Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

body would get with the program. But the blood just kept coming. Rolling from the gash on the side of his face. Soaking through his waistband, running warm and wet from the wound on his rib cage. He wiped more from beneath his broken nose and silently cursed the pain.
    Punching through a set of double doors, he crossed the medical suite, heading for the supply cabinet and the mirror above it. Tarnished by time, age spots ate at the polish, spoiling the reflective quality, impeding his view as he stopped at the counter and tilted his head. Jesus Christ. He’d been sliced wide open. Blood dripped down his jaw, then let go, free-falling into a dingy sink basin well past its expiration date.
    Drip-drip…splat. Drip-drip…splat.
    The bitch had nailed him so good his dragon half was struggling to keep up. The steady pump of his heart pushing plasma out faster than his rapid-fire DNA could repair the damage. The drip-fest made his mouth curve up at the corners. The female was skilled, possessed a whole lot of kick-ass he hadn’t expected.
    Well…bully for her. Score one for the she-cop. Prisoner Number Three was now on the scoreboard. Too bad she was playing a game no female could win. Even at her best, she was no match for him. Add that to the fact he never made the same mistake twice, and the she-cop was plumb out of luck.
    He flipped open an upper cabinet, looking for butterfly bandages. Grabbing the box, he dumped the entire load on the chipped countertop, then cracked open a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and picked up some gauze. As he cleaned the wound, the sound of heavy footfalls echoed, coming closer to the medical suite by the second.
    Lothair snorted. Suite . Right. The name didn’t come close to describing the place. The old clinic was just that… old . An ancient relic too long in use: yellowed, full of aging equipment, peeling paint, and worn concrete floors. Nothing like the space in their new lair.
    Still under construction, the state-of-the-art facility was modern, efficient, and best of all, comfortable. It had everything the warriors under his command needed: bedroom suites, a myriad of living spaces, the computer center, a kitted-out laboratory for Ivar and his science experiments…and the cherry on top of the Razorbacks’ sundae—the new, but as-yet unfinished, cellblock A.
    Which explained why he was here, didn’t it? In a rundown rats’ nest. In the middle of nowhere instead of home, kicking back with a glass of vodka in his hand.
    Stupid humans. Slow-ass, inefficient insects. Ivar’s worker bees had screwed up. Dug in the wrong direction, delaying construction by weeks if not months. Now he was stuck guarding female prisoners in the old cellblock until he could transfer them to the new. Not a big deal under normal circumstances, but Angela—super cop, Wonder fricking Woman—wasn’t normal . The fact he needed stitches, and she wasn’t in her cage, was all the proof he required.
    The nasty little viper.
    A skidding sound rose from the corridor outside the clinic. An instant later Denzeil pushed into the examination room. The twin doors flapped closed behind him. With a quick inhale, the male stopped short, his focus on the side of his face. “ Schizer …are you all right?”
    “Never better.” Done with the gauze, Lothair looked away from his warrior, returning his attention to the mirror. Picking up a small Band-Aid, he started at the top of his cheekbone, closing the slice one butterfly at a time.
    Denzeil’s reflection appeared over his shoulder. His brows cinched tight, D watched him apply the white strips for a second and then reached out. Lothair tensed as his comrade grabbed his T-shirt and yanked it up to examine the cut along his rib cage. “Man, she really did a number on you. Need some help?”
    “ Nyet , I’m good,” he murmured, ignoring the mother-hen routine along with the warrior’s interest. He wasn’t into males, unless a female was involved. A threesome with Ivar was one thing. Like him, the boss only swung one way, which made taking turns with a female all about her. Not about either of them. With Denzeil, though, sex wasn’t so cut and dried. “What did you find, D?”
    Taking the hands-off cue to heart, Denzeil dropped his shirttail and took a step back. With a sigh, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the examination table. “Nothing. There’s no sign of her. It’s like she poofed her way out of the lair. The others are still searching,