Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

packets. An IV needle pushed from its depths as she got ready to pump fluids into Angela’s bloodstream.
    “Lay her down, buddy,” Sloan said, hanging a bag of clear liquid from the IV pole. “Let Myst see what we’ve got.”
    Good plan. But as Rikar ran toward the table he’d been stitched up on so many times he’d lost count, his feet slowed, then got stuck to the floor. God, he didn’t want to put her down. What if he let her go and—
    “Rikar, man.” Sloan frowned at him, throwing a load of WTF in his direction. “Get over here.”
    Breathing like a wounded racehorse, he shook his head. “I can’t let her go…I promised. I…” Rooted like a tree in the middle of the clinic, he played a game of internal tug-of-war. The idea might be idiotic, but they were still intertwined, the fusion pulling thimblefuls of energy from him to give to her. And if his hands left her skin, Rikar knew—just knew —she’d crash. “I promised I wouldn’t leave her. If I let her go, she’ll die and…fuck…I can’t…”
    “Okay…no problem.” Myst jogged over to his side. Cupping his elbow, she used gentle hands instead of force and pulled him over to the table. “You don’t have to let her go, but you’ve got to put her down. I can’t help her unless you do…all right?”
    The words made sense. Logical. Reasonable. Perfect freaking sense. And yet, he clung to Angela like a dying man to life, unable to do as Myst asked. His fear for her was too great, and like a beast with big teeth, it had bitten so deep Rikar didn’t know how to shake free.
    Myst met his gaze. “Trust me, Rikar.”
    Trust . Christ, what a tall order. But as B’s female squeezed his arm, his muscles unlocked, opening the protective cage around Angela. The second he relinquished her, Myst went to work: shoving him to the head of the table, telling him to hold Angela’s head still, to talk to her, to soothe her, all while staying the hell out of the way. Her tone didn’t brook any argument. Rikar didn’t offer any. Instead he watched, tears clouding his vision as each cut and scrape was revealed on her pale skin.
    The bastards. The fucking bastards.
    They’d hurt her so badly. Used superior strength to hold her down. He could see the finger marks on her arms and throat. And God, the needle marks on the curve of her belly—just above her hipbones—almost killed him. But the worst? The bruises on the insides of her thighs.
    Sinking to his knees at the end of the table, Rikar tucked his face against hers, put them cheek-to-cheek as he stroked her gently. His female. Even broken and bruised, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And as he felt her flinch and heard her whimper, Rikar held her close and made a promise. He would avenge her. Lay waste to Seattle—burn the whole city to the ground—to find the Razorback lair and kill them all.

     
    Lightning forked, stroking the underbelly of dark clouds. Stupid thunderstorm. The crash-bang was lighting him up like a firefly, illuminating his black scales, giving the enemy a clear line of sight and plenty to track. Lothair banked hard, maneuvering around another tight corner. The mountain terrain, all the narrow crevices and sharp peaks, should’ve helped him. Instead he was flying blind, looping like a circus animal between sheer cliff faces to evade the Nightfury warriors on his tail.
    Another flash. More blue-white light.
    Jesus Christ. The E&E (evade and escape) had gone from simple to goat-fucked in seconds. Lothair glanced over his shoulder. He caught a flash of green scales and shimmering ruby-red eyes. Venom was right on his ass. Terrific. Nothing like the threat of getting hammered by poisonous exhale and then flambéed by fire to motivate a male.
    Diving beneath a rocky overhang, Lothair flew in close, hugging the cliff face. He heard the hiss of breath, got a whiff of the Nightfury’s special brand of poison. Derrˋmo, it smelled nasty, like gasoline mixed with turpentine and rotten eggs. He needed to get the hell out of range.
    Two more minutes, a little fancy maneuvering, and…
    Poof. He’d be gone. But 120 seconds seemed like an eternity. Especially with Tweedledum and Tweedledee breathing down his neck.
    The two males were like dogs with a bone: vicious, tenacious with bucketfuls of never-say-die. Literally. Which was a shame. Seeing them KO’d would’ve been fun after the clusterfuck of a night. Another high-energy female lost to Rikar and his band of