Volcanic. Nuclear. Whatever.
The description didn’t matter. And Forge didn’t care. He wanted the collar off. Zip, bang, gone…nothing but history. Not that it would happen any time soon. Bastian had made that abundantly clear.
Cranking his fist tight, Forge paced the perimeter of his cell, feeling like a caged lion. Back and forth. Around and around. The cycle was nonstop. Bare feet silent on the concrete, the noise inside his head catastrophic, he tried to come up with an action plan. A strategy to use the next time Bastian visited.
Bloody hell. Two days of blah, blah, blahing. Of doing the verbal dance with the Nightfury commander, and still, Forge didn’t have a clue what the male wanted. All the yakkety-yak-yak made him nervous.
Which, come to think of it, was a good thing.
Despite the lockdown, his reaction told him his instincts were still bang-on accurate. Bastian didn’t do random. He visited for a reason. Was the male setting him up for something? Testing the waters?
Forge shook his head. He didn’t know. A huge problem, if there ever was one.
Usually, his skill at picking up another’s intention was rock solid. But the Nightfury commander was powerful. He gave nothing away. No matter how many times Forge tried, he couldn’t penetrate the bastard’s thick skull and eavesdrop on his thoughts.
A pity to be sure, but if he had to guess, he’d bet on Myst. The violet-eyed beauty was job one for Bastian.
So, aye. It made sense that the male would butter him up to get the information he needed to keep his mate safe. By establishing trust, Bastian no doubt hoped he would relent and share his knowledge of the ancient ceremony. The one that would complete the energy-fuse and protect his female. It was a good plan. One that—despite everything—was starting to work. Stupid as it seemed, he liked the male. Respected the hell out of him. The Nightfury was a strong leader, a fair one, something Forge hadn’t encountered in a while and—
Bloody hell. He was losing it, unraveling at the speed of light. No way should he be thinking about coughing up the info. Not with stakes this high, but Forge couldn’t deny he toyed with the idea. Playing fast and loose with his son’s life, not to mention his own. But maybe showing some good will—walking Bastian through the ceremony, telling him all he knew—would get him farther, faster. Maybe if he gave a little, he’d get a lot in return.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
It was one helluva word.
“Shite,” he muttered, his voice sounding loud in the silence.
Forge stopped in front of his cot. Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, he stared unseeing at the thin mattress, trying to decide. What was the best course of action? Give the Nightfury what he needed to keep Myst safe. Or hold out and hoped she persuaded her mate to hand over his son and let him go.
Uncurling his hands, he laced his fingers across the back of his neck and pressed down. Muscles stretched, and pain screamed down his spine. But it wasn’t enough. He needed a distraction. Something to release the pressure building inside his head and bring him some small measure of peace.
Food would’ve done it, but Daimler hadn’t visited in a while. Well, all right. That was an exaggeration. The Numbai had brought a plate of pasta an hour ago, but he was still hungry. And with all the shortbread cookies gone, he had nothing to munch on. No distraction at all.
With a growl, Forge dropped to the concrete floor. His hands planted shoulder-width apart, legs straight out behind him, he launched into a brutal set of push-ups. No sense mourning what wasn’t coming. The hunger was just a symptom of a larger problem.
He needed a female.
Not for sex. Caroline’s death had pretty much KO’d that need. He couldn’t even imagine making love to another female right now. So, aye. The nameless, faceless fuck in a dark corner of some club with a stranger would have to wait for a while. That didn’t, however, change the facts. He was a Dragonkind male. He must feed from time to time. Take his fill of female energy or die.
And right now, he was headed down a slippery slope. One that pushed him closer to energy-greed—a condition all males feared—and into mindless need with each passing hour.
Thrusting his arms, Forge popped to his feet. Sweat rolled down his spine as he landed, splattering the floor. He launched into a series of boxing exercises. His fists flew, striking thin air as he pivoted on the balls of his feet, picturing an imaginary opponent.
He snorted. Right. Imaginary, his foot. The face belonged to a Nightfury warrior. The one with glacial eyes and a frosty outlook.
