“So…” Sloan cleared his throat, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. “You want us to go at him as a unit?”
“Solidarity,” Wick murmured, shrugging out of Venom’s hold. “Pack mentality.”
“Yeah,” B said. “All hands on deck with this one, boys.”
“So what? We gonna have a love-in or something?” A sour look on his puss, Venom leaned back in his chair. Wood groaned, protesting the sudden shift of muscle. “Sing ‘Kumbaya’ with the meathead?”
Rikar laughed. He couldn’t help it. The mental image cracked him up. The look on Venom’s face made it worse. Shit, he loved the male and his wicked sense of humor. “He needs to know the entire pack will accept him, Ven. No tricks. No possibility of ambush.”
“And that’ll make him cave?”
“It’s worth a shot,” he said, pushing the half-eaten pastry away, watching it ooze jelly until it blobbed on the white plate. Rikar grimaced. He should probably eat the damned thing. Daimler would be disappointed if he didn’t. After all, the Numbai worked hard to keep them in good eats. Too bad he wasn’t hungry…for food. Hot, sweaty sex with Angela, however, was something he could devour with ease. “I think Forge is looking for a home. For a pack to pull him in.”
“Or maybe he’s just got a death wish,” Venom said, unwilling to let go of the dream in which he ripped Forge’s head off. Rikar didn’t blame him. Normally, he would’ve hopped on that bandwagon. Trusting an outsider wasn’t something any of them could afford. Not when the wrong discussion—pulling an enemy spy into their inner circle—could mean death for one of their own. “He just lost a female.”
“All the more reason to hit him now.” Chasing an itch, Bastian shifted sideways, rubbing his shoulder blades on a corner cabinet. “He’s vulnerable. In need of support and a strong pack to give him direction. Besides, he wants his son.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “Leverage.”
“Yeah,” B murmured. “Let’s crank the shit out of it.”
Venom opened his mouth, no doubt to protest again. Wick elbowed him in the rib cage. “Ow! Easy, Wick…jeez.”
“Shut up,” Wick said, getting back on the two-word train.
Glaring at his friend, Venom rubbed his side and grumbled, “All right. I’m on board. But I’m available anytime you want to switch to option two, B.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, my man.”
“So…Rikar.” Rolling his shoulders, Venom stretched. Rikar went on high alert. He knew that tone, and nothing good ever followed it. “I got a solution for you.”
“Oh, Christ.” While the others laughed, Rikar eyeballed his friend. “Didn’t realize I needed one.”
Venom rolled his eyes. “Buddy, you got all kinds of trouble.”
Rikar raised a brow.
“Sooner or later, man, you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass. You can’t keep her locked up forever.”
Her. Translation? Angela. Freaking male. Venom was butting in where he didn’t belong. No one meddled better than Venom, and the fact the warrior was thinking about Angela—for any reason—made Rikar want to kick his ass.
“She’s my problem. Not yours,” he said, voice soft with lethal undertones. The male needed to get a clue…right now. Before Rikar felt the need to rearrange his face.
“I know that,” Venom said. “But Lothair can track her energy. Why not use that and her to our advantage?”
“No fucking way.” Rikar curled his hands into fists, prepared to back up the statement with a beatdown. “Not happening.”
“Come on, man. She could—”
“Leave it alone, Ven.” Bastian pushed away from the cabinets, ready to intervene if shit went critical. A good guess considering Rikar’s launch code had been punched in, and he was about to go nuclear. “Don’t go there.”
“Why not? It’s a good plan, B. She’s a cop, for God’s sake…with a skill set that’s cranked to kick ass. Using her as bait to lure the bastard out into the open makes perfect sense.” Leaning in, Venom planted his elbows on the countertop. Ruby-red eyes earnest, he said, “Rikar, man, it’ll work. We’ll protect her while you KO the asshole. Angela will get closure. Where’s the downside?”
“Oh, my God.” Whisper-thin, the voice came from the archway behind him.
Rikar bowed his head. Angela. She’d snuck up on him in frickin’ flip-flops. Talk about inattention. But then, Venom and his stupid plan had distracted him completely. Now he would be forced to deal with the aftermath and Angela’s fear.
