Fury of Fire (7 page)

Jesus, he was an idiot. The problem? Bastian didn’t know how to change that fact. Caught between a rock and hard place, he’d done what he needed to do and retrieved Myst. But, well…hell. He’d managed to freak her out in the process. He snorted. A total understatement.

His pick-up-and-go method of transportation hadn’t gone over well. But with no time to waste, grabbing her on the fly had seemed the best option—the least aggressive in his playbook.

Number one on his list of favorites would have gotten the job done, but setting down in the middle of the highway like he’d done with the ambulance? Not a great idea. The last thing she needed was another look at him in dragon form. Bastian snorted. Yeah, and wasn’t that the understatement of the millennium?

All his scaliness would send her over the edge into Screamsville. And, honestly? He could do without the whole mental-meltdown thing. As far as he knew, a female going apocalyptic didn’t appear anywhere on his agenda—the one entitled, “The Fastest Way to Get Myst Naked and Into Bed.”

Man, he couldn’t wait for it to happen.

Bastian banked north toward Black Diamond as he stuffed the fantasy beneath a pile of mental debris. He wanted it buried, gone before he went nuclear. All of that forced abstinence made him needy. Just the thought of her beneath him, of touching all that warm, soft skin?

Distracting as hell.

Bastian shook his head. Him. Distracted. That was a first. Not a particularly good one, either.

Thank God, Rikar wasn’t around to witness his slide from cool commander to overheated lust boy. His friend would razz him about it, and Bastian had already given him enough ammunition for one night. Man, he was in for a roasting when he got back to the lair. He’d lost his calm, cool, and collected out there when Myst had sprinted into the open.

Rikar might not think less of him for losing his cool. It happened to the best of them. But that didn’t mean the SOB would keep his trap shut. His first in command liked to tease too much to ever miss an opportunity. Bastian could see it already: Rikar gathering the other warriors around—like a bunch of pain-in-the-ass Boy Scouts around a campfire—hitting full story mode as he regaled them with the details.

A small price to pay, because…Jesus. He’d almost lost her. Had Rikar reacted one second later, Myst would be…

Dead.

Incinerated.

An ash pile.

The thought made his stomach roll. Which pissed him off. No way he should care so much. The attraction he felt for Myst was dangerous, not within normal boundaries for his kind. Then again, what did he know? None of the males he knew hooked up with a female for any length of time. Even if they had, none talked about it. Sure, some shot the shit about one-nighters—the fuckfests that overloaded them with pleasure—but even that kind of talk didn’t happen often.

Thank God.

The last thing he needed was constant talk of sex. He thought about it often enough as it was, waking up hard and wanting most evenings. The problem? He hardly ever indulged. Couldn’t bring himself to hunt females purely for release, like the others. Okay, so no one got hurt. The females were always willing and the energy exchange pleasurable, but all the deception didn’t feel right.

Feeling that way was stupid.

He couldn’t change what he was and yet, he yearned for more. Craved companionship without the remorse that always came after he took what he needed; after he’d fed and left the female sated on tangled sheets, all without a word or backward glance.

Bastian closed his eyes, let himself glide a moment, enjoying the rush of cold air against his scales. He wanted more from life, just…more. If only for a little while. Even if it couldn’t last.

Myst’s car heavy in his talons, he increased his wing speed, flying through dark skies and pine-scented air. Pinpoint stars winked, then hid behind wispy clouds, taunting him with the promise of moonlight. But light wasn’t something he needed. Bastian knew the way home by heart. He recognized the forest below: the sway of crooked tree branches, the gradual roll of hills and higher altitude as he moved toward the mountains.

So quiet.

So peaceful.

So fucking ridiculous.

Normally, he loved flying on a night like tonight, with nothing but the chilly autumn air and black skies to keep him company. But fast was the only thing he wanted now. Not that the Razorbacks would follow. He was well cloaked, wrapped in a thick spell that kept both him and the car he carried from view. Still, he felt close to bursting, the pleasant hum beneath his scales pushing toward pain.

The reason? Myst.

He was trying to ignore her, but it wasn’t going well.

