Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

come-and-get-me beacon the enemy would hear and follow. And two? The magical ping would bounce off any Razorbacks in the area and send that information back to him. Within seconds, he would know their strengths and weaknesses. Probably their shoe sizes, too.
    Ousting an entwined couple from a booth with a mental zap, Bastian slid into the seat. Rocking a fierce expression, Wick grabbed a chair and, flipping it backward, straddled the thing. Golden eyes roaming the dance floor, the male folded his arms on the chair back and settled in.
    “They’re here,” Wick said through mind-speak.
    “I know.” The ping came back, giving Bastian an impression. Two males. One young, the other much older. Good. Two inexperienced idiots wouldn’t be much of a challenge.
    “Got two closing in fast.”
    “What’s the word?”
    “Watch the bigger one. He’s rocking Scald.” Bastian’s lips curved up at the corners. Not bad. Scald was an interesting weapon. Natural napalm mixed with venom, the toxin slid underneath scales. The highly flammable stuff was deadly when mixed with fire. And what do you know? “The second breathes fire.”
    A hard gleam in his eyes, Wick nodded.
    A waitress stopped in front of their table, wearing a tray and not much else. One hip cocked, she ran her gaze over Bastian. He endured her inspection, thinking she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Myst was.
    Jesus. What was wrong with him?
    No way should he be thinking of his female now. That kind of mental side trip screwed with a male’s focus and got him killed.
    Registering his non-interest, the waitress glanced at Wick. She flinched and shuffled sideways, fear surging in her scent as her gaze ping-ponged back to Bastian. No surprise there. Wick might be a handsome male, but unless he applied himself, the females ran scared.
    Holding her tray in front of her like a shield, she asked, “What can I get you?”
    “Johnnie Walker, Blue. Neat.” He hitched his thumb in Wick’s direction. “A lager for my friend.”
    Wick raised a brow, no doubt wondering what he was doing. Bastian ignored him. The enemy males were a few minutes off yet. He wanted to blend in, and two guys dressed in black leather sitting in the VIP section without a drink didn’t qualify as camouflage.
    Reaching into this pocket, Bastian took out a wad of cash. He peeled off three Benjamins and set the bills on the tabletop. “Keep us good and poured. Got it?”
    “I’m yours all night.”
    Uh-huh. Bastian knew that before she said it. If he wanted to he could raise her skirt right here and do her on the tabletop. Funny, a day ago that might have amused him…interested him, even. Not now, though. There was only one female he wanted, and she was at home. Sitting in his kitchen eating waffles.
    God, he was so screwed.
    Hips swaying in her barely there skirt, the waitress returned from the bar and set their drinks down, Bastian’s in front of him, Wick’s on the edge of the table. Close enough for the male to reach, far enough away so the female stayed out of range. Not that Wick cared. The warrior never touched alcohol. It was against his principles or something.
    A tingle swept the back of Bastian’s neck. “Show time.”
    Wick growled and, eyes on the swarm of human bodies, shifted in his seat for an easy exit.
    The dancing throng parted like the Red Sea, opening a wide swath. Strobe lights flashed. Head and shoulders above the rest, the male came through the crowd. Locating them at the back of the club, the Razorback’s mouth curved. He stood unmoving for a moment, boots planted in the middle of the dance floor, a challenge shimmering in his gaze.
    Bastian didn’t take the bait. He couldn’t start a fight inside the club. Sure, memories could be wiped, but humans were slippery creatures. One might escape his net…with a cell phone picture or two. Not something any of his kind wanted to see on CNN. Dragonkind needed to stay hidden, an unknown in the human world. Otherwise, the inferior race would weapon up, like it had in past centuries. And honestly? Government-sanctioned dragon slayers were just plain annoying.
    When neither he nor Wick moved, the Razorback reached out and snagged a female. Using the blonde as a shield, the rogue pulled her in tight and, cupping the nape of her neck, touched his mouth to the side of her throat. Wick tensed, ready to let fly as the female buried her hands in the enemy’s hair, tipped her head back and gave up her energy.
    Bastian grabbed