Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

knees, and settled in for the show. “Just roll it, will ya?”
    Palming the back of his ugly-ass chair, his buddy unloaded his weight on the thing. Metal groaned while stitching popped, standing out in stark contrast against the hideous purple leather. A crease between his brows, fingers flying over the keyboard, Sloan worked his magic and…
    Roll film.
    Rikar held it together until the ten-minute mark. After that, everything went downhill. Jesus fucking Christ. Forge and his big mouth…his solid heart, too. The male’s concern for Angela—his kindness and advice—floored Rikar, and as his throat went tight, the male nailed him again by saying…
    “It’s not your fault, Angela. Let it go.”
    “Fuck me,” Rikar murmured, his eyes stinging as he watched his female struggle.
    God, she was so strong. Made him so proud. She bore the hurt like a warrior: keeping it together, not crying, digging deep even though she didn’t have to. And Forge…goddamn, the male was straight-up honest. Giving Angela the truth instead of polluting her with fear. Pushing her toward Rikar instead of urging her to back away.
    The SOB could’ve ruined Rikar’s chances with her. Instead, he’d done the legwork, belying her fears while he piqued her curiosity. Rikar frowned. No wonder she’d let him touch her. She’d wanted to know…to experience feeding him firsthand. But stranger than that was the fact Forge was now his ally on the win-Angela-over front.
    And that posed a huge problem.
    He had an innocent male chained in the basement. How screwed up was that? Very. A freaking brain twister. One that needed to be solved. Pronto.
    “Holy shit.” Sloan hit the pause button, a frown on his face as he rocked back in his seat. “He doesn’t act like a rogue…I’ll give you that. What the hell are we gonna do with him?”
    “The only thing we can.” The answer came to Rikar in a flash of inspiration. “Flip him.”
    “Are you frigging insane?”
    “He’s a strong male, Sloan. A warrior.” His eyes narrowed in thought, Rikar plucked a pencil off the marble desktop. Staring at the lead tip, he twirled it between his fingertips. “We can use him, man. Ivar doesn’t care who fights for him or why, so he replenishes his numbers faster than we do. We get Forge on-side, and he’ll be a powerful Nightfury asset.”
    “Bastian’s not gonna like it.”
    “B’s already thinking it, buddy…guaranteed.”
    Leaning back in his chair, Rikar stared at the frozen computer screen. His gaze riveted on his mate, he studied Angela’s face while his mind churned, sorting through and then discarding one plan after another. Flipping Forge would take some work. Real ingenuity and team effort…100 percent acceptance from the entire Nightfury pack.
    Easier said than done.
    His pack was a closed group. Untrusting. Suspicious of outsiders. And protective of one another. Inviting a male as strong as Forge into the mix would threaten that balance if Rikar didn’t do it right. Control the variables. Manipulate the outcome. Rikar’s eyes narrowed as an idea sparked, then took form. Pairing him with Mac might work. Would give Forge someone to teach and protect while he assimilated into the group.
    So…a two-pronged attack. Get Forge to agree to join them, and then give him a job.
    Could work. Might be the answer. Only time would tell. But first things first, he needed everyone on board and in on the action.
    He glanced at Sloan. “Meeting in fifteen?”
    With a sigh, his buddy pushed to his feet. “I’ll round up Venom and Wick. You get B.”
    “Shit,” Rikar muttered.
    Hauling his best friend out of bed and away from his female would be tantamount to walking into a fist face-first. Hello, Concussionland. Then again, Sloan’s job wasn’t any easier. Digging Venom and Wick out of video game central would be like pulling teeth…with a spoon. While flying backward.
    Rikar grimaced. Fantastic. The day had officially tanked and hit the shitter. And Christ, Angela hadn’t even caught up with him yet.

Chapter Twenty-one
     
    The flip-flop of her footwear echoing in the quiet corridor, Angela zipped her hoodie all the way to her chin. Not that she was ever cold. Her internal thermometer always read north of normal. Which was why she kept the temperature in her condo so low. She appreciated a good chill, so the need to button up now was all about confidence.
    Or rather, lack of it.
    Holy hell. Feeling this exposed wasn’t normal. Was