Fury of Fire (20 page)

Yikes. Now, there was a threat and a half. No one wanted Mac coming to see him, especially unhappy. “What’s up?”

“I put a call in to the lab…wanted the results on the ash evidence.” Blue eyes full of pissed off, Mac ran a hand through his hair. A bad feeling hit her gut level. She nodded anyway, needing to hear his news. “It’s gone. The fuckheads down at the lab can’t find it.”

“Goddamn it.” Every time they caught a break, the case whiplashed, throwing them from bad to worse.

Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on.

The frosty air hit Bastian like whiplash. His head jerked, throwing his body into cramping lockdown. The spasm rippled, screaming down his spine as consciousness flickered. Fuck him. He was on sensory overload, a jagged piece of real estate no dragon wanted to occupy.

An abrupt shift yanked his chain. Agony spun him around, stretched him thin, shackling him to the whipping post in his mind. The lashing pain came fast and furious, and, with a groan, he reached for something solid. His hands found warm scales. Bastian tightened his grip on the claw wrapped around his ribcage. It wasn’t his own. At least, he knew that much, but…

God. He couldn’t breathe.

Clawing through the haze fracturing his thoughts, Bastian forced his chest to expand. Oxygen. He needed some. Right now.

Sucking wind, he fought for purchase, shifted in the talon and tried to open his eyes. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with his eyes? The fuckers wouldn’t open.

He tried again. His eyelids lifted, giving him a nothing but blur. “Fuck.”

“Almost there, B,”
the familiar voice came through mind-speak.

“Rikar?”

“I gotcha.”

His best friend’s voice steadied him. Memory rushed in, surfing on a wave of information. The rail yard, the explosion…and that purple SOB. Bastian growled. The bastard had gotten the drop on them. The thought pushed another forward. They’d made a run for it. He and—

“Wick?”

“Here.”
The deep growl came from his right.

Fighting the need to vomit, Bastian forced his eyes open again. He was flying. Correction…Rikar was flying. He and Wick were dangling, passengers in a one-dragon parade.

Bastian’s vision flickered, black spots playing connect the dots.
“You…all right?”

“
Fuck, no. And you’re a fricking train wreck.”

Stood to reason. He’d been ass-planted by a fleet of railcars.

And a truckload of fire-acid.

White wings stretched wide above them, Rikar changed course, coming down through thick clouds. The dip jarred Bastian, firing up his pain receptors. He bit down on a groan. His broken leg really hadn’t liked that, but…God. The burns were worse. With each flight shift, his side screamed, drawing more energy from his center.

Not that he had much left.

He was dangerously weak, so close to going under it scared him. Not something he wanted to acknowledge, but he’d never been here before: injured and reliant on another. Didn’t matter that it was Rikar. Best friend or not, Bastian always looked after himself.

The weakness took him out and weighed him down. Without assistance, he’d never make it back to the lair…where another problem existed.

Myst.

He craved her. Needed to touch her. Wanted her hands on him and the soothing comfort of her voice in his ear. Hmm, he could already taste her. Bastian swallowed, the movement compulsive, like an addict imagining his next fix. And he was addicted. In need of his female’s energy to the point of gluttony.

Shit. He was way too hungry. Had fallen off the edge into energy-greed.

The state was beyond dangerous. One all his kind feared. And no female wanted to encounter. Not if she wished to keep breathing.

“Rikar.”

“Hang tough, B. Waterfall in thirty seconds.”

“No…not…”
Bastian shuddered, desperate to make his friend understand. He didn’t want to hurt Myst, but if he touched her…Jesus. He’d drain her dry, take her life force to preserve his own. It was simple biology, survival of the fittest bred into all Dragonkind males.
“Don’t let me…don’t let—”

His best friend banked right. The motion swung Bastian around and anguish bit deep, sucking the air from his lungs. He gagged, fighting his stomach’s one-way tide to refocus. But the rough flight wasn’t making it easy and, as treetops gave way to the river and Rikar turned north toward the waterfall and Black Diamond, Bastian knew he was in trouble.

He could feel her now. Sensed her essence as strongly as he did his own. Ravenous with thirst, his dragon rose deep inside him and zeroed in, marking its prey. Bastian fought the instinctive response, tried to shackle the need. The beast overrode reason—rearing, snarling, declaring its intent.

Bastian closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, started to pray. He asked for strength and, cursing his nature, dug deep to find his humanity. Myst needed his protection. Deserved lightness and good, not the shadows he’d given her.

Or the pain he was about to inflict.

Bastian could go to hell if he thought Rikar would choose a female over him. No way would he let his best friend die. It didn’t matter that neither of them liked the game plan. Or that he felt badly for Myst. Reality was a ball-breaker with a big attitude.

Bastian needed her. So, yeah. Myst was on the hook.

Banking like an F-18, Rikar came around the last bend in the river. The tumbling roar of the waterfall met him, spraying a cloud of mist into the night air. Without slowing, he sliced through the cascade into the tunnel beyond. Water wicking from his wing tips, his sonar lit up like the Fourth of July, pinging off the rock face as he navigated the narrow passageway. The LZ lay just ahead. Beyond that? The underground lair…and his friend’s salvation.

Coming in fast, he drew up short, floated above the landing zone for a second, then touched down softly. His back claws scraped granite, throwing up stone dust. Wick cursed as his bare feet met stone. The male stumbled sideways into the hatchback. Bastian’s legs buckled, sending him to the cavern floor.

Rikar shifted, moving from dragon to human form. Concern riding him hard, he crouched, coming down beside Bastian. The male groaned and, planting his palms, pushed away from the ground. Careful of his injuries, Rikar slid to his friend’s good side and helped him up.

