Fury of Ice (34 page)

She glanced at the ceiling. “Got him. We need to go up.”

“Gotta be stairs somewhere,” Mac said, brushing her shoulder as he strode past her.

Angela put her feet in gear, following his lead.

Embedded in the concrete floor, twin tracks of light acted like a runway, drawing her eyes forward while illuminating the walls with splashing V patterns that didn’t quite reach the twelve-foot ceilings. The place was impressive. Big. Modern. Clean as hell. Jeez, whoever cleaned Black Diamond had a serious case of OCD. Well, either that or was a total germophobe.

Mac slowed his roll as he came to another intersection. Two options. Continue straight along the main corridor. Or turn left down a narrower one.

He glanced at her. “Which way?”

“Straight.” Yup. Definitely. She knew exactly where she was now from her foray into the lair with Myst. “There are elevators farther up.”

“Goddamn, this built-in GPS shit is wicked good.”

Angela snorted. “You won’t think so when some woman nails you with it, Mr. Commitment-Phobe.”

“Am not.” He tossed her a dirty look and lengthened his stride. No doubt in a hurry to leave the conversation behind.

Too bad. No way would she let that one lie. Mac was delusional if he thought for one second she didn’t see right through him. Besides, like any self-respecting sister, she couldn’t pass up teasing him. Poking at him was way too much fun.

“Oh, please.” Keeping pace with his cut-and-run routine, Angela jogged alongside him. “The thought of settling down scares the crap out of you.”

“Does not.”

“Does too,” she threw back, sliding to a stop in front of twin Otises.

He hammered the up button with the side of his fist. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Missed me, didn’t ya?” He rolled his eyes. She grinned at him. Man, settling into routine with him felt so good. Normal. Comfortable. Just like old times. Unable to resist, she stuck it to him again. “How many different women do you sleep with in a week? Five…ten? How do you keep them all straight? Assign each chick a night? You know…Candy the stripper is on Mondays. Fluffy the airhead takes Tuesdays and—”

“Oh, shut up.” He tossed her a disgruntled look. “A guy’s got needs, you know?”

Oh, boy, did she ever. Kissing Rikar had reminded her of that. Reminded her of something else, too…that she was a woman with needs of her own. Umm, his mouth. He tasted like icicles and snow cones at midnight. Decadent. Delicious. Rich with male spice and pure pleasure. That she could crave his touch after all she’d been through surprised her. Most victims didn’t want anything to do with a guy after the attack. But she was headed in the opposite direction.

Well, at least she was consistent. Running toward trouble instead of away had always been her MO. And, yup, curiosity always played a huge part. Incurably intrigued. Her cross to bear. A problem, particularly since it landed her in…

Angela bit her bottom lip. Oh, man. Was she really thinking about hopping into bed with Rikar?

Frowning, she ran through the list of pros and cons in her head. On one hand, it might be too soon for physical intimacy—might freak her out and send her into a tailspin. On the other, she’d really enjoyed feeding him; ran hot when she got that close to him; craved his touch; went nuts for his taste; responded to his gentleness and the desire she saw in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Add in the curiosity factor—about him, his magic, and the connection they shared—and the con column ran more than a touch thin. It was practically anorexic.

So the count was…what now? Seven reasons pro-Rikar and one big fat con.

“You gonna roll him when you see him?”

Angela glanced sideways at her partner. Mac raised a brow, a knowing glint in his eyes. She pursed her lips, considered lying for a second, but well…hell. What good would that do? Mac had always been way too perceptive, and a boatload of dragon DNA hadn’t changed that.

With a shrug, she admitted, “I’m thinking about it.”

The elevator pinged and the shiny double doors slid open.

“Think fast.” Grabbing her arm, Mac hauled her into the elevator behind him. “And play fair, Ange. No teasing allowed. Lay him out or don’t. But know which way you’re gonna jump before you step off the elevator. Rikar deserves better than a ball-busting letdown.”

Crap. So much for “all’s fair in love and war.” But she knew Mac was right. Getting Rikar jazzed only to run away if she got scared wasn’t fair. She needed to go all out…or not at all.

