Fury of Fire

by Coreene Callahan

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.

  Chapter Three

  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 shif
ted 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.

  Chapter Four

  Bastian smelled the Razorback before he saw him. But seeing was believing, so he stayed low, eyes glued to the edge of the tree line. He didn’t wait long. The rogue came in on a slow glide, wings spread, iridescent brown scales flashing in the moonlight. Caught by the sudden rush of air, black smoke swirled, touching the dragon’s underbelly as he circled the debris field, looking for bodies in twisted metal and burning medical supplies.

  Crouched between a rusted-out car and the garage wall, arms locked around Myst, Bastian stayed perfectly still. The big male circled again, giving Bastian a clear shot from his vantage point on the ground.

  He didn’t take it. The approach was all wrong, the sight line way too easy.

  Hovering above the crumpled ambulance, eyes glowing like beacons in the night sky, the Razorback waited. Bastian counted to seven before the rogue gave up and banked left, dipping low over the sad-looking house. As the tip of his brown tail disappeared behind the peak of the roof, Bastian shifted right, keeping them hidden behind the Buick while he improved his view.

  The jack-offs were getting smarter.

  Usually the Razorbacks attacked en masse, without care for the consequences. Sending in a lone soldier to draw him out was new for them. Smart as far as strategy went; dumb-ass stupid in terms of outcome. Did the idiots really think he would take the bait?

  Probably. He sometimes did—just to keep things interesting—but couldn’t now.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight the battle strategy revolved around one thing…protecting Myst and the precious bundle sleeping in her arms. He sure as hell wasn’t going to risk them. And the idea of Myst’s death? Yeah, no way he would go there.

  Bastian pulled Myst a little closer. She’d stopped fighting him—thank Jesus. But, shock had set in and she shivered, air coming in raw rasps as she struggled for each breath. He wanted to apologize for that: for her fear and what she was about to witness. She deserved better, had been through hell already, and didn’t need the added trouble of discovering dragon-shifters in her tidy little world.

  It couldn’t be helped. Circumstance had dealt her a bad hand. All he could do now was make sure she lived to see another sunrise.

  Sheltering her, Bastian drew the edges of his leather trench coat around her. Curled into a ball between the spread of his thighs, she turned her face into his chest. With gentle hands, he tucked her head beneath his chin, lending his heat, absorbing her chill while he scanned the perimeter and listened hard. Fire licked towards the night sky and long grass rustled as enemy claws touched down in the backyard.

  The sound carried on the damp wind, the infinitesimal snick louder than a gun being cocked at close range. Battle-lust roared through Bastian, tightening muscle over bone, urging him to shift, to make the rogue pay for coming near Myst and the baby. He locked himself down. Patience was the priority, caution an absolute must. The cloaking spell was doing its job, hiding them from enemy eyes—making the pack improvise and change tactics.

  Bastian understood the Razorbacks’ strategy. They couldn’t attack what they couldn’t find. Shit-for-brains in the backyard was a smoke screen, a decoy sent to draw him into the open for the others to tear apart.

  And yeah, there were others.

  Five, counting the one sniffing around the dilapidated shed.

  On a normal night, the small pack wouldn’t have presented much of a challenge. Not when he and Rikar closed ranks. But with a female and child to protect? The sliding scale went from mildly irritating to FUBARed in a hurry.

  Rikar pinged him from outside the fighting triangle—a three-mile separation that prevented the enemy from detecting him. “Bastian…what the fu
ck are you doing?”

  “Waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “The decoy to move.”

  “Hell, they’re getting smarter,” Rikar said, soft growl tinged with amusement.

  “Not exactly what we need tonight,” he said, not liking the odds.

  Bloodthirsty to the point of obsession, the Razorbacks were goal-oriented and single-minded—Bastian gave them full marks for that—but they fell short in other areas. Intelligence, for one.

  Made his job easier most nights, if not entirely interesting.

  Opening his senses wide, Bastian mapped the imprint of each, measuring the electrostatic signature all of his kind carried. Like a fingerprint, the impression was unique to the individual, a code written in his DNA. The ability to dissect a dragon’s strengths and weaknesses from a distance was an unusual talent. Most never acquired the skill. Bastian excelled at it. He knew to the degree how powerful each male was, down to the color of his scales and the poison he exhaled.

  The group hunting him was young, more ballsy than experienced. Good in some respects, terrible in others.

  Seasoned fighters would see Myst as a trophy and keep the fighting away from her. Inexperienced ones would set the trap and attack without care for collateral damage.

  “How is she?” Rikar asked, concern edging out impatience.

  He cupped the nape of Myst’s neck, praying his touch soothed her. She was throwing off too much energy, levels that drew dangerously close to breaking through the invisibility cloak he’d thrown around them. “Petrified.”

  “Shit.”

  No kidding. He needed her to calm down, to level out before enemy eyes turned in their direction.

  “Figure it out, man,” his friend said, ready to break cover.

  “You’ve got about thirty seconds before I break cover and the fuckers sense me coming.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes. Let me get a handle on her first.”

  His first in command grunted, but held course, flirting with the edge of the fighting triangle and detection.