Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

inside of his mouth. Blood washed over his tongue. Rikar swallowed and pivoted, kicking out with his foot. His shitkicker connected. The rogue’s knee buckled, sending him to the floor in a messy sprawl.
    Rikar raised his fist again. “Tell me where.”
    “I’m not that easy, asshole,” Forge said, the Scottish brogue rolling in his voice.
    The thick accent ramped Rikar up. Fury roared through him, unleashing violence in an uncontrollable wave. “You fucker. She’s a female…an innocent.”
    “So was mine.”
    A shadow passed over Forge’s face a second before he rolled, avoiding the next strike. With a slick move, the male gained his feet and, fists raised, circled right. Rikar moved left, eyes narrowed and heart hammering, searching for an opening. Christ, Forge was skilled. Giving as good as he got. But the ice worked against him. The slip and slide hampering his ability to dodge. Losing his balance, Forge’s guard fell. Rikar punched through, knuckles taking punishment as he hammered the enemy with body shot after body shot.
    A roar sounded from outside the cell. Shit. B was in full dragon mode. And about to enter the fray.
    Working fast, Rikar lunged forward and grabbed hold. His hands slipped beneath the collar around the rogue’s throat. He squeezed, cutting off his enemy’s airway as metal tore at the backs of Rikar’s hands. Blood rolled between his fingers. Rikar didn’t care. With single-minded focus, he tightened his grip and shoved the rogue hard. Thrust off balance, Forge’s feet slid. He went down, shoulder blades slamming into concrete. Rikar went with him, landing on top of the male’s chest.
    Losing air fast, Forge struggled, fighting the vulnerable position. Without mercy, Rikar squeezed the male’s throat, crushing the life out of his opponent. “Tell me…tell me how to find her.”
    Both of his hands wrapped around Rikar’s wrists, Forge twisted, easing the pressure on his windpipe. Denying him the answer he needed. Craved. Couldn’t do without.
    Rikar snarled. “You son of a—”
    The ice wall exploded, throwing chunks of ice inward. The sharp shards blasted his back, and…
    God forgive him. He’d failed.
    The rogue wouldn’t give up the goods, and as B’s midnight-blue scales flashed in his periphery, hope shriveled, leaving a hole inside his chest.
    Angela. His female was in trouble. Was being hurt and…
    Christ. He couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t survive as seconds ticked into minutes…into hours and days. With her held captive. Suffering God only knew what.
    Moisture gathered, pooling in the corners of his eyes as his best friend came through the hole in the ice wall. Shifting to human form, B moved like an organized hurricane, grabbing hold of Rikar. One forearm against his throat, the other clamped across his chest, his commander yanked, hauling him up and backward. As his hands slid from the rogue’s throat, Rikar roared, the anguished sound filling the corners of his heart along with the room.
    His female would die in a Razorback prison. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Chapter Four
     
    Swedish Medical’s ER was a frickin’ zoo, and the noise was messing with Mac’s head. Not that he had much to screw with in the first place. The explosion had fried his circuits, and after going a dozen rounds with unconsciousness, his brain was doing cartwheels. End over end. Minute after minute.
    Motherfuck, would the spinning ever stop?
    Fighting his stomach’s one-way evacuation plan, he clutched the mattress edge and rolled onto his side. The hospital bed creaked with his movement. Man, the thing wasn’t made for a guy like him. For the Olympic-size headache slamming the inside of his skull? Yeah, okay, maybe. But not for a six-foot-five homicide detective with a bad attitude and no time to waste.
    The whole situation was bullshit. All of it. The waiting. The noise. The fever and dizziness. The fact his captain had planted him on a hospital gurney in the middle of Baghdad. Okay, so that last bit wasn’t fair. It only seemed like he’d landed in the middle of a war zone, but he didn’t care. His partner was MIA. Had been taken by—
    Jesus, had he really seen what he’d seen ?
    Mac rubbed the center of his forehead, bringing the visual into focus. The split-second snapshot didn’t seem like much, but…definitely. He’d gotten a good look before the scaly SOB airlifted him through the window. A dragon. With sharp claws, black scales, packing a