Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

away from the firefight.
    Mac growled. Uh-uh. No way. He refused to let the rogue escape. Not after taking hit after hit from the bastard. The Razorback would pay for each bruise, every cut, all the stitches Mac would need once the fighting was over.
    Wings spread wide, Mac streaked over an apartment complex, hoping all the balconies were empty. The last thing he needed was to come face-to-fang with a stargazer. If he did, the guy would get a load of something he really didn’t want to see, but without Rikar, he was hopeless in the cloaking department. Didn’t know how to go dark and silent like the other Nightfury warriors.
    Man, he really needed to read that handbook. The one entitled Fangs and Claws: A Rudimentary Guide to All Things Dragon .
    But oh, no. Not him. He didn’t do anything the easy way. Ass-backward was more his style. So when it came to the Razorback up ahead, he planned to do it the hard way. The strategy went something like…
    Hit hard. Hit fast. And hope for the best.
    Cranking his kill-o-meter all the way to lethal, Mac rolled in hot. Thirty feet out, the yellow dragon’s head snapped around as though the male sensed his approach. Jackass hissed and changed course, wheeling toward him instead of away. Ah, wasn’t that sweet? The rogue wanted to play, and Mac knew the perfect game to teach him. One called kick ass.
    As he came within range, Mac lashed out, aiming for the Razorback’s throat. The rogue pulled a roll-and-dive. Fuck. He missed by an inch, catching nothing but air. Not wasting a second, Mac flipped up and over. He struck again. Jackass tucked his wings, but not fast enough. Muscles pulled along Mac’s side as his claws raked yellow scales. Blood sprayed, splashing up his forearm. The rogue shrieked. Mac twisted in midair and hammered the back of Jackass’s skull. His talon cracked against bone. The brutal sound pinged off the steel and glass, reverberated between buildings.
    Winging out, the echo reached the ocean.
    Mac blinked. Jesus. The ocean.
    The perfect plan. A midnight swim and a dead rogue. Oh, goody. Two for the price of one.
    The Razorback flipped into a tight turn. His speed supersonic, the dragon came at him like a shark, attacking from below. Mac banked hard. Wind whistled in his ears. The smell of saltwater infused him as he flew toward the water.
    Thirty seconds away, the bay sparkled beneath the clear sky, choppy waves illuminated by city lights and the full moon. White streaks streamed from Mac’s wing tips, then curled behind him in the cold air. Right on his tail, the wisps blew into the rogue’s face. He caught a flash of fangs from his periphery as Jackass snapped at him.
    Mac changed trajectory. Flew hard for Seattle’s shoreline, leading the Razorback where he wanted him to go.
    Come on, you little shit . Come on .
    Wings vertical, Mac flew between two warehouses. Industrial cranes soared up ahead, dark sticklike silhouettes jutting skyward from a concrete pier. He flew between them. Over stacked shipping containers and a bobbing ocean freighter and…
    Eureka. Elliott Bay, dead ahead.
    Straightening out, Mac increased his wing speed and glanced over his shoulder. The rogue was still there. Beautiful. Jackass had taken the bait, was staying right on his tail.
    Dipping low, Mac came in like a viper over the bay. Fine mist washed over his scales. He breathed deep, loving the scent of ocean brine. With a quick shift, Mac wheeled toward the rogue. Jackass wing-flapped, surprise flaring in his shimmering eyes. Trying to compensate, the Razorback sucked in a breath. An orange ball of flame gathered at the back of his throat. Before he could release it, Mac struck, hitting the rogue head-on.
    Timed to perfection, he grabbed the rogue’s tail. Sharp spikes ripping at his talon, Mac yanked hard. The Razorback squawked, clawing at thin air as he got dragged down and—
    Splash!
    Saltwater rushed over Mac’s scales, filled his nose, his mouth, his lungs, and…
    Oh, yeah. That was wicked good. Nothing better than deep blue waves, a whole lot of cold, dark, and wet. Not that the rogue appreciated it. The male was too busy squawking, splashing, flailing around. And as the rogue struggled to lift himself clear of the water, Mac took over.
    Baring his fangs, he grabbed the SOB by the scruff of the neck and pushed his head under. A second later, he allowed him to surface. Watched his enemy sputter and heave, beg in the moonlight for his life. But mercy wasn’t