Fury of Fire

by Coreene Callahan

  The frosty side of him sighed, loving the arctic blast, but the relief didn’t last. The heat pushed it aside, shredding him from the inside out. As he rode the pain train, he concentrated on breathing: in, out…in, out. The oxygen infuse didn’t help. The pain was too intense, making his legs churn beneath the water, the soles of his shitkickers slipping against the bottom of the stainless steel tub.

  God, the enemy was getting smarter, using their brains for a change.

  Hurrah for them…the rogue jerk-offs.

  Moisture beaded on his skin. Rikar swiped at it, annoyed by the drip-drip-drip in his eyes, wondering what…

  Christ, the droplets weren’t from the water. It was sweat.

  Bigger alarm bells rang inside his head, taking him into apocalyptic territory. A fever…the only thing guaranteed to kill a frost dragon. And he was sliding fast. He never perspired. Ever. He was too cold-blooded for that.

  Rikar shifted around in the tub, the agony worsening with each breath. “The…anti…venom?”

  “Coming. Ven’s gonna—”

  The airlock hissed as the clinic’s glass-paneled door slid open.

  “What the fuck?”

  The question cracked the quiet wide open, coming at Rikar like a short burst of automatic gunfire. He recognized that deep voice. Bastian. Thank God. His best friend was here. He would—

  “Oh, my God!” Female voice…short pause…a bit of a shuffle, and then, “Here, Bastian…take him. And you…” Another pause. Light footsteps coming closer and, “Status report. Right now.”

  “Ahh…he’s…shit, I’m…” Sloan’s stuttering pierced through the mind fog that imprisoned Rikar. Wow. That was new. The male sounded shell-shocked, shaken out of his normal calm.

  But why?

  Rikar concentrated hard, fought through all the thick-white-and-fluffy mucking up his head, searching for the answer.

  Someone cleared his throat. “Slashed right forearm. Poison’s gone deep. Anti-venom’s coming.”

  “Are you IV-equipped?”

  “I…we—”

  “If you are, I need a bag…stat.”

  Small hands touched his face, then slid away; one landed on his throat and found his pulse while the other moved around to cup the nape of his neck. Oh, man, that felt good. The touched eased him, took some of the pain, scrambling his molecules in a reenergized frenzy. Hmm yeah, that was better. He wasn’t tumbling down the rabbit hole anymore…he was floating, buoyant instead of sinking inside his own skull.

  The voice came again: soft, lyrical, and steady as hell. Female and Bastian…here together. Rikar’s brain kicked over. Not good…so not good. Bastian’s female—the one named…something…what was it?…hell, he couldn’t remember—was touching him. And he was taking from her, his body drawing on her energy to fight the infection now streaming through his blood.

  A nasty snarl rolled through the clinic.

  Oh, Christ. Bastian was going to rip him a new body orifice…the stem-to-stern kind. Once he claimed her, a male never shared his female. Ever. Her hands on him was a bad idea, tantamount to suicide.

  But, God, he needed the white-hot energy she was feeding him.

  Still, Rikar made the effort, jerked in the water, squirming to get away from her. She held firm, moving his arm from under the ice. With a gentle touch that made him groan, the female checked his injury, soothing him with soft words before turning to bark orders at the others.

  Unable to stop himself, Rikar slipped beneath her spell even as he marveled at the unfairness. Sure, she of the glorious energy would probably save him, but it wouldn’t matter. The game would end the same way, because the instant the healing sleep let him go, Bastian would hand him his balls on the end of a blade.

  Chapter Twelve

  One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three, Mississippi. Four—

  “Breathe,” Bastian growled at himself because, God knew, the rolling count—all those stupid Mississippis—weren’t doing a thing to calm him.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Myst. Oh, God, she had her hands on Rikar. His female was touching another male…feeding—

  Another snarl rolled out of him. He couldn’t help it. The possessive part of him—the one ruled by his dragon—was taking over, amping up territorial instinct until Bastian didn’t know which part of him would explode first; his head, his heart, or motherfucking lungs. All were getting a workout, and not in a good way.

  Yeah, no Nautilus here. Just pure animal rage. The kind that kept a male jacked to maximum velocity when another got in between him and his female.