His muscles screamed as he worked out. Quick jab. Left cross. Duck, bob, weave. Right hook into an ascending uppercut. Rage built with each punch, narrowing his focus to…just…one…thing.
Freedom. He needed to get the hell out of his cage.
Spinning right, he brought his feet into the fight, balancing on one leg to kick high. At head level. Right where Rikar’s face would’ve—
“Nice form.”
Forge stilled, held his leg at the height of the kick. Well, fuck him. The crafty SOB had snuck up on him. Huge surprise there. Especially since it had never happened before.
“Frosty,” he said, reversing course without looking at the male. Keeping each movement controlled, he set his foot back on the floor, lowered his fists, and pivoted toward the front of his cell. “What a lovely surprise and…oh goody, you brought company. How nice for me.”
Or not. Shite, he was in trouble. The whole fucking pack had come to play.
“Stow the bullshit, Forge.” Pinning him with a glare, Bastian broke from the pack. As he strode through the energy field guarding his prison, the barrier snapped, and the Nightfury commander cursed. Rolling his shoulders, the male shrugged off the electrical zap and entered his cell. “We didn’t come to fight.”
“Speak for yourself.” Red eyes glowing, Venom set up shop against the back wall of the corridor and cracked his knuckles. “I could use the exercise.”
A dark-haired male thumped Venom on the chest, then pivoted and ass-planted himself beside his buddy. “Zip it, Ven.”
Three syllables loaded with lethal. Forge’s lips twitched. He might not know the golden-eyed male, but he liked the Nightfury’s style already. Especially if he could keep Venom in line.
Rikar came through the force field, cursing, muscles twitching as he left the other Nightfury warriors to join his commander inside his cell. Forge scanned the faces of the four standing in the corridor. Venom and Sloan he’d seen before. The other two he didn’t recognize but knew just by looking both were fighters. Although Venom’s buddy was seasoned, the other male was not. A fledgling maybe. Powerful, but as of yet unaccustomed to his new body and the magic he could wield.
“I hate that fucking thing,” Rikar said, shaking off the aftereffects of the force field.
Forge tugged on the collar. “You should try it from my end.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Figures.” Sweat rolled over one of his eyebrows. Forge swiped at it, wiping the droplet away before it dripped into his eye. “Fucking pussy.”
Rikar laughed, throwing off the insult like air. Which was beyond strange. And a wee bit alarming. So much for getting a rise out of the male. “What’s up, lads? We in for a communal beatdown?”
“Nah,” Bastian said. “Just a chat.”
Forge’s eyes narrowed on the Nightfury commander. He watched Bastian lean, back flat, against the far wall, one ankle crossed over the other. The position said relaxed. The body language screamed alert.
Forge frowned. “You gonnae clue me in, then?”
“Sure,” Rikar said, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to provoke. Far enough away to avoid getting coldcocked. A distinct possibility, considering Forge was surrounded on all sides. “Something you should know first, though.”
“What’s that?”
“This place?” Pale eyes riveted on him, Rikar twirled his finger in the air. “Wired for sound, my man.”
“Bloody hell.” Forge sighed, the exhale a
ll about exhaustion. He glanced up at the ceiling, looking for hidden microphones while remembering what he’d said to the females. “You heard.”
“Everything,” Rikar said. “Watched it, too.”
“Video?”
Frosty nodded.
“I should’ve guessed.”
But he hadn’t. Which embarrassed the hell out of him.
Curling his hands into fists, Forge shook his head. Jesus. He was slipping in a major way, letting imprisonment, all the smoke and mirrors, get to him. The Nightfuries were clever. Beyond smart. Hooked into the human world, and that meant they were masters of modern technology, using it to manipulate and monitor channels, picking up all kinds of useful intel. All of which he would’ve picked up…had he done his flippin’ job and paid attention.
“Look, Forge. You don’t trust me, I get that, but…” Rikar cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable in his own skin. “My female needed to hear what you said. You helped her. Made her trust instead of fear me. I owe you for that.”
“The fuck you do,” Forge said through clenched teeth. The Nightfury XO could go fry himself. No way would he accept the gratitude. “I did it for her, asshole, not you.”
