Fury of Fire (3 page)

The smell of fresh blood propelled Bastian up the porch steps and through the open door. Broken glass crunched beneath the soles of his boots as he crossed over the threshold into the small house.

He was too late.

The Razorbacks, the rogue band of dragons that hated humankind and their dependence on females, had beaten him to the mother and child. He didn’t care that the infant had been sired by one of them. None of the bastards deserved to be fathers. To leave the female defenseless and alone—without any understanding of what was to come—then take the baby a month early? Christ, it was beyond unthinkable.

The enormity of his failure hit him like a body shot.

He should have come sooner. Two days ago when the results of her blood work popped up on Sloan’s system. Tentacles deeply embedded in human databases, his comrade could find anything, from medical records to homicide reports.

Fuck
. It was Bastian’s fault.

Not her death—that had been inevitable the moment one of his kind impregnated her—but the manner of it. The violence in it. The needless suffering. Had he done his duty, the female would have been comfortable in the end.

With grim resolve, Bastian followed the scent of death down the narrow corridor. He inhaled deep and listened hard, sifting to find any trace of the enemy’s trail. He would honor the woman and then hunt the rogues down; take the child back before he became polluted by hatred. The last thing he and his warriors needed was another soldier in the Razorbacks’ ranks.

He spotted the blood pool on the tile floor from the kitchen doorway and—

“I’m so sorry…so sorry,” a female said, an agonized hitch in her voice. “Look how beautiful he is, Caro. All ten fingers and toes. Look how beautiful.”

The sound of an infant’s cry answered her, rising from behind the island.

Sucking in a quick breath, Bastian stepped around the edge of the gold-flecked countertop. He stopped cold, boots rooted to the floor, gaze riveted to the light-haired female. Pale green hospital scrubs covered in blood, she sat in devastation, a dead body next to her, a small, coat-wrapped bundle in her arms. Medical supplies lay scattered around her, the black bag by her side overflowing with gauze, rubber gloves, and plastic-wrapped packages. But it was the butcher knife that made him ache for her.

She’d saved the baby, knowing she couldn’t save the mother. Remarkable. She was undeniably remarkable. A female with the heart of a warrior.

Bastian swallowed past the lump in his throat and ditched his leathers, conjuring an EMT’s uniform. As a nurse, she would respond better to a paramedic, someone of common skill and experience. He didn’t want her to freak out, but time wasn’t on his side. The Razorbacks would track them quickly, and he needed her in the ambulance and rolling before that happened.

He watched her rock for a moment, head bent over the infant, wondering how best to approach her. Crouching to camouflage his size, he settled on, “Hey.”

She started at the sound of his voice, nearly coming out of her skin as she tucked the baby in close and swung to face him. Huge blue eyes met his, the deep hue almost the color of violets.

Bruised. She looked bruised, battered by shock…and something more.

Even exhausted and beat up by circumstance, she possessed the most powerful energy he’d ever seen. Pure white, it pulsed in her aura, lighting her up from the inside out, nearly knocking him on his ass.

God, she was practically plugged into the Meridian.

Hers wasn’t a slow draw or gentle siphoning of the electrostatic current that fed Dragonkind. Hers was so intense it would make males fight to possess her. The rawness of it seduced him, urged him to get closer, to touch her, to see what all that energy would feel like against his skin.

Bastian forgot where he was for a second, a terrible hunger rising in his gut.

No doubt sensing the sudden danger, she gasped and shuffled sideways. As the distance between them grew, he clamped down on his reaction to her, wiping his expression clean.

“Easy.” He extended his arms, hands up in a gesture meant to reassure. “The ambulance, remember? I’m here to help.”

A single tear rolled over her bottom lashes, running through the blood smear on her cheek. “I c-couldn’t stop the b-bleeding and…I just…”

“I know.” He really did. Understood exactly what she’d walked into when she entered the house.

“He would have d-died, too. I couldn’t…I had to…” Her bottom lip trembled as she squeezed her eyes shut. More tears fell. “Oh, God.”

A surge of protectiveness rolled through him. Fierce pride followed: for her strength and intelligence, her stead-fastness in the face of overwhelming odds.

His gaze dropped to the tag visible on her bag. Picking up her name and address, he murmured, “Myst, it’s all right. Open your eyes and look at me.”

She exhaled a long, shuddering breath, but obeyed.

The second her gaze met his, he held out his hand. “Come,
bellmia
. Let’s get you out of here.”

“But, Caroline, she—”

“You can’t do anything for her now. The ME will care for her,” he said. “Your job is the baby. Think, Myst. What do you need to do for him?”

