Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

body-bruising brawl that would make him hurt on the outside as much as he did on the inside.
    Maybe if the pain was bad enough, he’d forget. Would be able to close his eyes and not picture Angela’s face.
    With another roar, Rikar rotated into a body-torquing twist.
    “Rikar—”
    “Get out of my way!”
    “Listen, brother…just listen to me.”
    No time for that.
    He didn’t want to hear a thing his commander had to say. Not now. Not ten minutes from now. But man, the male was strong…and clingy as hell, like an octopus wrapped around its prey. Switching up his strategy, Rikar unleashed his magic and lost his muscle shirt. As the cotton disappeared, B cursed, hands sliding on Rikar’s icy skin, struggling to hang on. Fucking A. He was almost free. His best friend wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer and—
    Bastian lost his grip.
    Baring his teeth, Rikar lunged forward, boots getting traction on concrete, his gaze locked on the bastard across the cell.
    “Rikar…don’t!” B’s voice came from far away, through a tunnel filled with blind rage and pinpoint focus. He understood the command, but couldn’t stop, not until the rogue lay broken, nothing but a bloody mess on the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
    Rikar ignored the warning. Big mistake. B wasn’t a lightweight in a fight or anywhere else. He was commander of their pack for a reason. A growl rolled in behind him. The scramble came next: the scrape of heavy footfalls, the rush of oncoming air.
    Rikar didn’t slow. He had one shot. One chance to wrap his hands around the rogue’s throat and—
    He grunted as Bastian tackled him from behind. Strong arms cranked down hard, wrapped him up tight, body slamming him off balance. His feet left the floor.
    Oh, shit. He was airborne and headed for a hard landing.
    Twisting midfall, protecting his head, he collided with the floor shoulder-first. Pain knocked the air from his lungs as Bastian landed on top. Without mercy, his best friend sat on him, knees digging into his ribs, hands pressing him down as they slid toward the opposite wall. Rearing, Rikar let his elbow fly. A sick crack echoed as he connected, nailing Bastian in the side of the head. B hammered him back, making his cheek throb and his conscience sting.
    Good Christ. What the hell was he doing…hitting his best friend?
    The question made him hesitate. The split second was all his commander needed. Shifting right, B flipped him onto his stomach, pulling a quick grab-and-wind on his arm.
    “Get off me!” Pinned with his elbow folded back almost ninety degrees, Rikar bucked the hold. “Get the fuck—”
    “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, my brother, but I need him.” His chest pumping, each exhale coming on short bursts of frosty air, Bastian said, “Rikar, man, I need him.”
    Like a bomb detonating inside his head, the plea in B’s tone shredded him. Fuck. It wasn’t fair. None of it. Not the fact Forge would get a free pass for Angela’s abduction. Nor that his friend was right.
    His commander’s female would die if Forge didn’t explain Dragonkind’s ability to energy-fuse with a female. The rare bond B shared with Myst was sacred, so rare all knowledge of it had been lost over time. And like it or not, the SOB hailed from the Scottish pack—the only one who knew how the energy exchange worked…how it saw a female safely through pregnancy and birthing one of their kind.
    Rikar’s throat clogged, tightening with tears he refused to shed.
    He couldn’t stand it. Ivar. Lothair. It didn’t matter. Neither would show Angela any mercy and, as he planted his free hand, trying to dislodge Bastian, desperation went nuclear. The detonation stripped him bare, laid him low…made his chest ache and his heart hurt.
    Closing his eyes, Rikar stopped fighting. His bruised cheekbone throbbed as it touched down on the cold floor, and he rasped, “He’s hurting her, B. He’s hurting her and I can’t…Christ help me…but I can’t…”
    “Jesus…I’m sorry.” His voice rough with regret, Bastian eased his grip, then released him. Hitting his haunches beside him, Rikar accepted the warm, heavy weight of his best friend’s hand as it landed on his shoulder. The touch didn’t help or bring comfort. He was off the reservation, out in dangerous territory…the hell of the situation too much to bear. “Rikar…you’re the best tracker we have. You’ll find her. We’ll get her back, I promise, but—”
    Movement flashed,