Swinging around on the stool, he turned to face her and…goddamn, the look on her face broke his heart. Terror—abject and terrible—was on display in her wide hazel eyes. His breath stalled in his throat, making his chest ache as he put himself in gear. He couldn’t leave her standing there alone, itching to run as panic grabbed hold. Okay, so technically she wasn’t alone. Mac stood just behind her, his eyes so stormy the color churned, moving from aquamarine to turbulent blue-gray.
“Motherfuck.” His load of pissed off pinned on Rikar, Mac asked, “Is that true? Can he track her?”
Rikar didn’t answer. He was more interested in reaching Angela than answering Mac’s question. Stopping in front of her, he slid his hand into hers. A tremor rolled through her into him. He laced their fingers, hoping his touch, the closeness of his body, the reassurance in his gaze calmed her. Helped her realize he would never allow anyone—or anything—to hurt her.
Never again. Not while he lived.
“Angela,” he murmured, moving in tight, wanting her in his arms so badly his palms itched.
But forcing an embrace wouldn’t work. Not with Angela. She was warrior-strong, able to fight her own battles and decide whom she wanted by her side. The juvenile part of him jumped up and down, yelling, “Pick me, pick me!” Rikar held the line and waited, hoping she took what he offered, the comfort of his touch. Seconds ticked by as she held his gaze, a question in her own, then—
It happened. She folded, closed the distance between them—fisted her hand in the back of his shirt, pressed her cheek to his chest, asking without words to be held. His heart thumped, shattering into shards as he drew her in. Wrapping her up tight, he absorbed her shivers, nestled his cheek against the top of her head, soothing her the only way he knew how…with his body and touch and understanding. “Sweet angel. It’s all right.”
“S-sorry,” she whispered back, apologizing for some imagined weakness.
“No need. You have every right to be afraid. Only a fool wouldn’t be, love.” Nuzzling her, he kissed the sweet spot behind her ear. “But you’re safe. Black Diamond is secure. He can’t get to you here.”
“And if I leave?”
“He’ll find you.”
Her hand flexed, bunching his shirt against his spine. He gave her a gentle squeeze as she lifted her face from his chest. She looked up at him. Her eyes clung to his before she took a deep breath, glanced away from him and then around the kitchen, meeting each pair of eyes head-on. His warriors nodded in turn, greeting her with silence and a whole lot of respect. Rikar’s throat went tight. Thank God for his brothers. Their show of strength—of solidarity and commitment—was just what his female needed.
“It’s my energy, isn’t it?” she asked, returning her attention to him. “He’s got a lock on it now?”
“Yeah.”
“Fucking hell,” Mac growled, staring at Venom, his gaze shimmering so fiercely it lit the male up with blue light. “Forget the bait plan, dickhead. No way you’re putting my partner in the line of fire.”
Rikar huffed. Well, shit. At least he had one ally in the group. Everyone else looked far too interested in Venom’s suggestion.
Use her as bait? No freaking way.
“Wait a second.” Angela’s eyes narrowed, and alarm bells went off inside Rikar’s head. He didn’t like that look or the fact the cop in her was coming back online, pushing fear and a healthy dose of caution out of the way. “Let’s not discount Venom’s idea. You get
me the right firepower…a long-range rifle, maybe? Three or four clips full of armor-piercing ammo?” She tilted her head, wheels turning behind her eyes. “Yeah, I should be able to—”
“No.” Rikar shook his head to reinforce his denial. Armor-piercing bullets, his ass. He couldn’t decide who was more insane: his female or Venom.
Angela frowned at him, no doubt formulating an annoyingly well thought out argument. He reiterated the “no.” She leaned away, releasing her death grip on his shirt. He cupped her nape, using gentle hands to keep her against him when she tried to pull away.
She sighed. The soft sound all about exasperation. “Listen, Rikar—”
“It’s too dangerous, angel.”
“Not if you energy-regress her,” Sloan said.
Good Christ. Rikar glared at his buddy. Energy-regress her. Was the male out of his fucking mind?
