Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

Myst cared. Her expression said it all. Talk was exactly what she wanted to do.
    “Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but…” Tears filled Myst’s eyes, making the irises appear more violet than blue. “It has to be said and—”
    “Don’t,” she whispered.
    Myst didn’t listen. “I’m sorry…so very sorry. It’s my fault. Had I listened to Bastian and not run away.” Her breath hitched, breaking up the fast-paced spill of guilt. “God…the explosion at the precinct, the shipyard…the whole damned thing wouldn’t have happened, and you…y-you would be all right. W-would never have been h-hurt.”
    Angela closed her eyes. She couldn’t handle this, not now. Work. She needed to work, to distract herself with something she excelled at. Something that made her feel strong. An activity like, oh, say…outsmarting and catching bad guys. But Myst and her Dr. Phil moment were mucking up the plan, making her remember when she wanted to forget.
    Please, God. Someone just shoot her now.
    “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known and…” Angela paused to collect her thoughts, to find her brain before she broke down. If she started to cry, Myst would cry and then…hell. They’d both be knee-deep in a blubber-fest with no way out. “I’m all right. Myst, really…I’m good. Rikar’s helped a lot.”
    Okay, she hadn’t meant to admit that last part. But, well…crap. Just crap. It was true. Rikar had helped. Was still helping: making her feel safe, supporting her without demanding anything in return, giving her a shot at justice. And boy oh boy, she really needed to get a grip. Otherwise she’d fall out of anger with him.
    “I’m glad,” Myst said, her voice soft. “But if you ever want to talk—”
    “I won’t…not for a while. Maybe never.”
    “I get it, but…” Myst cleared her throat. “The offer stands…anytime, okay?”
    Angela nodded and glanced away, silence stretching until she felt like an elastic band. Ready to snap any second: to run, hide, and never come out.
    The small bundle of blue blanket next to Myst caught her attention. Thank goodness. A distraction. She needed one. Much more of the trip down memory lane and she’d lose it for sure. But the baby was a ray of sunshine. A gift in the face of tragedy.
    Unable to stay away, she walked toward the bed. As she got her first glimpse of him, her mouth curved. Little cherub. Sweet angel. He was so beautiful. Dark Mohawk of hair running down the center of his head, the little guy cooed and grabbed hold as Myst gave him her finger. Angela huffed, the sound more amazed than amused. Man, he was small and…happy. So perfect he made her ache with a sudden gladness that almost overwhelmed her. And in that moment, as she stared down at him—memorizing his features, seeing his happiness, and knowing he was safe—the pain pinching her chest eased just a little bit.
    Reaching out, she touched the dark hair gracing the top of his head. With a suddenness that startled her, the baby turned his head and…
    Angela blinked. Wow. He was extra alert for a little guy. Maybe too alert. “He’s Dragonkind?”
    Liberating her finger, Myst rubbed his belly and nodded.
    “Is he Bastian’s? The guy you—”
    “No. He belongs to the male chained in the basement.”
    Oh, of course. Chained in the…what? “Excuse me?”
    “It’s a bit of a story,” she said, adjusting the blanket, tucking the baby’s arms in as she swaddled him. “And speaking of which, we’d better get moving.”
    Okay, now they were going somewhere? Jeez. Talk about a switch-up. The conversation had gone from bad to bizarre in a heartbeat. “Ah, you want to fill me in? Who’s chained in the basement?”
    “Forge. Gregor-Mayhem’s father.” Scooping up the baby, Myst tucked him against her shoulder and slid toward the edge of the bed. “I think you need to meet him.”
    “Why?”
    “He’s spent time with the Razorbacks. He might know something that might help you catch the assholes.”
    Bingo. Myst had her attention. The only problem? Mac. Her partner was the priority, not the guy imprisoned in the dungeon. “I need to talk to Rikar first.”
    “Not a good idea,” she said. “At least not until after we visit Forge.”
    Well, wasn’t that cryptic? “What about a cell phone?”
    Patting Gregor-Mayhem’s bottom—man, the kid needed a shorter handle…like G.M. or something—Myst turned toward the door. “There