Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

brothers in arms suffered from insomnia. All were no doubt deep in la-la land, laid out under feather down, getting hot and heavy with an imaginary dream girl. Which…
    Uh-huh, you guessed it. Made Mac the sole patient in the sleep deprivation department Chez Nightfury.
    Damned annoying. And even more of a problem today.
    Combating a boatload of pissed off, Mac rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. He couldn’t afford to screw up. Or let his new family down. The other warriors were counting on him. Trusting that he’d learn to master the magic he commanded as a Dragonkind male to become a solid member of the Nightfury pack. Did it matter that he’d only just learned he was half-dragon? That the magic encoded in his DNA had jump-started the change —allowing him to shift from human to dragon form and back again—less than a week ago?
    Not even a little.
    Time didn’t wait for anyone or give a shit about ability. And neither did Mac.
    To fight alongside his brothers, he must prove he belonged with them. Which meant he needed to pull it together…right now.
    Too bad the plan was goat-fucked six ways to Sunday.
    His dragon half was AWOL, getting in his face, fucking up his flow, denying his will to control it. Cajoling didn’t work. Neither did babying the bastard. And threatening it? Shit, he’d gotten zapped with nasty-ass energy shards each time he tried that approach. So what did that leave him?
    Begging.
    Mac blew out a long breath. Just the thought gave him a raging case of no-can-do—the obstinate SOB belonged to him, after all, not the other way around—but desperate times called for desperate measures. If he continued to screw the pooch he wouldn’t get what he wanted. Hell…make that what he craved . He needed the Nightfury warriors’ acceptance. Without it, he wouldn’t get his warrior status rubber-stamped in the war against the Razorbacks, a rogue faction of Dragonkind whose endgame included the extermination of the human race.
    He glared at the weight machine nearest him. Steel rattled, picking up the vibe he threw off, and shifted against the rivets that kept it bolted to the floor. As the calamity got going, clanking out a rhythm, industrial grade fluorescents flared above his head, crackling through the quiet. A second before the light bulbs exploded, Mac shut the energy overload down, more disgusted with himself than ever.
    KOing gym equipment wouldn’t get him anything but more attention. The kind he didn’t need from the crew still asleep upstairs. He snorted. Now there was an understatement. Bastian, his new commander, would deep-fry his ass if he wrecked anything else this week. Especially since he was still on the hook for putting his fist through a wall.
    Raising his arms, Mac cupped the back of his head and pressed down, pushing his chin toward his chest. Taut muscles pulled and pain screamed up his spine. As agony slammed into the back of his skull, he frowned at the real estate between his bare feet. The Velcro of the exercise mats lined up, connecting the whole, not even a millimeter off as each clung to its counterpart. Any other day he would’ve appreciated the precision. Enjoyed the tidy corners and neat edges. Today the sight just made him sick.
    So together. So on the same page. So perfect in every way.
    Unlike him. He was a total frickin’ catastrophe. The only guy in Black Diamond who didn’t have his shit together.
    Mac’s headache morphed into a full-blown throb, pounding between his temples. The whole thing was a total mind-fuck. The failure. Each defeat. The fact his magic defied him. And as uncertainty came calling, he shook his head. It shouldn’t be this difficult. He’d always excelled at everything—school, sports, the military, and martial arts. Nothing had ever pushed him to the edge of what he could endure…until now.
    Why was he having so much trouble? Was it the water angle? Most dragons hated water and spent their lives avoiding it. Not Mac. True to his water dragon roots, he preferred to be in the ocean. The deeper the better, but any body of water would do. Give him a lake, river, or Olympic-sized swimming pool and he was good to go. The difference between him and the other Nightfuries, though, didn’t explain why his magic refused to obey him.
    He frowned, turning the questions over in his mind, searching for answers. None came. No clever explanation. No aha moment. Just another big doughnut hole in an information string full of