Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket.
    Yikes. Now, there was a threat and a half. No one wanted Mac coming to see him, especially unhappy. “What’s up?”
    “I put a call in to the lab…wanted the results on the ash evidence.” Blue eyes full of pissed off, Mac ran a hand through his hair. A bad feeling hit her gut level. She nodded anyway, needing to hear his news. “It’s gone. The fuckheads down at the lab can’t find it.”
    “Goddamn it.” Every time they caught a break, the case whiplashed, throwing them from bad to worse.
    Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on.

Chapter Twenty-three
     
    The frosty air hit Bastian like whiplash. His head jerked, throwing his body into cramping lockdown. The spasm rippled, screaming down his spine as consciousness flickered. Fuck him. He was on sensory overload, a jagged piece of real estate no dragon wanted to occupy.
    An abrupt shift yanked his chain. Agony spun him around, stretched him thin, shackling him to the whipping post in his mind. The lashing pain came fast and furious, and, with a groan, he reached for something solid. His hands found warm scales. Bastian tightened his grip on the claw wrapped around his ribcage. It wasn’t his own. At least, he knew that much, but…
    God. He couldn’t breathe.
    Clawing through the haze fracturing his thoughts, Bastian forced his chest to expand. Oxygen. He needed some. Right now.
    Sucking wind, he fought for purchase, shifted in the talon and tried to open his eyes. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with his eyes? The fuckers wouldn’t open.
    He tried again. His eyelids lifted, giving him a nothing but blur. “Fuck.”
    “Almost there, B,” the familiar voice came through mind-speak.
    “Rikar?”
    “I gotcha.”
    His best friend’s voice steadied him. Memory rushed in, surfing on a wave of information. The rail yard, the explosion…and that purple SOB. Bastian growled. The bastard had gotten the drop on them. The thought pushed another forward. They’d made a run for it. He and—
    “Wick?”
    “Here.” The deep growl came from his right.
    Fighting the need to vomit, Bastian forced his eyes open again. He was flying. Correction…Rikar was flying. He and Wick were dangling, passengers in a one-dragon parade.
    Bastian’s vision flickered, black spots playing connect the dots. “You…all right?”
    “ Fuck, no. And you’re a fricking train wreck.”
    Stood to reason. He’d been ass-planted by a fleet of railcars.
    And a truckload of fire-acid.
    White wings stretched wide above them, Rikar changed course, coming down through thick clouds. The dip jarred Bastian, firing up his pain receptors. He bit down on a groan. His broken leg really hadn’t liked that, but…God. The burns were worse. With each flight shift, his side screamed, drawing more energy from his center.
    Not that he had much left.
    He was dangerously weak, so close to going under it scared him. Not something he wanted to acknowledge, but he’d never been here before: injured and reliant on another. Didn’t matter that it was Rikar. Best friend or not, Bastian always looked after himself.
    The weakness took him out and weighed him down. Without assistance, he’d never make it back to the lair…where another problem existed.
    Myst.
    He craved her. Needed to touch her. Wanted her hands on him and the soothing comfort of her voice in his ear. Hmm, he could already taste her. Bastian swallowed, the movement compulsive, like an addict imagining his next fix. And he was addicted. In need of his female’s energy to the point of gluttony.
    Shit. He was way too hungry. Had fallen off the edge into energy-greed.
    The state was beyond dangerous. One all his kind feared. And no female wanted to encounter. Not if she wished to keep breathing.
    “Rikar.”
    “Hang tough, B. Waterfall in thirty seconds.”
    “No…not…” Bastian shuddered, desperate to make his friend understand. He didn’t want to hurt Myst, but if he touched her…Jesus. He’d drain her dry, take her life force to preserve his own. It was simple biology, survival of the fittest bred into all Dragonkind males. “Don’t let me…don’t let—”
    His best friend banked right. The motion swung Bastian around and anguish bit deep, sucking the air from his lungs. He gagged, fighting his stomach’s one-way tide to refocus. But the rough flight wasn’t making it easy and, as treetops gave way to the river and Rikar turned north