Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

snapped. Between one heartbeat and the next, Shit-for-brains ashed, burnt scales and dragon blood turning to dust.
    “Effective, if less than smart,” Rikar murmured, landing behind him. His friend stumbled a little on impact, hopping to keep his weight off his front leg. “He might have told us something.”
    “Unlikely.” Bastian eyed the gash on his friend’s right forepaw. The wound ran in a diagonal, up his leg, oozing blood on white scales. “You all right?”
    “Peachy.”
    “Body count?”
    Rikar’s gaze flickered before straying to the wall of ice still standing in the front yard. Bastian knew what he was thinking. If not for the barrier, Myst would be among the dead.
    A tight knot tied itself in the center of Bastian’s chest. “Rikar, man, thank—”
    “Forget it,” his friend said, shutting down his appreciation. The brush-off didn’t bother Bastian. He knew his first in command well. Rikar wasn’t comfortable with recognition…of any kind.
    “Let’s have it, then.”
    His gaze still on the fire-blackened hole in his wall, Rikar’s magic rose as he drew the glacial cold back into himself. Like steam in dry air, the ice wall dissolved, leaving nothing but a U-shaped impression in the dirt. “Four dead. One flew the coop.”
    Shit. He’d hoped to avoid that. The retreating Razorback would run straight to Ivar and give his report. The first thing on that list would be Myst. Bastian clenched his teeth, grinding upper fangs against lower. He’d just put a huge bull’s eye on her back. Not that it was the end of the world. She would, after all, be coming with him to Black Diamond. His lair was now her home.
    “You need my help going after her?”
    Bastian shook his head. He would track her alone. She’d feed him from the Meridian. Like DNA, the unique energy imprint she left in her wake was all her own, and now he would be able to find her anywhere. “Go home. Get stitched up.”
    With a murmur, Rikar unfolded his wings and leapt skyward. Bastian followed, pinpoint stars above his head as he watched his friend bank north toward their lair. He went east, drawn to Myst like a thirsty man to water. He needed to get her back. She was his responsibility…his female now. The sooner he retrieved her, the safer she would be.

     
    Driving a car while holding a screaming baby was harder than juggling live hand grenades. Somehow, Myst managed. But her arms ached, one from cradling the newborn, the other from her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The hatchback’s headlights ate at the night-slick blacktop, but didn’t reach far enough into the gloom. Still, she drove on, gas pedal to the floor, kamikaze speed breaking every law in the book.
    She was one giant moving violation. And holy crap. Where were the police when she needed them? Certainly not anywhere near Route 18. The useless jack-offs.
    Swallowing another sob, Myst forced herself to breathe. Unconscious from lack of oxygen was the last place she needed to end up. A close second? Wrapped around a hundred-year-old white pine. There were, of course, no guarantees, but she was pretty sure the tree would win in a game of Chicken.
    And speaking of chicken, she was so cooked.
    Bastian wouldn’t let her go…not now. Not after seeing what she’d seen. Myst knew it with a certainty that terrified her.
    She was going to have to run and hide. Create her own kind of witness protection program and disappear. Tania was going to freak out.
    Not that she would tell her best friend. No way. Not a chance. The less Tania knew, the safer her friend would be. But, man. She didn’t want to just disappear without an explanation. Knowing Tania, she would jump to all kinds of insane assumptions—like the truth wasn’t crazy enough—and blame Caroline’s jerk boyfriend for murdering and burying her under that pitiful shed in the backyard.
    Myst could just see her: hard hat on, backhoes up and running, bulldozers razing the area while Tania directed the search for her body.
    And God…there was something seriously wrong with her. She found the mental snapshot almost funny. In a sick, polluted kind of way.
    “Okay, darling. It’s all right. We’re okay.” Eyes glued to the road, she rocked the baby with a gentle but steady rhythm. “Please stop crying, angel. Please stop. It’s going to be okay.”
    She kept her voice low, soothing, praying he responded to her tone. The soft cadence was the exact opposite of what she was feeling. If