Angela sighed. Just her luck. She had less than a minute to decide which way to jump.

Seated on a stool at the end of the kitchen island, Rikar looked at the males gathered around him. Wick and Venom sat to his left, shoulder-to-shoulder in their regular spots. Sloan bookended the pair at the other end while Bastian leaned against the cabinets across the way, arms crossed, an unhappy look on his face.

And no wonder.

Rikar would’ve been pissed too, had someone pulled him out of bed and away from his female for a round-table discussion. Meeting his commander’s gaze, Rikar raised a brow, wanting B to get the powwow underway. Angela was on the move. He could feel her, icy sensation ghosting down his spine as he tracked her progress in the underground lair below the main house. Christ, she was close to the elevators now, zeroing in on him like a heat-seeking missile.

Just his freaking luck.

The last thing he needed was his female in on the convo. Especially since the second she realized what was up she’d want in on the action. Which…yeah, pretty much jacked his reaction into no-chance-in-hell territory.

Bastian scowled at him, then tipped his chin. Rikar’s mouth curved. Well, all right. Looked like he had the floor.

His focus returned to the males around him. He looked at each one in turn, remembering past battles, their strengths, and how well they all worked together. Cohesive. Tight-knit. Committed to one another, bonded by lineage, experience, and shared purpose. The Nightfuries were a strong pack. And as Rikar glanced around the huge island now dwarfed by the warriors around it, he was proud to call each one his brother.

Even Wick.

Big surprise there. Rikar hadn’t held out much hope for the golden-eyed male when he’d first arrived. Wick had been shut down in more ways than one, but the tough SOB had come a long way. Earning Wick’s trust was part of it. Complete acceptance from the pack was another. Time and effort were good teachers, and eventually he and the other Nightfuries had broken through Wick’s ultrathick guard. Now he was a solid member of their pack.

Thank fuck for that. Lethal, after all, was always welcome.

“So we’re all agreed?” Rikar asked.

As his gaze shifted to Venom, the male said, “You sure it wouldn’t be better if I just bashed his head in?”

Rikar grinned. Trust Venom to pick the path of least resistance.

Bastian snorted. “Come on, Ven. If we flip Forge, we gain another strong warrior. Better for us.”

“If?” Venom perked up. “You mean there’s still a chance I’ll get to—”

“Shut the fuck up, Venom,” Wick said, planting his forearms on the countertop, golden eyes shimmering as he stared unblinking at his friend. “I was worse than Forge when you pulled me out. After that BS…” Wick shrugged, broke eye contact, and murmured, “Flipping Forge’ll be a piece of cake.”

Silence ballooned like an air pocket in the wake of the male’s words, filling the space. Rikar blinked. Holy Christ. Three complete sentences. A huge first for Wick. One Rikar didn’t know what to do with.

It was like watching an infant take his first step. A necessary thing, but painful to endure without reaching out to offer help. And as Venom laid his hand on the back of Wick’s neck and squeezed, Rikar asked the same question he always did when faced with their friendship. What the hell had happened to them? He knew something serious had gone down. Had pieced together some of it—like the fact Venom had pulled Wick out of a nasty shithole before his change
.
But beyond that, no one knew much. None of them had ever asked, and the two warriors sitting shoulder-to-shoulder never volunteered the information.

“So…” Sloan cleared his throat, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. “You want us to go at him as a unit?”

“Solidarity,” Wick murmured, shrugging out of Venom’s hold. “Pack mentality.”

“Yeah,” B said. “All hands on deck with this one, boys.”

“So what? We gonna have a love-in or something?” A sour look on his puss, Venom leaned back in his chair. Wood groaned, protesting the sudden shift of muscle. “Sing ‘Kumbaya’ with the meathead?”

Rikar laughed. He couldn’t help it. The mental image cracked him up. The look on Venom’s face made it worse. Shit, he loved the male and his wicked sense of humor. “He needs to know the entire pack will accept him, Ven. No tricks. No possibility of ambush.”

“And that’ll make him cave?”

