“White Horn.”

That name made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end like an electric shock running over his skin. Instantly, he saw a mountain on fire and heard the screams of people—his people—as they died.

He blinked and the vision cleared.

Then he smelled her. Draqon. Female. And something else, an undercurrent to her scent that made his heart race.

“Excuse me,” he said to the young cyborg looking to get on tonight’s card.

He braced himself, but as he turned and his eyes met hers, he realized too late he should have taken a moment longer to collect himself.

She was beautiful, of course. All female Draqons were. Sinewy muscles roped through her lithe body. Pale skin like snow set off her blonde hair and glacier-blue eyes, and her soft pink lips stretched into a criminal grin. An ice queen far from her throne.

The raw wounds on her face made him flinch. She’d tried to cover them with her hair, but he smelled the blood, and his focus went straight to the jagged cuts. Some were fresh, and others were days old. Instantly, in that place deep in his gut where memories of home resided, he knew what she’d done to herself, and his visceral reaction of horror and disgust overcame his logical mind.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself?” he asked, grabbing her by the chin and turning her head roughly before he could rein in the part of him that still responded to the name White Horn.

The grin slipped from her face like an ice melt, and she jerked from his grasp. For a second, doubt flickered in her eyes, her dark eyelashes fluttering as she fought for composure. It came back fast, so fast he figured she rarely doubted herself. “I can’t exactly walk around with scales on my face, can I?”

By then, he’d had enough time to stuff White Horn back down, and he was again just Tane, runner of Ball & Joint’s underground cyborg fight club and all-around asshole. “I don’t give a shit what you walk around doing. Get out of my club.”

“I came a long way to talk to you—”

“Then you’ll be disappointed because I’m not talking to you about shit.”

He turned to walk away, but a hand grabbed his arm, her grip crushing his bicep. So, the ice queen had the brawn to match the beauty. He glanced back at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“I find most males disappointing.”

Fuck all, he couldn’t help it. He smirked at her comment. She had looks, strength, and wit and humor. He’d be screwed if she stuck around too long. His eyes slid slowly and casually along her body. “Then you haven’t been with the right one.”

She dropped her hand from his arm. “If that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me, let’s go.”

“No, thanks. I’m not into prostitutes.”

This time, when he walked off, she let him, but only because her mouth had fallen open, her shock freezing her. He smelled her rage the second it ignited behind him. He was a fool for turning his back on the ice queen. She had a raging fire as well. Burning, righteous fire that seared bright blue.

His gut contracted at the thought. A cold sweat spread across his body. What was he thinking? Already this female was inspiring thoughts better left buried and forgotten.

Suddenly, the ice queen appeared in front of him, shouldering a group of humans out of her way. She moved fast, he’d give her that. He stopped and sighed.

“I’ll let that slide,” she growled, her voice soft enough so only he heard the snapping electricity in it, “because you’ve been gone a long time and clearly forgot how to treat your kind with respect. I’ve spent months looking for you. Now that I’ve found you, we’re going to talk. And you’re going to listen. I don’t care if I have to tie you down, gag you, and force you to listen to every fucking word I have to say. But you will listen.”

“Gags, huh?” He’d only meant to mock her, but his skin pulled tight across his bones at the thought of the ice queen strapping him down to a big bed. “You promise?”

“I’ll kill you. Right here. Right now.” Her fists clenched, and two bright red spots flushed her cheeks.

He liked the look of fury on her. It livened up that icy facade. His mind wandered to how she would look beneath him when he buried himself deep inside her, that pale skin flushed pink against his.

He should have her thrown out. He really should. But damn him, he liked her smell. He liked her blue fire. Worst of all, he liked feeling like White Horn again.

“If you want to fight so badly, then fight.” He lifted his chin toward his cage, where a flyweight fight was just coming to its brutal end. “You win, we talk. You lose, you leave and I never fucking see you again. Deal?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the cage. When she looked back at him, an amused expression brightened her face. “I’ll kill a human in a fair fight. By accident, of course.”

“Of course. But you won’t be fighting a human. At least, not completely.”

Her face turned a pickled shade of green. “A cyborg?”

He shrugged. “You wanna talk or not?”

“Fine. But if I get grease on me …”

“You could use a little dirtying up. Go change. Find Chance in the back rooms. Tell him Tane put you on the card and you need something better to wear than that scrap of material you have on. You’re up next.”

She folded her arms beneath her pert breasts. “Tane, huh? How cute.”

He closed the distance between them in one stride, his chest brushing against hers as he breathed her in deep, filling his lungs with the scent of home. He was close enough to feel her nipples harden through that skin-tight dress. But she lazily craned back the long column of her neck and looked up at him, accepting his challenge like she lived in that place where violence butted up against passion. He knew, right then, that she reveled in it.

This female breathed life in through her nose and exhaled sheer power. She would be a force to be reckoned with in bed.

He went dizzy with the notion of her.

“And you? What’s your name, Ice Queen?”

The corner of her mouth pulled into a smirk. “Kinyi,” she purred. “Don’t worry. You won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.”

* * *

Tane got the flyweight fighters off to the cynker for repairs. He oversaw the cage clearing, the payouts, and the crowd management, which included his girls going out with fresh pints on the house. Cyborgs and humans weren’t that different to Tane. They both needed lubrication to operate. Grease or beer, sometimes both, he really didn’t care.

He propped a shoulder against the doorframe leading to the back offices. After a quick scan of the crowd, he knew they were ready. They were hungry for more. They wanted blood. And they still had credits to spend. A good way to end the night.

“She’s human?”

Tane looked up. Chance came over to lean against the wall beside him. Few dared to act so casually around Tane, but Chance was his second, the one who helped run this place, whether it was slinging drinks behind the bar, bouncing at the door, or paying off the cops to look the other way. Chance was a good man, and if Tane was being honest, one of his only friends.

Chance flexed his metal wrist, his jointed fingers flashing blue in the dim light at the back of the room. He had a newer Mod 5 model arm that went all the way up to his shoulder. He’d once told Tane he’d gotten the appendage solely to work the wall. Tane knew there was more to the story. There always was. And for Chance, the story of his cyborg origins revolved around a female.

Tane rubbed his chin, eyes on the empty cage. “She can handle herself.”

“You know her? She acted like she knew you.”

“We come from the same place.”

Chance’s questioning gaze lingered, but he didn’t push the subject. He only nodded. There was a brotherhood of sorts at the Ball & Joint, and their code of honor centered around ask no questions, tell no lies. They were a secretive bunch out of necessity, but it worked for them.

“I saw you bet against her,” Chance said with a crooked grin. “If you’re trying to get laid tonight, that’s a shit-poor way to go about it.”

Tane laughed, just once. A harsh sound. But it came from his belly and it felt good. “I honestly feel sorry for the bastard who tries to catch that woman.”