Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

month ago, the interrogation center was a thing of beauty. Secure, state-of-the-art, surrounded by miles of granite, the facility sat one level below the underground lair. A prison with attitude, the cell capacity maxed out at seven prisoners. Not that he wanted that many rogues anywhere near Black Diamond. Especially now, with B’s female in residence. But planning equaled preparedness.
    Or so he’d been told repeatedly by Gage.
    Their resident gearhead-slash-architect-slash-engineer and…well, all right. So the male was a jack-of-all-trades in the “build something” department, and now that the facility was completed? He was glad Gage had pushed Bastian to build the prison.
    But that didn’t mean he liked the magic surrounding it.
    The electrostatic current pulsed in the air, attacking his central nervous system, drawing him so tight his skin felt like it was shrinking. The nausea hit next, making the back of his throat burn.
    And wasn’t this fun? Uh-huh, so not a picnic. Just steel walls, concrete floors, and dimmed halogens marching down the middle of twelve-foot ceilings.
    Rounding a corner, Rikar tensed as the current grew stronger, boxing him in until claustrophobia reared its ugly head. No surprise there. Enclosed spaces weren’t his thing. Venom, though, didn’t mind tight quarters, liked riding the elevator to reach the main house above the underground lair.
    But shit, even his buddy was squirming under the strain, shuffling his feet as he growled, “I hate this place.”
    “Almost there,” he said as much for himself as for Venom.
    He hoped voicing the fact out loud would settle him down. No such luck. The rush beneath his skin grew worse the deeper he walked into the center. As sensation screamed along his spine, he jogged down the steps. The descent was fast, controlled, his focus on the door at the bottom of the single staircase. Another security measure. One way in. One way out.
    Halfway down, he punched the code into the keypad with his mind. The electronic locks clicked. With a mental push, he swung the door wide a second before he crossed the threshold into the wide open space on the other side.
    He released the breath he’d been holding. The electrostatic bandwidth stabilized, throwing all its energy around the prison cells that ran down the left side of the narrow room. He checked the first as he strode past it, searching for the purple-eyed Razorback.
    Empty.
    The second was too. Which made sense.
    Bastian would want the rogue in the largest pen. Farthest from the door, the extra space would give them more elbow room for all kinds of yakkety-yak and nasty—
    Something moved in the shadows. Rikar’s head snapped to the right.
    Green eyes shimmering in the gloom, his best friend stepped into the light. He tipped his chin. “Anything?”
    Rikar dialed back the frost factor. Bastian wasn’t stupid. Truth be told, the male knew him better than anyone. Under normal circumstances, a big plus. Right now? Not so much. His commander would guess his intentions in a heartbeat if he wasn’t careful. Which would KO his shot at the Razorback. B wouldn’t turn a blind eye. Not when he’d gone to such lengths to cage the bastard. And not before Bastian got the information he needed to keep his mate safe.
    Rikar shook his head, indicating a negative.
    A muscle twitched along B’s jaw. “Fuck.”
    No kidding, and the understatement of the century. Angela was out there somewhere—alone, afraid, vulnerable—and what did he have? A shit storm in the making. He refused to let Bastian shut him down.
    Did it matter that he loved the male like a brother? Respected the hell out of him? Normally followed his command without question? No. Not even a little. He needed the Razorback to squawk. So as much as he hated the endgame, he would take B out of the equation to have his way.
    Stopping alongside his best friend, he looked inside the last pen. The corners of his mouth tipped up. Satisfaction, it seemed, came in size extra large.
    Built lean, but loaded with muscle, the rogue stood at least six foot eight in his bare feet. Thank God. Just by looking at him, Rikar knew the male owned fighting chops. Enough to challenge him. Which lit him up, added that special sauce to the dish he was about to toss into the Razorback’s pan.
    Bastian’s eyes narrowed on him. “We gonna have a problem?”
    Rikar shrugged off his internal flinch. He hated that soft tone. The low pitch was a shade shy of melodic