Fury of Ice (44 page)

Fucking hell. What had he been thinking?

Nothing good, that was for sure. But as he watched her stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Forge and Mac—listened to her give last-minute instructions to his warriors—he couldn’t help himself. She made him so damned proud. His mate was unbelievably beautiful. So brave. So savvy. So…100 percent his. And God, he needed to protect her. Craved her safety more than he wanted to live, and as he stared, she turned, ignoring Mac’s gum-flapping and Forge’s response to smile at him. His heart flip-flopped, thumping the inside of his chest.

Giving the males a pat, she left the pair and approached him. “Hey.”

The greeting was more than just a how-the-hell-are-ya. It was a question, one filled with concern. Throat gone tight, Rikar tipped his chin, returning the hello the only way he could…with action. Shit on a stick. She shouldn’t be worried about him. He knew how to take care of himself. Angela needed to concentrate on herself, but…goddamn it. He couldn’t stop his reaction. It felt so good to be cared about—to have her want him home safely each dawn.

Stepping in close, she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. Rikar couldn’t resist. He wrapped his arms around her. As he buried his face in her hair, he breathed her in, saturating himself in her scent. He wanted to remember everything about her. The way she felt against him. How she smelled. The sound of her voice.

Everything. Just in case the worst happened and he lost her forever.

Cupping his nape, she kissed the side of his neck. “You okay?”

“No,” he murmured, being honest with her. “I don’t like this…you being here.”

“Rikar, I’m—”

“I know you’re kick-ass capable, angel.” Spreading his fingers, he ran his hands down her back, touching as much of her as he could with one caress. “This isn’t about how good you are at your job and your ability with a gun. I just…I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I almost lost you once. I can’t do that again.”

“Mac and Forge will be with me the whole time.”

“I know.”

“Forge will keep us cloaked and hidden, so worry about yourself, not me.” Her grip on him tightened as she whispered, “Please, Rikar. I want you one hundred percent focused out there. If you’re distracted by me, you won’t look after yourself or be able to protect the other Nightfuries.”

Good advice. Too bad he couldn’t follow it. Not that he wouldn’t try, but he was a bonded male now. He could no more ignore Angela’s presence than his own fingers and toes. She was in his blood and a breath away from danger. His dragon would never allow him to forget about her, no matter how intense the fighting became.

Pulling back a little, she met his gaze. Her hands moved over him, caressing the tops of his shoulders and down his spine, bringing him comfort as she said, “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried, but I can’t let it go. I need—”

“Closure.” He sighed, relaxing beneath the pleasure of her touch.

“Exactly.” Fisting her hands in his jacket, she shook him a little. “So let me do what I’m good at. Trust me to do my job, okay?”

Rikar nodded, giving her what she wanted as he shifted focus. His gaze landed on the males standing less than six feet away. Shitkickers planted in the stone dust, not even trying to pretend disinterest, the newest members of the Nightfury pack stared at him.

Nosy fuckers. He needed a private moment with his female, and what was he getting? A curious pair of idiots with personal boundary issues.

Mac raised a brow, amusement all over his puss. Forge wasn’t as easy to read. The warrior was stoic, without expression, but Rikar caught the wicked glint in his eyes. His gaze narrowed on them, Rikar mind-spoke to the pair,
“You leave her side for even a second, I’ll rip your hearts out and feed them to you.”

“Well, now…”
Forge’s mouth curved up at the corners.
“That’s more like it.”

“I’ll say.”
Smirking, Mac jostled Forge with his elbow.
“Thought we were losing him there for a second.”

“Fuck off,”
Rikar said, trying not to laugh. But Christ, it was hard. In less than a week, the males had wormed their way into his heart.
“And be careful. They spot you—”

“We’ll move to the secondary location.”
Forge cracked his knuckles, looking as lethal as a coiled cobra.

“Don’t sweat it, man
,
”
Mac said.
“We’ll keep her hidden.”

