Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

a hug and call it even?”
    Venom snorted, the amused sound carrying through the barrier.
    Bastian’s mouth curved. “Hugging isn’t really Rikar’s MO.”
    “Mine, either.”
    “Good to know,” Rikar said, his eyes glinting with humor. “I got something that is, though. Wanna hear it?”
    “Depends.”
    “On what?”
    Forge cracked his knuckles. “Whether or not it involves me beating the shite out of you.”
    Rikar grinned. “I’ll give you a shot…after you agree.”
    He raised a brow, asking without words.
    “To become part of our pack,” Bastian said, his tone casual, the words heavy-duty.
    The offer hit Forge like a body shot, knocking the wind out of him. He blinked, trying to breathe. It was a no-go. His lungs were on lockdown. His brain? The thing was in WTF mode, sending his body the wrong signals, and as his hands started to shake, Forge knew he’d misheard. No way the Nightfuries wanted him as one of their own.
    “You’re shitting me,” he rasped, sounding like an idiot. But it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Just the thought…of…of…Jesus save him from assholes. If the males aimed to hurt him, they’d hit the bull’s-eye dead center. He yearned for a home. A place to belong again. A chance to raise his son, make a difference, and kill some rogues while he put a dent in Ivar’s operation and avenged Caroline. “What kind of game are you playing, Nightfury?”
    “No games,” Bastian said. “Just straight-up logic.”
    Forge frowned so hard the space between his brows stung. His gaze ping-ponged, moving from Rikar to Bastian, then back again. Holy shite. They were serious. No kidding. No pulling any punches. Just hardcore, all-in commitment.
    He shook his head, viselike pressure snaking around his chest. He glanced at the other Nightfuries, meeting each of their gazes through the invisible force field. No one laughed. No one shouted, Surprise, asshole…you’ve been punked! The entire pack was tight, down with the idea of him staying at Black Diamond.
    His eyes started to water. Tears? The fuck-you of surprise? He didn’t know. Didn’t care much either as he asked Bastian, “Your idea?”
    “Mine, actually,” Rikar said, surprising him. Of all the males to push for his induction into the pack, he never would’ve picked Frosty. “You need a home. We need another warrior. It’s a win-win, my man.”
    “Decision time, Forge.” Bastian pushed away against the wall. “Yes or no?”
    Forge opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it again. Fuck him, he needed to get a grip, but surprise had him by the balls, stealing his voice, pushing mental acuity into a holding pattern. Only one thought resonated. Acceptance. A real, honest-to-God pack to call his own. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. It was a no-brainer. Better than he’d expected. More than he deserved.
    Swallowing the burn of unshed tears, he murmured, “Aye.”
    Rikar’s mouth curved. “Good. I’d rather have you for my brother then KO your ass.”
    “You tried that once already, remember? Didnae go well for you,” Forge said, getting his brainpower back, enjoying Rikar’s snort of amusement as he held his soon-to-be commander’s gaze. “There’s a ceremony, one that will complete the energy-fuse with Myst…tae join your life force with hers. It must be performed before the birth tae keep her safe.”
    “ Mervaiz, zi kamir ,” Bastian said, speaking to him in Dragonese. Many thanks, my brother . “And we’ll get to that, but first, I want your blood oath.”
    To be expected.
    The ritual was a time-honored tradition among warriors. As a male being offered membership into a new pack, blood must be spilled to honor the bond and cement his status. Still, as Forge lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head, a pang of uncertainty hit him.
    What if the Nightfury didn’t mean it? What if it was all a nasty joke? One designed to lower his defenses so Rikar could deliver the death blow?
    Acceptance in one hand, death in the other. It was a helluva gamble.
    Forge released a long, slow breath, trying to stay calm as Bastian approached from across the cell. All of his senses amplified, firing up instinct and the need to protect himself. He stayed the course, remained unmoving, picking up trace like a garbage man picked up litter.
    Shifting through sounds and scent, he heard the soft scrape of Bastian’s footfalls on the floor and the creak of leather. Scented the male