She needed to call her friend, if only to hear her voice and make sure she was all right. But Bastian had told her the truth about the phones. In the hour that she’d searched, she hadn’t found a single one.
Following the dirt path, she brushed her hands over some leafy ferns and walked parallel to the house. Black Diamond was a monster, a timber-framed structure that went on and on. The wing she could see sprawled out, taking up ground space with rustic majesty. She kept an eye on it, looking for a way to skirt its perimeter and find the front of the house. She’d already tried the front door. Talk about Fort Knox…the thing had more deadbolts than a maximum security prison. Ones that didn’t budge, no matter how much muscle she put into it.
A few minutes later, she found what she sought: a break in the shrubbery and a narrow trail along the side of the lair. She studied the thorny ground cover and then glanced at the flip-flops on her feet. Work boots would’ve been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Barefoot, it would have to be.
Holding her footwear in one hand, she stepped carefully, tiptoeing through the bramble, ignoring the small scrapes against her skin. With one last hop, she landed on the trail and peeked around the side of the house.
Bingo. An outbuilding dead ahead.
The smell of rain blew in as thunder rumbled and the wind picked up, tugging at her clothes. Myst ignored the warning and, slipping her footwear back on, trotted down the path toward the building. Please, let it be the garage. She needed to know where it was…and the kind of vehicles housed inside.
As she came even with the front, lightning forked overhead. The hair on her nape lifted, sensation tingling down her spine, gravel crunching beneath her feet. She moved right, running across the driveway and…
Thank God. Big, industrial-sized doors.
Set in a row, seven garage doors stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting patiently to be opened and, as one second ticked into the next, Myst tasted freedom. It was a moment away: the simple press of a button, a quick search for the keys. And standing in the growing darkness, she imagined the steering wheel in her hands and the roar of the engine as she drove away from Bastian’s home. A heavy weight settled on her chest, the pressure vise-like and painful.
Moisture pricked the corners of her eyes. How could this have happened? She’d finally found the right man, the perfect one for her and…Goddamn it. Fate left her with a terrible choice. Give him up and reclaim her life. Or stay and lose everything.
Myst hung her head. Guess he wasn’t so perfect, after all.
The soft scrape of footfalls sounded behind her.
With a sigh, Myst raised her head to stare up at the storm-swept sky and watched the angry clouds tumble. She should’ve paid better attention. The tingle she’d felt earlier wasn’t storm-driven. It was about Bastian, and the fact she could track him when he was near.
She glanced over her shoulder. Serious green eyes met hers, unraveling her one thread at a time.
“What are you doing out here, Myst?” His tone was soft, barely rising above the wind.
“Exploring.”
“Are you done?”
When she nodded, he held out his hand, palm up, inviting her to come to him. She stayed still a moment, holding his gaze—hesitating—then gave in. She wanted him too much. But as she slid her hand into his much larger one, she called herself a fool. Her love affair with Bastian wouldn’t end well and still, like a lamb to the slaughter, she went to him without a fight.
Standing on the threshold between the French doors, Bastian scanned the dining room. The thing was lit up, candlelight bouncing off polished silver and hand-cut crystal. A stark contrast from the beer-drinking, trash-talking poker game the table saw every Saturday afternoon. Usually, the place smelled like a locker room and the cheezies Wick liked to munch on while he kicked their asses at five-card stud.
Daimler had outdone himself. Yet again. But then, the Numbai was all about pleasing those he served. Well that, and food.
The male never missed a beat in the kitchen. Was always experimenting, serving new dishes, everything gourmet-style. Which was a good thing. Daimler kept the males of the lair satisfied in the eats department while making sure each got the nutrition he needed to stay in prime fighting shape. Although, Bastian could do without the curlicue garnishes. A steak was a steak. All that other crap was just window dressing.
Tonight, though, Bastian appreciated Daimler’s flare for high drama. The male might drive him crazy with marzipan flowers on cupcakes, but he knew how to throw together an intimate evening for two.
