Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

fuck?”
    “You’ll get used to them,” he said, thumping Mac’s chest with a closed fist. “For now…ignore them. We’ve got a lot of work to do before sunset.”
    Mac frowned, alarm bells clanging inside his head.
    Bastian grinned. “You need to learn a few things.”
    “Like what?”
    “How to shift form…from dragon to human and back again.”
    “I can do that?” His breath caught. The first glimmer of excitement ghosted down his spine. Shifting forms sounded cool. At least then he’d feel normal…more like himself, less like a monster.
    “We all can,” Venom said, ass connecting with the countertop again. “Just wait until the flying lessons begin. Big fun, then.”
    “Huge,” Wick murmured, eyes fixed on Mac as he headed across the loft. Pivoting into an about-face, he planted his shoulders flat on the wall between two high windows.
    Torn between wanting to know more and mistrust, Mac’s gaze ping-ponged, moving from Venom to Wick, then back again. Were they serious? He rolled his shoulders, glanced at the wings attached to his new body. He flapped them without unfolding the suckers. Not enough room in the loft for—
    Wow. Okay…now that was cool.
    The webbing stretched, giving him a sense of his wingspan, and…bam. It hit him. The things worked. Totally nuts, but weirder than that was the realization he might actually be able to fly.
    His heart rebounded inside his chest. All right, then. Guess they weren’t kidding, but that didn’t mean he would give the SOBs the “fun” they so obviously anticipated.
    Holding Venom’s gaze, he tossed the challenge back in his face. “Game on, dickhead.”
    “We’ll see, fledgling,” Venom said, ruby-red eyes gleaming.
    Yes, they would.
    Mac eyed Bastian. “Show me.”
    Let the games—er…lessons—begin.

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Curled on her side in the center of the bed, Angela watched the second hand tick. Fifteen minutes. A whole nine hundred seconds spent awake and unmoving, feeling the steady rise and fall of Rikar’s chest against her back. And as the wall clock completed its quarter turn, and she listened to him breathe, Angela decided she was an idiot. In total mental patient territory for clinging to Rikar in the dark. A guy she barely knew. Didn’t trust. All while staring at the opposite wall, watching the stupid clock face glow above glossy white cabinets.
    Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time’s a-wasting. And still, she couldn’t make herself move.
    It was sad, really. How much she needed him in the moment…in the quiet stillness that made her think too hard and feel too much. And as she nestled in, taking everything he unknowingly gave her while he slept, she didn’t recognize herself. Wondered when she’d disappeared and a stranger had taken her place.
    Needy.
    She’d never been that before. Never once thought she needed anyone, but as the second hand continued its ticking and Rikar his breathing, Angela recognized lost when she saw it. The MIA? Her. She was the POW this go-around and, for the first time in a long while, she missed her dad. Mourned his death. Felt like a little girl again, more frightened than ever. Lost . Yeah, she really was…adrift in a place she didn’t want to be or know how to navigate.
    Fighting tears, she closed her eyes. She’d been so clueless. All those victims. All the one-on-ones with them: taking their statements, telling them not to worry, that everything would be all right. What a load of crap. Total BS disguised by an empathetic wrapper. Nothing was all right and wouldn’t be for a while. The hurt simply ran too deep.
    She turned her face into Rikar’s arm. Sprawled on his back, one hand relaxed in the center of his bare chest, Rikar didn’t react to her movement. Man, he probably didn’t even know she was in bed with him. She lay in the V, the sweet spot where his arm met his body, her back up against his side, her cheek against his biceps, hugging one of his arms to her chest, fingers curled around the Glock 19. The finger grooves on the grip felt good in her hand. Felt familiar and right, and as she opened her eyes and checked the clock’s progress, she said a silent thank-you.
    She was alive. Hurt, sure…damaged inside and out, but still breathing. No small thanks to Rikar, the man-dragon sleeping like the dead against her.
    Angela sighed. The whole nonhuman thing gave her the shivers. She should get up. Get out. Beat feet before he woke up and started asking questions. No doubt