Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

Putting herself in reverse, she pushed against the armrest, away from Bastian. God, he was still talking, his eyes so full of concern Myst almost believed he meant it. Almost. But she wasn’t that naive.
    The hinges creaked, and the door swung wide. Momentum thrust her backward. She hit the ground hard, tailbone connecting with stone. With a grimace, she shoved the pain aside and put her legs in gear. Bastian growled. Her breath hitched and not wasting a moment, she pushed to her feet. Without warning, the head rush hit. She stumbled sideways as her knees took a bow and nausea turned her stomach inside out.
    Tasting bile, she grabbed for the car roof. Her palm slid and, grasping for purchase, she tried to pull back. Too late. Metal scraped the inside of her forearm as her hand disappeared into a hole left by the dragon’s talons, locking her arm inside a jagged steel trap.
    She sucked in a quick breath, tried to adjust, protecting the newborn as she slid sideways into the door. Razor-sharp metal sliced her skin. “Oh…ouch!”
    “Myst…baby, don’t move.” She flinched as Bastian vaulted over the roof of the car, leather coat flaring like bat wings behind him. So fast. He was too fast, and before she could react, he landed beside her—hardcore male loaded with just-kill-me-now aggression wrapped up in a pretty package. He moved in tight, getting up close and personal. “Easy…let’s get you free.”
    God. He smelled fantastic…like Lanvin cologne mixed up with gorgeous male. She sagged a little, going soft inside. Which just pissed her off. She didn’t like reacting to him on a woman-to-man level. It was insane. Kidnappers should be mean and nasty…should smell like dirt and grease and BO, nowhere near this good.
    In full retreat mode, Myst pulled up on her arm. Sharp steel bit, cutting the inside of her forearm. Not that it mattered. She had one goal here. Get her arm back and her feet moving, but…ow! That hurt.
    “Be still,” Bastian growled, his mouth next to her ear, his chest a breath away from her shoulder.
    Myst froze. “I can do it, just…don’t touch me.”
    “As soon as I get you free, I’ll let you go…all right?”
    No, not all right . “Get away from me!”
    “Shh…relax. It’ll go easier that way.”
    Easier for whom? Not her. Bastian was too big, too strong…and entirely too close now. She was a heartbeat away from a full-blown panic attack. Myst could feel it gathering in her lungs, throbbing in her veins, tunneling her vision. Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room—cave…whatever!—and she…oh, God…
    “Myst… bellmia .” Bastian’s hand found the nape of her neck. His palm settled gently, cupping overly sensitive skin. She shivered as a zing of sensation moved down her spine in a sensual swirl.
    “I c-can’t b-breathe.” Her muscles shook, loosening her grip on the baby. “I’m going to d-drop him. I’m going—”
    “No, you’re not. He’s fine with you… safe …just like you are with me.”
    The bass of Bastian’s voice came from far away, like radio waves. She tuned in, holding on to the fragile connection. It was stupid, but she needed his calming touch. Clung to each of his murmurs like a lifeline, soaking in his care as he cupped her elbow. His palm was calloused, rough in all the right places…like a man’s should be. Somehow, the flaw made him seem safe, putting him on par with human men.
    Not good at all. She didn’t want him anywhere near her comfort zone. And comparing him to the men she knew? Yeah, that landed him somewhere north of normal, smack-dab in the middle of her I-want-to-get-to-know-you radar.
    “Hold tight, baby.” With care, he guided her wrist past a jagged piece of metal. “Almost there. Rotate your arm just a little…yeah, like that.”
    She nodded, following his instruction. When her hand slid free of the hole, he aligned their palms, her right with his left. His fingers brushed hers, slipped between, laced them together, protecting her skin every step of the way. With gentle pressure, he turned her forearm toward the ceiling to examine her skin.
    “You cut yourself.”
    Making a fist, she tugged on her hand. “Let go.”
    He glanced away from the thin trickle of blood on her inner arm. As his gaze met hers, his grip on her hand tightened. Not a lot, but enough for Myst’s panic parade to start beating the crap out of her mental drum kit. Boom, boom, boom