“—or stay here and face Ivar.” When she hesitated, he said, “Better me than the Razorback breeding center, Myst.”
Man, that didn’t sound good. No way she wanted anywhere near a “breeding center.” And sticking around for Ivar? Forget it. She’d take her chances with Forge and hope like hell he looked the other way long enough for her to escape.
“I’ll go with you.”
He nodded and reached out. His big hands settled on her upper arms, and she tensed, curled her hands into fists, prepared to defend herself. But he didn’t make a wrong move, just lifted and set her on her feet. Pain screamed up her legs, taking her knees out. As the numbing pins and needles spread, she moaned and crumpled sideways.
Forge caught her.
Without effort, he swung her into his arms and headed for the door he’d burned into steel. “Keep your head down. It’s nasty out there.”
Cradled in his arms, Myst frowned. He wasn’t like Ivar or his scary first in command. Forge didn’t have a cruel streak. Nor was he indifferent. He was…something else. Not a Nightfury, exactly, but his vibe read as protective…like Bastian’s.
She glanced up at his face as he carried her out of the container. “Are you sure you’re a Razorback?”
His amethyst eyes shimmering in the dark, he stared down at her. Time slid sideways, and one moment ticked into the next before he looked away, refusing to answer. His silence deepened the mystery, and Myst started to wonder. Was he a good guy? A bad one? Somewhere in between?
She didn’t know. And now was not the time to solve the puzzle.
Forge was ramping up and, as his pace went from quick to mach four in five seconds flat, all she could do was hold on. And pray. There were dragons overhead. She caught a glimpse of a wing over Forge’s shoulder. Heard a roar. Smelled the brimstone as a fireball streaked across the night sky and hoped like hell Bastian sensed she was on the move.
Chapter Thirty-five
Cold air rushed over Bastian’s scales as warm dragon blood flowed between his talons. With a twist, he retracted his claws and dropped the Razorback like a bad habit. The rogue plummeted toward the ground, his body disintegrating in midair. Twisting into a spiral, ash blew into Bastian’s face, anointing him with the remnants of the dead as he attacked another.
So close. He was so close now.
He could smell the alluring scent of his female’s skin. Her energy lit him up, and he zeroed in, all his focus on a single shipping container. Orange with the number six-seven-one on its side, it stood in the third row from the right.
Dead. Ahead.
Myst was barely one hundred yards below him.
On a flyby, he slashed a yellow dragon with his razor-sharp tail. He ignored the shriek and tangled with a second Razorback. The kill took seconds. A quick twist, a hard snap, and the enemy folded: broken bone knifing through scales, spine split wide open, the metallic scent of blood perfuming the air. Taking out another rogue, Bastian scanned the aerial firefight for his warriors.
All good. He spotted them, each one kicking ass without taking names.
Wings spread wide, he sliced around a mega-crane, coming in from the back end. If he could get low enough, he’d slip through the enemy front. From there, he’d have a straight shot at Myst.
He snapped another enemy neck, the kill efficient, his technique brutal. Without watching the decapitated Razorback fall, he pinged his warriors, giving them a heads-up. “I’m going in.”
“Make it fast,” Rikar said, breathing hard.
Venom chimed in, “Thick as fucking flies out here. Grab her and get out.”
Dipping low, he gave the f-bomb a workout. Retreat wasn’t in his playbook. He added another page, ignoring the hit to his pride. “Rikar, cover me.”
“Roger that.” The crackling of ice came through mind-speak as Rikar unleashed his frosty side on the enemy. “Coming in on your right flank.”
Registering his first in command’s presence, Bastian rotated, spinning up and over. He needed the most direct route…a fast in and out. The snatch and grab would secure his female and protect his back, allowing him to get them both out in one piece. He lined up his approach and—
Bastian’s scales prickled, picking up a powerful vibe. “Shit…Wick!”
His warrior growled in answer.
“Deep Purple’s here,” he snarled, tracking him…realizing the male was too close to Myst.
“On it.”