“I know. Still…”
“Christ, Frosty. Whatcha want from me? A love-in or some shite?” Forge growled, heart aching for the proud SOB who was thanking him. For the male whose female had been brutalized by the Razorbacks. Had Caroline been hurt like that he would’ve—
Fuck. Torn the city apart to find the sadistic bastard. Ripped the rogue’s spinal cord out with one vicious yank.
He glared at Rikar, wanting to hit the male for making him sympathize. For making him feel anything at all. “Wannae give me a hug and call it even?”
Venom snorted, the amused sound carrying through the barrier.
Bastian’s mouth curved. “Hugging isn’t really Rikar’s MO.”
“Mine, either.”
“Good to know,” Rikar said, his eyes glinting with humor. “I got something that is, though. Wanna hear it?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
Forge cracked his knuckles. “Whether or not it involves me beating the shite out of you.”
Rikar grinned. “I’ll give you a shot…after you agree.”
He raised a brow, asking without words.
“To become part of our pack,” Bastian said, his tone casual, the words heavy-duty.
The offer hit Forge like a body shot, knocking the wind out of him. He blinked, trying to breathe. It was a no-go. His lungs were on lockdown. His brain? The thing was in WTF mode, sending his body the wrong signals, and as his hands started to shake, Forge knew he’d misheard. No way the Nightfuries wanted him as one of their own.
“You’re shitting me,” he rasped, sounding like an idiot. But it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Just the thought…of…of…Jesus save him from assholes. If the males aimed to hurt him, they’d hit the bull’s-eye dead center. He yearned for a home. A place to belong again. A chance to raise his son, make a difference, and kill some rogues while he put a dent in Ivar’s operation and avenged Caroline. “What kind of game are you playing, Nightfury?”
“No games,” Bastian said. “Just straight-up logic.”
Forge frowned so hard the space between his brows stung. His gaze ping-ponged, moving from Rikar to Bastian, then back again. Holy shite. They were serious. No kidding. No pulling any punches. Just hardcore, all-in commitment.
He shook his head, viselike pressure snaking around his chest. He glanced at the other Nightfuries, meeting each of their gazes through the invisible force field. No one laughed. No one shouted, Surprise, asshole…you’ve been punked! The entire pack was tight, down with the idea of him staying at Black Diamond.
His eyes started to water. Tears? The fuck-you of surprise? He didn’t know. Didn’t care much either as he asked Bastian, “Your idea?”
“Mine, actually,” Rikar said, surprising him. Of all the males to push for his induction into the pack, he never would’ve picked Frosty. “You need a home. We need another warrior. It’s a win-win, my man.”
“Decision time, Forge.” Bastian pushed away against the wall. “Yes or no?”
Forge opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He closed it again. Fuck him, he needed to get a grip, but surprise had him by the balls, stealing his voice, pushing mental acuity into a holding pattern. Only one thought resonated. Acceptance. A real, honest-to-God pack to call his own. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. It was a no-brainer. Better than he’d expected. More than he deserved.
Swallowing the burn of unshed tears, he murmured, “Aye.”
Rikar’s mouth curved. “Good. I’d rather have you for my brother then KO your ass.”
“You tried that once already, remember? Didnae go well for you,” Forge said, getting his brainpower back, enjoying Rikar’s snort of amusement as he held his soon-to-be commander’s gaze. “There’s a ceremony, one that will complete the energy-fuse with Myst…tae join your life force with hers. It must be performed before the birth tae keep her safe.”
“Mervaiz, zi kamir,” Bastian said, speaking to him in Dragonese. Many thanks, my brother. “And we’ll get to that, but first, I want your blood oath.”
To be expected.
The ritual was a time-honored tradition among warriors. As a male being offered membership into a new pack, blood must be spilled to honor the bond and cement his status. Still, as Forge lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head, a pang of uncertainty hit him.
What if the Nightfury didn’t mean it? What if it was all a nasty joke? One designed to lower his defenses so Rikar could deliver the death blow?
Acceptance in one hand, death in the other. It was a helluva gamble.
