Fury of Ice (6 page)

Rikar’s throat clogged, tightening with tears he refused to shed.

He couldn’t stand it. Ivar. Lothair. It didn’t matter. Neither would show Angela any mercy and, as he planted his free hand, trying to dislodge Bastian, desperation went nuclear. The detonation stripped him bare, laid him low…made his chest ache and his heart hurt.

Closing his eyes, Rikar stopped fighting. His bruised cheekbone throbbed as it touched down on the cold floor, and he rasped, “He’s hurting her, B. He’s hurting her and I can’t…Christ help me…but I can’t…”

“Jesus…I’m sorry.” His voice rough with regret, Bastian eased his grip, then released him. Hitting his haunches beside him, Rikar accepted the warm, heavy weight of his best friend’s hand as it landed on his shoulder. The touch didn’t help or bring comfort. He was off the reservation, out in dangerous territory…the hell of the situation too much to bear. “Rikar…you’re the best tracker we have. You’ll find her. We’ll get her back, I promise, but—”

Movement flashed, light glinting off the steel walls of the prison cell.

“I wouldn’t advise it, Forge.” B’s hand stilled on the back of Rikar’s head. A heartbeat passed before his best friend glanced up, nailing the rogue with a glare. “Stay put. Or I’ll blow the collar and your head off.”

The threat stopped Forge cold. Upper lip curled off his teeth, he paced away, putting the width of the room between them.

“Ven?” Soft and low, Bastian’s tone said it all. He wanted backup, was through with the bullshit.

“Here.” Like a giant watchdog, Venom moved into view, ready to help: to hurt, to give whatever B needed.

Wrung out, still belly-down on the floor, Rikar huffed, grateful for his buddy. Despite their commander’s wishes, Venom had stepped off and stayed out of the way, giving him a shot at the Razorback. Now, the male would catch hell…be on B’s shit list for a while. And man, how upstanding was that? Very. Big in a way Rikar appreciated. So, yeah. Venom would be getting his fair share of “you’re the best, buddy” from here on out.

With a gentle squeeze, Bastian let him go and pushed to his feet. “Get our boy out of here, Ven.”

The command made Rikar cringe. Terrific. He’d just had his wings clipped.

Not that he blamed Bastian. His behavior didn’t warrant inclusion, and his commander had every right to be pissed off. As executive officer of the Nightfuries, B expected more from him. Control was valued by their pack; the lack of which couldn’t be overlooked. He’d crossed the line. Defied a direct order with deliberate intent when he attacked Forge, but…hell. He’d hoped for more on the back end: information mixed with a mitt full of satisfaction.

Now he had less than nothing.

Rikar shook his head. Stupid. He was an idiot, plain and simple. One that deserved exactly what B was giving him…exile from the interrogation center.

Pushing himself upright, he settled into a crouch and tossed a Hail Mary pass in a losing game. No way Bastian would change his mind, but he tried anyway. “I’m good, B…in control. Just give me another—”

“I dinnae know where they took her.” The thick brogue rolled, Forge’s quiet tone moving like a steamroller through the room.

Rikar wasn’t immune. The admission flattened him, along with his fellow warriors. The proof? Bastian stood unmoving, his gaze locked on Forge, astonishment on his face. Shitkickers rooted to the floor, Venom didn’t look much better. And him? His jaw had come unhinged, hanging open like a freaking Venus flytrap.

And still, they stood there, frozen in time. Silence rising to meet their incredulity.

Twitching under the scrutiny, Forge stared at the floor. “If I knew…I would tell you.”

Rikar shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around that one. Christ. What the hell did he mean? Forge was a Razorback. How could he not know where he lived…where Ivar and the others slept every day and flew away from each night?

It defied reason.

Which naturally set off every internal alarm he owned.

As the thing got busy shrieking, his eyes narrowed. A deflection. The rogue was playing them, tossing out tidbits like chum into shark-infested waters. Excellent strategy. Stellar, really. Especially since Rikar’s bite had always been bigger than his bark.