She blinked, and Bastian saw the moment her mind left the horror and came back online. He almost smiled. Good girl, he wanted to say. The need to praise her surprised him a little, as did his need to go gently. He should be wiping her memory and hauling her into the ambulance. But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want her to forget him.

And Bastian hated himself for it—and for what he was about to do. He’d known the instant she’d turned her violet eyes on him that he wasn’t going to let her go. Five days. He had five days until the Meridian’s axis realigned. The biannual occurrence was the only time his kind could sire a child with a human female, and he needed to meet the deadline. He’d made a promise to himself, was bound by duty and honor to protect the race, and like it or not, Myst was coming with him.

Rikar crossed over the threshold. “Holy shit.”

“Back off,” he said, knowing his friend was responding more to Myst’s energy than the bloody scene.

“Understood.” Rikar looked away from her. The move was pure instinct, one male backing away from another staking his claim. “We need to move. Company’s coming.”

“How soon?”

His first in command gave him a meaningful look.

They’d run out of time. Bastian reached for Myst. Patience was no longer an option. Not if he wanted to get her out in one piece.

His voice drew Myst through the fog, out of blind panic and back into Caroline’s kitchen. The sight of her patient’s body almost made her lose it again. She could handle blood in normal amounts. Had even worked a stint in the ER, but this?

Myst shuddered. Trauma wasn’t her thing. But, babies…

Her gaze dropped to the bundle in her arms. Wrapped in her fleece-lined rain jacket, the newborn stared up at her, more alert than she would have expected for the difficulty of his birth. Myst studied him a little more closely. Tiny fists tucked beneath his chin, he yawned. Her eyes burned as she watched him. Yeah, babies were her thing.

She blew out a shaky breath and glanced at the paramedic. Calm in the face of tragedy, he crouched a few feet away, no doubt wondering whether he needed to call the mental health unit. That wasn’t far from the truth. She’d held it together long enough to do her job, to save the baby only to fall apart like a freak show the second she held him in her arms.

“Myst,” he said, tone soft, but somehow urgent. “Can you walk? We need to go.”

Go? Yes, of course, they did.

In theory, the idea made perfect sense, but she couldn’t move. She was numb all over, inside and out, unable to string much of anything together.

Gentle pressure brought her chin up. Steady green eyes met hers and she jolted, more aware of his hand on her skin than the two attached to her own body. Focused on him, she grounded herself in the inherent strength of his features. Dark hair clipped military short, his face was hard planes and elegant angles, handsome with a harshness that reminded her of the coastline. Her favorite place in the world. The thought helped to even her out. He was solid and safe, exactly what she needed to grasp the trailing ends of control.

Shifting the newborn to her shoulder, Myst kept hold of the paramedic’s gaze and stripped off her rubber gloves. He was right. They had to get the baby to the nearest hospital. The ambulance would have some of the supplies she needed to check him out, but a pediatrician would be better. And a second opinion would be helpful. Her synapses weren’t exactly firing on all the necessary cylinders right now.

She reached for the EMT just as he reached for her. Her palm connected with his, and she got zapped with static electricity. More startled than hurt, she flinched. He shuddered hard as though the contact pained him.

Myst let go. He held on, grip gentle but firm as he pulled her off the floor and onto her feet.

Numb from sitting on ceramic tile, she wobbled. Strong hands steadied her, settling on the bare skin of her upper arms. A prickly sensation swept the nape of her neck and spiraled out, working down her spine in a long, soothing swirl. Tense muscles relaxed and, unable to help herself, she leaned into him, touching her shoulder to the wall of his chest. He twitched, muttered something under his breath Myst didn’t catch.

God, he was so warm.

Heat rolled off him in waves, attacking her bone-deep chill as he stroked his thumbs along her biceps. Myst drifted closer to him. All she wanted was the fear to go away, for the lump of ice sitting in the middle of her chest to thaw and—

It was crazy. She shouldn’t be relying on him, but couldn’t stop herself. Something about him calmed her, helped her let go of the horror and settle into sanity. As anxiety drained, her mind sharpened, laying out a clear action plan.

“I need an incubator,” she said, the nurse in her charging back onto the battlefield.

His brows collided. “What?”

“For the baby,” she said, wondering what was wrong with him. A minute ago, he’d been Mr. Calm-cool-and-collected. Now, color rode his cheekbones and he looked distracted, a breath away from true discomfort. “Do you have one in the ambulance?”

He pulled in a long breath, then let it go. “Let’s find out.”

