Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

Os.
    Pure magic on the vocal front.
    He skirted another tough question. Angela bit down on a smile. Bullshit on top of bullshit. Freaking guy. He would’ve made a good cop. Hell, he was the verbal equivalent of a tap dancer. A nice-sounding one, but a big fat liar just the same.
    Which, naturally, reminded her of Rikar. Because really? Everything did today.
    Angela rubbed the bridge of her nose. God, she really needed to get a handle on that. She was far too interested in Rikar. And he was way too accessible. Yup. No fight from that quarter. He wanted her. Angela saw it in his eyes, knew it like her butt was planted on a Japanese cushion. That meant resisting the attraction would be up to her.
    Not a problem under normal circumstances. Her willpower was solid, but her reaction to Rikar crossed boundaries. Was anything but normal .
    Raking her fingers through her hair, Angela massaged the nape of her neck. Muscles stretched and discomfort streaked down her spine. The pain didn’t slow her roll or the curiosity propelling it. But then, she was an idiot. One with a bad idea and a huge problem. And what was that?
    One word. Energy-fuse.
    Man, what a concept. One guy. One girl. And boom! Instant attraction. Mutual need. A match made in heaven.
    Angela sighed, trying to deny her interest. No. Strike that. Her fascination with the idea Rikar might need her in that way. Something powerful existed between them…no question. She felt it even when he wasn’t with her. The zing of connection—the powerful pull of sensation that spilled into passion. Deep down—even though she didn’t want to admit it—she hoped he felt it too and that he came to her to get what he needed.
    A little batty, she knew…to want to feed him. Particularly after everything she’d been through. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t deny the compulsion. The urge to be the one for him.
    The one and only .
    And holy crap, there she went again. Tumbling into the rabbit hole head-flipping-first. ’Cause, honestly, did she really want to be Rikar’s next meal?
    Swallowing hard, Angela stifled a shiver. Had she fed him that night at McGovern’s? Seemed like a good guess. Too bad it was still fuzzy. She remembered certain things—like the way he touched her—with perfect recall. But other details were gone. Which was beyond strange. Her photographic memory never missed a beat. Great for a homicide cop. Not so good for a girl who wanted to forget the rat-bastard had—
    She flinched, shying away from the memory, slamming the lid on the mental box so fast the bang echoed inside her mind. She hung onto the pleasure instead…to the feel of Rikar and the deep connection she felt when he came near her.
    Palming the Glock, she played with the safety. Click-click-snick…on. Click-click-snick…off. Click-click—
    “Yo, Ange. You still with us?”
    Angela glanced up. Forge raised a brow. She set the Glock down in her lap, wondering if she should ask him. Myst had certainly run him through the gauntlet, so…
    She hesitated a second, weighing the pros and cons. Screw it. Why not? Rikar wasn’t here to ask, and she wanted to know. “Hey, Forge?”
    His amethyst eyes steady on her, he murmured, “Aye?”
    “Got a question for you.”
    “Hit me.”
    “What does it feel like?” Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her own. It landed on the gun that brought her comfort, even though it shouldn’t. A Glock for a security blanket. Talk about bizarre. And damaged. She was undeniably damaged, absolutely beyond repair. “I mean…when a male feeds? Does it hurt or…?”
    “It shouldn’t.” A furrow between his brows, he turned a piece of shortbread over in his hand. “Should feel good. A lotta pleasure for the female if she is willing.”
    “And if she isn’t?”
    He studied her for a second, expression serious. Angela resisted the urge to squirm. If she fidgeted, he’d know. Hell. He’d probably already guessed, but no way would she admit to being…hurt…by the rat-bastard. It was bad enough that she knew it. Felt it. Had to live with the failure and guilt. Saying it out loud would bury her alive.
    “It’s not…” He paused as he set the cookie back in the container. “I would imagine it is very painful for a female if the connection is forced.”
    “Oh. Well…” Uncurling her hands, she wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs. “Asked and answered, I guess.”
    Silence met her inept attempt at deflection, stretching out like