Forge kept his head down and his senses sharp, waiting for
Frosty
to come at him from across the room. The pale-eyed male was on edge, ready to attack without provocation or warning. Any other time, he would’ve been on board with the plan. Relished the challenge. Enjoyed the fight. Given as good as he got.

But not today.

He understood the Nightfury’s pain: could see the devastation, felt it as keenly as he did his own. That kind of anguish ate at a male and didn’t go away. Ever.

Which was the reason he’d opened his flippin’ mouth.

Big mistake. Frosty wouldn’t give him any brownie points for honesty. Neither would Bastian. Hope, though—nasty beast that it was—sprang eternal. It whispered in his ear, made him believe volunteering a little information would create goodwill. Get him what he needed while setting the Nightfuries back a step.

Wishful thinking? Probably.

But what other choice did he have? The bastards had his newborn son.

So, what did that make him? A first class fool? A real dumb-dumb imprisoned in, well…shite. He didn’t know where they’d brought him. After getting zapped with electricity in the shipyard, he’d been unconscious most of the flight. And joy of joys, he’d woken up here, surrounded by a formidable energy field, strapped into a fancy new necklace. The steel collar was brilliant. Diabolical in a way Forge could appreciate…if it weren’t around his own neck.

But then, he hadn’t expected any less.

The Nightfuries were a smart bunch, skilled with an extra dash of cunning. Proof positive? The three males staring at him from across the cell with varying degrees of pissed off. Rikar was the most dangerous, though. Too angry to care how much damage he inflicted, the male would tear him apart to obtain the information he wanted.

Forge didn’t blame him. It was a sound strategy, and had his female been—

Bloody hell. Caroline.

As her name whispered through his mind for the thousandth time, Forge curled his hands into fists, looking for an internal escape hatch. None appeared. The door to his grief was sealed tight. He couldn’t get out. Couldn’t get away or forget. The female he’d promised to protect was dead. And it was his fault. His need for acceptance—the naive belief he deserved a new start—had killed her.

The truth sank deep and the hurt expanded, becoming a physical pain in the center of his chest. Breathing around it, he lifted his head and met Rikar’s gaze. “If I could spare your female the pain, I would. I dinnae hurt females, warrior. And I’ve never been a Razorback.”

“Bullshit.” His front teeth bared on a snarl, Rikar stepped toward him. “You live with them. Break bread with them. Believe what they believe.”

“I wulnae lie,” Forge said, telling the truth even though it killed him to admit it. He’d flirted with the rogues, trying to decide whether he belonged in their midst…yearning for a place to call home. In the end, he’d turned away, unable to stomach the Razorbacks’ endgame. “I’ve gone a round or two with Ivar, but—”

“Where is he?” The Nightfury commander’s quiet tone raised the fine hairs on Forge’s nape. Green eyes shimmering in the low light, Bastian stepped forward, putting himself front and center. Bloody hell. Wasn’t that something to respect? A male with brass balls and the skills to back them up. “I want to know everything…the fucker’s plan…all the details along with a map to their—”

“And I want my bairn.” The demand came out low, harsh, the vocal equivalent of opening a can of whup-ass. The truth, though, was far more dangerous. He was riding a fine line. If he walked too much one way, Bastian would blow the collar, and he’d never get to hold his son. “You want tae know more? Bring him tae me…along with your female, Nightfury. I have questions only Myst can answer.”

Bastian’s eyes went from glimmer to glow in a heartbeat.

“No…fucking…way,” Rikar said, answering for his commander, the words far more lethal for their softness.

“You want answers, Frosty? Give me what I want, and we’ll all get what we need. You…your female. Bastian…the information he needs tae protect his mate. And me? My bairn.” Walking the line, Forge twisted the noose, using every bit of leverage he held. “Not too much tae ask, is it now, Bastian?”

“B?” The biggest male shifted. Ruby-red eyes trained on him, Venom circled in behind his comrades, protecting them while being shielded in return. “How about you let me rearrange his face?”

Silence rose in the wake of the male’s offer, and Forge got ready. As he waited, time slowed. He counted off the seconds, each one cranking him tighter.

