Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

deep voice full of gravel.
    With a hand bob, she tested the Glock’s weight. “Thought it felt a little light.”
    Turning onto his side, he propped his head on his hand. “Couldn’t chance you shooting me in my sleep, now could I?”
    “Smart of you,” she said, eyeing him, resenting him for being so relaxed when she felt like jumping out of her skin.
    Not that she would show it.
    But man, she had a feeling Rikar wasn’t fooled. Didn’t care that she wanted to be left alone. All he saw was the gaping wound inside her. How did she know? She could see it in his eyes. The concern. The respect. The careful way he moved…slowly, like he didn’t want to startle her.
    Crap. And well, just…crap.
    Trust Rikar to throw a monkey wrench into the whole operation. His worry screwed her up. Made her second-guess her plan, the escape route…the whole flipping thing. He shouldn’t be part of the equation. He should be nothing but an obstacle that needed removing. But as she stared at him, and he met her gaze, lying wasn’t an option. For some awful reason, his presence chilled her out, soothing her until she almost forgot to be afraid.
    Which scared her beyond reason. She couldn’t go there with him. Couldn’t imagine ever trusting someone that way after all she’d been through.
    Scrambling to shore up the crack in her defenses, she drilled him a look. Tightening her grip on the Glock, she said, “Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t brain you with it.”
    “You could try.” Like snowflakes in the sun, his eyes sparkled a second before he got serious and sat up. She flinched. He kept his distance. Bending one leg, he propped his forearm on his raised knee. “I’m not laughing at you, love. I’m just…relieved you’re okay, that’s all.”
    God, not even close. Okay wasn’t in the cards. But holy hell, she couldn’t deny that she appreciated the sentiment.
    And there she went again…taking a trip into Insanityville.
    “I…” She cleared her throat, struggling to unknot the tangled mess inside her. The pressure pushed down, made her chest tight and her heart hurt. But now that he was awake, she refused to leave without having her say. Or giving what she owed. Holding onto her tears, she whispered, “Thank you.”
    His blond brows popped skyward.
    “You didn’t have to come after me, and I—”
    “Yes, I did…I so fucking did.”
    “I don’t understand.” Hugging the Glock to her chest, she shook her head. “Why?”
    “I couldn’t…Christ, no way I could leave you there.” His voice hitched, and he looked away, as though he didn’t want her to see his pain. But she did anyway: heard it in his tone, tasted his agony as he said, “I imagined so many things, awful things and…God, Angela. I’m so sorry…so fucking sorry. That I couldn’t find you…that I didn’t get there fast enough…that he hurt you and…fuck.” His hands curled into fists and, all of a sudden, the temperature in the room dropped. Each breath turned into a frosty cloud and goosebumps rose on her arms as he growled, “The second I find that bastard? He’s dead. I’ll rip his fucking head off.”
    Tears blurred her vision. Angela blinked them away, tried to ignore his anguish, but God help her, she couldn’t. She hated that he suffered…for her.
    “Rikar, look at me.”
    Staring at the quilt, he shook his head.
    “Please?”
    His brows drawn tight, he lifted his chin, and she saw all of it: his guilt and pain, the need to turn back time. But that wasn’t possible. Not for her. Not for him. The past couldn’t be changed, and it surprised her to realize she didn’t want to fight with him. Or make him pay for something that wasn’t his fault.
    “Look…what happened to m-me?” As her voice wobbled, Angela suppressed a shiver as the ugly memory surfaced. She didn’t want to think about it—not now, not ever—but that was one wish that would never come true. Emotional baggage never went away. It just got lighter over time, and only if you unpacked it, folded it up nice and neat, then put it away. Angela knew it. Had convinced victim after victim to get help, seek counseling—whatever they needed to feel whole again. “It’s not your fault. I want you to let it go and—”
    “I can’t. Not until—”
    “—if you’re going after him, I want in,” she said, cutting him off, surprising herself.
    As Rikar blinked, her words echoed, banging around the recovery room. She frowned. Okay. Change of