Seemed like a good guess because…shit. Energy-regression took a helluva lot of trust, never mind all kinds of commitment. On his part. On his female’s part, too. The only way a male could alter a female’s energy signature was to make love to her. Repeatedly. Bliss her out so well—and so often—a link opened to the Meridian, allowing a male access to the unique frequency woven into a female’s life force. It was like mainlining energy, druglike, addictive, wild as hell. Or so he’d been told.
Rikar swallowed. Just the thought of spending a week with Angela that way made him go hard. Aroused to the point of pain. God help him. He wanted her that way. Would die to lay her out and use the connection they shared to ensure her safety. The question was…could he do it without hurting her?
He honestly didn’t know.
He didn’t know the first thing about energy-regression. All right. So he knew how it worked in theory. Had read about it in the annals handed down by Dragonkind ancestors. Had heard other males talk about it, too—how they’d used the magic to keep others of their kind from finding a female again. Cool idea, sure, but with potentially devastating consequences.
Angela wasn’t ready to make love with him yet. Not after all she’d suffered, so…yeah. It was a bad, bad, bad plan. Tack on the fact if he changed her energy beacon, she’d not only be safe from Lothair but able to leave Black Diamond. And him. Forever.
Fuck.
Just what he didn’t need. An ethical dilemma. One that would make him choose between his need for her as a bonded male. And Angela’s desire for freedom and independence.
“Rikar?” Smoothing her hand over his shoulder, she stared up at him, confusion and more in her eyes. “What’s—”
“I’ll explain, but…not here.” No way would he explain energy-regression in front of his warriors. They’d never let him hear the end of it. He glanced at Bastian, looking for encouragement.
Per usual, B was Johnny-on-the-spot. “Take your time. The other shit can wait a while.”
“Come with me, angel.” Tightening his grip on Angela’s hand, Rikar tugged her toward the exit. And the corridor that led to his room.
He needed privacy. Loads of it. If she let him lay her down and love her like he yearned to, he wanted a bed and soft-as-silk sheets to do it in. Maybe then he’d find a way to show her how much she meant to him. How much he loved her. And if he did it right—got really, really lucky—maybe…just maybe…she’d fall head-over-heels in love with him, too. Become his mate in every way and…
Stay with him forever.
Chapter Twenty-two
After walking in on the Killers R Us convention doubling as Black Diamond’s kitchen, Rikar’s bedroom was as quiet as a crypt. As chilly as one, too. But the cold suited Angela just fine. The cool air calmed her down, made her less edgy, allowing her to handle the situation without freaking out.
A shiver rolled through Angela as fear flung her into uncharted territory. The rat-bastard could track her. Find her. Hurt her again. The thought pushed her up against psychological boundaries not meant to be approached and…goddamn it. There she went again, imagining the worst.
She banished the memories, refusing to act like a sissy. No sense repeating her performance in the kitchen. God, talk about needy. But she’d been unable to help herself. Had needed Rikar’s arms around her like she needed legs to stand on. Too bad his friends had witnessed the whole mess, watching while she clung to Rikar and soaked up his reassurance.
Lovely. Nothing like acting like an idiot to start the day.
The Nightfury crew probably thought she was a lightweight now. One who cried at the drop of a hat. Angela rubbed her hand over her heart, combating the ache, trying to shore up her confidence. Not an easy feat considering the mother of all surprises she was about to drop in Rikar’s lap.
Or try to anyway.
But even after making the decision, the follow-through tripped her up. She kept swinging back to the memory. To the sights. And sounds. And the pain.
Stupid black-eyed son of a bitch.
He’d taken more than her body; he’d killed her confidence. Slashed at her self-esteem. Decimated her courage along with her know-how. But with Rikar, she wanted to believe she could get it all back. That recovery was possible. That bravery and self-belief hinged on the fact he desired her. Even knowing another had hurt her, he wanted her all the same. And his acceptance made all the difference.
The door clicked closed behind her.
Her hand still laced with Rikar’s, she glanced over her shoulder. The man meant to be hers gazed back, serious, patient…beautiful. She smiled at him. Not a lot, just a subtle curve of her lips, but her message was clear. Alone at last. And though she was happy to have him that way, the irony of their situation wasn’t lost on her.
