Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

endure—pushed Rikar past respect right into pride. He shook his head, calling himself fifty different kinds of crazy. Being proud of a warrior he barely knew, one as powerful as Forge, was a touch north of normal.
    Not that it mattered. It was what it was . No sense arguing with it.
    Wanting to reassure him, Rikar laid his hand on their new boy’s shoulder. Forge flinched. He gave him a squeeze. “Easy. It’s all good. Keep it tight.”
    Forge nodded but adhered to tradition—respected the ritual—and kept his head down.
    B stopped opposite him, flanking Forge’s other shoulder. His movements slow, his best friend reached out and laid his hand on the back of the warrior’s head, just above the collar. Time stilled and silence reigned, throbbing through the cellblock as he and B stood over Forge, their message clear. Trust us. You’re safe with us. We’ve got your back .
    Seconds ticked past, falling into more. Forge trembled as he uncurled his fists. As his tension drained, his body unwound thread by taut thread and muscle uncoiled, relaxing beneath their hands.
    “All right, then,” B murmured, acknowledging the trust, praising the effort.
    Rikar tipped his chin in B’s direction. “The collar?”
    “Yeah.” Shifting behind the big male, Bastian planted his feet on either side of Forge and grasped the collar with both hands. The pads of his thumbs pressed against the locking mechanism just below the base of Forge’s skull as his fingers spanned the steel, wrapping around his throat from behind. “Hold still while I get this fucker off, okay?”
    “Off would be good.” His chin pressed to his chest, Forge quivered, a body twitch full of impatience.
    No kidding. Rikar was twitchy just looking at the thing, and had the steel band been clamped around his throat, he would have lost it by now.
    Inhaling smooth and deep, Bastian closed his eyes. Rikar kept a steadying hand on the male’s shoulder. He didn’t want Forge to move at the wrong time. Packed with C4, loaded with magic, the collar was volatile, a bomb just waiting to go off. The band took a shitload of concentration to put on, but even more to take off. B needed the time and space to unlock, shift, and toss the thing into the magical landscape inside his mind. A place he could implode steel and explosive, keeping them all safe. Intact. Unvaporized, so to speak.
    One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…four. Chickety-chick-click. The lock snicked open, and steel rattled, sliding from around Forge’s throat.
    Forge shuddered, instinct urging him to move.
    A death grip on the male, Rikar said, “Not yet.”
    As the warrior listened and settled, Bastian bared his teeth on a growl. His best friend’s grip tightened on Forge as he bore down, using the male to lean on. An instant later the collar disappeared. B threw it into his mental junk drawer and—
    Pop. Pop. BOOM!
    Bastian flinched. The explosion rippled, the sound faint, barely audible at all. A blast of air gusted through the cellblock, clawing at Rikar’s clothes, blowing Forge’s longer hair back. The energy field snapped, powerful bands flickering, fading little by little before vanishing completely, leaving the mouth of the prison cell unguarded.
    Breathing hard, Bastian opened his eyes. “Good to go.”
    Conjuring the ceremonial dagger, Rikar handed it hilt first to his best friend. B palmed the blade and stepped around to face Forge. As was custom, his commander knelt, hitting one knee in front of the male. His boot even with the instep of Forge’s bare foot, he settled in place, aligning their legs, inside knee to inside knee.
    The blade in one hand, B raised his other. “Give me your right hand.”
    His head still bowed, Forge raised his arm. Muscles flexed in his forearm as Bastian cupped the back of the male’s hand. The knife came up, steel flashing in the low light as B drew the razor-sharp blade across Forge’s palm. Blood welled, flowing unchecked toward his elbow. Not wasting a second, Bastian turned the dagger on himself, slicing an identical cut on his own hand. As Rikar took the weapon, his commander locked palms with Forge, pressing the wounds together.
    As their blood mixed, red droplets fell, splattering the floor between them. With a howl, magic rose, twisting into a funnel cloud around them. Invisible yet majestic to behold, powerful and potent, the Meridian surged. The energy grabbed hold, linking the two males locked knee to knee, palm to