His fingers still laced with Myst’s, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.” Her breath caught as she got a load of the table. “Wow.”
Untangling her hand from his, she stepped around him. While he mourned the loss of her heat, her gaze skimmed over the candelabras, pale linens, and the two place settings arranged at one end of the long table. Drifting to a stop, she cupped the back of an upholstered chair. Silence stretched, drawing him tight before she turned to look at him.
Wariness in her gaze, she asked, “Wine me, dine me?”
“I thought we could share a meal.”
“You want a news flash?”
“Sure,” he murmured, watching her closely, trying to gauge her mood. Pensive. Too quiet. On edge. Not exactly the reaction he imagined when he asked Daimler to set up the romantic evening.
“All this?” One hand picking at the piping on top of the chair, she gestured toward the table with the other. “You don’t need any of it, Bastian. I’m a sure thing.”
Her admission should’ve pleased him. Bastian found himself worried instead. Her confusion clouded the air around her, warning him better than words. She was thinking about running. He didn’t blame her. The world he lived in would never be easy for her. It was isolating for a female, a strange place with different rules—and Myst was essentially alone in it. No other females to talk to or spend time with…no one to help guide her from old life to new.
A pang hit him chest level. “And that scares you…belonging to me?”
“Yes…no…I don’t know,” she said in a small voice, sounding lost.
“It’s all right to be unsure, Myst,” he said, needing to reassure her. What they shared was strange, and as he moved away from the door toward her, Bastian struggled to find the right words to tell her that he understood. “The feeling between us is unexpected. A little overwhelming. For me, too.”
Her grip on the chair tightened as he stopped behind her, close but not touching. When she shivered, he lost the battle. His urge to comfort her was too strong. He needed her in his arms. Murmuring to her in Dragonese, he used his voice to soothe and drew her in, wrapped his arms around her, fitting her back to his front.
A shudder rolled through her into him. “You’ve never…”
“No.” Dipping his head, he burrowed into her hair, filling his lungs with her scent. “There has never been another for me. Only you.”
“Okay. That’s good. Really good, but…what now? I mean…God.” The words came out on a quiver, giving voice to her panic. Like a living thing, she vibrated, on the verge of bolting. “It’s only been four days. Four days!”
“I know.”
“I mean…jeez. So little time and I’m…” With an abrupt shift, she turned in his arms. She shook her head, unease in her eyes as she searched his. “Half nuts. A giant mess over you. Totally wrecked. It can’t be—”
“Normal? No, love, it isn’t.”
Thank God. He loved the way he affected her, and what he felt for her in return. The sheer strength of their bond empowered him, gave hope where none existed before. And as he held her close, he wanted to sink deep and wallow in it. He needed to show her that what they shared was right and true…meant to be on a cosmic level that crossed borders and trumped species.
“What we share…the connection we have?” Keeping one arm around her, he cupped her face, brushing her skin with featherlight stroke
s. “It’s powerful and very rare.”
A furrow between her fine brows, she stared up at him. In her gaze he saw everything he’d felt over the past day: confusion, curiosity, fear of the unknown. And yet, even though she was afraid, she accepted his touch, waiting for him to continue. She wanted the truth. He needed to tell her, but…
Where should he start?
At the beginning? Near the end?
Emotion wasn’t his strength. Yeah, he felt it, but he’d always kept it caged, avoiding vulnerability like an axe to the head. But with her in his arms and a pleading light in her eyes, he couldn’t deny her. She deserved the best of him.
Taking a deep breath, Bastian reached for his magic. It came when called, flaring along his spine and in his fingertips. Holding her gaze, he tapped into her energy, connecting them on the emotional plane. There, he laid himself bare, allowing her to see everything: his love and respect for her, all the need, want, and hope for their future.
Her breath caught and tears filled her eyes. “I see you.”
