, unlike her. She was human, packing nothing but her smarts and a couple of Glocks to protect her mortal self while he owned a kick-ass set of claws, armored scales, and a nasty exhale. And that was before she got to the whole magic thing. So, yeah. If Mac got tag-teamed, she’d be forced to face a psychopath in dragon form.

All by her lonesome.

“Okay,” she murmured, blowing out a calming breath. With a shimmy, she slid sideways, popped her head around the edge of the boulder, giving the terrain another sneak peek. “I’ll stick close to the rock face. There’s an overhang at the base of the rock wall on the right-hand side. I should be able to squeeze under it. If things go south, I’ll hide there. Good?”

“Good,” Mac repeated, falling into their usual prebattle routine. It almost felt normal, as though they were headed into a perp’s house, not about to cross a clearing in dragon country. “Be safe.”

“You know it,” she said, then completed their trash talk ritual with, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

He snorted.

She went commando, staying low, double-fisting her gun as she skirted the edge of a boulder. Entering the plateau on the run, Angela hauled ass, legs pumping, moving with more speed than stealth. A low growl slithered through the quiet, bouncing between the sheer stone walls surrounding her. A grinding noise echoed, the snick of claws scraping stone as dragons took flight.

Her heart scrambled, going AWOL inside her chest. “Mac!”

“Get the fuck down!”

Two shadows flew in, hard scales glinting in the moonlight.

Angela leveled her Glock at the brown Razorback. Mac beat her to it. Transforming into dragon form, he streaked across the plateau, heading for the far end where a cliff tumbled off the edge toward the ocean. Still running, she got low and slid sideways on stone, ripping her pant leg open at the knee. She raised gun again, trying to get a shot off, watching transfixed as Mac went to work.