Fury replaced the blood in Bastian’s veins. He flew fast, tracking low over rows of shipping containers. The bastard had his female and was moving fast. He scanned each alleyway, his night vision picking up trace energy. Seconds ticked past, cranking him tighter, making his scales feel too small for his skin. He needed to find them before Deep Purple left the—
Bingo.
Jesus, the male was in human form, running with Myst in his arms. Not wasting a moment, Bastian dove, coming in fast and furious, claws wide open. The rogue glanced over his shoulder. With a curse, he dropped Myst and shifted. Dark purple scales flashed in the low light. Baring his fangs, the Razorback curled his talons around the top of the container. Bastian let him climb, wanting a clear shot without jeopardizing his female.
One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three, Mississippi…four.
Bastian exhaled, drawing deep from his core.
The electro-pulse shot from his throat, hammering the male in the chest. Deep Purple cartwheeled, smashing into a crane beside the loading dock. Metal groaned as the structure snapped, raining steel down on the Razorback’s head. Locked and loaded, Wick banked hard overhead. The rogue flailed, spiked tail arching as he struggled to get up. His warrior pulled the trigger. The three-pronged Taser nailed the enemy dragon in the side, pumping him full of electricity.
As Deep Purple went spastic, Bastian arched his wings and set down fast. He slid sideways, claws tearing holes in the steel container top, and shouted, “Myst!”
Sitting on the ground, she looked up at him. He saw the relief in her gaze—felt it fill his own chest—a second before her focus shifted over his shoulder. “Bastian…watch out!”
Her scream made him twist sideways. As he flipped, sharp claws raked his side. Blood welled along his ribcage, and he caught a flash of red scales. The spikes on the enemy tail missed him by an inch, and upside down—still halfway through his spin—Bastian lashed out. His paw connected with a crunch. The rogue pinwheeled, spinning like a top, and he got a good look at his attacker.
Ivar. The pink-eyed SOB had come out to play.
Primal need and brutal aggression ripped through Bastian. He’d waited for this moment forever. Had dreamed of coming face-to-face with Ivar. Wanted to rip him apart. Make him bleed. Watch him suffer. But an equal and opposite compulsion vied for airtime, turning him away from his thirst for vengeance. His female was on the ground, vulnerable and alone. Yeah, he craved Ivar’s blood, but the need to protect his female was stronger.
Myst came first. No matter what.
But he couldn’t get to her now. Not with Ivar catching air and his XO attacking his flank from the north. The best he could do was hold the line, keep himself between the rogue dragons and her. Yeah, that and call for backup.
“Rikar!” Baring his fangs, he launched himself at Ivar.
“I need you.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Make it fifteen.”
Ten would be better, but his best friend was busy. He caught the sight line out of the corner of his eye. Frosty side deployed, ice shards were flying and Razorbacks dropping like flies.
With a quick turn, he sideswiped his nemesis. The prick roared, and Bastian smiled, baring his teeth in satisfaction. Ivar came at him again. He countered, unwrapping an uppercut beneath the asshole’s chin. As the red SOB’s head snapped back, Lothair snarled and attacked, making a grab for the horns on Bastian’s head. He jerked out of the strike zone, keeping his skull intact, awareness shimmering through him. What the hell was Ivar’s XO doing? Usually a dra
gon attacked head-on, never going for a glancing blow.
And Lothair’s flyby? Yeah, there was all kinds of wrong with that attempt.
Whipping his tail, he kept Ivar at bay and searched the sky for the black scales. Lothair had dipped low, but…
There he was, rising fast with a harness in his claws. And snarled in the loops? Bricks of plastic explosives. Jesus. The rogues didn’t know how to fight fair. They were trying to blow his head off. Bastian’s eye narrowed. Fat chance of that. No way would he allow the rogue to get that close.
“Heads up, boys…C-four,” he said, sending the info out through mind-speak.
Wick answered, “Where?”
“In Lothair’s paw.”
“Asshole.” Coming around the crane boom, Rikar zeroed in on the black SOB.
