Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

could see it in their eyes. In the way they’d planned the mission, the bait and switch that would lead the Razorbacks into the ambush. Angela squeezed the chalk ball harder, feeling sick as one word registered above all the others. Bait .
    Dear God, there was something wrong with her. Something twisted and sick about the whole situation.
    The realization hit her like a epiphany. Shame followed. Angela squeezed her eyes closed, the consequences of her insistence to be included looming in her mind. She’d allowed Rikar to become bait, agreed to let him play mouse to the rat-bastard’s cat. For what, exactly…revenge? Her throat went tight. It seemed so stupid. So petty when she considered the man she loved was risking his life to give her what she wanted.
    Why she hadn’t realized it sooner, Angela didn’t know. Maybe she’d been caught up in the planning. Maybe she’d been too focused on herself. Whatever the case, she couldn’t ignore her selfishness now. Or her love. Rikar’s safety trumped vengeance any day of the week. So as much as it killed her to let go, maybe it was time to bow out and let dragons deal with dragons.
    Adjusting her grip on the M25, Angela lifted away from the optic scope’s eyepiece. She glanced to her right. Belly down in the dirt beside her, Mac looked through his own scope, one designed for a sniper’s spotter.
    “Hey, Mac? Maybe it’s time I—”
    “Incoming,” Forge growled from behind them.
    Crap. So much for backing out. Goddamn it. “How many?”
    “Eleven strong.” Perched like a gargoyle on the ledge above them, Forge held the line, cloaking them with his magic.
    “Break it down for her,” Mac said.
    “All fire dragons but three,” Forge said. “Two are rocking poisonous gas. The last asshole…acid.”
    Angela narrowed the crosshairs, zeroing in on the coastline a thousand meters away. “How far out are they?”
    “A minute and a half.” Mac turned the dial on his scope; the slow click cranked her tight with each rotation. “Southbound. We’re good to go from here.”
    Angela nodded, struggling to stay steady, rechecking her position, the scope, her gun. The last-minute run-through didn’t help. She flexed her fingers, then released the twin fists, willing her hands to quit shaking.
    Shale rattled down the cliff face as Forge shifted his foothold. “Look for—”
    “I know what he looks like,” Angela said, tone tight.
    Black scales. Black eyes. Black, soulless heart beating in the center of his chest. Come on, Angela…get it together. As her own voice whispered through her mind, she adjusted her grip, clearing the mental minefield inside her head, forcing herself into the zone. She sank deep, away from emotion and into the moment.
    “Windage?”

    Mac fed her the intel, working his scope like a pro. “Breathe, Ange.”
    “Screw off.”
    “She’s ready.” Her partner eyed Forge over the top of her head.
    Angela caught the Scottish devil’s grin out of the corner of her eye. “You too, Forge.”
    “Nae doubt about it,” Forge murmured. “Wicked ready.”
    “Shut up,” she said without heat, thankful for both of them. She understood what they were doing—diverting her into relaxation. The trash-talking was an old-time tactic, one used by cops in high-octane situations to power down before crap went critical. The calm-before-the-storm strategy worked wonders, cranking her dial to 100 percent focused. “Can’t you see I’m working here?”
    “Attagirl,” Mac said without looking at her. “Get ready. Here we go.”
    Deep breath in. Smooth breath out. Trigger finger at the ready. Clear mind. Steadier hand and…
    Holy crap. Here he came.
    White scales gleaming in the moon-glow, Rikar rocketed around the last bend. Wisps of air curled from his wing tips, swirling behind him like jet fuel. The tendrils blew into the Razorback’s face. The black-scaled bastard bared his fangs and snapped at Rikar’s tail. Lock. Set. Match. The enemy dragon had taken the bait. Now he flew toward the kill zone…and Angela’s crosshairs.
    “Come on…come on,” she murmured, timing it just right, waiting for the precise moment. The perfect opening in the shooting lane. “Turn, Rikar…bank left…hard left, baby.”
    Forge murmured, relaying the message.
    Rikar split wide, heading for the coastline. Angela pulled the trigger. The rifle recoiled in her hands, thumping hard against her shoulder. Gunfire cracked. The sound ricocheted, echoing across