Rikar nodded, trusting the males to do their jobs. No easy feat. Leaving his female in their care was tantamount to gutting himself with a dull blade. And just as painful. The sense of foreboding wouldn’t let go. Was digging a hole at the back of his brain, stirring up a load of mental debris—the kind he always listened to before a firefight.

But with her asking for his trust—sounding so sensible and strong—Rikar ignored instinct and let it go, giving her a gentle squeeze as he kissed her. Raised on her tiptoes, Angela gave as good as she got, returning the hard press of his mouth.

Uncurling her fingers from his leather jacket, she stepped back, widening the distance between them, her gaze clinging to his. “Be safe.”

Unable to look away, he walked backward toward the cliff edge.

“Go,” she said, a slight hitch in her voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Aim true, angel,” he murmured, memorizing the contours of her face, praying he’d see it again before he dove over the ledge and into thin air.

Angela checked the M25 for the third time in less than a minute. She didn’t want it to jam. Rikar was counting on her. All right, so she wasn’t the only one on point. The Nightfury warriors were staked out too, poised to explode out of cover the instant Rikar came around the bend in the coastline and the enemy came into range.

Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of not being ready.

Yes, her mate was a warrior: strong, lethal, and smart. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be hurt, or worse.

Lying belly down on the lip of the ridge, Angela clenched her hand around the cloth ball full of chalk dust. Her palms were sweaty. Not a good sign. Especially since nerves had never been a part of the equation before. She’d always been rock-steady behind a scope. Tonight, though, was different. There was too much at stake, and as she checked her weapon again, she wondered what the hell she was doing. No matter how much she’d argued with Rikar to the contrary, she knew she shouldn’t be in the Nightfury mix.

Her presence made them all uneasy. She could see it in their eyes. In the way they’d planned the mission, the bait and switch that would lead the Razorbacks into the ambush. Angela squeezed the chalk ball harder, feeling sick as one word registered above all the others.
Bait
.

Dear God, there was something wrong with her. Something twisted and sick about the whole situation.

The realization hit her like a epiphany. Shame followed. Angela squeezed her eyes closed, the consequences of her insistence to be included looming in her mind. She’d allowed Rikar to become bait, agreed to let him play mouse to the rat-bastard’s cat. For what, exactly…revenge? Her throat went tight. It seemed so stupid. So petty when she considered the man she loved was risking his life to give her what she wanted.

Why she hadn’t realized it sooner, Angela didn’t know. Maybe she’d been caught up in the planning. Maybe she’d been too focused on herself. Whatever the case, she couldn’t ignore her selfishness now. Or her love. Rikar’s safety trumped vengeance any day of the week. So as much as it killed her to let go, maybe it was time to bow out and let dragons deal with dragons.

Adjusting her grip on the M25, Angela lifted away from the optic scope’s eyepiece. She glanced to her right. Belly down in the dirt beside her, Mac looked through his own scope, one designed for a sniper’s spotter.

“Hey, Mac? Maybe it’s time I—”

“Incoming,” Forge growled from behind them.

Crap. So much for backing out. Goddamn it. “How many?”

“Eleven strong.” Perched like a gargoyle on the ledge above them, Forge held the line, cloaking them with his magic.

“Break it down for her,” Mac said.

“All fire dragons but three,” Forge said. “Two are rocking poisonous gas. The last asshole…acid.”

Angela narrowed the crosshairs, zeroing in on the coastline a thousand meters away. “How far out are they?”

“A minute and a half.” Mac turned the dial on his scope; the slow click cranked her tight with each rotation. “Southbound. We’re good to go from here.”

Angela nodded, struggling to stay steady, rechecking her position, the scope, her gun. The last-minute run-through didn’t help. She flexed her fingers, then released the twin fists, willing her hands to quit shaking.

Shale rattled down the cliff face as Forge shifted his foothold. “Look for—”

“I know what he looks like,” Angela said, tone tight.

