Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

mapping of Dragonkind’s fertility cycles. Once he did that? He’d be golden…have what he needed to start phase two of his project.
    Phase one was already underway.
    “Christ…underway. Barely,” Ivar muttered, retracing the genetic codes, frustration getting the better of him.
    Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. He liked tangible results: the faster, the better. But even with the deck stacked, speed wasn’t in the cards. Which was problem number…oh, he didn’t know. Maybe 207? Number one on the list involved Bastian. The Nightfuries were a pain in the ass. That crew was hunting Razorbacks hard: killing his warriors, searching for him. Meanwhile, what was he doing? Sitting on his duff, waiting for clinical trials to begin, for his warriors to find the right residents for cellblock A.
    All right. So the lack of progress wasn’t exactly their fault. High-energy females were a rare breed, harder to find than four-leaf clovers.
    Doodling in the side margins, Ivar sighed. He needed six—just six, although, he’d settle for five in a pinch—to get his breeding program off the ground. After that? He’d find more to add to the pot, but until then…
    He refused to rush things or get ahead of the data. Mistakes happened that way. And right now? He couldn’t afford to make any.
    Ivar tossed his Mont Blanc onto the notebook in his lap. As the pen settled in the vee, he reached out and grabbed the journal sitting open on his desk. The leather-bound book was his bible; 179 pages of formulae and scribbled notes containing secrets he’d yet to unlock. His mouth curved, he smoothed the dog-eared pages, loving the textured paper and…the blood spatter.
    Hmm, yes. The three-year-old blood blissed him out every time he touched it. Each droplet reminded him of the battle. He’d fought dirty that night—done the unspeakable in Dragonkind circles—to possess the journal. The one he held along with the six others locked in his safe.
    Although, if given a do-over, he would’ve taken the scientist instead of gutting the female in her kitchen. Had he known how difficult genome typing would be…the sheer effort it would take to decipher her notes and create the serum? Hell. He would’ve locked her up and thrown away the key. Forced her to work in his lab until she found a way for Dragonkind to produce female offspring.
    With her expertise, she might’ve done it. But she was long gone, leaving him to discover the answers on his own. He must find a way to unlock and alter dragon DNA. The problem? Magic was a bitch to break through, and with the tendrils roped around the quadruple helix of chromosomes? He was fighting an uphill battle.
    But not for long. His latest formula looked promising; possessed the potential to break through the genetic markers and allow males of his kind to sire daughters. Dragonkind needed females of their own. Without them, his race would remain dependent on humans. Which meant he couldn’t kill all of them. At least, not without starving his kind to death.
    So, here he was…back at the beginning. Starting over.
    It all came down to patience. Yeah, that and a kick-ass game plan.
    Step one? Develop the breeding centers, both in his lair and in Europe. If he couldn’t annihilate the humans all at once, he’d use them…breed them to feed his kind while he mapped the genomes and found answers. Only the strongest humans would be imprisoned in the centers, ensuring pure bloodlines and that each female born possessed the best energy. Once the centers were full and producing, he’d release his super bug, wiping the weakest of humankind from the face of the earth.
    Hmm. He loved a good plan, and speaking of which, his lab awaited. Time to put phase one to work.
    Setting the pen aside, Ivar flipped both notebooks closed. Journals in hand, he leaned forward and opened the wooden box sitting in the center of his desktop. A small, stainless steel tube glinted under the overhead lights. Ivar hummed as he picked it up. Seesawing the thing between his thumb and forefinger, he studied the curvy container. It was so ordinary. Unremarkable, but for the deadly nature of its contents.
    With a smile, he fisted the tube. Man, he could hardly wait to see what his little monster could do.
    He lifted his boots from his desk and, ignoring the squeak of his new armchair, pushed to his feet. His footfalls echoed on the concrete floor, shattering the quiet as he rounded the edge of the table and headed for the