Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

of alarm put Rikar in gear.
    As he sprinted over the threshold, Venom said, “Ah, hell…we have liftoff.”
    Oh, Christ. Did they ever…in the form of MacCord wrapped around a dark-haired female. Halfway across the loft, the male pinned her to the wall: hands skimming beneath her sweatshirt, mouth against the side of her throat. Score one for the cop. Nothing wrong with his instincts. His dragon DNA was roaring, searching for the energy every female possessed. And wonder of wonders, the pretty brunette was responding, relaxing for MacCord instead of pushing him away.
    Rikar exhaled, relief replacing the air in his chest. He couldn’t have asked for better. High-energy and willing—a rare combo for a male in transition—the Meridian pulsed in her aura, lighting her up from the inside out, giving MacCord the connection he needed to jump-start the change.
    “Fuck.” Bastian growled, sounding more disgusted than pissed off. With another curse, he slid the glass door closed behind him and unleashed a spell, blanketing the interior of the loft as the sun crested the horizon. “Myst is going to skin me alive.”
    Rikar added his magic to B’s. The windows went dark, blocking the UV rays. “What for?”
    Pivoting, his best friend reached out and pulled a framed photo from the wall beside the door. Eyes bright, two females smiled from behind the glass. The blonde Rikar recognized. B pointed to the brunette in the picture, the one MacCord was now kissing. Ah, make that undressing. “Rikar…meet Tania Solares. My mate’s best friend.”
    Shit on a swizzle stick. Had he said FUBARed earlier? Well, not even close. They’d officially crossed into goat-fuck territory because when Myst found out they’d used her BFF as MacCord’s main course, none of them would get out unscathed.

Chapter Seven
     
    Downed by a scrawny female. How fucking embarrassing.
    Lothair rolled his shoulders, his pride stinging more than the gash on his cheek as he imagined his sire’s reaction; the laughter as it echoed in the high court of his home. The shame brought him low, slowed his pace in the deserted corridor until he stood unmoving, staring at cinder-block walls, seething inside.
    Derrˋmo , he wanted to kill the female for that alone. For bringing the memory back. Making him recall cold winter nights in a frozen Great Hall where his brother played the golden boy. His sire’s right hand always and forevermore.
    Favoritism at its finest. Hurt at its most lethal.
    It shouldn’t matter. Not now when his father was half a world away, and Lothair was full-grown. A warrior with purpose. Well-respected. Feared for his skills. A valued member of the Razorback pack and his commander’s XO. Still, the old wound made him ache in ways he didn’t want to think about, much less acknowledge.
    Good thing family was easily discarded and simple to replace.
    Ivar was his family now. His brother in every way that mattered. Thank God. Any more time spent in Russia with those bastards, and he would’ve gone postal, wiping out an entire branch of the Archguard. Not a good idea, considering where Ivar’s funding came from and his boss’s political aspirations.
    So, sure. He’d toe the line and bury the past. For now.
    And job number one? The breeding center and finding Angela Keen. Stupid she-cop and her box cutter.
    He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. To give her what she deserved…a slow, agonizing death. Except he couldn’t put her six feet under. The female was high-energy, too valuable an asset to their breeding program. To Ivar’s clinical study, the chromosomal DNA mapping, and drug testing. Lothair didn’t understand the complexities of the science, but man, the endgame was sweet. All the high-energy humans he could stand…a fuck-fest for him and his fellow warriors in a quest to breed the first Dragonkind female.
    But first? He needed to find and cage them. Not an easy proposition. High-energy females were rare, and Ivar wanted six guinea pigs to start. Which meant none could be wasted. So, yeah. Angela-of-the-box-cutter would stay alive. Didn’t mean he couldn’t beat the snot out of her, though. Drain her energy to the point of death. Make her suffer so badly she begged him to end her life.
    And hmm, coming from the she-cop? Begging would be good. Very, very good.
    Upping his pace, his footfalls echoed, bouncing off stained cement and bare lightbulbs, each boot thud quiet, familiar, nothing but ordinary. Now if only his