  God. He was losing his mind…with an infant in his arms.

  Not that he could feel him. The warm weight in the crook of his arm barely registered on his psycho scale. He was too fixated on Myst, which was not good news…not for him or the little guy. If he lost control and attacked Rikar, the baby would get hurt…so not what he wanted to do.

  Breathing like a wounded racehorse, Bastian hammered his internal gearshift and put himself in reverse. Careening backward, he led with his shoulders, slamming into the wall beside the clinic door. The concrete cracked, fissures spreading like a spiderweb on the cinder blocks. He planted his feet, desperate to stay away from the stainless tub.

  Jesus, he was in real trouble here.

  Rikar was his best friend…his buddy, and yet in the heat of his fixation, it didn’t matter. He wanted to rip the warrior’s head off his shoulders…fracture his skull for feeding from the female he’d claimed as his own.

  And man, that scared him, because the bond he and Rikar shared ran bone deep, right to his marrow. The fact Myst overrode that connection just hours after meeting her shook the hell out of him.

  He needed a bailout…fast. Someone to knock him into concussion land before shit got critical, before he couldn’t control it anymore. But Sloan was busy jumping when Myst said jump, scrambling for the supplies she needed.

  And holy shit. How amazing was she? Barking out instructions, controlling the situation, helping his friend, soothing him with her words. God, he loved her voice, its calm, confident lilt as she calmed Rikar while telling Sloan how she wanted things done.

  “Myst…baby…” His voice came out on a groan as Myst laid her palm against Rikar’s forehead. “Don’t…”

  She brushed his friend’s hair back, stroking his skin with her elegant fingers. Rikar moaned, turning into her touch. And Bastian’s body went ape shit, twitching as sweat ran in rivulets down his spine. Gritting his teeth on another snarl, Bastian locked his knees, reminding himself who he held in his arms. He needed to get out of the clinic, but…his dragon refused to leave. Had nailed his feet to the floor in the mental sphere. No matter how much he wanted to haul ass—to protect the baby and Rikar—Bastian couldn’t move.

  And wasn’t that fantastic? Un-huh, right…the territorial bullshit was a freaking peach.

  After handing Myst an IV bag, Sloan glanced over at him. And did a double take. “Oh, fuck.”

  Bang on, Columbo. They were in Deepshitsville, and the male was only just now noticing? Great detective work there, buddy.

  “Ah, Myst,” Sloan said, voice soft, trying to keep it casual. “We got a problem.”

  “I know.” All business, Myst cracked the plastic pack on the IV needle, getting ready to nail Rikar in the arm and get fluids flowing. “His blood pressure’s dropping. Where the heck is your—”

  The glass door slid open with a hiss, hammering Bastian in the shoulder. As he got knocked sideways, Bastian grunted. Good. More pain. Enough to dislodge need and predatory instinct. As Bastian threw a collar on his inner beast, Venom sprinted over the threshold, his hands loaded with white boxes. Juggling the anti-venom, the warrior skidded to a halt in the middle of the clinic, picking up the vibe with one shrewd sweep of his ruby gaze.

  Good boy. At least someone was paying attention.

  Tossing the entire load at Sloan, Venom spun and nailed him right between the eyes with a whole lot of you-keep-your-shit-t
ogether-brother.

  Shaking all over now, Bastian shook his head. “I can’t…you need…to…take him.”

  “Nah, you’re cool, Commander.” Ven rolled his shoulders and got up close, blocking Bastian’s view of Myst, his physique on display in a black muscle shirt. The male was huge, taller and wider than Bastian. Not that size mattered. The ruby-eyed warrior didn’t stand a chance against him, and that was on a good day. “Besides, if I take the infant, you’re gonna download the launch code and go nuclear on Rikar. Can’t have that, my man. So, hang tight. The female’s almost done with our boy.”

  A simple “no” would’ve gotten the job done, but Venom was a talker. Much to everyone’s consternation, the charismatic SOB gum-flapped more than any male he knew.

