Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

Lothair didn’t believe in old wives’ tales. As long as Ivar knew how to manipulate the DNA and map the genomes to allow a Dragonkind male to produce a girl-child, it was all good. He’d hunt down however many females his commander wanted. Impregnate as many as needed when the Meridian realigned.
    He was happy to do it. For results. For a daughter of his own.
    A Dragonkind female with the ability to feed males of her own kind. Hmm, what a concept. Something worth striving for if it eliminated his dependence on humankind once and for all.
    For the program to be successful, however, they needed six females to start: all healthy, high-energy, and of breeding age. Anyone under eighteen need not apply. Which meant he needed to track, trap, and imprison six twenty-something candidates.
    No easy task.
    High-energy females were the rarest of the rare. Smart. Tenacious. Skilled in their chosen fields, there was nothing run-of-the-mill about them. Which meant he was in FUBAR territory before he even stepped outside the lair each night. The theme song from Mission: Impossible thrummed through his head. Forget Tom Cruise. Hands down, he had the actor beat in the crazy mission situation.
    Ivar’s gaze zinged him from behind the dark lenses. “What happened?”
    Fuck. Truth time. All of a sudden, Lothair wished he could choose dare . But whatever…truth, it was. “Lost the third tonight.”
    “The she-cop?”
    “She ambushed me before I could get her in a cage,” he said, angling his face, showing off his cheek. “Got out through the ventilation system.”
    “Smart,” his friend said, pushing away from the computer console. The sound of his boots thudded as he came at Lothair from across the room. The approach was slow and measured. Dangerous by any standards. Lothair tensed, waiting for the blow, refusing to fight back, knowing he deserved the beatdown. But as his friend stopped in front of him, he didn’t lash out. He reached out instead and with a gentle touch grasped Lothair’s chin. Leaning in, Ivar got up close and personal with the butterfly bandages. “Nasty cut. You okay?”
    The question wasn’t about physical injury. It was about headspace and intention. Ivar wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of male he’d chosen as his XO.
    “ Nyet ,” he growled, shaking free of Ivar’s hold. “I’m not fucking okay .”
    “You looking for some payback?”
    “A shitload.”
    “So retrieve her come nightfall and…” Ivar trailed off as Lothair cursed. Reading him right, his eyes glowed pink behind the Oakleys. “Goddamn it, Lothair. Tell me Bastian didn’t—”
    “His evil twin…Rikar.”
    As the name rolled out, a sour taste filled his mouth. Unpleasant in more ways than one. Not only must he admit the bastard had gotten the better of him but also that he’d come home empty-handed. With a snarl, Lothair swallowed the name like a mouthful of mothballs. Unable to stay still, he rolled his shoulders to work out the frustration. When that didn’t work, he put his boots in gear and paced the length of the antechamber.
    He strode back in the opposite direction, his footfalls echoing off the glossy walls. Coming within inches of Ivar, he passed his commander, then stopped, dead-ending at the computer console. Asleep from disuse, the touch screen that controlled the “apartment” was black. He stared at his reflection a moment, seeing himself, but not really. “I hate that asshole.”
    “Fucking ice princess,” his friend hissed, dissing Rikar with his usual slur. “So we’ve only got two in the tank.”
    Yup. Two high-energy females. Four short of what Ivar wanted—needed—before the Meridian realigned in the spring. The electrostatic current’s realignment happened twice a year, and it was the only time a Dragonkind male was fertile. Just his luck. His genetics were a natural frickin’ disaster, working against him with the force of a hurricane.
    Uncurling his fists, Lothair cracked his knuckles. “I’ll get you the others.”
    “And the she-cop?”
    “She’s out of the program.” With a big REJECTED stamped on her forehead.
    “Lothair.” Ivar’s tone was full of warning. “She’s high-energy. She’s prepped with the serum. We can’t afford—”
    “To what…waste her?” His boot soles squeaked as he spun and glared at the male he loved like a brother. Any other time, he would’ve backed down, but not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. He wanted Angela Keen to