Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

whipped toward the open door. Oh, crap. Rikar. He had the worst timing. Or the best, depending on which way you looked at it. At least Bastian wouldn’t get the chance to throttle her with her man-dragon in the room. But man oh man, that didn’t mean Rikar wouldn’t take a shot.
    Lie or not, she’d just shot herself in the foot.
    An unhappy look on his face, he stood between the jambs, a wide-shouldered, long-limbed, too-gorgeous-for-words man. Angela swallowed, trying not to eat him with her eyes, but…mmm, it was hard. She liked looking at him. Liked the way his pale eyes glowed and the way he moved toward her, lethal grace in each stride, muscles coiled with a controlled strength she knew he could unleash without warning. Or mercy.
    But not on her.
    She could see the truth of it in his eyes. In the pale shimmer of ice-blue irises. In the way his gaze roamed, looking her over to make sure she was unhurt. All right. He was pissed off at her—might even growl and yell—but he wouldn’t touch her with anger. No need for heavy-duty explanations. No need for proof. Angela knew it instinctively.
    The second he stopped in front of her, Angela whispered, “I have a good reason to be here. Let me explain.”
    “Too late for that, angel.”
    His gaze flicked over her again, repeating his examination at close range. Angela stifled a shiver. Holy hell, it wasn’t fair. The way he looked at her was, well…God. It made her feel powerful, desirable, and something else, too…brave. Strong enough to stand her ground. Willing enough to take a chance. To trust him a little further.
    Which had crazy written all over it.
    She should be backing up a step. Or ten. Giving him a wide berth while she skedaddled out the door. But oh no, not her. What was she doing? Getting courageous at the wrong moment. Wondering about the damn connection they shared. Wanting to get up close and personal to see if she got zapped. Zinged. Carried away by the same mindless pleasure she’d felt in McGovern’s the night he’d touched her.
    Rikar stepped in close, crowding her. Raising her chin, Angela planted her feet, refusing to succumb to intimidation. Too bad he was good at it.
    Using his body to block her, he met her gaze head-on, tethering her with eye contact as he herded her away from the cell. Planted between her and Forge, he threw her a warning look. Angela chewed on her bottom lip. Message received. He wanted her to stay put. Wanted her behind him where Forge couldn’t see her.
    “Frosty,” Forge said, the hum of challenge in his voice. “So nice of you to visit. I’ve been chatting with Angela…thinking about giving you a bit of competition on the suitor front.”
    Rikar’s pale eyes went icy, then sparked, making his irises glow.
    Angela swallowed. Oh, so not good. Rikar in a snit was one thing, but in full-on lethal mode? That was something she didn’t want to see.
    “Isn’t that right, lass?” Giving the tin of shortbread a shove, Forge sent his snack spinning toward the back of cell. The container bumped against the wall, and he pushed to his feet, taking a step toward them. As the invisible barrier snapped, the collar around his neck beeped in warning. “We’ve been planning your future.”
    Frost gathered, coating Rikar’s temples, blowing arctic air into her face as he spun to face Forge.
    “Knock it off, Forge,” she said, trying to dial down the frost factor. Seeing more of Rikar’s back now than the prisoner, she peeked around his shoulder. He widened his stance, trying to block her. Angela gave in to the childish urge and rolled her eyes. Uh-huh, right. As if she needed protection from a guy locked behind a force field with a dog collar around his throat. “You’re being an idiot…not helpful.”
    “Never said I’d help, Ange,” Forge said, purring her nickname like a lover.
    Angela winced. Well, crap…just crap. The jerk was obviously angling for the Stupidest Move in History Award, because winding Rikar up to watch him go wasn’t the best move. Unless, of course, the guy wanted to get his head ripped off.
    A distinct possibility, considering—
    Rikar snarled, cranking his fists tight.
    Ah, hell. “Rikar…don’t. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
    “Oh, come on, angel ,” Forge said, borrowing Rikar’s endearment for her. A wicked gleam in his eyes, he rolled his shoulders, getting ready for the fight he was trying to start. “Admit it. I’m the better male. You’ll be