Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

next to the gun. Covered in small snowflakes, the container piqued his interest. Made his eyes narrow and his heart thud a little faster.
    What the hell was in it? A bomb? No, wait. Poisonous gas that would pour into his face the second he flipped the thing open. Nah, not really Myst’s style. Not Angela’s, either. Shite, that female would rather shoot him than poison him, so…
    Something sweet, maybe? Oh, man, he hoped so. After watching Daimler stock the minibar, he could use a sugar infuse.
    Curiosity killing him, he asked, “Whatcha got there, female?”
    She glanced at Myst, a question in her eyes.
    Myst tilted her head, like she was debating the state of the union or something.
    “Ah, come on,” he said, enjoying the game even as his stomach rumbled. “Share.”
    Angela flipped her hands, palms up, and raised a brow.
    Her lips pursed, Myst hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded.
    The round container got shoved in his direction. The blood-red top flashed, and the energy shield hummed, crackling as the metal slid through the barrier. Forge grabbed his gift, popped the top and—
    Oh, hell, yeah. Shortbread cookies. His absolute favorite.
    Inhaling hard, Forge drew in a lungful, the smell of sugary perfection as close to heaven as he was likely to get any time soon. God, the beautiful sweetness reminded him of home, of the Highlands and holly at Christmas when his mam—
    With a swift kick, Forge booted the memory out of his mind. He didn’t need to remember. Not now. Never again.
    Without looking at his visitors, he held onto the tin like a greedy five-year-old and sat down where he stood in the middle of his prison cell. Hunger out of control, he bit into the shortbread and moaned. Bloody hell, that tasted good. Melt-in-your-mouth perfection. The second mouthful was even better than the first. And the third? Divine.
    “Diabolical…” Forge paused to stuff another cookie into his mouth. A male would never have thought of the strategy. Toss a female into the mix, however, and tactics changed, veering way off course. “Using my sweet tooth against me.”
    Angela snorted.
    Myst grinned at him. “We have a few questions.”
    “I know.” And he did. More than they knew or would like him to.
    For instance? Aye, the females might be here under a united front, but they wanted different things. Putting his talent to good use, he mined their intentions. The ability to read another’s aim was a rare one. And the gift he’d been born with was strong—grew more potent with every year he lived—and he used it to effect.
    Actions. Thoughts. Words. Important, sure, but on a lesser scale. But the intention behind each one? Well, now, that’s where the magic lived. Anyone, after all, could fake a thought, tell a lie, or live one. But true intent was ground zero, the jumping-off point for all else. And as he stared at the two females sitting across from him, he read each like an open book.
    Dusting off his hands, he zeroed in on Rikar’s female. The detective with the wounded soul. Aye, she tried to hide it, but Forge saw through the act. Holding her gaze, he tipped his chin in her direction.
    “You wish to know about…” he trailed off as she tensed, as though preparing for a physical blow. He should’ve guessed. Angela didn’t want him to say the bastard’s name. Forge switched tacks, using the nickname he picked up on her frontal lobe. “The rat-bastard.”
    She released the pent-up breath, relaxing a little, but not enough. Unable to meet his gaze, she glanced away and nodded.
    “Look at me, Angela.” She shook her head. Forge held his ground. He wanted her to understand something. Aye, he might be a stranger, but she needed to accept what he was about to tell her. “If you want tae know…look at me.”
    A muscle twitched in her jaw, but she obeyed.
    The second her gaze met his, he said, “It’s not your fault. He was bigger than you. He was stronger than you. Any male worth his salt would’ve protected you…not hurt you. Accept that you did your best, Angela. That you’re alive because you did, and move on.”
    “What are you? Sigmund freaking Freud?”
    “I know a thing or two about being hurt.” God, what was he doing? Revealing way too much, that’s what, but…screw it. In for a penny, in for a pound. He couldn’t stand all the pain he sensed deep inside her. “About having another’s will forced upon me.”
    Angela blinked, battling to stay even. “What do you know