Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

not.
    Not that he didn’t want her talking about it. She needed the healing that talking would bring. It was just…well, he wanted to be the one she came to for comfort. The one she confided in, not some stranger.
    And certainly not Forge. Asshole male. Meddling idiot.
    Jealous much? Without a doubt. But even with the little green monster sitting on his shoulder, Rikar’s head was screwed on straight. At least when it came to Forge. Which was a total switch-up. He’d gone from wanting to rip the male’s head off to his instincts ding-ding-dinging. Nothing about the situation made sense. Not the male’s easy capture. Not the interest he showed in his son. Or the way he treated Angela and Myst.
    All of it was very un-Razorbacklike.
    He scowled at the door, then turned to glare at the empty chair. Where the hell was Sloan? Just his freaking luck. His buddy practically slept in the com-center—probably in his uglier-than-shit chair. But the second Rikar needed something like a video cued up, zip-bang, gone. The male was nowhere around.
    “Sloan, man,” he said, reaching out through mind-speak . “Where you at?”
    “Right here, my brother.”
    His head snapped toward the door. Mocha skin looking darker in the dimness, his buddy crossed the threshold. Tipping his chin in greeting, Rikar’s gaze dropped to the file box in the male’s hands. “Whatcha got?”
    “Missing persons reports for your female. I went back eight months.” With a shrug, Sloan veered right toward the large table near the back wall of his domain. Set up like a conference room, black leather chairs—looking decidedly normal…thank fuck…easier on the eyes than ugly-ass purple—crowded around the solid wood top. Setting the box down on polished cedar, he said, “All young females, late teens to late twenties. No idea whether they’re high-energy or not, but maybe Angela will find a connection. Something we can tie to the Razorbacks.”
    “Hunting habits and prey drive.” Rikar nodded, liking the idea.
    If Angela could put names and faces to the female captives with the MP reports, it would help identify the variables: age, background, race, and habits. Males tended to like one type of female, and if Lothair was the one doing the cherry-picking, there might be a pattern of behavior. A method to his madness, so to speak. Locations. Dates. Times.
    But even better, analyzing the data—nailing the victimology—would take time. Would keep Angela busy and safe inside the lair. And while she shuffled paperwork, he’d be out killing the bastard who’d hurt her.
    Perfect.
    Now all he needed to do was convince her the plan was a good one. And get a freaking move on. Rikar didn’t trust her to stay put. Not after she’d given him the hairy eyeball as he left her planted in a chair beside a still-sleeping Mac. Smart and suspicious were her middle names, after all, and she’d guessed right. He was up to something. Planned to watch the video and still have time to beat the snot out of Forge if the male had so much as looked at her the wrong way.
    “So…” Dark eyes full of speculation, Sloan raised a brow. “Whatcha need?”
    “Video feed from the cellblock.”
    Pushing the box into the middle of the table, his buddy strode over to his expensive toys. One flick of the mouse. A few command keys tapped and…voilà. The giant screen came alive, showcasing a frozen image, complete with throw cushions and females.
    “Christ.” Rikar leaned in to get a better look. Shit. Sloan was da bomb . He grinned at his buddy. “You cued it up already.”
    “Figured you’d want to see it. What with your female and Myst playing Spy Game down there.”
    Rikar snorted. Spy Game . He liked that movie. No surprise there. Espionage was his thing, after all. Well, except for now. He didn’t like the game Angela played. Or the fact she’d been anywhere near Forge. The male was not what he seemed. Which made him incredibly dangerous.
    “So, what are we thinking here?” Sloan asked. “Something off with the Razorback?”
    “Yeah…way, way off.” Snagging a chair from the conference table, Rikar dragged it over and dropped into the leather seat. He glanced at Sloan, wanting to see his buddy’s reaction as he said, “I don’t think he’s a Razorback. Or ever was one.”
    Sloan’s brows popped, reaching his forehead. “Helluva risk to us if you’re wrong.”
    “I know.” His eyes on the screen, he leaned forward, planted his elbows on his