“It’s worth a shot,” he said, pushing the half-eaten pastry away, watching it ooze jelly until it blobbed on the white plate. Rikar grimaced. He should probably eat the damned thing. Daimler would be disappointed if he didn’t. After all, the Numbai worked hard to keep them in good eats. Too bad he wasn’t hungry…for food. Hot, sweaty sex with Angela, however, was something he could devour with ease. “I think Forge is looking for a home. For a pack to pull him in.”

“Or maybe he’s just got a death wish,” Venom said, unwilling to let go of the dream in which he ripped Forge’s head off. Rikar didn’t blame him. Normally, he would’ve hopped on that bandwagon. Trusting an outsider wasn’t something any of them could afford. Not when the wrong discussion—pulling an enemy spy into their inner circle—could mean death for one of their own. “He just lost a female.”

“All the more reason to hit him now.” Chasing an itch, Bastian shifted sideways, rubbing his shoulder blades on a corner cabinet. “He’s vulnerable. In need of support and a strong pack to give him direction. Besides, he wants his son.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “Leverage.”

“Yeah,” B murmured. “Let’s crank the shit out of it.”

Venom opened his mouth, no doubt to protest again. Wick elbowed him in the rib cage. “Ow! Easy, Wick…jeez.”

“Shut up,” Wick said, getting back on the two-word train.

Glaring at his friend, Venom rubbed his side and grumbled, “All right. I’m on board. But I’m available anytime you want to switch to option two, B.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, my man.”

“So…Rikar.” Rolling his shoulders, Venom stretched. Rikar went on high alert. He knew that tone, and nothing good ever followed it. “I got a solution for you.”

“Oh, Christ.” While the others laughed, Rikar eyeballed his friend. “Didn’t realize I needed one.”

Venom rolled his eyes. “Buddy, you got all kinds of trouble.”

Rikar raised a brow.

“Sooner or later, man, you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass. You can’t keep her locked up forever.”

Her
. Translation? Angela. Freaking male. Venom was butting in where he didn’t belong. No one meddled better than Venom, and the fact the warrior was thinking about Angela—for any reason—made Rikar want to kick his ass.

“She’s my problem. Not yours,” he said, voice soft with lethal undertones. The male needed to get a clue…right now. Before Rikar felt the need to rearrange his face.

“I know that,” Venom said. “But Lothair can track her energy. Why not use that and her to our advantage?”

“No fucking way.” Rikar curled his hands into fists, prepared to back up the statement with a beatdown. “Not happening.”

“Come on, man. She could—”

“Leave it alone, Ven.” Bastian pushed away from the cabinets, ready to intervene if shit went critical. A good guess considering Rikar’s launch code had been punched in, and he was about to go nuclear. “Don’t go there.”

“Why not? It’s a good plan, B. She’s a cop, for God’s sake…with a skill set that’s cranked to kick ass. Using her as bait to lure the bastard out into the open makes perfect sense.” Leaning in, Venom planted his elbows on the countertop. Ruby-red eyes earnest, he said, “Rikar, man, it’ll work. We’ll protect her while you KO the asshole. Angela will get closure. Where’s the downside?”

“Oh, my God.” Whisper-thin, the voice came from the archway behind him.

Rikar bowed his head. Angela. She’d snuck up on him in frickin’ flip-flops. Talk about inattention. But then, Venom and his stupid plan had distracted him completely. Now he would be forced to deal with the aftermath and Angela’s fear.

Swinging around on the stool, he turned to face her and…goddamn, the look on her face broke his heart. Terror—abject and terrible—was on display in her wide hazel eyes. His breath stalled in his throat, making his chest ache as he put himself in gear. He couldn’t leave her standing there alone, itching to run as panic grabbed hold. Okay, so technically she wasn’t alone. Mac stood just behind her, his eyes so stormy the color churned, moving from aquamarine to turbulent blue-gray.

“Motherfuck.” His load of pissed off pinned on Rikar, Mac asked, “Is that true? Can he track her?”

Rikar didn’t answer. He was more interested in reaching Angela than answering Mac’s question. Stopping in front of her, he slid his hand into hers. A tremor rolled through her into him. He laced their fingers, hoping his touch, the closeness of his body, the reassurance in his gaze calmed her. Helped her realize he would never allow anyone—or anything—to hurt her.