Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

feet. As he turned and walked toward the magical entrance, he dipped his head to kiss her softly. “No more secrets, bellmia . We’re in this together.”
    “Together.” Kissing him back, she pushed her fingers through his hair, playing with the softness at the nape of his neck.
    Nipping her gently, he licked her bottom lip, gifting her with his taste one teasing flick at a time. “Every step of the way.”
    Yeah, that sounded good. Better than good. Fantastic.
    And as he carried her over the threshold toward the lair’s clinic, Myst knew she was bound for an adventure. The future lay stretched out in front of them, unproven ground, uncertain in every way but one. Love transformed the landscape, offering shelter from the harshness of the storm.
    Home. Yeah, she had finally come home.

Excerpt from Fury of Ice
     

Chapter One
     
    The globes swayed, bobbing like jellyfish against the cavern’s ceiling as Rikar flew beneath them. White scales gleamed in the low light, throwing starbursts of iridescent color across stalagmites and uneven stone walls. He didn’t notice the rainbow. Didn’t hear his claws scrape granite or the water rolling off his wing tips go splat on the LZ’s floor. His focus was absolute. Only one thing mattered.
    He was going to kill the male. Open him up like a can of sardines. All while making him sing like a canary.
    Lucky for him, he didn’t have far to go.
    The rogue was chained seven stories beneath Black Diamond, the home he shared with the other Nightfury dragons. Convenient? Not really. Nothing about tonight even approached it. The battle—the whole retrieve and retreat routine—had FUBAR written all over it. Yeah, a total catastrophe from beginning to end. The only good thing about it? Bastian had his female back…had pulled her from enemy claws in the nick of time.
    He should be happy about that. Throwing high fives with his fellow warriors and yakking it up, telling war stories, reliving the action over Tequila shots and lime wedges. But that was a definite no-can-do. Not tonight. Not when another female was missing.
    Right. Missing .
    Wishful fucking thinking.
    Rikar’s stomach fisted up hard. The Razorbacks had taken her. He knew it like he was standing there, four paws planted on stone, horns on his head tingling, anguish pumping through his veins with every beat of his heart. Now she was in the hands of his enemy, at the mercy of Ivar, leader of the rogues, a psychopath without an off switch.
    With a growl, he tucked his wings and stepped over the beat-to-shit Honda in the middle of the LZ, trying not to think about what the bastards were doing to her. But…God help him. He couldn’t turn his brain off. Couldn’t breathe without his imagination firing up, planting terrible images in his mind’s eye.
    Christ, he needed to get her back. Had to locate the Razorback lair and pull her free before…
    Rikar swallowed the burn at the back of his throat. What a total mind fuck. The need. The obsession. The pain.
    He’d only met the female once. One freaking time. Had spent a couple of hours getting his ass kicked by her in a friendly game of pool. Okay, so he was lying. He’d done a little more than that. But he refused to think about the feeding…or how good she had tasted. Rikar shook his head, and water flew as he tried to forget. His behavior. Her acceptance. The fact that his frosty side wanted more, another go-round with a female who drew pure power from the Meridian. From the energy source that fed Dragonkind.
    Which made him…what? A sicko? A male without honor or conscience? Yeah, without a doubt. The female he didn’t want to remember, but couldn’t forget, was missing. Was probably in hell right now, suffering at the hands of a Razorback, and what was he doing? Dreaming of her in ways he shouldn’t be.
    Angela Keen. She of the gorgeous energy and hazel eyes. God, he wanted her back. He wanted her safe. He wanted the clock to spin in the opposite direction and undo the last three hours. Maybe then, he could’ve prevented his enemies from taking her at all.
    Angela .
    Her name whispered through his mind: over and over, again and again. A shiver rolled through him, rattling the spikes along his spine as he pictured her face. With a violent swipe, he tried to erase it the way his buddy, Sloan, deleted info from computer hard drives. But memory was a tricky thing: hard to control, impossible to ignore. And as the bastard got busy planting images inside his