Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

exposed by his shot-to-shit scales. He didn’t care. He had to find Wick and get them both back to the lair.
    The harbor beyond the bank of warehouses was the only option. And yeah, that was going to be a bitch. Especially the saltwater part.
    Bastian cringed. He hated the swimming almost as much as he hated elevators. But with his energy stores gone, he couldn’t cloak himself, never mind Wick. The dark inky water would do what he couldn’t: provide enough cover until Rikar performed his knight-in-shining-armor routine.
    Dragging his broken leg, Bastian crawled over a burning pile of timber. His eyes stung from the smoke as he squinted to get a line on Wick. The male had to be close. The building he’d been introduced to skull first was just ahead and—
    Something shifted behind him.
    Bastian spun, his bladed tail arching wide. The dark shadow ducked and lunged, coming straight at him. He caught the load in the chest. Anguish rippled through him as he lost his footing and…fuck. He was going down. Would die for making a rookie mistake.
    Goddamn it. He knew better than to assume anything in a firefight. The Razorback wasn’t dead. Or retreating from the truckload of humans less than a mile away. The rogue had played it perfectly. Was practically on top of him, coming in for the kill.
    With an agonizing twist, he followed the SOB’s movement. The second before he moved in, Bastian filled his lungs, set to hammer the enemy with another electro-pulse. A huge talon struck. Flipping him up and over, the male grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
    Bastian snarled and reared, striking with his claws.
    “Shit!”
    Jesus Christ. Bastian’s knees went weak as he switched to mind-speak, “What the fuck, Wick?”
    “Sorry.” The warrior swayed above him, stumbling sideways. “I’m not…shit. Can’t see. My eyes are fucked up.”
    Headlights flashed, the fire truck behind the halogens roaring into the rail yard.
    “Shift.” With a groan, he moved from dragon to human form. His muscles screamed, but he hung on. He couldn’t pass out. Wick needed him. “We gotta move. I can’t fly, but my vision’s good.”
    As Wick shifted to human form, he slung Bastian’s arm around his shoulders. “Which way?”
    “Right…twenty feet to the warehouse. Head for the water.”
    Aligned from shoulder to hip, naked as a pair of fifty-dollar whores, his warrior dragged him toward the corner of the building. His burnt skin slid against Wick’s and Bastian gagged, nearly passing out as agony yanked his chain.
    Stay awake. Don’t black out.
    He was dangerously weak, so far gone he couldn’t get his legs to work, never mind manage a pair of leathers. Not that Wick minded. The male had problems of his own, and being naked was the least of them. The head injury coupled with the blindness was screwing with his speed, making him stumble under Bastian’s weight.
    Rounding the corner of the warehouse, Wick lost his footing. They went down, face-planting into the steel barrels stacked against the wall.
    “Fuck me,” the male groaned.
    Shouts sounded, the rise of male voices joining the roar of the fire. God, they were close, barely one hundred feet away. Bastian heard the zing of fire hoses and the clank of steel as humans got busy fighting the blaze.
    “Go. Leave me and…” Black spots in his vision, Bastian rolled onto his back. Rough asphalt pressed into his side, grinding small stones into his burns. “Go.”
    “And fuck you, too.” Pupils contracted to pinpoints, golden eyes glowing like headlights, Wick hauled him to his feet.
    Bile hit the back of Bastian’s throat, but he got with the program. As he made his broken leg work, he cursed himself. He was an idiot. Not only had he screwed up the fight, now he’d insulted Wick. No Nightfury got left behind…ever. Blind, deaf, or dumb, it didn’t matter. His warrior would sooner cut off his own arm than abandon him.
    Carried by Wick, they stumbled forward under Bastian’s direction. There was a ton of debris lying around: rotting square timbers, steel rods, and broken pieces of concrete slabs. Maneuvering around an old boat carcass, they reached the pier. Rough wood scraped the soles of his bare feet. Thank God. They’d made it…were almost out of sight.
    Crooked and bent from years of neglect, the end of the dock twisted up to one side. Wick stumbled as he hit the incline, but he kept going, the smell of ocean salt galvanizing them both. And oh, shit. This was