Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

mouth curved up. “All that pain…the loss of your freedom. For what? An infant? One who is being well cared for…one my mate loves and has accepted as her own?”
    Forge’s heart clenched. Loves and has accepted . Fuck him, but that was the best news he’d ever heard. Myst Munroe loved his son, which meant she’d protect him from all comers. Nightfury warriors included.
    Relief hit him like a sledgehammer, sent him sideways so fast he hung his head. Bad move. Forge knew it the instant his chin touched his chest. The position left him vulnerable, unable to see his enemy, never mind defend himself. But…God. He couldn’t help it, and as he struggled to hold back the tears, he murmured in Dragonese, grateful for the gift of a mother for his wee son.
    “Good to know, isn’t it, warrior?”
    Jesus Christ. Again with the soft tone. The melodic son of a bitch didn’t know when to quit.
    “Aye, it is.” Raising his head, Forge got back with the program, plugging the Nightfuries with a don’t-screw-with-me glare. “Doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything, though, does it? Not until I see him…hold him in my arms and make sure for myself. So get your—”
    Steel clanged against steel. As sound exploded, reverberating against concrete, a male yelled, “Rikar!”
    Heads swiveled, including Forge’s, as a dark-skinned male skidded to a halt in front of the magical barrier guarding his cell. Doubling over, he planted his hands on his knees, breath sawing in and out of his chest. “Jesus, you guys…I couldn’t reach you through mind-speak down here. Not with the energy field in place and…shit, but we got problems.”
    The Nightfury commander cursed and headed for his warrior. “When don’t we, Sloan?”
    “Always…but not this kind.” Pushing himself upright, Sloan glanced at him for a split second, then refocused on his commander. “You know the male cop?”
    “Angela’s partner?”
    The new addition to the party nodded. “The hospital did a bunch of blood tests. The results just came in. He’s gone active.”
    His brow furrowed, Rikar stared at his comrade. “What the—he’s one of us?”
    “Yeah…and changing fast,” Sloan said. “If he gets anywhere near a female—”
    Venom growled. “How much time before sunup?”
    Sloan checked his watch. “Forty-nine minutes.”
    “Twenty minutes to reach him. At least that to find safe shelter for the day.” Bastian glanced at his XO. “Doable?”
    “It’ll be close.” Rikar tipped his chin, pale eyes glowing, room temperature dropping as he ran for the exit. “But I’m on it.”
    Forge didn’t doubt it. Frosty had fast and deadly written all over him. Add that to the heft of male muscle hauling ass out of his cell? Shite. The Nightfuries knew what they were about. Good thing, too. No one—himself included—wanted a fledgling Dragonkind male wandering around the streets of Seattle.

Chapter Six
     
    Warm steel brushed the sides of her shoulders as the walls pressed in, narrowing as the ventilation duct headed up another incline. The cramped quarters made Angela’s breath come fast and the air feel thin. She couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her imagination? The truth? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was a raging case of hyperventilating hovered seconds away.
    Her lungs contracted, pushing her toward panic. Belly down, Angela hit the pause button on her forward shuffle. Closing her eyes, she forced her rib cage to expand and plastered a sign on her frontal lobe. One that said…
    No freaking out allowed.
    Later. She kept telling herself that, using the word as a catalyst…as a reward for pushing forward. ’Cause, yeah. Once she made it out of here, was safely home with a gun in her hand and the deadbolts flipped, she’d let herself go, indulge in a full-blown breakdown. But not right now.
    Later .
    It was hard to keep going, though. To hold it together, ignore the scrapes and bruises, the nausea and fatigue. Ravished by the drug, her blood was delivering the medicine with each pump, pushing it deeper into her muscles until it tingled along her spine. Rat-bastard Razorbacks. Whatever they’d pumped her full of was doing its job and, as exhaustion crept closer, the pain got worse, making her want to slow down, rest for just a moment. No harm, no foul. Right?
    Wrong. The second she gave in—laid her cheek down on the warm metal—she was dead with a capital D. No passing go. No collecting two hundred dollars. No way out.
    And wasn’t