Black scales. Black eyes. Black, soulless heart beating in the center of his chest.
Come on, Angela…get it together.
As her own voice whispered through her mind, she adjusted her grip, clearing the mental minefield inside her head, forcing herself into the zone. She sank deep, away from emotion and into the moment.

“Windage?”


Mac fed her the intel, working his scope like a pro. “Breathe, Ange.”

“Screw off.”

“She’s ready.” Her partner eyed Forge over the top of her head.

Angela caught the Scottish devil’s grin out of the corner of her eye. “You too, Forge.”

“Nae doubt about it,” Forge murmured. “Wicked ready.”

“Shut up,” she said without heat, thankful for both of them. She understood what they were doing—diverting her into relaxation. The trash-talking was an old-time tactic, one used by cops in high-octane situations to power down before crap went critical. The calm-before-the-storm strategy worked wonders, cranking her dial to 100 percent focused. “Can’t you see I’m working here?”

“Attagirl,” Mac said without looking at her. “Get ready. Here we go.”

Deep breath in. Smooth breath out. Trigger finger at the ready. Clear mind. Steadier hand and…

Holy crap. Here he came.

White scales gleaming in the moon-glow, Rikar rocketed around the last bend. Wisps of air curled from his wing tips, swirling behind him like jet fuel. The tendrils blew into the Razorback’s face. The black-scaled bastard bared his fangs and snapped at Rikar’s tail. Lock. Set. Match. The enemy dragon had taken the bait. Now he flew toward the kill zone…and Angela’s crosshairs.

“Come on…come on,” she murmured, timing it just right, waiting for the precise moment. The perfect opening in the shooting lane. “Turn, Rikar…bank left…hard left, baby.”

Forge murmured, relaying the message.

Rikar split wide, heading for the coastline. Angela pulled the trigger. The rifle recoiled in her hands, thumping hard against her shoulder. Gunfire cracked. The sound ricocheted, echoing across in the starlit sky to reach the ocean waves. Time slowed, riding the tail end of revenge. Still sighting through the scope, Angela followed the bullet’s path, praying it flew straight and true.

The black dragon’s head kicked back.

Blood flew, the dark splash washing the moonlight with red. The rat-bastard’s wings folded. Her heart thumped, the sound reverberating in her ears as she watched him fall. She needed to remember, to memorize the kill, recall every last detail and—

The Razorback blinked, one last reflexive response before death came to claim him. Angela sucked in quick breath. Oh, God…no. Blue eyes, not dark brown. It wasn’t Lothair.

Her hands tightened on the M25. Son of a bitch. She’d shot the wrong dragon. Now Rikar had a bull’s-eye painted on his back with multiple Razorbacks converging on him.

All because of her.

She’d made him turn the wrong way, left instead of right, away from the other Nightfury warriors. And even as she watched Bastian take flight, pushing skyward from their ambush position in the forest, Angela knew
screwed
when she saw it. The entire plateau stretched between him and Rikar. A minute of no-man’s-land between the Nightfuries and her mate.

Terror closed her throat. “Forge, go. You’re the closest—”

“I cannae leave you,” he said, grim realization in his tone. “Angela, if I—”

“I don’t give a shit…go!”

He hesitated, meeting Mac’s gaze over the top of her head.

“Goddamn it, go!” Her scream echoed, bouncing off the rock face.

Mac nodded.

And Forge went. Arms and legs pumping, he charged toward the edge. He transformed as he leapt skyward, dark purple scales flashing in the moonlight as he rocketed to where Rikar fought for his life. The invisibility cloak dropped, leaving them vulnerable on the lip of the ledge.

Angela didn’t care. She hunkered down behind the M25 and snarled at Mac, “Windage. Distance to target.”

His eye on his scope, Mac fed her the information. Angela took aim and pulled the trigger, covering Forge, protecting her mate. A hundred dragons could fly over. She didn’t give a damn. No way would she leave Rikar in the lurch.