Good idea. They’d just…what? That didn’t make any sense. The guy should know exactly what kind of equipment he towed around with him. Most paramedics were fanatical about that, checking and rechecking their gear before they went on shift. Myst frowned at him, confusion doing a dance inside her head. Something was wrong…well, besides the obvious. Caroline’s death was an awful reminder of that terrible fact. But this guy didn’t seem right. He wasn’t doing the usual things, and she couldn’t see his medical bag anywhere. What kind of paramedic came onto a scene without his kit?

Her gaze dropped to the right side of his chest, looking for a name tag. She stared at the empty space on his shirt, wondering—

“Bastian.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“My name,” he said, picking her question out of the air before she could ask. Her mouth worked wordlessly as he tipped his chin toward the door. “That’s Rikar. Now, hang onto the infant. We’re out of here.”

Myst barely had time to register the huge, blond man standing just inside the door before Bastian shifted his grip on her. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms, against his chest, and he was out of the kitchen, into the corridor, headed for the front porch.

“Wait…I can walk…put me…” she trailed off as the baby started to fuss, protesting Bastian’s rhythmic strides and the sudden rush of cold air. Adjusting the fleece-lined folds, she wrapped the raincoat she’d swaddled the infant in a little tighter, keeping him warm while struggling to read the man carrying her off like a bag full of contraband. “Hold up a minute, my cell phone. We have to call the police…let them know—”

“They don’t need to know. Whatever happens,
bellmia
, keep him with you. I’ll protect you both. Got it?”

No, she didn’t get it. What the heck was he talking about? Of course, the police needed to know. There were protocols that must be followed, as much for Caroline as for her. If they left now without bringing the proper departments on board, she could kiss her job—and maybe her freedom—good-bye.

And after the hell she’d just been through, prison wasn’t something Myst wanted to think about, never mind go to.

“Look, Bastian, maybe—”

“Rikar?”

“Yeah, I’m on it,” the blond said, skirting by them in the narrow hallway as he headed toward the front door. “Northwest quadrant. They’re coming in low.”

“Wha…who?”

Bastian didn’t answer. He glanced down at her instead. It was like getting zapped with electricity. God, she couldn’t breathe. His eyes. The green was…she didn’t know exactly. Shimmering or something.

“I’m going airborne. Use the cloud cover to come in from above.” Rikar paused on the lip of the porch steps to look at them over his shoulder. Glacial blue eyes glowed like twin spotlights, the aggression in them undeniable.

“I’ll hold the ground,” Bastian said. “Hammer a few before they reach us.”

The blond flashed a grin and leapt toward the ground. Except, he didn’t reach it. White and gold flashed in the low light, and Myst saw the impossible: razor-sharp claws, a curve of wing, the glimmer of scales as he took flight.

“Oh, my God. Oh, shit…let go of me!” Her scream echoed through the foyer. Panic pumped adrenaline through her system, putting her internal engine into overdrive. Myst reared, newborn wailing and tucked to her chest, legs kicking to break Bastian’s hold. “Let go! My God…oh—”

“Fuck.” The growl in his voice was unmistakable. She twisted, trying to protect the precious bundle in her arms and get away at the same time. Bastian tightened his grip, locking her against him. “Don’t fight me. Not now.”

Myst heard the warning loud and clear, but couldn’t obey. Her brain was already headed south, trying to understand…to tell her she was imagining things. The problem? She couldn’t get the picture out of her mind. The blond guy…he…Oh shit. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t…God help her…

She started to shake an instant before her lungs seized. Struggling for each breath, she choked out, “P-please…please just let us go. I won’t say anything. I p-promise. I’ll take the b-baby and…I won’t—”

Bastian leapt over the porch rail, cutting her off as he landed in the flower bed. The scent of crushed chrysanthemums spiked, surrounding them in a sweet cloud. And wasn’t that stupid? Locked against a…God, she didn’t know what Bastian was, but considering that he was kidnapping her she shouldn’t be worried about flowers, never mind stopping to smell them.

“What are you?”

“Dragonkind.” Eyes now glowing as fiercely as Rikar’s had, he sprinted toward an old car abandoned in the long grass beside the garage. “Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

She almost believed him. But that was before she saw the fireball.

Like an inbound missile, it came over treetops, trailing an orange and blue-flamed tail behind it. Bastian spun into a crouch and wrapped himself around her, using his body to shield her and the baby an instant before the ambulance blew sky high. Metal groaned and the acrid smell of burning rubber billowed on a wave of black smoke. Wide-eyed, Myst watched the vehicle sail twenty feet in the air, flipping end over end before landing in a twisted heap in the driveway.

With a sob, Myst drew her knees up, curled herself around the baby and into Bastian. All of a sudden, prison seemed like a safer alternative.