Her energy and scent drove him crazy. He was hooked in, could feel the power and abundance that was all her. Combine that with a boatload of lust and he couldn’t stop remembering how good she tasted. How well she fit against him. How much he wanted to touch her soft skin again. Sex with her would be amazing. Life altering. A hot, sweaty, gorgeously intense mating.

Jesus. He was in serious trouble here.

He was jonesing for serious bed play, and Myst wasn’t even in the arena. She didn’t want him anywhere near her right now. What had she called him? Oh, right. A maniac. Add that to her other descriptor of Dragonkind—
thing
—and they were a match made in heaven.

Bastian ground his fangs together, welcomed the sting against his lower lip, trying to block out her voice. It didn’t work. Her fear as she’d clutched him at the house came through loud and clear.

Shit on a stick. Forget his reaction to her;
her
reaction to
him
pissed him off more. Even though it shouldn’t.

She should be afraid of him.

Any human with half a brain would be scared. He was, after all, the quintessential boogeyman for her kind. Did it matter that he wasn’t the bad guy? That he fought the Razorbacks to keep both Dragonkind and the humans safe, to save them from the mass genocide Ivar wanted? No, of course not. Like all things in human society, appearances mattered more than the truth. Vanity reigned supreme. And a monster was a monster, pure motives or not.

Bastian soared over a rise of trees on a smooth glide. An earthy smell mixed with the scent of water rose from the river below. He kept his wings level, muscles stretching, following the tumbling rush of blue ribbon, working hard not to jostle Myst.

And wasn’t he considerate?

She name-called while he twisted himself into knots, desperate to protect her, more concerned for her comfort than his own. His reaction was so totally screwed up Bastian had no idea how to unravel it. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to open that can of worms, but suspected it had as much to do with wanting Myst on her back as it did with his guilt for taking her.

Okay, so the sleeping with her part was pretty clear-cut. The guilt, though, nailed him—hit him entirely too hard in uncomfortable places. The ferocity of it made him squirm, but not enough to let her go. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d been waiting for a female like Myst all his life. No matter how much he scared her, the fear wasn’t insurmountable. He could get around it, make her want him—like him even—if he put in enough effort.

Bastian’s lips twitched. Okay, arrogant much? Well, maybe, but he believed in his ability to seduce. Myst didn’t stand a chance if he applied himself, which he would, not only for himself, but for his race.

Ah, and wasn’t he a prince? Sacrificing himself on the altar of Myst’s desire for the good of Dragonkind?

What a crock of shit.

He wanted her for himself, to appease his own needs. The least he could do was be honest about it. Myst deserved more than a pack of lies, and as he peeked through the hatchback’s window—saw her sitting so still, curled up in the front seat humming a broken lullaby to comfort the baby, to calm herself—he couldn’t shake the truth.

He was going to get bloody on this one.

His chosen female was more than just appealing, she was warrior strong. Not that she knew it. She was probably sitting there beating herself up, replaying the scenario, all of the “what ifs,” in an attempt to understand where she’d gone wrong.

The courageous ones did that, wanting to improve, to do better next time. He should know. He’d done the “what if” bullshit too many times to count. Knew what it felt like to second-guess every decision in the aftermath. Too bad that strategy wouldn’t help either of them this time. His decision couldn’t be undone. Myst belonged to him now, and he couldn’t make himself regret it. He wanted her that badly. Enough to screw up her life. Enough to take what little time he had with her. Enough to raise their child alone.

“Don’t think about it,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so Myst wouldn’t hear him. “What’s done is done.”

Banking right, Bastian swung around a bend in the river, hearing the rush, feeling the spray before he spotted the waterfall. The cascade tumbled from three hundred feet up, the soft rumble thundering into a roar the closer he flew. Drizzle gleamed on his scales, rolling off his wing tips as he lined up his approach. His built-in sonar pinged, finding the narrow opening behind the wall of moving water.

Mad scrambling—shoes sliding on upholstery, fingernails scraping the dashboard—sounded from inside the car.

“It’s all right, Myst,” he said, smelling her fear.

