Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

wasn’t enough, Rikar would rip his head off the next time around. No doubt with his commander’s blessing if Forge didn’t give the male what he wanted. Namely? The knowledge he possessed about energy-fuse. Which wasn’t a big deal if he got what he needed in return. Question was…would Bastian reciprocate?
    Forge pursed his lips, turning the problem over in his mind. Aye, it was a gamble, but allowing the Nightfuries to capture him had been a bigger one. And now that he stood waist-deep, he planned to wade into the deep end and see what swam out to join him.
    Or drown him.
    Either way, he needed leverage, a weakness to exploit. Which meant putting the female in play. Shuffling his shoulders against concrete, Forge grimaced, shying away from the plan. He didn’t want to use Myst, but like it or nay, the strategy was a good one. Bastian’s female held the key. The fact she loved and protected his son shouldn’t matter, but…
    Shite, it did. More than he wanted it to. But with his son in the mix, his options were limited to, well…fighting dirty.
    So aye, much as he hated the idea, throwing a few cheap shots was on his to-do list. Might as well accept it and move on. The female would survive. All right, maybe a little the worse for wear, but Myst had her mate to soothe her in the aftermath. But his lad was an innocent in need of his sire. Which left him no choice. He would swallow his pride and abandon his scruples. Do whatever it took to get his bairn back, and in the end hope Myst forgave him for—
    The soft click of steel echoed through the quiet.
    Forge tensed but didn’t move. Still flat on the floor, he cracked his lids, watched from beneath his lashes, and listened. A bumping thump. The scrape of plastic on metal. A soft curse and the subtle smell of—
    Jesus Christ. Myst.
    It couldn’t be anyone else. Not with the whiff of pheromones headed his way. The perfume was subtle, but one Forge knew well. He’d lived with it for eight months, and although the fragrance was unique to each female, the scent of pregnancy—of renewal and growth—couldn’t be denied. And Myst smelled beautiful, like female and fresh-cut lilies.
    Forge’s mouth curved up at the corners. Had he said leverage? Yes, indeedy, he’d hit the mother lode and found Bastian’s weakness.
    Soft footfalls scraped against concrete. The squeak of rubber against steel.
    With a quick inhale, Forge popped to his feet. The instant his bare soles touched down on the cold floor, he put himself in gear and strode to the front of his cell. Getting as close as the invisible barrier would allow, he craned his neck to gaze down the wide corridor. He wanted to watch her approach, see her the instant she came into view. The muscles bracketing his spine flickered, coiling tight with anticipation. Had she brought his son with her? Was he even now snug in her arms?
    Please, God…be merciful .
    Holding his breath, Forge leaned a little closer. The collar zapped him and, with a curse, he took a step backward, still straining to see, hoping, praying and—
    His heart contracted as a baby stroller came into view. Red with black trim, the domed canopy arched over the stroller’s bed, shielding his son, but Forge knew he was there. Baby powder. The smell made his knees go weak. He locked them and stood stone-still, afraid if he moved the pair would disappear into thin air.
    Silence expanded, interrupted only by the squeak of rubber tires on concrete.
    “Hey,” Myst said when she spotted him. Her voice drifted in the quiet, raising goosebumps on his skin.
    Swallowing hard, Forge forced his chest to expand. He needed to keep his wits about him, but…shite. He could hardly breathe as he stared at her. She’d come. Myst Munroe, the female he owed but could never repay.
    Forge tipped his chin in her direction. The lackluster greeting was the best he could do. He’d never once imagined she would visit and…Jesus, her generosity slew him where he stood.
    Rolling to a stop, keeping her distance, she smiled a little. “Guess you didn’t expect this, huh?”
    Forge shook his head. Bloody hell. What was the matter with him? Talk, motherfucker…charm her…make her feel your pain . He needed an ally, and Myst was the best sort. A female who hated to see another suffer. But even as the instructions roared through his mind, his voice refused to obey. Surprise had him by the throat. And respect? Aye, a shitload of that was circling too, the male in him