Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

along with a hint of Myst’s fragrance still on his skin. Listened as the other males murmured in the quiet. But mostly, he heard his own heartbeat, the rush of blood in his ears along with the thump-thump-thump. And as the Nightfury commander came within striking distance, Forge murmured a silent prayer, banking on acceptance instead of trickery.
    He yearned to hold his son. Wanted a new life. Needed a second chance.
    But if he was wrong, and the male struck, death, at least, would come quickly.

Chapter Twenty-four
     
    Backing Bastian’s play, Rikar crossed the prison cell. As the soles of his shitkickers rasped against concrete, he heard the other Nightfury males shift behind him. Uh-oh. Not a good idea. No way he wanted them anywhere near Forge. Not right now. The male’s dial was already cranked to nuclear. Add any more muscle to the inside of the cell, and things would go from manageable to messy in a heartbeat.
    Slowing his pace, Rikar glanced over his shoulder. He met Venom’s gaze and shook his head. His warrior nodded, receiving the message loud and clear, and took a step back, resuming his previous position—shoulder blades flat against the back wall, arms folded over his chest, one boot planted on the floor, the other against the wall. With a quiet shuffle, the other Nightfuries followed the big male’s lead, staying on the other side of the invisible barrier, settling in for the show.
    Rikar swallowed a snort. Show . Right. Like he needed any more freaking entertainment this week? With Mac’s transition, Angela’s rescue, and all the energy-fuse hoopla, he’d met his quota three days ago.
    Rolling his shoulders to work out the tension, he glanced at Bastian. His commander tipped his chin. Rikar nodded in return and moved forward, closing in from one side while B came at Forge from the other. His gaze locked on the male, Rikar kept his approach slow and even, giving Forge time to adjust, accept…trust. But man, the closer he got, the more tense Forge became, his unease rising like smoke curls, perfuming the air around him.
    Rikar’s throat went tight. Unbelievable. The male was straight-up courageous. And as he watched the male bow his head and wait for Bastian to reach him, Rikar’s heart went AWOL, cramping inside his chest, messing with his head, firing up his thank you, God reaction.
    He really hadn’t wanted to KO the trash-talking idiot.
    Which was a big surprise. Not to mention a dumb-ass reaction. Especially since he’d never been averse to killing anything, no matter the circumstances. But with Forge, he’d been dreading the endgame. Hadn’t wanted to repay the male’s kindness to his female with brutality or face Angela with Forge’s blood on his hands. On the way down to the cellblock, he’d dared hope for something more, a meeting of the minds, so to speak. And now that he had it, relief grabbed him by the balls.
    Forge would soon become one of them, a Nightfury bound by duty, honor, and purpose. Another strong addition to their pack. Good for him. Better for them. So, yeah. No time like the present.
    Rikar wanted the induction ceremony underway and the blood oath done sooner rather than later. Angela would wake up soon. He needed to be there to see her reaction to his gifts. Wanted to see her eyes light up, her smile of pleasure, and to benefit from her gratitude.
    Self-serving of him? No doubt, but he couldn’t wait to touch her again. To feel her soft skin against his and have her taste on his tongue. Just the thought—the bold, beautiful promise of her—did unspeakable things to him. Two days with her hadn’t been enough. Hell, he’d never get enough, and if that made him a full-fledged sap, he’d wear the title with pride. He’d claimed his female. She accepted him wholeheartedly. All was right in his world.
    He stopped next to Forge, taking up space at the male’s shoulder. The warrior tensed, the taut flex of muscle rolling beneath his T-shirt. Which told Rikar all he needed to know. The male was packing some serious edge. Yeah, he might be on bended knee, but he wasn’t certain about it. He was on lockdown, waiting for the situation to go sideways. Maybe even for death to come.
    Rikar didn’t blame him.
    What they asked of him wasn’t fair. Total trust without proof. Complete submission without substance. Soul-baring vulnerability without the chance of self-protection. Mind-fuck material. The fact Forge stayed the course—possessed the strength to