Electricity sparked as Venom came through the cavern wall. Ruby eyes aglow, the male swept the scene and, giving the f-bomb a workout, ran toward Wick.

Rikar slung Bastian’s arm around his shoulders and turned them toward the lair’s entrance. “Where is she?”

“The clinic.” Wick in his arms, Venom met his gaze over-top of his buddy’s head. “I didn’t warn her.”

“Don’t…” In obvious pain, Bastian groaned. “Rikar…don’t…”

“You need her.”

“I’m too…hungry.” He recoiled, struggling as Rikar half-carried, half-dragged him across the LZ. “Don’t…please. I’ll…kill her…can’t…”

“I’ll stay with you. If shit gets critical, I’ll pull her free.”

“Bull…shit. You won’t be able—”

“Fuck off.” With a snarl, Rikar muscled his best friend through the invisible barrier. Static electricity surged, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Another step and he was through, boots planted on the polished concrete of the interior corridor. Thank God. He was seconds away from getting Bastian what he needed. The clinic was up the hall. Myst was in there, waiting for her male. “I’m not letting you die.”

Chin to his chest, Bastian shook his head. “Rikar, please. Please.”

Rikar ignored the begging. In that moment, he didn’t care. He would give his best friend what he needed…risk of a dead female or not.

The double-wide glass doors to the clinic slid open, and—

“Oh, my God!” Wide-eyed, Myst sucked in a quick breath seconds before her bare feet took flight. “Rikar, we need to get him into the clinic. I’ve got—”

“No! Stay away!”

The desperate denial echoed against concrete, but Myst didn’t slow. Like a female hurricane, she raced down the hallway, her eyes riveted on Bastian. Thank Christ. The faster she got to him, the faster he’d lose the battle and stop fighting. Still, as she came within range, Bastian reared, trying to retreat. Rikar held firm, strong-arming his best friend into the female’s path.

Her proximity wrecked Bastian.

Deep-seated instinct surged, shoving B toward his female. With a snarl, he lunged at her. Rikar let him go, watched his friend wrap her up hard. As his broken leg gave out and sent them sideways, Myst gasped. The shocked sound lasted less than a second before Bastian caged her: pressed her back against the wall, put his mouth to her throat, his hands searching beneath her tank top. As skin met skin, she arched and energy surged. Wild heat exploded, knocking Rikar back a step and…

Jesus Christ. The female, she…she…

Was bleeding white-hot energy.

Twisting, she tugged at Bastian, pressed herself closer, welcoming the male who held her.

“
Bellmia
…”

“Here.” Small hands in his dark hair, her mouth parted as B thrust his thigh between her own. With a hum, she made room for him, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Ignoring his injuries, Bastian groaned against her throat, drawing hard on her energy. “
Bellmia
…mine.”

The pair were extraordinary. Beautiful. Like nothing Rikar had ever seen. And Christ. He was just standing here, watching them…like some kind of perverted voyeur. But, he couldn’t leave. Still had to get them into the clinic.

God knew Bastian wouldn’t make it on his own. And Myst? Man, she was already out of it: energy-overloaded and pleasure-bound gone.

But as he steadied Bastian—careful not to touch his wounds or Myst—and moved the pair along the corridor, the center of Rikar’s chest grew tight. He’d lied to his best friend. Looked him in the eye and…

Bastian would never forgive him.

And Rikar wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t deserve a free pass on this one…was in the wrong on so many levels: for ignoring B’s wishes and forcing him toward Myst, for lying, for not pulling the female to safety before Bastian took too much.

She should be doing something. Shouldn’t she? Myst frowned as the mental merry-go-round went round and round, spinning her from one thought to the next. She could’ve sworn there was
something.
A list she wanted to check. A task she’d started and needed to finish, but…

Her brain was gone. A blank slate that turned inward, chasing its tail inside her head. The endless loop lured, left her foggy, making her give in to the warm, heady rush. As the siphoning current gathered her up, she rode the wave, gasping as another round of pleasure rolled through her.

God, it was so good: the floating, the burn, the blur of oblivion.

She wanted more of the pleasure-bound sensation. And then more after that, but she couldn’t indulge. Not now. Not without solving the problem first. It was mission one, critical to, well…something. Or someone.

Yeah, that was it.

A person needed her. Someone really important.

She shifted, locking down on the internal flow. The streaming rush narrowed, shutting out sensation until nothing but a trickle remained.

“
Bellmia
…no. Open. I need…”

As the rough voice rose on dark pleasure, the pressure at her throat increased. Gasping, she fell into the sucking rhythm and the hardness between her thighs. God,
that
was unbelievable: delicious, undeniable, beautifully intense. So good she struggled to catch her thoughts—and keep them straight. Delight closed the gap, drawing her back into mindless pleasure. With a sigh, she gave up and settled in, moving closer to the hard heat surrounding her.

“Yes, baby…yes.”

Hmm…what a voice: deep, wicked, full of promised ecstasy that guaranteed a wild ride. And God, she wanted to take that trip, but…with whom?

The question was probably important. One she should, no doubt, find the answer to, but…hell. The pitch and swell was just too good. And so was that groan. Delicious and desperate, the sound was deeply male and, oh…wow.

Bastian.

Oh, yeah. She was with him. He was with her. She could feel him now: his hands against her bare back, his mouth on her skin, his body strong against hers and—

Myst frowned. Wasn’t he…she seemed to remember…

He needed help, and she was set up, trauma kit ready to go in the clinic. Her hands tightened in his hair. “Bastian…”