Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

going to hurt.
    “Hang on to me,” Wick said, wisps of fog curled around their feet. “Don’t let go.”
    Bastian tightened his grip on his warrior. Muscles flexed around him as Wick lunged, pulling him headlong off the end of the pier. Splashdown hit Bastian like a sledgehammer, dragging him under. And as the ocean closed in, filling his mouth and nose, salt water attacked, invading his wounds. Pain went from debilitating to apocalyptic. In full body spasm, he twisted, screaming in silence as darkness swallowed him whole.

Chapter Twenty-one
     
    Sirens wailing, emergency vehicles raced down Alaskan Way, the street running parallel to the waterfront. Rikar watched the bumper-to-bumper light show from a mile up, flying fast as he scanned for his brothers. Cold Seattle air rushed against his scales. Thank God. The CSI offices had been hot as hell.
    Why did they do that? Crank the heat up when a two-degree downshift on the thermostat would save a boatload of energy and cost them less, too. It was annoying, not to mention senseless. Wasn’t that why they invented sweaters? To take the chill off?
    Rikar shook his head. There he went again, letting his mind wander to keep the fear at bay. Bastian wasn’t answering. He’d sent out a dozen pings, trying to connect and…
    Nothing. A big fucking doughnut hole. Not even static in the mind-speak arena.
    Which meant one of two things. His best friend was either unconscious or…dead.
    A chill skated beneath Rikar’s scales. He couldn’t lose him. Not Bastian. Anyone else and he’d cope, deal with the loss and grieve. But not his best friend.
    Still cloaked, Rikar broke cover. Slicing through storm clouds, he dropped fast and came in low, approaching the rail yard from the water. Whipped by the wind, the harbor threw up ocean spray, reducing visibility. Terrific. Great night for a fricking storm. His friends were out there—needing him—and Mother Nature was in her usual West Coast snit, getting in his way, pissing him off.
    Breathing deep, Rikar caught the smell of chemical smoke. A second later, he saw it through the mist, black plumes billowing across the roof of the nearest warehouse. He circled right—ignoring the human circus of wailing sirens and squealing tires as they roared over the bridge and onto the scene—to take a closer look.
    Holy shit.
    Lit up like a war zone, the entire rail yard was on fire. Melting steel and burning timber littered the debris field, surrounding a massive crater. The whole area had gone nuclear, a dragon-style face-lift of shredded fuel tanks, railcars and…
    A totaled dump truck. Yup, Wick had definitely been here.
    Reconning the area, Rikar sent his magic rolling in search for his friends. The ping spread like an invisible net, molding over land and sea, steel and concrete like living radar. From his bird’s-eye view, he watched firefighters work and circled a second time, hoping for a signal.
    Again…nothing.
    He had to get down there. His brother might be trapped under the rubble. And the humans working fire hoses? Totally FUBARed. He didn’t have time to scrub memories, and that left one option…death.
    Which sucked on so many levels.
    Not that he minded killing humans. Even though he avoided humankind whenever possible, criminals weren’t off-limits. For a very good reason. Serial killers and rapists hurt females, something a Nightfury never condoned. So yeah, capping one of those idiots turned murder into justifiable homicide. But icing a bunch of cops and firefighters? Man, that was just plain wrong.
    Invisible to human eyes, Rikar drew up short. He hovered for a moment, wings spread wide above the males below. Heavy dread settled in his chest as he took a deep breath. Ice crystals formed in his mouth as he bared his fangs and—
    A faint ping slid over his scales, circling the horns on his head.
    Rikar’s focus snapped toward the harbor. He closed his mouth, swallowing ice. The sound came again. The static was soft, fading in and out, barely a signal at all, but…it was definitely there.
    Christ, they were in the water, the last place a dragon wanted to be. None of Dragonkind were strong swimmers. Well, except for water dragons, but Rikar discounted that myth. He’d never seen one, never mind talked to one.
    Reversing direction, Rikar flew toward the center of the bay. Waves bashed the breakwater, spraying thirty feet in the air. The mist coated his underbelly, then wicked away, falling like raindrops from his