Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

looking lower. The guy didn’t have a stitch on. Even his feet were bare.
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re the nurse.”
    Her bottom lip trembling, she nodded. “W-who are you?”
    “Forge.” He stopped a foot away and sank to his haunches, bringing himself to her level. “You knew my Caroline.”
    Her mouth opened then closed. She shook her head, searched his expression, trying to guess his game. The amethyst stare that met hers was steady: no guile or subterfuge. She saw the pain in him, heard it in his voice as he’d said Caroline’s name. His honesty prompted hers. She went with it, instinct warning that lying to him was a dangerous game.
    “Caroline was my friend. I was there when she died.” Unable to hold them back, tears filled her eyes. “I tried so hard to save her, but she was…I couldn’t…I’m so sorry.”
    He studied her, his face an expressionless mask. “Bastian didn’t kill her, did he?”
    “No.” The pressure banding her chest tightened another notch. “I called for help. Bastian got wind of the nine-one-one call and came, but…it was too late.”
    Reaching out, Forge grabbed her wrists. She gasped, the startled sound coming out as she jumped and pulled away. He tugged her back and, running his thumb over the zip tie, melted the plastic. As it fell away without burning her skin, he drew the cuff off her wrists and tossed it over his shoulder.
    She murmured a thank you and, flexing her hands, worked the blood back into her fingertips.
    He shrugged off the gratitude and gestured with his hand. “Give me your feet. You’re coming with me.”
    “Promise not to hurt me?” Shifting onto her bottom, she presented him with her ankles.
    “You have two choices, female.” After freeing her feet, he paused, his hand hovering above her legs. “Take me to my son—”
    “Gregor.” Her eyes narrowed on him, his interest in Caroline making sense. And as the puzzle pieces slid into place, Myst finally understood the reason her friend stopped answering her calls and making appointments. Her patient had known about Dragonkind through Forge and had been trying to protect the father of her child.
    “—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