Wings angled on the vertical line, he sliced through the falling water into the darkness beyond. Jagged rocks jutted out at odd angles, some coming dangerously close as he navigated the twisting tunnel.

“Bastian…I can’t see anything! I can’t—”

“Easy,
bellmia
.” He kept his voice low, hoping to soothe her. “Hang tight. We’re almost there.”

It was a no-go.

She whimpered as the darkness became absolute. The small sound of distress cranked him tight, but he couldn’t stop…and didn’t blame her for panicking.

The first time he’d entered the cave had been a little eerie for him, too; the scent of damp earth and musty air almost suffocating. But, he’d chosen to enter the underground passage instead of setting her down in the driveway for a reason. He wanted her to rely on him to keep her safe. And trust wasn’t something a male demanded. It was something he showed his female, taught her with actions, not words. Yeah, she might not be able to see, but he could. His night vision was perfect, and the more he showed her how trustworthy he was, the faster she would accept him.

He navigated another corner. Myst’s breath hitched, and he murmured, “I can see, baby. The darkness will not last.”

Right on cue, light reached through the blackness. The soft glow was fuzzy at first, a mere echo of yellow illuminating slick rock and narrow ledges along the tunnel sides. Bastian searched the craggy wall face, looking for his brothers-in-arms. Sometimes, when the pressure got to be too much, his warriors took dragon form and slipped into the passageway to rest. A bed wasn’t always the answer to a good night’s sleep for his kind. At times, the only thing that helped was to turn inward, to acknowledge their difference—the side that made them unique and set them apart from other living creatures. Their very dragonness.

Tonight, though, the many ledges were empty.

Thank God.

The last thing he wanted was an audience. Bringing Myst around—hell, getting her out of the car—was going to take some finessing, and a pack of Dragonkind…

Yeah,
so
not what he needed right now.

Rounding the last bend, Bastian stretched his wings wide, slowing his flight as he entered the enormous cave. Powered by magic, a thousand floating globes hung like strings of LEDs, hugging the domed ceiling, illuminating smooth sides. Beneath the glow, the LZ—landing zone—ran from wall to wall, taking up one-third of the cavern’s interior. Flat, wide, and deep, the plateau counted as one of nature’s more masterful miracles.

Bastian loved the LZ all the more for it. It was damned practical, big enough to land or launch four dragons at a time. A definite plus, considering the constant state of war he and his warriors suffered through day after day, decade after decade. And yeah, if war wasn’t reason enough to get with the program, the LZ was a sign—yet another reminder why Dragonkind needed to sire sons.

They needed to increase their numbers. Be ready to launch a whole platoon on a moment’s notice.

Bastian sighed. Hell, he was really working hard to convince himself of the rightness of his decision, wasn’t he? Looking for excuses…seeing the LZ as a good reason for taking Myst. Jesus. He was beyond deranged if he believed that load of crap.

Careful to keep the car steady, Bastian landed on his back paws. His claws scraped the black-and silver-speckled granite, echoing in the vastness as he set Myst’s hatchback down with a gentle bump. Time stood still for a second, the silence absolute before he uncurled his front talons. A soft screech—steel against razor-sharp claws—sounded as he released his grip on the car’s frame. Bastian heard Myst suck in a quick breath as he stepped away from the car and shifted, moving from dragon to man in the space of a heartbeat.

Planted six feet from the front bumper, he gathered his clothes, drew his leather trench coat around him, and turned to look at his female. She met his stare through the windshield. Her eyes were wide. His gaze was steady, commanding her attention, willing her to trust him. She’d done it before with the baby in her arms and the dead mother on the floor beside her. He wanted her to do it again. To suspend the belief that the boogeyman came complete with scales and remember the gentleness he’d shown her.

But as the silence stretched, Bastian called himself a fool. Not much in life was easy. And Myst wouldn’t surrender without a fight.

She was too smart to relinquish her power easily. His female needed the kind of attention most males didn’t have enough patience to deliver. But Bastian wasn’t like most males, and despite the desperate nature of his need, he appreciated her even more for the challenge she presented.

Pride for her spirit tipped his lips up at the corners.