Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

offering what he believed he owed. “I still offer first strike.”
    “I don’t want it.” Much as it killed him to admit it, Bastian said, “I would’ve done the same to save you. Now, enough with the bullshit. I need your help.”
    Rikar tipped his chin. “Shoot.”
    “Tonight…when the Meridian realigns, I want you to tranq me. Daimler’s getting a truck load of the drug and—”
    “No fucking way.”
    Bastian glared at his friend. “You owe me this. I don’t want to hurt her, but I won’t be able to stay away.”
    “And what? You think the vault’s going to hold you?”
    “It’ll work. All I need—”
    “Even pumped full of drugs, B, you’ll get out.” Rikar crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “And fuck up the rest of us.”
    Hell. He hadn’t thought of that. If he hammered a hole in the vault, he would provide his warriors an escape hatch. And where would they go? Into the city—juiced with need and hungry as hell—to find the nearest female. With a curse, Bastian kicked a chair out of his path and completed another circuit around the room.
    “You can’t avoid it, Bastian. She’s here. You’ve bonded with her. There’s no escape for you.” he said, honest as always.
    Stopping in front of a bookcase, Bastian grabbed the shelf at eye level and leaned in, the pain of circumstance tearing him apart. “What am I going to do? How can I keep her safe?”
    A chair scraped along the floor behind him. “Come and sit down, B. I think I found something that will help.”
    Taking a shaky breath, he pushed away from the bookcase and approached his best friend. “What did you find?”
    Rikar pointed at the journal he’d set on the table. “Found it in the vault…mixed in with frickin’ Charles Dickens. Interesting story in there about a Dragon Queen.”
    “A what?”
    “Yeah, pretty cool stuff.” Knocking on the red cover with his knuckles, Rikar parked his ass in the chair opposite him. “Don’t know who wrote it…don’t know if it’s true, but it might explain the connection you share with Myst. Why you were able to feed her.”
    “Sloan,” Bastian murmured.
    His best friend nodded. “He filled me in. Now, he’s looking through the computerized annals, searching for more info. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find something, but the journal? Christ, I’m gonna kick the Scottish pack’s ass for keeping this from us.”
    The Scottish pack? Those bastards were a tight unit. Closed to the outside world, they didn’t like outsiders—dragon or humankind—and sure as shit didn’t share information.
    Bastian grabbed the chair he’d booted out of his way and sat. He tipped his chin in his buddy’s direction. “Hit me.”
    “One of their females gave birth to three sons. All sired by the same male…the pack’s commander.”
    Three . Twins were rare, but…
    “Triplets?”
    Rikar shook his head. “The first two were born seven years apart. The middle and youngest son…ten years between them.”
    His brow drawn tight, Bastian stared at his friend, not understanding. He heard the words, but their meaning couldn’t be. Females died on the birthing bed without exception. Myst’s patient—and the bloody mess she’d walked into—was proof positive of that. “It can’t…how…Jesus, the female survived?”
    “Yeah. And according to this? She lived nearly three hundred years, dying when her mate did…an instant kind of thing. He was killed in battle. She died within minutes of him. In their lair fifty miles away.” His friend leaned forward, bringing their heads closer together. “Christ, Bastian. I think the two were energy-fused…like you and Myst.”
    He shook his head. “It’s a myth.”
    “Is it?” His eyes like blue flames, Rikar leveled him with his gaze. “Myths are formed around kernels of truth. You’re connected to her…have been from the moment you saw her in that kitchen.” He tapped the book again and continued, “How would we know whether it’s true or not? Our kind are notorious for the hit and run…love ’em and leave ’em fast. We never stay long enough to create a lasting bond. I think what you’ve found with Myst is so rare that the knowledge of it has been lost over time. The few who knew failed to pass it on.”
    “Fucking Scots,” he growled, feeling like he’d collided with a concrete wall, skull first. Shoving a stack of tomes aside, Bastian planted his elbows on the tabletop and fisted his hands in his hair. He