Bastian’s heart stopped mid-beat, just hung inside his chest. I see you. English words with Dragonkind meaning. In the tradition of his kind, the words carried ancient weight: It was an acknowledgement of worth, respect, and undying devotion.
I see you.
The truest compliment one could give to another.
The question was…how had she known? Connecting them emotionally was one thing, her ability to read his mind quite another. But her acknowledgement wasn’t random. He saw the understanding in her eyes and…Jesus. Was the energy-fuse that strong?
The possibility blew his mind, sent him reeling in directions he hadn’t considered.
“Kalim, bellmia,” he said, speaking to her in his own language, returning the sentiment without hesitation. “I see you, too.”
She nodded, the tension leaving her on a long exhale. “Bastian, will you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Be honest with me. Tell me everything I need to know to understand you. Your kind. The world you live in.” A worried look on her face, she chewed on her bottom lip. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and…oh, baby. What a distraction. It sent him on a mental side trip, making him remember how good she tasted. How badly he wanted inside her again as she said, “I can’t stay here without understanding what it will mean for me. There can’t be any secrets between us.”
Bastian frowned. No secrets? Talk about a foreign concept. Dragonkind was secretive by nature…needed to be to survive in a world where humans outnumbered dragons by thousands to one. But Myst was his mate. He wanted to trust her. To share his life. To open his heart without fear or reservation.
Question was…would she want him after he told her about the hungering? About his fertility cycle, the uncontrollable need, and the risk to her?
Fuck Rikar and this theory.
Nothing was certain. Except one thing. Myst would run from him if she knew the entire truth.
So where did that leave him? Cooked. Yeah, that about summed it up.
“Bastian?”
“Share a meal with me, bellmia,” he said, stalling for time. “Let me feed you as a male should and…I’ll explain.”
At least, a little. Mostly all, but…some truth was better than none. Right?
Closing his eyes, Bastian buried his face in her hair and, breathing her in, hugged her tight. God forgive him. He was selfish. The lowest of the low to take what should be hers by right to give.
But complete honesty was a commodity he couldn’t afford.
Not tonight.
Not until the hungering passed and he settled onto an even keel again.
The chocolate soufflé looked delicious. Too bad Myst couldn’t taste a thing.
Despite Daimler’s talent and the gourmet meal, everything tasted like sawdust. Her taste buds had gone on strike, picketing the entrance to her mouth: little signs raised, jostling for airtime, lobbying for another dish altogether. One that started with a B. And ended with an N.
Myst swore she could hear the little buggers chanting…give us a B. A. S. T. I. A and N!
Shifting in her seat, she searched for relief from the physical discomfort and blocked out the mental noise. For the fifth freaking time. The insistent voice occupying the back half of her brain yelled louder. Her heart revved up another beat, thump-thump-thumping against the wall of her ribcage. She fidgeted some more and twirled her fork in her fingers, watching the silver sparkle in the candlelight.
God, what was wrong with her? Feeling supercharged by the Fall Storm was one thing. The restlessness she understood. But the crazy sexual need?
She’d never felt anything like it. And it was getting worse.
Each moment walked her closer to meltdown. The urgent rush buzzed in her veins, making her hypersensitive, imprisoning her on lust’s razor-sharp edge. She tried to shut it out and be sensible. But fantasy wouldn’t leave her alone. Was it normal to envision leaping over fine china to wrap herself around Bastian?
Her eyes half closed, Myst nearly moaned as the image flooded her mind. Hmm, that would feel so good: sitting in his lap, him deep inside her while she stroked his tongue with her own.
Heat bloomed between her legs. She squirmed again, accusing herself of nymphomania. But, man, there was just something about Bastian. She was hyperacute, aware of him on a level she’d never experienced before and…
Yeah, so much for restraint. She was officially pathetic. Had ticked all the boxes on her love-struck stupid list. Now, she was falling down the rabbit hole with no way of ever climbing back out.
Terrific. Just…peachy.
