Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

guy paused, a furrow between his brows as he shook his head. “Call it a sleeping giant…but whatever the reason, contact with the Razorback triggered you. Now your dragon DNA is kicking in.”
    What the fuck? Razorback? Dragon DNA? Was the guy insane? Except…
    He couldn’t get the black-scaled bastard out of his head. The SOB had blown him through the two-way in IR One with his freaky exhale, and he’d been sick ever since.
    Mac frowned so hard the center of his forehead stung. “Who…”
    Losing the battle with his stomach, he squeezed his eyes shut, slammed his palms on the wood floor, and dry heaved.
    “I’m Rikar, and you’re Dragonkind…just like me. Like us.”
    On all fours now, he shook his head. “No…way.”
    “Look at your hands, big guy,” Rikar murmured. “And then tell me no.”
    Fighting his stomach and a bad, bad feeling, he opened his eyes as Rikar gave him a gentle push, throwing him off balance. As his spine touched down on the cold floor, Mac raised his hands, a scream locked in the back of his throat.
    Scales.
    Interlocking blue-gray scales.
    Like a disease, the nightmarish weave spread over the backs of his hands, up his arms, wrapped over his shoulders, heading straight for his heart. Cold and deadly, the sensation slid deep, chaining him to the floor. Immobilized by invisible bonds stronger than steel, his roar of horror turned to screams of agony as his bones snapped: hands morphing into paws, fingers into claws.

     
    Exhaustion gnawing on him like a bone, Rikar sat down on the floor beside the kitchen island. Leaning back, he propped himself against the cabinetry, brushing shoulders with Bastian, and stretched his legs out in front of him. As his muscles unlocked, his bones cracked, protesting the long hours, hard work, and cramped conditions.
    “Jesus,” B murmured, rolling his chin against his chest.
    “Yeah.” Not much more Rikar could say. Getting hit by a Freightliner carrying a heavy load at full speed would’ve been easier than the last few hours.
    The quiet, though, was nice. No more cursing. Or screams of pain. Just silence, and a whole lot of relief.
    Done with a shoulder roll, Rikar refocused on the cause of his condition. He blew out a long breath. Man, the male was big and…yeah. Unlike any dragon he’d ever seen.
    Sleeping like the dead, Mac lay curled like a cat in the center of the large loft: his face tucked behind one wing, his tail wrapped around the whole. Blue-gray scales glimmered in the low light, the interlocking dragon skin polished to an almost shine, protecting the male like armor, the mean-and-hard outer shell a characteristic shared by all of Dragonkind. But the weird thing? His scales were almost perfectly smooth, lacking the ridges and valleys of most males. Rikar frowned, his gaze wandering along Mac’s sleek hide and muscled flank. Maybe all that smoothness helped him swim, made him more water-dynamic or—
    “Jeez, Rikar,” Venom said, footfalls quiet as he paced another circle around Mac. Ruby gaze roaming, he studied the male, examining him like a scientist would a new species. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t far from the truth. “Blockhead’s got some serious blade. And get a load of all that ink.”
    Bending one leg, Rikar propped his forearm on his knee, attention straying to Mac’s tail. “Blade” didn’t begin to describe it. Lethal was a better word, considering the nine-inch paper-thin ridge that started behind the horns on his head. Sharp as a razor blade, the narrow, steel-gray strip gleamed like a knife edge, running between his shoulders and along his spine before spreading to both the top and underside of his tail. And the tip? Dagger quality. Rikar shook his head. Nope…not the usual spikes for Mac. Christ, he could cut another male in half with that thing. A single sideswipe and…
    Wham. Game over. Add that to the webbed paws, sleek skin, and Mac had water dragon written all over him. The magical tattoo, though—the Celtic-esque swirl of dark blue lines covering one half of Mac’s torso—baffled him. He’d never seen a male with ink like that before.
    Chasing an itch, Rikar rubbed his back against the raised edge of a cabinet door. “Stop calling him a blockhead, Ven.”
    “Feeling a little possessive there, buddy?” Meeting his gaze over the top of Mac’s shoulder, Venom raised a brow.
    Rikar glared at the male, his message clear. Back off . So he was feeling protective? Big deal. Getting Mac