Fury of Ice (40 page)

“Off would be good.” His chin pressed to his chest, Forge quivered, a body twitch full of impatience.

No kidding. Rikar was twitchy just looking at the thing, and had the steel band been clamped around his throat, he would have lost it by now.

Inhaling smooth and deep, Bastian closed his eyes. Rikar kept a steadying hand on the male’s shoulder. He didn’t want Forge to move at the wrong time. Packed with C4, loaded with magic, the collar was volatile, a bomb just waiting to go off. The band took a shitload of concentration to put on, but even more to take off. B needed the time and space to unlock, shift, and toss the thing into the magical landscape inside his mind. A place he could implode steel and explosive, keeping them all safe. Intact. Unvaporized, so to speak.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…four. Chickety-chick-click. The lock snicked open, and steel rattled, sliding from around Forge’s throat.

Forge shuddered, instinct urging him to move.

A death grip on the male, Rikar said, “Not yet.”

As the warrior listened and settled, Bastian bared his teeth on a growl. His best friend’s grip tightened on Forge as he bore down, using the male to lean on. An instant later the collar disappeared. B threw it into his mental junk drawer and—

Pop. Pop. BOOM!

Bastian flinched. The explosion rippled, the sound faint, barely audible at all. A blast of air gusted through the cellblock, clawing at Rikar’s clothes, blowing Forge’s longer hair back. The energy field snapped, powerful bands flickering, fading little by little before vanishing completely, leaving the mouth of the prison cell unguarded.

Breathing hard, Bastian opened his eyes. “Good to go.”

Conjuring the ceremonial dagger, Rikar handed it hilt first to his best friend. B palmed the blade and stepped around to face Forge. As was custom, his commander knelt, hitting one knee in front of the male. His boot even with the instep of Forge’s bare foot, he settled in place, aligning their legs, inside knee to inside knee.

The blade in one hand, B raised his other. “Give me your right hand.”

His head still bowed, Forge raised his arm. Muscles flexed in his forearm as Bastian cupped the back of the male’s hand. The knife came up, steel flashing in the low light as B drew the razor-sharp blade across Forge’s palm. Blood welled, flowing unchecked toward his elbow. Not wasting a second, Bastian turned the dagger on himself, slicing an identical cut on his own hand. As Rikar took the weapon, his commander locked palms with Forge, pressing the wounds together.

As their blood mixed, red droplets fell, splattering the floor between them. With a howl, magic rose, twisting into a funnel cloud around them. Invisible yet majestic to behold, powerful and potent, the Meridian surged. The energy grabbed hold, linking the two males locked knee to knee, palm to palm, and now…heart to heart.

“Blood of my blood,” Bastian murmured, reciting the ancient words of the blood oath. “Of one mind. Brothers in battle and for all time.”

Lifting his chin, Forge repeated the incantation. As his gaze met B’s, the connection flared, snapping into place, binding them together in the way of their kind…the time-honored tradition of the warrior. Bastian nodded once, then released his grip on Forge to step aside. Rikar sliced his own hand and took his commander’s place. Locked together by touch and magic, he completed the ritual, recited the words, heart hammering as he tied himself to Forge. The blood bond rippled between them as he accepted the male and was accepted in return.

The other Nightfuries crossed the threshold into the cell. Each male took his turn kneeling with Forge. First Venom and then Wick. Sloan. And finally Mac.

When the last word had been spoken and the last blood droplet spilled, Bastian stepped forward. Standing in front of a still-kneeling Forge, he held out his hand. The warrior took the offering, allowing B to pull him to his feet.

“Welcome, my brother,” Bastian murmured.

Forge blinked, combating the sheen of moisture in his eyes. “
Mervaiz
, commander.”

“Well done,
zi kamir
.” Fiercely proud of the male, Rikar palmed the side of Forge’s neck. The newest member of the Nightfury pack met his gaze and nodded, thanking him without words. Rikar jostled him in answer, then let go, stepped back, and tipped his head toward the corridor. “Now go…meet your son.”

Forge’s focus snapped toward the front of the cell. Rikar’s mouth curved. Thank fuck for Daimler. Per usual, the male was right on time, standing just outside the cell beside a mound of floor cushions. A wide smile on his elfin face, a precious bundle in his arms, the Numbai murmured a greeting, then offered Gregor-Mayhem to his sire.

Tears pooled in Forge’s eyes. Rikar looked away, his own eyes burning, his chest gone tight as the newest member of the Nightfury pack walked toward Daimler to hold his son for the first time.

Messy piles of papers spread out on the kitchen table. Lothair tapped the tip of his pen against the bottom of his new list. The latest one. Number one hundred and forty-fucking-whatever.

With a sigh, Lothair tossed the BIC on the table and leaned back in his chair. Seemed about right, and he was starting to hate lists. And family trees, but…derrˋmo. He couldn’t argue with results. Or that three days spent compiling—checking and rechecking—had finally paid off. He’d hit the jackpot last night.

Twins. Friends of the two females already locked in cellblock A. Blonde. Beautiful. High-energy. The pair were Ivar’s favorite kind of female. Needless to say he’d made the boss very,
very
happy last night.

Himself, too.

The pleasure of securing the pair in cellblock A, however, took a backseat at the moment. With the afternoon light waning, he needed a new target. Several new ones. He was still three females short of the seven Ivar needed to round out the breeding program. Which meant he didn’t have time to waste, never mind celebrate the fact he’d proven his theory.

