Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

another step. And then another. Feeling like his brain had just exploded inside his skull. When his legs collided with the side of the bed, he sat down, breathing hard, the image of the pair burning a hole in his cerebral cortex.
    He scrubbed his hand over the top of his skull trim. “Jesus Christ.”
    “What’s your problem?”
    With a full body flinch, Rikar’s head snapped to the left.
    Sloan stood on the threshold, filling the door to the corridor with his bulk, a tray loaded with food in his hands. “You look like you’ve been poleaxed.”
    He felt like it, too. A pickax to the head wouldn’t have stunned him more. “Don’t go in there.”
    “They awake?”
    “Yeah…and busy.”
    His buddy’s mouth curved up at the corners. “Get an eyeful?”
    “Shit,” he muttered, trying to exorcise the image of Bastian and…Christ. Like that was going to happen anytime soon. “What the fuck is going on?”
    “I don’t know, but…” Shaking his head, Sloan rolled into the room, footfalls silent on the linoleum floor. The smell of homemade bread and the sweet tang of Daimler’s raspberry jam drifting, he slid the tray onto the table, then turned, linked his arms over his chest, and planted his ass against the stainless steel countertop. “He fed her, Rikar. The second he touched her…man, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    Rikar’s brows collided. B had done what ? Head still ringing from the earlier sneak-and-peek, he threw a load of WTF in Sloan’s direction.
    “Yeah, I know. It was freaky…the energy going from B to her,” Sloan said, the confusion in his tone mixing with awe. “She’s totally fine now. I checked them an hour ago. Both were sleeping hard.”
    “Not anymore.” Rikar rubbed the back of his neck. Jesus, B had fed her. Fed a female. Totally unheard of, never mind, well…crazy. He didn’t know how else to categorize it. It was off the charts…way out in who-the-hell-knew territory.
    His brows cranked down hard, Rikar pushed to his feet and headed for the door.
    “Good.” Shoving away from the table, Sloan followed. Was right on his heels, a large, looming male, as they entered the corridor. “B deserves a little R & R.”
    Rikar snorted. R & R ? Not exactly what he would’ve called it.
    “Daimler’s rockin’ roast beef for the morning meal.” Still shadowing him, his buddy punched past the double doors to the clinic a second after Rikar crossed the threshold. “You game?”
    He shook his head. “Later.”
    “Where are you headed?”
    “The Archives.”
    Time for some research. He needed to know what was going on with Bastian and his female. The crazy feeding stuff? Yeah, he so wanted answers, and the tomes—written by Dragonkind’s forefathers—were his best bet. Who knew? Maybe he’d get lucky, find the key, and unlock the mystery.

     
    With one last body shiver, Myst collapsed on Bastian’s chest. Her ear pressed to his heart, she listened to the thump-thump-thump. Her mouth curved as she snuggled in, contentment that had nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with emotional satisfaction stealing through her. She’d ridden him good and hard, had made him beg this time instead of the other way around.
    Hmm…what did they say about payback?
    Satisfaction widened to a full-on grin.
    Bastian’s arms came around her, and with a sigh, Myst relaxed into his embrace, wondering at the tally. Was it four or five now? She’d lost count sometime after the second round of lovemaking. She had a good excuse, though. He distracted her completely. Yeah, with loads of mind-numbing sex, but the time spent talking in between, too.
    The man liked to ask questions. He wanted to know all about her: her likes and dislikes, interests, fears, about her job, where she lived…absolutely everything. Right down to what kind of ice cream she went for at the local parlor. Myst snuggled a bit closer, giving him an affectionate squeeze. The guy was incurably curious. But then, she wasn’t much better, asking him all kinds of questions in return.
    And he hadn’t disappointed.
    She now knew his favorite color was purple, he loved spicy food, Rugby was his game, and gangster movies were his favorites. Among other things. And the more she found out about him, the farther she tumbled down the I’m-falling-for-you slope.
    Which meant? Grass stains and a whole lot of messy emotional grime.
    But, God, he was hot. Macked out, so fierce in bed he made her beg. And she