Forge released a long, slow breath, trying to stay calm as Bastian approached from across the cell. All of his senses amplified, firing up instinct and the need to protect himself. He stayed the course, remained unmoving, picking up trace like a garbage man picked up litter.
Shifting through sounds and scent, he heard the soft scrape of Bastian’s footfalls on the floor and the creak of leather. Scented the male along with a hint of Myst’s fragrance still on his skin. Listened as the other males murmured in the quiet. But mostly, he heard his own heartbeat, the rush of blood in his ears along with the thump-thump-thump. And as the Nightfury commander came within striking distance, Forge murmured a silent prayer, banking on acceptance instead of trickery.
He yearned to hold his son. Wanted a new life. Needed a second chance.
But if he was wrong, and the male struck, death, at least, would come quickly.
Chapter Twenty-four
Backing Bastian’s play, Rikar crossed the prison cell. As the soles of his shitkickers rasped against concrete, he heard the other Nightfury males shift behind him. Uh-oh. Not a good idea. No way he wanted them anywhere near Forge. Not right now. The male’s dial was already cranked to nuclear. Add any more muscle to the inside of the cell, and things would go from manageable to messy in a heartbeat.
Slowing his pace, Rikar glanced over his shoulder. He met Venom’s gaze and shook his head. His warrior nodded, receiving the message loud and clear, and took a step back, resuming his previous position—shoulder blades flat against the back wall, arms folded over his chest, one boot planted on the floor, the other against the wall. With a quiet shuffle, the other Nightfuries followed the big male’s lead, staying on the other side of the invisible barrier, settling in for the show.
Rikar swallowed a snort. Show. Right. Like he needed any more freaking entertainment this week? With Mac’s transition, Angela’s rescue, and all the energy-fuse hoopla, he’d met his quota three days ago.
Rolling his shoulders to work out the tension, he glanced at Bastian. His commander tipped his chin. Rikar nodded in return and moved forward, closing in from one side while B came at Forge from the other. His gaze locked on the male, Rikar kept his approach slow and even, giving Forge
time to adjust, accept…trust. But man, the closer he got, the more tense Forge became, his unease rising like smoke curls, perfuming the air around him.
Rikar’s throat went tight. Unbelievable. The male was straight-up courageous. And as he watched the male bow his head and wait for Bastian to reach him, Rikar’s heart went AWOL, cramping inside his chest, messing with his head, firing up his thank you, God reaction.
He really hadn’t wanted to KO the trash-talking idiot.
Which was a big surprise. Not to mention a dumb-ass reaction. Especially since he’d never been averse to killing anything, no matter the circumstances. But with Forge, he’d been dreading the endgame. Hadn’t wanted to repay the male’s kindness to his female with brutality or face Angela with Forge’s blood on his hands. On the way down to the cellblock, he’d dared hope for something more, a meeting of the minds, so to speak. And now that he had it, relief grabbed him by the balls.
Forge would soon become one of them, a Nightfury bound by duty, honor, and purpose. Another strong addition to their pack. Good for him. Better for them. So, yeah. No time like the present.
Rikar wanted the induction ceremony underway and the blood oath done sooner rather than later. Angela would wake up soon. He needed to be there to see her reaction to his gifts. Wanted to see her eyes light up, her smile of pleasure, and to benefit from her gratitude.
Self-serving of him? No doubt, but he couldn’t wait to touch her again. To feel her soft skin against his and have her taste on his tongue. Just the thought—the bold, beautiful promise of her—did unspeakable things to him. Two days with her hadn’t been enough. Hell, he’d never get enough, and if that made him a full-fledged sap, he’d wear the title with pride. He’d claimed his female. She accepted him wholeheartedly. All was right in his world.
He stopped next to Forge, taking up space at the male’s shoulder. The warrior tensed, the taut flex of muscle rolling beneath his T-shirt. Which told Rikar all he needed to know. The male was packing some serious edge. Yeah, he might be on bended knee, but he wasn’t certain about it. He was on lockdown, waiting for the situation to go sideways. Maybe even for death to come.
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