Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

now…you get fried.”
    “The rogues—”
    “Are grounded until nightfall…same as us,” B said, his reasonable tone pissing Rikar off. “If you can feel her, she’s in sunlight where they can’t reach her.”
    His hands flexed into fists, Rikar shook his head. Fuck him. He knew Bastian was right, but…God. He didn’t want to wait. Angela was out there, alone, vulnerable, probably half-frozen in cold mountain air. If he didn’t leave now, the Razorbacks might reach her first.
    He swallowed, trying to stuff his fear for her down deep. It didn’t work. The worry kept circling, taking potshots.
    “Rikar, man, we’re a team,” Venom murmured, jumping on B’s bandwagon. “We wait for sunset, then go after her.”
    Applying gentle pressure, Bastian forced him to raise his chin. As Rikar opened his eyes, he got nailed by his best friend’s shimmering gaze. “You can’t help her if you’re dead. We’ll get her back, but we do it together.”
    Together .
    The word—the show of loyalty—should’ve made him feel better. Stronger. More confident about staying put until the sun sank low and night took over. But as he ran his hands over his skull-trim, breaking B’s hold, a gaping hole opened inside him. One filled with hope and a raging faith that he’d retrieve Angela unscathed. And as both rose, clogging his throat, tying a knot around his heart, Rikar called himself a fool. Hope was for idiots, and faith for the dying. He clung to them anyway, like a drowning man would a life preserver.

Chapter Eight
     
    The cold nipped, damp autumn air sinking bone-deep as Angela crested another rise. Thick forest behind her, more of the same in front, she suppressed a shiver and paused at the center of the bluff, appreciating its smooth, dome-like top. Big contrast, a welcome one from broken branches she’d stumbled over most of the afternoon. But even better than the smoothness? Sun-warmed granite beneath the soles of her bare feet.
    God, that felt good.
    Settling into a crouch, she pressed her palms flat against the stone, absorbing more heat, and searched the sky. Way off to the west, the sun sank closer to the horizon. Stupid Razorbacks. Trust them to build a bunker in the middle of nowhere. With nothing but rock and brush for miles around. She should know. Her sore feet told the story. Scratched, bruised, cut in places she didn’t want to think about, the tale was a sad one. A woe-is-me-I-need-to-kick-someone’s-ass kind, and it wasn’t getting any better.
    Blowing out a breath, Angela pushed to her feet. She stood weaving a moment, the light breeze making her sway like a bulrush in the wind, exhaustion dangerously close. Temptation called, urging her to lie down and rest…if only for a second.
    She shook her head. No time for that. Nothing to do but keep running. She needed more distance between her and the enemy.
    The rat-bastard’s name skated through her mind. Angela picked up her feet and the pace, avoiding the bluff’s crumbling edges, and scrambled down the slope on the other side. As she rounded a boulder the size of her Jeep, she paused on a ledge. Seven, maybe an eight-foot drop to the ground below. Under normal circumstances the distance wouldn’t be a problem. But today she wasn’t looking forward to it. Her feet hurt like hell, and the landing wouldn’t be fun.
    Angela leapt anyway. Her knees rebounded, slamming into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs on impact. With a curse, she lost her footing, went sideways and…
    Crap. Another hill. Another spine-grinding fall down an unforgiving slope.
    Her heart kicked, hammering her breastbone as loose earth crumbled beneath her heels and she fell backward. She dug her elbows in, protecting her back, desperate to slow her slide down the hillside. Good plan, one that worked like a charm until a raised tree root entered the game, smashing into her tailbone. As she gasped and fought forward momentum, she wished she was a little more mountain goat and a lot less human.
    Yeah, hooves and a crapload of sure-footedness would be helpful right about now. ’Cause, man, she was running out of places to bruise.
    Too bad there weren’t any trails to follow.
    She’d given up hope of finding one hours ago. Of stumbling upon helpful hikers. Of catching a ride on a hunter’s ATV. The bush was too dense, a thick, inhospitable landscape only the most experienced would brave. And only then with the right equipment—warm clothes, food, water…a