With the cavalry in sight, Bastian rolled right, giving his friend a clear shot. As he disengaged, Rikar growled, sending ice crystals out in a foggy wave. Visibility went from good to rat-shit awful. Using the frigid cloud cover, Bastian pulled into a tight turn. He had one shot. Just one chance to hammer Ivar. The male would adjust quickly, and when he did? His plan to grab Myst would go from difficult to FUBARed in a heartbeat.
Lost in the icy swirl, Ivar roared for his XO. Bastian showed no quarter, coming in hard, striking with precision. The red fucker pinwheeled, spinning into the cold mist. And Bastian made his break.
Without slowing, he flew over the shipping containers. “Myst!”
“Here…Bastian, I’m right here!”
His heart shuddered as he spotted her thirty yards ahead. She was on her feet—thank God—and running down the alleyway toward him. He landed hard, pushed the containers out, widening the corridor. All sound ceased and time slowed as he reached for her. Seconds felt like hours, stretching out, and Bastian started to pray. He sensed Ivar closing in behind him…knew he was vulnerable on the ground, but he couldn’t leave her.
Not now. Not ever.
The world returned to him, speeding into reality the instant his front paw curled around her. Ignoring her gasp, he hoisted her onto his back. She slid home, straddling his shoulders.
“Hang on, bellmia.” Leaping into the sky, he mind-spoke to the others, “Got her. Get out.”
A roar came from behind him.
Rikar cursed. “B…hard right.”
Without hesitation, he shifted into the tight turn. Scrambling to hold on, Myst clutched at his horns as the Razorback leader circled behind him. With a hiss, Ivar exhaled. Poisonous gas and toxic fumes ignited, shooting pink flames from between Ivar’s fangs. Bastian tunneled into a spiral. Myst screamed, losing her grip, plummeting toward the ground.
“Bastian!” Eyes wide with fear, in a freefall, she reached for him.
Wings stretched to capacity, he dove, straining hard to grab her. He caught her on the upswing, cutting her scream short, plucking her out of thin air. Ivar roared. Pink flame streaked past his wing tip, singing his scales as Rikar swooped in. He came in like an avenging angel. White wings spread, he hung motionless a moment, poised above the spikes on Bastian’s back and unleashed hell.
The temperature dropped into single digits. A whistling sound hit the airwaves as eight-inch ice daggers sliced through the gloom. Cradling his female close, Bastian ducked and flew under his best friend’s tail. No way he wanted to get in the way of Rikar and his arsenal.
Ivar sucked wind, tried to compensate, drawing up short to avoid the icy knives. But it was too late. The deadly shards struck, thrusting through his red scales. As the Razorback leader shrieked and lost altitude, Lothair rose.
Wings spread, black scales gleaming, he launched himself from a twisted heap of steel, attacking from below. Little more than a green streak, Venom grabbed the SOB by the tail and, making like an Olympic shot-putter, spun. The C4 went flying, landing in the harbor with a splash. One. Two. Three rotations later, Venom let go, tossing the enemy male headfirst into an ocean freighter.
The metal-to-skull collision clanged, echoing off the water as Sloan flew in, a squadron of Razorbacks on his tail.
“Go. Go. Go,” Bastian shouted, signaling their retreat.
Another night. The Razorbacks would be there to annihilate tomorrow night. The rogues always were, but he only had one female. And as he cradled her—leaving twisted steel and the enemy behind, flying faster than he ever had before—Bastian didn’t give a damn about vengeance or Dragonkind.
All he cared about was Myst. To hell with his pride.
The wind pulled at Myst’s hair, blowing the tangled mess around her head. It seemed strange, but she wasn’t cold. Bastian was all around her: beneath her in flight, cocooning her from the autumn chill with his magic.
Thank God.
She needed him more than she wanted to breathe, and as clouds rose in the dark sky, she pressed her cheek to his warm scales and struggled not to cry. But the fight was a downhill one. She couldn’t forget. The scrapes and bruises reminded her. The awful scents and sounds stayed with her. And pink eyes flashed in her mind’s eye.
Nightmares. She had a feeling she was in for some terrible ones.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she battled the shakes, clamping down on emotion, desperate to stay strong. But the internal cyclone hit her like a sidewinder, sent her over the edge, cracking her wide open. She choked on silent tears, the droplets rolling like twin streams down her cheeks.
