Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

He steadied her, gripping her elbows, supporting her until she gained her balance. “Do something for me?”
    Myst blinked, coming out of the feeding-induced fog a little at a time. As her vision cleared, her pupils contracted, and he felt her mind sharpen. She looked right through him, reading his intent. “D-don’t go.”
    Her entreaty turned him inside out.
    Holy shit. How did she do that? Two words—simple, non-threatening, and under different circumstances? Crazy appealing. Two words, that’s all. And now, he was waffling, ready to wrap her hard against him and retreat to some place private…somewhere safe where he could lay her down.
    Exhaling hard, Bastian forced his lungs to unlock. He needed to keep her the hell out of his head and stay in the game. Not wanting to leave her didn’t mean he could stay. “Myst, I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long.”
    Balling her hand in his leather coat, she shook her head. The movement was small, tight…still desperate despite the energy drain. The new spike in her anxiety moved through him until he tasted it on the back of his tongue.
    Swallowing the bitter tang, he murmured, “Myst—”
    “I saw that t-thing. Don’t leave us alone.”
    Bastian almost growled. Thing. She’d called his race a “thing.” Like he and his kind were no better than the monsters children feared lived under their beds or the nasty predators humans recoiled from in movie theaters. It shouldn’t bother him—her reaction was a natural one—but it did. More than he wanted to admit.
    “ Bellmia, listen to me.”
    Myst held his gaze. The desperation in her eyes almost killed him. “I’ll go with you…follow behind. I can—”
    He cupped her cheek, cutting her off. “No. I need to draw them away from you and the baby. Do as I say. Dig in. Stay here. They can’t see you…won’t be able to track you. The cloaking spell will hold as long as you don’t move. Understand?”
    “No.”
    Well, at least she was honest. He couldn’t fault her for that. Was too taken with her to be anything but proud. Tracing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he whispered, “Hang tough, baby. I’ll come back for you.”
    “Bastian…” she trailed off as he shuffled backward, taking his hands from her. She clutched at him. “No.”
    “You’ll be all right.” With a gentle twist, he broke her hold and shifted out of range. If she grabbed him again, he wouldn’t be able to leave. “Stay here. Trust me to keep you safe.”
    Without a backward glance, he shut out the hitch of her breath, the sound and smell of her fear, and keeping low, moved around the Buick’s rusted-out rear bumper. “Rikar…I’m on the move.”
    “About fucking time.”
    “I’m going in hot. Deal with the back end.”
    Rikar hoorahed as he broke through the three-mile barrier, allowing the Razorbacks to detect him. The enemy’s focus spilt, half on his first in command, half on him, as Bastian shifted into dragon form. Baring his fangs, he roared and, ignoring Myst’s cry of “Oh, God,” he hammered Shit-for-brains in the backyard with an electro-pulse. As much as Rikar liked to razz him about it, Bastian didn’t breathe fire. His magic was more lethal than that, a wicked blue ball of energy combined with poisonous gas—more lightning strike with the added flare of a psychochemical agent.
    Yeah, he was a one-man/dragon show. A regular chemical warfare specialist.
    Shit-for-brains sucked wind as the blast picked him up and threw him backward into the forest. Tree trunks gave way like toothpicks, the crack of wood deafening as the enemy dragon smashed through them, traveling thirty feet into the underbrush. His eyes on the target, Bastian waited for the rogue to get up. He hoped he did, wanted to deliver another nasty exhale for the idiot to choke on. Instead, the rogue turned belly-up. Paws in the air, the dragon twitched into a full body spasm as Bastian’s brand of poison went to work on his central nervous system.
    Bastian snorted. So much for bright and shiny hope, never mind the satisfaction of a good fight.
    Cold air stirred above him.
    Rolling right, Bastian ducked under another set of enemy claws. His razor-sharp tail collided with the Cape Cod, slicing through the two columns supporting the front porch. With a groan, the narrow strip of roof slumped, collapsing over the cedar door. The new threat swung around, purple scales flashing, keen for another go at him. The dumb ass. What did