  “Then hit me…knock me out,” Bastian rasped, the mine-mine-mine getting louder inside his head. The refrain downloaded into a humming chant, stomping its foot like an irate three-year-old. And yeah, that sounded about right. His dragon was nowhere near mature when it came to Myst. “I’m not going to make it. I’ll kill him. Just—”

  “Bastian?” Myst’s voice—that beautiful, soft lilt—cut through the noise inside his skull. “I think I’ve got him stabilized, but…” Blue eyes the color of violets peeked around Venom’s shoulder. “Holy crap. Are you all right?”

  “No.”

  Short. Sweet. To the point. And just like that, his internal chains snapped, setting his beast free.

  He needed to touch her, to wipe Rikar’s scent from her skin, and…oh, fuck, this wasn’t going to be pretty. She didn’t know what was coming, couldn’t hear the rumble deep inside him. But he couldn’t stop it. The need to dominate, to show the males in this room to whom she belonged, was a force he couldn’t fight.

  “Forgive me.” All his focus riveted on her, he played hot potato with the infant, handing him to Venom.

  The handoff was quick and smooth. But as Venom took the baby and spun toward the door, the abrupt shift startled him. He woke up angry, small hands flailing, the wail so piercing that Myst broke eye contact with him to reach for the newborn.

  But it was too late. Bastian was already moving.

  Myst blinked as Bastian passed the baby to Big-Dark-and-Scary like a baton. Okay, so the transfer was steady, and the huge guy’s hands gentle, but holy Hannah on a swizzle stick. What the heck did they think they were doing?

  She wanted to check the baby…here in the clinic.

  Everything she needed was in her bag. Well, most of it, anyway. Some of her stuff had landed on the floor in her rush to treat Rikar, but whatever she couldn’t find, the clinic would provide. From what Myst could see, the place was hospital-grade, right down to the neonatal bed sitting in one corner. With that in her favor, getting her angel’s APGAR score would be the work of minutes.

  Her only requirement? The newborn.

  Big-Dark-and-Scary, however, had other ideas. Beating feet in the wrong direction, he held the screaming infant to one broad shoulder and hightailed it over the threshold. And Sloan? The African-American guy was right behind him; wheels on the tub squeaking as he made like a NASCAR driver and pushed Rikar—IV pole, ice, and all—out of the clinic and into the corridor.

  Red flags went flying inside her head. “Hey! Hang on a min—”

  The snarl cut her off. She whipped her head around, looking for the threat. God, that sounded like a wild animal and…

  Her gaze swept past Bastian and then jerked right back. He was the one growling. That pumping purr rolled across the clinic with the force of a hurricane as, chest heaving and green eyes glowing, he came at her from the other side of the room. Myst yelped and—in the spirit of stay-alive-first, ask-questions-later—leapt sideways, out of his path. If she got out of his way fast enough, maybe…

  Oh, crap. This wasn’t going to work. The instant she shifted, he did, too; zeroing in on her like a freaking pit bull. Good God, what…why…had he gone completely nuts?

  Okay, no time for that. Twenty questions would have to wait. She’d figure out his malfunction later.

  Right now, she needed to react. First priority? Getting something big between him (the snarling, crazy guy) and her (the sane, scared-out-of-her-mind girl). One of those rollaway carts, maybe, or…no, she needed that neonatal bed. No sense destroying a precious piece of equipment. The examination table.

  Galvanized by a hit of adrenaline, Myst scrambled up and over, ignoring the waxy paper crinkling beneath her. Just as her feet touched down on the other side, Bastian fisted his hand in her shirt. She gasped as he yanked and she went airborne for a second. Oh, God, this was going to hurt and—

  Except it didn’t.

  Bastian caught her on the downswing and, cushioning her fall, set her down. Both knees landed on the vinyl tabletop. He pulled. She cursed, fighting the slide. Grabbing his wrists, she twisted, trying to break his hold. His nostrils flared and, eyes glowing with single-minded intensity, he reeled her in.

  “Oh, my God!” A shriek lodged in her throat, she flailed. He retaliated by wrapping his arms around her, trapping her against his chest. Holy crap, he was solid, long-limbed and hard-muscled. “Bastian…stop it. What are you—”

  He growled something—a word that sounded an awful lot like “mine”—as his hands traveled up beneath the hem of her shirt. His palms connected, skin on skin, a second before his mouth found the side of her throat. She sucked in a breath, lungs seizing while he purred. Purred!