“Rikar’s got first dibs, Ven.”

“Outstanding,” Rikar growled, shitkickers already in motion.

Forge dropped into a fighting stance.

Bastian stepped in between them and pressed his palm to Rikar’s chest. As he held his warrior in check, the glow in his eyes faded, and all of a sudden he was looking far too thoughtful and not nearly pissed off enough. Forge saw the wheels turning. Shite. The bastard was a quick study, far too savvy to be fooled by sleight of hand.

“What’s your game, Forge? The takedown in the shipyard…your imprisonment? Way too easy.” Giving his warrior’s shoulder a squeeze, Bastian put his feet in gear, coming within striking distance, daring him to lash out. “You want to know what I think?”

“Dazzle me,” he said, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel, wanting to hit the Nightfury so badly his knuckles ached.

“You wanted inside our lair.” One corner of Bastian’s mouth curved up. “All that pain…the loss of your freedom. For what? An infant? One who is being well cared for…one my mate loves and has accepted as her own?”

Forge’s heart clenched.
Loves and has accepted
. Fuck him, but that was the best news he’d ever heard. Myst Munroe loved his son, which meant she’d protect him from all comers. Nightfury warriors included.

Relief hit him like a sledgehammer, sent him sideways so fast he hung his head. Bad move. Forge knew it the instant his chin touched his chest. The position left him vulnerable, unable to see his enemy, never mind defend himself. But…God. He couldn’t help it, and as he struggled to hold back the tears, he murmured in Dragonese, grateful for the gift of a mother for his wee son.

“Good to know, isn’t it, warrior?”

Jesus Christ. Again with the soft tone. The melodic son of a bitch didn’t know when to quit.

“Aye, it is.” Raising his head, Forge got back with the program, plugging the Nightfuries with a don’t-screw-with-me glare. “Doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything, though, does it? Not until I see him…hold him in my arms and make sure for myself. So get your—”

Steel clanged against steel. As sound exploded, reverberating against concrete, a male yelled, “Rikar!”

Heads swiveled, including Forge’s, as a dark-skinned male skidded to a halt in front of the magical barrier guarding his cell. Doubling over, he planted his hands on his knees, breath sawing in and out of his chest. “Jesus, you guys…I couldn’t reach you through mind-speak down here. Not with the energy field in place and…shit, but we got problems.”

The Nightfury commander cursed and headed for his warrior. “When don’t we, Sloan?”

“Always…but not this kind.” Pushing himself upright, Sloan glanced at him for a split second, then refocused on his commander. “You know the male cop?”

“Angela’s partner?”

The new addition to the party nodded. “The hospital did a bunch of blood tests. The results just came in. He’s gone active.”

His brow furrowed, Rikar stared at his comrade. “What the—he’s one of us?”

“Yeah…and changing fast,” Sloan said. “If he gets anywhere near a female—”

Venom growled. “How much time before sunup?”

Sloan checked his watch. “Forty-nine minutes.”

“Twenty minutes to reach him. At least that to find safe shelter for the day.” Bastian glanced at his XO. “Doable?”

“It’ll be close.” Rikar tipped his chin, pale eyes glowing, room temperature dropping as he ran for the exit. “But I’m on it.”

Forge didn’t doubt it. Frosty had fast and deadly written all over him. Add that to the heft of male muscle hauling ass out of his cell? Shite. The Nightfuries knew what they were about. Good thing, too. No one—himself included—wanted a fledgling Dragonkind male wandering around the streets of Seattle.

Chapter Six

Warm steel brushed the sides of her shoulders as the walls pressed in, narrowing as the ventilation duct headed up another incline. The cramped quarters made Angela’s breath come fast and the air feel thin. She couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her imagination? The truth? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was a raging case of hyperventilating hovered seconds away.

Her lungs contracted, pushing her toward panic. Belly down, Angela hit the pause button on her forward shuffle. Closing her eyes, she forced her rib cage to expand and plastered a sign on her frontal lobe. One that said…