Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

bottoms of his shitkickers, he came out onto the rooftop. Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted across the blacktop and, planting his foot on the raised roof edge, swan dived his way to freedom. He let himself fall, cold air blasting his face and neck. Halfway down, he shifted. White scales flashing in the moonlight, muscles stretched to the maximum, asphalt rising fast. Fifty feet from the ground, the wind caught, lifting his bulk as he banked hard, missing the corner of a skyscraper by inches.
    Some fast flying and twenty minutes later, he sliced his way through Black Diamond’s underground tunnel. Water wicking from his wing tips, he pulled up short and landed on the LZ. As his talons scraped stone, he glanced at Myst’s car.
    Fuck him, but he’d have to do something about the Honda. Namely, get rid of the thing. He didn’t want to see it every time he came home. The reminder of her stay in the lair—of his best friend’s love affair with the female and the fact that it was his fault Bastian had lost her—was too much to bear.
    With a growl, Rikar flipped his wings. The spikes running down his spine rattled and water droplets flew, reflecting like diamonds in the light of the floating globes. Or like tears. Rikar shook his head, telling himself to get back in the game…that turning his ass around and flying away wasn’t the answer.
    No way would he pull a disappearing act. He owed Bastian better.
    Shifting into human form, Rikar strode toward the lair’s magical entrance, wrapping his leathers around his body. The fighting clothes suited his mood, and if he was going to get his ass kicked, he might as well do it right.
    Sensation washed over him, pricking his skin as he walked through the solid stone wall and stepped into the corridor beyond. He stood there a moment, a whole lot of nothing ringing in his ears. Which was freaking eerie.
    Normally, Sloan cranked up the volume, thumping out tunes in the pre-dawn hours. A little Jay-Z or Tupac. Sometimes Nine Inch Nails or, if he felt like old school, Led Zeppelin. Anything—even pansy-ass Neil Young—would’ve been better than the ball-busting silence. But no luck there. The lair was quiet as a tomb…or a funeral home.
    Too. Perfect.
    His hands fisted, Rikar bowed his head and forced his feet toward the clinic door. In contrast to the howling inside his head, the glass sliders opened without a sound, closing the same way behind him. Moving with purpose now, he swept past the examination table and pushed through the double doors at the back of the triage room.
    A long hallway lay beyond, stretching out for what seemed like miles. Doors, planted like blank faces in the wall, marched along the corridor’s right side. Bastian was laid up behind the first, flat on his back in the big bed, recovering from brutal injury. Man, he’d never seen the male like that, and it scared him.
    Which cranked his screw the wrong way.
    He couldn’t imagine the lair without the big male. Didn’t want to, either. But losing his best friend hadn’t happened. He’d made sure of it. Hadn’t he?
    His throat went tight, guilt and loss biting deep.
    God, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Given a choice, he would’ve saved his friend another way. But wishing and wanting wouldn’t change a thing. It was what it was. End of story.
    Steeling himself for Bastian’s reaction, Rikar pushed the recovery room door open and…
    Got a whole lot of nothing except mangled sheets in the center of an empty bed.
    What the hell? Yeah, Bastian was a fast healer. They all were, but he shouldn’t be on his feet yet. Should still be sleeping, recovering…healing. Then again, Myst’s energy was unbelievably powerful. As potent as the she-cop’s and…
    Whoa. Not going there. Not now. Not ever. He’d done right by Angela and put her to bed. Alone. No way would he allow her to linger in his mind.
    A soft sound in the next room brought his head around. Without thinking, he strode toward the connecting door and cracked it open.
    Rikar’s jaw dropped as he saw the couple on the bed. His mind took a quick snapshot: naked, mouths fused, Myst’s hands in Bastian’s hair, him between her thighs, her legs wrapped around his hips. Her moans of pleasure. The flex and release of his best friend’s spine as he rode his female good and hard.
    Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy, holy shit.
    Yanking the door closed, Rikar wrenched his hand from the knob as though the thing was on fire and stumbled backward. He took