Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

after all that—worried her. He wasn’t injured, at least, not on the outside. But inside? Many things could be wrong: brain injury, internal bleeding, any number of preemie malformations.
    Myst’s throat went tight. She threw another prayer into the universe. Please, God…don’t let it be anything like that.
    Losing Caroline had been torture enough. She couldn’t lose the baby, too.
    Kicking her nurse back into gear, she pushed the terrible memory away and dragged her attention from the tufts of curling dark hair on her angel’s head to look at Bastian. “I need something from my trunk.”
    His eyes narrowed a fraction.
    That was all it took. She started babbling, “A bag…with baby stuff. Medical stuff. You know, a stethoscope and ah…formula, diapers, and—”
    “We have all you need inside the lair.” He slid left, powerful body keeping pace with her as she inched toward the back end of her car.
    “I want my own equipment.”
    He hesitated, his gaze not only locked on her, but loaded with warning.
    “Please,” she whispered, unwilling to waste anymore time. What did he think she had back there? A sawed-off shotgun? Well, that was definitely going on her wish list when she got out of this mess. But here and now? It was all about the newborn…about getting him what he needed. Bastian and his mistrust could go to hell. “I need my own stuff. I trust it.”
    He nodded, the movement tight. “Fair enough.”
    Myst exhaled long and slow, a thank you on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it. Reasonable or not, Bastian didn’t deserve her gratitude. Heading around the back bumper, she almost lost control and snorted. Yeah, right. What he deserved was a boot to the gonads…a swift, hard, very accurate dropkick.
    “I wouldn’t advise it,” he said, beating her to the back of the car. With a flick, he popped the trunk latch. A ssssssss sounded as the air hinges did their job, raising the hatch while her mouth hung open. She snapped it closed so hard her teeth clicked together.
    What the heck had just happened? Had he—
    “A word to the wise, bellmia . I’m well aware of what you think of me.”
    A horrible thought took hold. Was it possible…could he…
    “Are you reading my mind?”
    He shrugged.
    And well, wasn’t that a big, fat yes. Somehow, his ability to read minds didn’t surprise her…which surprised her. She must be getting used to all his hocus-pocus. Being airlifted while in a car by a dragon could do that to a girl. Still, it didn’t mean she liked it.
    “Stop it.” She glared at him, her snarl factor hitting double digits. “My thoughts are private…not for you or anyone else.”
    “As you wish,” he murmured, all Princess Bride, as he took inventory of her trunk. “Which one?”
    What? Oh, right. The bag. “The small blue one. And I mean it, Bastian. It’s an unfair advantage. Don’t even try to—”
    “You want ground rules?” His big hand curled around the bag’s straps, lifting it out on an arcing swing.
    “No. I want my freedom back.”
    “Too late for that.” The bag slung over his shoulder, he strode past her, heading for who-knew-where. His scent followed, all the gorgeousness of Lanvin cologne enveloping her with an erotic twist. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
    With a grumble, she followed, trailing in his wake, calling him every nasty name she could think of, hoping like hell he was reading her mind. And that his ears were burning. Maybe if she tried hard enough, all the cerebral screaming would make him deaf—or drive him insane—without her uttering a single word.
    Would serve him right.
    On so many levels.
    All because she was trapped.
    As Bastian’s heavy boots echoed across the vastness—walking her closer to prison and further from independence—Myst struggled to keep herself together. The life she knew was over. He was taking away everything she loved: her friends, her job, her life.
    None of it was fair. Not much of it made sense. At least, not yet. This world—the one Bastian and his friends occupied—was not, and never would be, hers.
    The urge to let loose and scream almost overwhelmed her. But hysterics wouldn’t get her anywhere but teary-eyed. And honestly? Becoming an emotional mess over her loss was about as productive as having a stroke. Not the best if she wanted to keep her brain in the ON position.
    Halfway across the cavern, Myst checked the baby again. Looked at his small face, made sure…
    Her heart