Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

the airwaves as eight-inch ice daggers sliced through the gloom. Cradling his female close, Bastian ducked and flew under his best friend’s tail. No way he wanted to get in the way of Rikar and his arsenal.
    Ivar sucked wind, tried to compensate, drawing up short to avoid the icy knives. But it was too late. The deadly shards struck, thrusting through his red scales. As the Razorback leader shrieked and lost altitude, Lothair rose.
    Wings spread, black scales gleaming, he launched himself from a twisted heap of steel, attacking from below. Little more than a green streak, Venom grabbed the SOB by the tail and, making like an Olympic shot-putter, spun. The C4 went flying, landing in the harbor with a splash. One. Two. Three rotations later, Venom let go, tossing the enemy male headfirst into an ocean freighter.
    The metal-to-skull collision clanged, echoing off the water as Sloan flew in, a squadron of Razorbacks on his tail.
    “Go. Go. Go,” Bastian shouted, signaling their retreat.
    Another night. The Razorbacks would be there to annihilate tomorrow night. The rogues always were, but he only had one female. And as he cradled her—leaving twisted steel and the enemy behind, flying faster than he ever had before—Bastian didn’t give a damn about vengeance or Dragonkind.
    All he cared about was Myst. To hell with his pride.

     
    The wind pulled at Myst’s hair, blowing the tangled mess around her head. It seemed strange, but she wasn’t cold. Bastian was all around her: beneath her in flight, cocooning her from the autumn chill with his magic.
    Thank God.
    She needed him more than she wanted to breathe, and as clouds rose in the dark sky, she pressed her cheek to his warm scales and struggled not to cry. But the fight was a downhill one. She couldn’t forget. The scrapes and bruises reminded her. The awful scents and sounds stayed with her. And pink eyes flashed in her mind’s eye.
    Nightmares. She had a feeling she was in for some terrible ones.
    Squeezing her eyes closed, she battled the shakes, clamping down on emotion, desperate to stay strong. But the internal cyclone hit her like a sidewinder, sent her over the edge, cracking her wide open. She choked on silent tears, the droplets rolling like twin streams down her cheeks.
    How could she have been so stupid?
    She’d fought Bastian every step of the way. Had run scared instead of standing strong. The “if onlys” were a litany she couldn’t ignore. Or forgive herself for. Because of her, the Port of Seattle was a mess and Angela Keen was probably dead.
    Another case of “if onlys” rolled through her head. Goddamn it. “B-Bastian?”
    “What, bellmia ?” As smooth as his glide, his voice surrounded her in a warm curl.
    “Do you think Rikar will find her?”
    He didn’t say anything for a moment, and his silence told her all she needed to know. The chances that Angela had made it out of the shipyard were slim.
    “Rikar’s the best tracker we have, Myst.” He banked in a slow tilt, changing his flight path. She caught a glimpse of forest below before he leveled out. “If she’s out there, he’ll find her.”
    His if didn’t comfort her, and she nestled into him, needing to get as close as humanly possible. Strange, she knew. A week ago she hadn’t known dragons existed. Now, she couldn’t get enough of one. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Shh, bellmia. ” Crisscrossing the night sky, Bastian took them over the edge of the tree line. The landscape dropped off fast, falling over a cliff, moving from the skeletal outlines of evergreens into nothingness. She heard the rush of the river before she saw the midnight ribbon below them. “We’re almost home.”
    The shaking got worse, launching her into full body tremors. “I didn’t m-mean for anyone to g-get hurt.”
    “I know.” His soft tone reached out in a soothing wave, stroking her, gifting her with understanding she didn’t deserve. “Hold on tight, baby. We’re headed into the waterfall.”
    Her throat closed up tight as Bastian flew around the river bend. It would’ve been easy to blame the quick shift in flight for the pressure banding her chest. But Myst was done lying to herself. She was to blame. All the denial, her fear and refusal to accept the truth about Bastian had created a ripple effect. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t take any of it back.
    Now she must own her part in this night’s pain.
    No matter how terrible the consequences.
    Her mind kicked up