Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

bang-on accurate. Bastian didn’t do random. He visited for a reason. Was the male setting him up for something? Testing the waters?
    Forge shook his head. He didn’t know. A huge problem, if there ever was one.
    Usually, his skill at picking up another’s intention was rock solid. But the Nightfury commander was powerful. He gave nothing away. No matter how many times Forge tried, he couldn’t penetrate the bastard’s thick skull and eavesdrop on his thoughts.
    A pity to be sure, but if he had to guess, he’d bet on Myst. The violet-eyed beauty was job one for Bastian.
    So, aye. It made sense that the male would butter him up to get the information he needed to keep his mate safe. By establishing trust, Bastian no doubt hoped he would relent and share his knowledge of the ancient ceremony. The one that would complete the energy-fuse and protect his female. It was a good plan. One that—despite everything—was starting to work. Stupid as it seemed, he liked the male. Respected the hell out of him. The Nightfury was a strong leader, a fair one, something Forge hadn’t encountered in a while and—
    Bloody hell. He was losing it, unraveling at the speed of light. No way should he be thinking about coughing up the info. Not with stakes this high, but Forge couldn’t deny he toyed with the idea. Playing fast and loose with his son’s life, not to mention his own. But maybe showing some good will—walking Bastian through the ceremony, telling him all he knew—would get him farther, faster. Maybe if he gave a little, he’d get a lot in return.
    Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
    It was one helluva word.
    “Shite,” he muttered, his voice sounding loud in the silence.
    Forge stopped in front of his cot. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, he stared unseeing at the thin mattress, trying to decide. What was the best course of action? Give the Nightfury what he needed to keep Myst safe. Or hold out and hoped she persuaded her mate to hand over his son and let him go.
    Uncurling his hands, he laced his fingers across the back of his neck and pressed down. Muscles stretched, and pain screamed down his spine. But it wasn’t enough. He needed a distraction. Something to release the pressure building inside his head and bring him some small measure of peace.
    Food would’ve done it, but Daimler hadn’t visited in a while. Well, all right. That was an exaggeration. The Numbai had brought a plate of pasta an hour ago, but he was still hungry. And with all the shortbread cookies gone, he had nothing to munch on. No distraction at all.
    With a growl, Forge dropped to the concrete floor. His hands planted shoulder-width apart, legs straight out behind him, he launched into a brutal set of push-ups. No sense mourning what wasn’t coming. The hunger was just a symptom of a larger problem.
    He needed a female.
    Not for sex. Caroline’s death had pretty much KO’d that need. He couldn’t even imagine making love to another female right now. So, aye. The nameless, faceless fuck in a dark corner of some club with a stranger would have to wait for a while. That didn’t, however, change the facts. He was a Dragonkind male. He must feed from time to time. Take his fill of female energy or die.
    And right now, he was headed down a slippery slope. One that pushed him closer to energy-greed—a condition all males feared—and into mindless need with each passing hour.
    Thrusting his arms, Forge popped to his feet. Sweat rolled down his spine as he landed, splattering the floor. He launched into a series of boxing exercises. His fists flew, striking thin air as he pivoted on the balls of his feet, picturing an imaginary opponent.
    He snorted. Right. Imaginary , his foot. The face belonged to a Nightfury warrior. The one with glacial eyes and a frosty outlook.
    His muscles screamed as he worked out. Quick jab. Left cross. Duck, bob, weave. Right hook into an ascending uppercut. Rage built with each punch, narrowing his focus to…just…one…thing.
    Freedom. He needed to get the hell out of his cage.
    Spinning right, he brought his feet into the fight, balancing on one leg to kick high. At head level. Right where Rikar’s face would’ve—
    “Nice form.”
    Forge stilled, held his leg at the height of the kick. Well, fuck him. The crafty SOB had snuck up on him. Huge surprise there. Especially since it had never happened before.
    “Frosty,” he said, reversing course without looking at the male. Keeping each movement controlled, he set