There remained little doubt. High-energy females were drawn to each other. Were either born into the same family or became the best of friends. They lived together. Worked together. Hung out together. Recognized something in each other. A likeness, maybe. A shared energy vibe as the Meridian reached out, touched, and connected them.

His eyes narrowed on the list of potential candidates, Lothair shrugged. Whatever. He didn’t give a shit about the whys and wherefores. All he cared about was pinpointing another female to go after when night fell.

Find one…find more. That was his stupid motto now, and would be for the foreseeable future. Until he had all seven in the kitty for Ivar to play with.

Four down. Three to go. A small victory, but a hollow one.

The she-cop was still on the loose.

Growling low in his throat, Lothair flipped his laptop open. As the MacBook fired up, he slid a sheet of paper from beneath a messy stack. He couldn’t stand it. The fact Angela Keen was still out there drove him insane. He couldn’t sleep during the day. Kept dreaming of her…of what he would do when he finally got his hands on her. He needed to hurt her. Shame her. Wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.

“Hey, Lothair.”

Unclenching his teeth, Lothair glanced toward the door. He tipped his chin, greeting Ivar as the male strode into the kitchen. “Fun afternoon?”

Well fed, his friend’s eyes glimmered behind his wraparounds. Skirting a row of cabinetry, Ivar strode behind the huge island on his way to the fridge. His mouth curved, he tossed Lothair an appreciative glance. “Jesus, man…love the twins.”

“They’re prime.”

“Got any more surprises for me?”

Lothair planted his forearms on the table and looked at his paper trail. “I’m working on it.”

“Any word on Myst Munroe?” Ivar asked, cracking the fridge door, tone casual.

But Lothair knew better. There was nothing
casual
about Ivar’s interest in Bastian’s female. The boss man wanted her. Had from the moment he’d seen her picture. The fact she belonged to his enemy just deepened the obsession. Imagine, stealing a female your rival loved…craved, needed to survive? The ultimate conquest, and a victory that proved one male’s supremacy over another.

“Nothing yet. Bastian’s keeping her locked up tight,” he said. “How’s project superbug? Any progress?”

“Fuck, no. I’ve KO’d the first batch. I’ll lock down the other humans and fire up the second viral load tonight.” With a silent curse, Ivar pulled the milk out of the fridge. Popping the top, he drank right out of the carton, then plunked the container down on the granite countertop. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Roast beef sandwich?” Ivar tossed a loaf of bread onto the kitchen island.

Plastic crinkled as the Wonder Bread slid across the flecked surface. Lothair nodded, watching his friend closely, an idea sparking. Ivar wanted the Nightfury’s female, and Lothair hadn’t checked in a while. He’d check her phone records again. Who knew? Maybe she’d been out sometime in the last few days. Maybe she’d used her cell phone. Maybe he could get his commander what he needed with a couple clicks of a mouse.

Turning the laptop toward him, he tapped in his password. Denzeil’s program came up on screen. Inputting the female’s number, he scrolled through phone records and…

Derrˋmo. How the hell had he missed
that
?

Bastian’s female had called one number more than any of the others. Lothair’s heart started to pound as he brought up a fresh screen and typed in the number. The computer hummed, the whirl of the fan loud in the silence as it searched the new set of parameters. A second or two passed before a home phone, address, and name complete with picture popped onto the screen.

Lothair’s mouth curved. “Hello, Tania.”

Hmm, she was a beauty. Dark hair. Brown eyes. A mouth made for sucking.

A couple of key clicks opened a new browser window. His eyes narrowed on the screen, Lothair sifted through the World Wide Web, picking up more intel on the female, searching for the best way to nail her down. In less than ten minutes, he had his in…and her superintendent’s name.

With a satisfied hum, he reached across a stack of paperwork and grabbed his new cell phone—the one he’d bought for just such a purpose three days ago. As his hand closed around the BlackBerry, he shuddered. He hated the thing…and the inferior race who’d invented it. He much preferred mind-speak with his fellow warriors to the humankind’s preferred mode of communication. But necessary was just that…
necessary
.

Flying all over Seattle in search of a female wasn’t a timesaver. So he always called ahead. Made sure she was home. And if she wasn’t—he fired up his MacBook and the special program Denzeil had designed. Got her real-time location via the GPS chip in her cell phone. He didn’t, after all, have time to fuck around.

Pressing on the black button, Lothair waited for the cell phone’s dark screen to go blue, and then he dialed the number.

Time to see if Ms. Solares was home.

Standing on the threshold of her walk-in closet, Tania grimaced. Ugh. What a catastrophe. A den of iniquity full of pirates would’ve been easier to navigate than the travesty that had become her wardrobe. Stuffed to the ceiling, her clothes overflowed the large rectangular room. Dresses. Jeans. Skirts. Tops. Oh, and she didn’t even want to think about the number of shoes and boots hiding in dark corners. Or underneath the pile of handbags that had grown monstrously large over the past year.

She chewed on her bottom lip. The abundance was kind of embarrassing, actually.

Stepping inside the war zone, she grabbed a wooden hanger and, wrestling with over-crowding, pushed her leather jacket aside. God. She really needed to jump on the Salvation Army’s bandwagon and do some serious giving.

Well, either that, or stop shopping. An impossible endeavor if there ever was one. At least for her. Retail therapy was her specialty. Her drug of choice. While some people were heroin addicts, she was hopelessly in love with her American Express card and all the goodies it could buy.