  The erotic sound sent her sideways into confusion and white-hot desire.

  Like an inferno, she ignited, the push-pull of attraction reaching deep. As she tripped and got tangled in desire’s deadly thread, he stroked her, each caress gentle. Soft. Enticing as hell.

  Oh, man. How was she supposed to resist, well…that?

  He felt so good. And his scent? The heated male spice surged, enlivening her senses until her need for him deepened. She moaned. He was unbelievable. A wide-shouldered, strong-bodied wet dream in black leather and—

  Wait a minute. Hold on a second.

  Giving her head a shake, she hit the pause button. Bastian nipped at her, overriding her moment of sanity. Damn pheromones. Stupid abstinence. God help her, but it had been so long since anyone had touched her. Years and…had she ever really known pleasure? Seemed like a good bet to say no, because Bastian hadn’t even kissed her yet and she was already in orbit.

  And part of her—the irresponsible half—yearned to surrender and let him do whatever he wanted. How bad could it be…really?

  Except, wasn’t she supposed to be doing something? Weren’t there tests she should be…something about an angel? God, her brain was fried. She couldn’t remember. Not with him this close…

  He flicked her, tasting her skin as his hand slid over her ribcage.

  Fighting for breath, she grabbed his hands. If he went any further—touched her breasts—she’d be done. She was too sensitive there and…

  Holy crap. She’d just met this guy, and what she knew of Bastian scared her. Yeah, the whole dragon thing was a definite sticking point. All right, so he looked human—felt like a man and acted like sex on a stick—but no way could she sleep with him.

  Yeah, wrapping her legs around him? Not a good idea.

  Pushing his hands away, Myst leaned left, going for separation. She needed distance; couldn’t think when he was…

  “Oooh, G-god.” She moaned as he attacked her pulse point and shook loose, sliding one big hand up her ribcage.

  She shoved his shoulders. He growled, changed direction, stroking her back, over her hip to pay special attention to her bottom. As she shivered, his other hand traveled, moving up to tangle in her hair. Threading her blonde waves through his fingers, he kept her close as he sucked on her skin. Heat skittered down her spine and, instead of backing him the heck off, she lost ground, pulling him closer.

  Oh, man, he was delicious. Decadent. Dangerous. Yeah, every word that started with a D.

  Myst shook her head, trying to pull herself toge
ther enough to resist…enough to want to. “Bastian…hmmm, that’s…oh, God. But…but, you need to…to—”

  “Bellmia…my female…so beautiful.”

  Stop. Yes, that’s what she meant to say, but man, oh, man, she loved the way he sounded: how his voice deepened when he talked to her like that. Darkly erotic, each word acted on her like a caress. Each touch aroused, encouraging surrender.

  Still, some part of her—the annoyingly sensible side—clung to the certainty that making love to him was a bad idea.

  Hmm…a very bad one that felt way too good.

  Myst arched back and away, needing space to tell him, but the second she moved, he raised his head and invaded her mouth.

  The kiss happened so fast that Myst didn’t resist. Instead, she reacted like an idiot and opened, inviting his possession. And oh, hell…beautiful catastrophe. She knew it the second she let him in, the moment she slid her hands into his hair and pressed her body to his.

  She’d expected spectacular. What she got was earth-shattering.

  He tasted too good. Beyond fantastic, and oh, so crazy right it made her head spin.

  And as he groaned and got busy tangling their tongues and touching her skin, Myst knew she’d made a huge mistake.

  One kiss would never be enough.

  Overhead, the fluorescents flickered, reacting to the energy surge in the room. The delicious swirl was electric, all around him, so beautifully magnetic that Bastian craved more. Ah hell, wasn’t that a kicker. He’d already fed tonight—wasn’t even hungry—but the taste of her…shit, he couldn’t resist. Myst was better than his wildest dream.

  And he’d dreamt some doozies in his time. Almost two centuries spent in the dreamscape while he slept and…umm, yeah.

  But, who the hell cared about that? Not him. Not right now. His female was in his arms and…

  Huh. Wasn’t he supposed to be taking her somewhere?

  Deep in Myst’s mouth, Bastian reveled in her sweetness while he thought about that. Yeah, he definitely wanted to go somewhere with her, but—