All the way up in the elevator she’d fantasized about it. About dragging him into some dark corner, imagining what she would do to him. How she would turn him on, roll him as Mac had so ineloquently put it. But now that they were alone, all she wanted to do was cry. Twist the knob on her internal pressure cooker and let loose. Mourn the loss of her old life and get on with the new one because…yeah. She could never go back.
The realization should’ve freaked her out even more.
Somehow, though, it didn’t. Rikar made the idea of staying in his world—of joining the team—appealing. And even as the brain cells staked out at her intellectual base camp said, “whoa, Nelly,” her heart accepted the truth. Angela didn’t want to go back. She wanted to be with Rikar. For as long as he allowed her to stay.
Forget the freaky magic. Forget the dragon part of the equation. Forget the Meridian and her connection to it. Rikar was all that mattered. So screw it. She was going for it…and him. Case closed. File it under done.
“Angela,” he murmured.
Her eyes drifted closed. Hmm, his voice. She loved the way he said her name. Smooth. Deep. Rich with promise and hidden delight that said mine. And as she felt his presence, his strong body at her back, she prayed that’s what he meant. That she was his. That he was hers. That they belonged together.
With a sigh, she leaned back against him. He hummed, accepting her weight, enveloping her in the richness of his scent as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. Pulling her in tight, he settled her back to his front. His chin brushed her hair a second before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
So sweet. So gentle. So flipping hot.
Even in the midst of uncertainty, she craved the comfort of his body against hers. Murmuring his name, she wrapped her arms over his, ignored the gun digging into the base of her spine, and hugged him back.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“Holding me together back there.” Shifting in his arms, she glanced over her shoulder, forcing him to lift his head. As Rikar met her gaze, she asked, “Lothair wants to kill me now, doesn’t he?”
“I won’t let him.”
“I know.”
And she did…know. Rikar would protect her with his life. Which scared her more than she liked. Having her in the mix would put him at risk. She understood th
e game. Knew what she faced. Dragonkind didn’t play by a set of rules or check their weapons at the door. Theirs was a world at war, with death the ultimate sacrifice, and she was way out of her league. And yet, she couldn’t leave it alone. Couldn’t sit this one out and let Rikar handle it, even though Angela recognized that she should.
She wanted Lothair dead. Bullet to the brain dead.
And she needed to be the one to pull the trigger. To put the rat-bastard down before he hurt any more women. There would be more. Count on it. Sadists like Lothair got off on that kind of thing…on torturing those weaker than him.
She shivered, mourning what she’d lost at his hands. Less than twelve hours. God. She’d been imprisoned less than a day and…goddamn son of a bitch, look at what the psycho had done to her! In less than a half hour, he’d taken her pride and given her shame in return. Left her uncertain of her own abilities. Made her afraid of taking things to the next level with Rikar.
But oh, how she wanted to. Wanted to lay him out flat. Explore every inch of him. Love him so well he wouldn’t remember his own name in the aftermath. Only hers.
Giving Rikar another squeeze, she pushed out of his arms. He murmured in protest, but let her go, allowing her to move away from him. She walked farther into the room, picking up details she hadn’t noticed standing by the door. As she scanned the space—skimming the cream-colored walls and dark hardwood floors, the peaked timber-beam ceiling and the colorful Hudson’s Bay wool blanket thrown over the foot of the four-poster bed—she got a better sense of the man who lived in it.
Like her, he enjoyed simple things. Cozy, unfussy, streamlined. Rustic charm à la wood cabin. No nonsense, yet undeniably striking, just like Rikar.
Kicking out of her flip-flops beside a pair of old-school rocking chairs, she stepped onto the oriental rug and glanced his way. His focus locked on her, he stood motionless, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, shoulder blades flat against the bedroom door. Her stomach did a quadruple somersault. Then vaulted into a backflip. Beautiful man and 100 percent hers. She could see the truth in his eyes. In the way he looked at her. Pure magic…desire-filled, I-need-you-five-minutes-ago magic.
Fury of Ice (Dragonfury Series #2) Page 26