Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

“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