Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

his skull. “I think I’ve got him stabilized, but…” Blue eyes the color of violets peeked around Venom’s shoulder. “Holy crap. Are you all right?”
    “No.”
    Short. Sweet. To the point. And just like that, his internal chains snapped, setting his beast free.
    He needed to touch her, to wipe Rikar’s scent from her skin, and…oh, fuck, this wasn’t going to be pretty. She didn’t know what was coming, couldn’t hear the rumble deep inside him. But he couldn’t stop it. The need to dominate, to show the males in this room to whom she belonged, was a force he couldn’t fight.
    “Forgive me.” All his focus riveted on her, he played hot potato with the infant, handing him to Venom.
    The handoff was quick and smooth. But as Venom took the baby and spun toward the door, the abrupt shift startled him. He woke up angry, small hands flailing, the wail so piercing that Myst broke eye contact with him to reach for the newborn.
    But it was too late. Bastian was already moving.

     
    Myst blinked as Bastian passed the baby to Big-Dark-and-Scary like a baton. Okay, so the transfer was steady, and the huge guy’s hands gentle, but holy Hannah on a swizzle stick. What the heck did they think they were doing?
    She wanted to check the baby…here in the clinic.
    Everything she needed was in her bag. Well, most of it, anyway. Some of her stuff had landed on the floor in her rush to treat Rikar, but whatever she couldn’t find, the clinic would provide. From what Myst could see, the place was hospital-grade, right down to the neonatal bed sitting in one corner. With that in her favor, getting her angel’s APGAR score would be the work of minutes.
    Her only requirement? The newborn.
    Big-Dark-and-Scary, however, had other ideas. Beating feet in the wrong direction, he held the screaming infant to one broad shoulder and hightailed it over the threshold. And Sloan? The African-American guy was right behind him; wheels on the tub squeaking as he made like a NASCAR driver and pushed Rikar—IV pole, ice, and all—out of the clinic and into the corridor.
    Red flags went flying inside her head. “Hey! Hang on a min—”
    The snarl cut her off. She whipped her head around, looking for the threat. God, that sounded like a wild animal and…
    Her gaze swept past Bastian and then jerked right back. He was the one growling. That pumping purr rolled across the clinic with the force of a hurricane as, chest heaving and green eyes glowing, he came at her from the other side of the room. Myst yelped and—in the spirit of stay-alive-first, ask-questions-later—leapt sideways, out of his path. If she got out of his way fast enough, maybe…
    Oh, crap. This wasn’t going to work. The instant she shifted, he did, too; zeroing in on her like a freaking pit bull. Good God, what…why…had he gone completely nuts?
    Okay, no time for that. Twenty questions would have to wait. She’d figure out his malfunction later.
    Right now, she needed to react. First priority? Getting something big between him (the snarling, crazy guy) and her (the sane, scared-out-of-her-mind girl). One of those rollaway carts, maybe, or…no, she needed that neonatal bed. No sense destroying a precious piece of equipment. The examination table.
    Galvanized by a hit of adrenaline, Myst scrambled up and over, ignoring the waxy paper crinkling beneath her. Just as her feet touched down on the other side, Bastian fisted his hand in her shirt. She gasped as he yanked and she went airborne for a second. Oh, God, this was going to hurt and—
    Except it didn’t.
    Bastian caught her on the downswing and, cushioning her fall, set her down. Both knees landed on the vinyl tabletop. He pulled. She cursed, fighting the slide. Grabbing his wrists, she twisted, trying to break his hold. His nostrils flared and, eyes glowing with single-minded intensity, he reeled her in.
    “Oh, my God!” A shriek lodged in her throat, she flailed. He retaliated by wrapping his arms around her, trapping her against his chest. Holy crap, he was solid, long-limbed and hard-muscled. “Bastian…stop it. What are you—”
    He growled something—a word that sounded an awful lot like “mine”—as his hands traveled up beneath the hem of her shirt. His palms connected, skin on skin, a second before his mouth found the side of her throat. She sucked in a breath, lungs seizing while he purred. Purred!
    The erotic sound sent her sideways into confusion and white-hot desire.
    Like an