Camouflaging another squirm, she stabbed her soufflé. She imagined it was her libido. The thing needed deflating before she embarrassed herself. Attacking Bastian wouldn’t go over well. Mr. Starched-and-Pressed would keel over in a dead faint if she ruined his culinary masterpiece. Yeah. That would be good for a lecture…or five. Daimler would have a cow and then send of her off to etiquette school to learn some manners.
Still, she considered it. Getting dressed down by the elf might be worth it. Whip cream had arrived with their dessert and…
She bit her bottom lip. God, he would taste good slathered in heavy cream. Swallowing past her sudden case of dry mouth, she glanced at Bastian from the corner of her eye. Staring at his plate, he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.
His chest muscles rolled, drawing all kinds of attention from the peanut gallery inside her head. They urged her on. She stalled, drawing circles in icing sugar with the tines of her fork. When that didn’t work her, she took another tack.
“So, energy-fused, huh?” she asked, desperate for a distraction.
White-knuckling his fork, Bastian stared at his soufflé and nodded. “The bonding is rare for my kind. I thought it was a myth. Until I met you.”
The compliment relaxed her a little, and she smiled. He was being honest with her, even though he found it hard. She understood, knew talking about his race, revealing secrets long kept, trusting her with the truth was difficult for him. He’d hesitated at first, the truth coming in stilted stretches of conversation. But true to his word, he explained as they ate, pausing only to allow Daimler to set course after course in front of them.
She had so many questions.
He answered them all, telling her about the Meridian, how its energy bands ringed the planet and held everything in place. It was fascinating, really. The vertical ribbons ran north to south, joining at the poles. Thin threads spread over the globe with magical netting, connecting all living things in a continuous loop. And surprise, surprise…she understood the interconnected landscape. Had felt it all her life, sensing more than believing that every organism—big or small—affected the next. The circle of life approach—the idea that all things turned inward, renewing themselves with the seasons—appealed to her.
And Dragonkind? Their history and origins captivated her.
Born of the goddess Mother Earth and the Dragon God
, the race’s beginnings were right out of an A&E movie. Bastian told it perfectly: like a bedtime story, full of twists and turns, deceit and betrayal. He cranked up the tension in all the right places, telling of the Dragon God’s affair with a wood nymph…and the goddess’s reaction. Her weapon of choice? A curse that tied Dragonkind to her world—the earthly plane and the energy in it. But worse—at least in Dragon God’s mind—was the way she’d done it. She’d taken the ability to produce female offspring from Dragonkind, forcing the males to submit to human women not only to survive, but to procreate.
Brilliant. Revenge with flare. An ancient goddess with a modern woman’s attitude and the guts to get even. And really, what woman couldn’t get behind that brand of kick-butt justice?
Gathering all the factoids up, Myst categorized the information, filing everything away in the correct mental file folders. “And I’m high-energy?”
“Very. The most powerful I’ve ever seen.” Bastian chased a blueberry around the edge of his plate. “I hadn’t known what being full felt like until I touched you.”
Okay. She had to admit the whole feeding thing threw her. Unsure how she felt about it, she chewed on the inside of her lip and sorted through the mental minefield. When nothing exploded in the psychological sphere, she frowned. Maybe she could accept his hunger and the way he satisfied it with a little more information.
Digging into her dessert, Myst carved a hole in its center, making a mess of the pastry with no intention of eating it. “You could hurt me while feeding, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, squishing the poor berry with his fork.
“I know.” And she did…deep down where instinct ruled and common sense took a back seat. Regardless of the risk, she trusted him: to keep her safe, to take only what he needed and…
What do you know? Her uncertainty shifted, and all of a sudden, the energy feeding seemed okay. Erotic in a way that made her shift in her seat again. Bastian needed her, and she responded to that truth of discovery. A humming started deep inside her, the desire to provide all he required becoming clawing desperation. She wanted to be the one…the only woman to love him, feed him, hold him in her arms.
Fury of Fire Page 28
