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“And there isn’t a dragon alive…prechange or not…that likes water.”
No kidding. Just standing next to the ocean gave Rikar the creeps.
Which, naturally, pissed him off.
Fear wasn’t in his bag of tricks. He rarely felt it, but right now…knowing he was not only headed toward it, but about to climb on board a freaking motor yacht? Rikar grimaced. The memory was so not going in his photo album under the “happiest moment” of his life.
Rikar put his feet in gear anyway and jogged toward the Chris-Craft. Had he been into boats, he would’ve said she was beautiful, all curved lines and sleek body. But he wasn’t, so he scowled at the bitch instead, silently cursing the male who’d brought him to the shipyard.
The urge to turn around and walk away thrummed through him. The problem? He couldn’t leave the male vulnerable, prey to something he didn’t understand. Supposition? Maybe, but Rikar didn’t think so. MacCord had been raised outside the safety of a pack, without any knowledge of his Dragonkind sire. But had his father known about him, the male would never have left his son alone in the human world.
It simply wasn’t done. Ever.
Add that to the fact Angela cared about him, and yeah, Rikar was on the hook. No way could he leave MacCord to suffer and expect his female to trust him.
Ammunition. He needed ammunition—proof of his worth—when he got Angela back. Something to hold up and say, “See? Look at what an upstanding male I am.” If he walked away from the male cop now, she’d shoot him down without giving him a chance. Not something he wanted to think about, never mind experience firsthand.
Reaching dock number four, he ignored the ocean sway and leapt over the gangplank. His feet landed with a thud on the dock. An instant later he slid to a stop alongside the Chris-Craft. “MacCord!”
His voice carried across the water, ricocheting off boat hulls. Nothing came back. No answer from the male, just the groan of ropes and the soft creak of wood.
“I’ll look inside.” Grabbing the handrail, Bastian vaulted through the unzipped canvas and onto the boat. “You search the tail end.”
“Asshole,” he said, growling at his friend as he drew the short end of the stick.
He didn’t want to go anywhere near the stern. There was no doubt a swim platform back there. One he’d have to step on, get closer to the water in order to—
Rikar sucked in a quick breath. Fucking hell. What did MacCord think he was doing?
More in the water than out, the male clung to his boat: eyes closed, hands gripping teak trim, cheek flat against the swim platform. Terrific. The situation was beyond FUBARed. Trust a water dragon to actually immerse himself in water .
Gritting his teeth, Rikar made the leap. He landed on the platform, boot treads slipping on wet wood, a “fuck me” locked in his throat. Off balance, he grabbed for the metal ladder bolted to the boat’s stern. His fingertips caught and held, saving him before he took a nosedive into the ocean.
Good thing too. Otherwise, there would’ve been a skating rink around the Chris-Craft, not choppy, blue water.
A death grip on the ladder, he hit his haunches and cupped the back of MacCord’s head. The male flinched, groaning as Rikar connected with his life force. Energy glazed his palm, telling him how much time they had. Christ, the cop was close to the change . So close, they needed to move him now. And get him a female fast.
“B!”
Like an apparition, Bastian appeared at the railing. “You got him?”
“Yeah, and we gotta go.”
MacCord stirred. The male raised his head, nailing him with shimmering aquamarine eyes. “Fuck…off.”
Despite the urgency, Rikar’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Freaking MacCord…giving him attitude while weak as a newborn. “Give over, big guy. We’re here to help.”
The cop shook his head, trying to dislodge his hand.
Rikar ignored him and, releasing the ladder, grabbed him under both
No kidding. Just standing next to the ocean gave Rikar the creeps.
Which, naturally, pissed him off.
Fear wasn’t in his bag of tricks. He rarely felt it, but right now…knowing he was not only headed toward it, but about to climb on board a freaking motor yacht? Rikar grimaced. The memory was so not going in his photo album under the “happiest moment” of his life.
Rikar put his feet in gear anyway and jogged toward the Chris-Craft. Had he been into boats, he would’ve said she was beautiful, all curved lines and sleek body. But he wasn’t, so he scowled at the bitch instead, silently cursing the male who’d brought him to the shipyard.
The urge to turn around and walk away thrummed through him. The problem? He couldn’t leave the male vulnerable, prey to something he didn’t understand. Supposition? Maybe, but Rikar didn’t think so. MacCord had been raised outside the safety of a pack, without any knowledge of his Dragonkind sire. But had his father known about him, the male would never have left his son alone in the human world.
It simply wasn’t done. Ever.
Add that to the fact Angela cared about him, and yeah, Rikar was on the hook. No way could he leave MacCord to suffer and expect his female to trust him.
Ammunition. He needed ammunition—proof of his worth—when he got Angela back. Something to hold up and say, “See? Look at what an upstanding male I am.” If he walked away from the male cop now, she’d shoot him down without giving him a chance. Not something he wanted to think about, never mind experience firsthand.
Reaching dock number four, he ignored the ocean sway and leapt over the gangplank. His feet landed with a thud on the dock. An instant later he slid to a stop alongside the Chris-Craft. “MacCord!”
His voice carried across the water, ricocheting off boat hulls. Nothing came back. No answer from the male, just the groan of ropes and the soft creak of wood.
“I’ll look inside.” Grabbing the handrail, Bastian vaulted through the unzipped canvas and onto the boat. “You search the tail end.”
“Asshole,” he said, growling at his friend as he drew the short end of the stick.
He didn’t want to go anywhere near the stern. There was no doubt a swim platform back there. One he’d have to step on, get closer to the water in order to—
Rikar sucked in a quick breath. Fucking hell. What did MacCord think he was doing?
More in the water than out, the male clung to his boat: eyes closed, hands gripping teak trim, cheek flat against the swim platform. Terrific. The situation was beyond FUBARed. Trust a water dragon to actually immerse himself in water .
Gritting his teeth, Rikar made the leap. He landed on the platform, boot treads slipping on wet wood, a “fuck me” locked in his throat. Off balance, he grabbed for the metal ladder bolted to the boat’s stern. His fingertips caught and held, saving him before he took a nosedive into the ocean.
Good thing too. Otherwise, there would’ve been a skating rink around the Chris-Craft, not choppy, blue water.
A death grip on the ladder, he hit his haunches and cupped the back of MacCord’s head. The male flinched, groaning as Rikar connected with his life force. Energy glazed his palm, telling him how much time they had. Christ, the cop was close to the change . So close, they needed to move him now. And get him a female fast.
“B!”
Like an apparition, Bastian appeared at the railing. “You got him?”
“Yeah, and we gotta go.”
MacCord stirred. The male raised his head, nailing him with shimmering aquamarine eyes. “Fuck…off.”
Despite the urgency, Rikar’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. Freaking MacCord…giving him attitude while weak as a newborn. “Give over, big guy. We’re here to help.”
The cop shook his head, trying to dislodge his hand.
Rikar ignored him and, releasing the ladder, grabbed him under both
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