How could she have been so stupid?
She’d fought Bastian every step of the way. Had run scared instead of standing strong. The “if onlys” were a litany she couldn’t ignore. Or forgive herself for. Because of her, the Port of Seattle was a mess and Angela Keen was probably dead.
Another case of “if onlys” rolled through her head. Goddamn it. “B-Bastian?”
“What, bellmia?” As smooth as his glide, his voice surrounded her in a warm curl.
“Do you think Rikar will find her?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and his silence told her all she needed to know. The chances that Angela had made it out of the shipyard were slim.
“Rikar’s the best tracker we have, Myst.” He banked in a slow tilt, changing his flight path. She caught a glimpse of forest below before he leveled out. “If she’s out there, he’ll find her.”
His if didn’t comfort her, and she nestled into him, needing to get as close as humanly possible. Strange, she knew. A week ago she hadn’t known dragons existed. Now, she couldn’t get enough of one. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, bellmia.” Crisscrossing the night sky, Bastian took them over the edge of the tree line. The landscape dropped off fast, falling over a cliff, moving from the skeletal outlines of evergreens into nothingness. She heard the rush of the river before she saw the midnight ribbon below them. “We’re almost home.”
The shaking got worse, launching her into full body tremors. “I didn’t m-mean for anyone to g-get hurt.”
“I know.” His soft tone reached out in a soothing wave, stroking her, gifting her with understanding she didn’t deserve. “Hold on tight, baby. We’re headed into the waterfall.”
Her throat closed up tight as Bastian flew around the river bend. It would’ve been easy to blame the quick shift in flight for the pressure banding her chest. But Myst was done lying to herself. She was to blame. All the denial, her fear and refusal to accept the truth about Bastian had created a ripple effect. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t take any of it back.
Now she must own her part in this night’s pain.
No matter how terrible the consequences.
Her mind kicked up all kinds of awful things, presenting worst-case scenarios. Maybe the Nightfuries would point the finger: hate her, blame her, reject her out of hand. A quick mind-scrub and a boot to the ass was all they’d need to toss her out of Black Diamond. But the worst thought—the one that made her truly afraid?
Maybe Bastian didn’t want her anymore.
Cool mist landed on her bare arms. The wet brush was light, a barely the
re sensation that made her glance up. Rumbling with majesty, the waterfall came into view. Falling like a curtain, the cascade rippled blue and white in the moonlight. Without slowing, Bastian flew straight at it. She sucked in a breath and tucked her head, hanging on tight as he sliced through the living wall of water. The cold splash made her jerk, soaking her to the skin. Darkness descended, enclosing them in damp, musty air.
A glow appeared at the head of the tunnel.
Myst released the breath she’d been holding, welcoming the light as Bastian flew beneath the magical globes. The second he touched down on the LZ, he shifted, becoming the man she knew. Loved. Needed more than anyone in the world.
With a sob, she lunged at him. He caught her in his arms, settling on the stone floor, pulling her into his lap, wrapping her in his warmth. Unable to look at him, she burrowed into his body, breathed him in, soothing herself with his strength and familiar scent.
Murmuring, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right, Myst. I’ve got you.”
His voice washed in like the tide. Deep and warm, it eroded the earth underpinning her emotional stability. With a crack, she split wide open, and pain hit her like a tidal wave. Needing a lifeline, she hugged him tighter. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
“Shh, love. It’s not your fault.” Stroking her spine, he cupped the nape of her neck. “You’re safe now. Relax for me, Myst. Look at me. I need to make sure you’re all right.”
Unable to let go of him, she shook her head.
He kept caressing her, each pass gentler than the last. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“No…you’re not. Look at me, bellmia,” he said, coaxing her to raise her head.
Shivering hard, she obeyed, unlocking her arms from his shoulders. Free of her death grip, he palmed her waist and lifted, setting her astride him. His green eyes met hers, and she sobbed, raising her hand to cup his face. With a murmur, he turned his mouth to her skin and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.
Fury of Fire Page 34
