Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

guy said, all soothing tones and easy rhythm. Cracking her lids, Myst got a blurry impression of a face. Pale eyes glowed from the masculine planes and angles, shimmering like blue stars. “He needs you. Hold onto him.”
    Her eyes drifted closed. All right, she could do that…fat lot of good it would do in the end. She’d seen Bastian’s injuries. He needed medical attention, not her. But as he settled heavily against her, sucking hard at her throat, her mind floated up, winged out, leaving her with one thought. The stranger was right. She must hold on…keep Bastian close.
    She could save him if she held on tight enough.

Chapter Twenty-four
     
    Consciousness hovered inches away. Or was it miles? Bastian couldn’t tell. Didn’t know much beyond the fact he was down. Flat on his back in a cold, dark place that he couldn’t remember landing in.
    Not good on any level. A downed dragon was a dead one.
    Shifting position, he tested his surroundings, struggling to put the puzzle together. One plus one didn’t equal two. Everything felt wrong, thick with haze. His built-in sonar was bent, receiving more static than viable information. Shit. He needed to move, knew it with an urgency that shoved through the fog, galvanizing him.
    He dug deeper, searching his senses for information. His muscles twitched, racking him with sharp spasms. Cutting off a groan, Bastian sucked in some air and, reassured by the movement, drew another lungful. The in-out routine sidetracked the pain, shifting it from scream-worthy to teeth-grindingly brutal.
    Thank God.
    He didn’t have time to screw around. He needed to get mobile and out of wherever he’d landed—or face-planted, which was a safe bet, considering how much his head hurt—and reach…
    What…the lair?
    His brows collided. No. Not home. He must help someone.
    Ignoring the lethal ache between his temples, Bastian gathered his magic. Heat crackled like electricity, racing through his veins until his fingertips tingled. He held the wild surge tightly for a moment, letting the power buffet his internal control, before he let it go. Like a powerful riptide, the magical stream blanketed his surroundings, bouncing off obstacles, bringing information back with each ping of sound.
    A room. A bed. The soft beep of machinery from somewhere nearby.
    Bastian uncurled his fists. Moving with slow precision, he pressed his hands into the mattress. Pain flickered at the movement, but the cotton gave, brushing against his palms. He curled his fingers, grabbing handfuls to ground himself.
    Safe. Jesus Christ. He was safe and—
    A scraping sound came from his left.
    Fighting dry-mouth, Bastian croaked, “Rikar?”
    “Hey.”
    “Where…” He cracked his eyelids.
    “Recovery room in the clinic.” An indistinct blur, his best friend adjusted the blankets, covering Bastian’s bare chest.
    Finished with the fuss routine, Rikar moved away from his bedside, footfalls loud in the quiet. The sound of rushing water filled the space. Bastian swallowed. He could almost taste it, feel the cool, wet slide down the back of his throat. The desperate quality of his need reminded him of another time and place. One he’d never revisited and didn’t want to now.
    But as the faucet continued to flow, the sound triggered visceral memory. Jesus. He couldn’t stand it going back there. To the time after his father’s death and before his transition. He’d been so vulnerable, at the mercy of other males and the new pack leader’s cruelty, always hungry, thirsty, and caught between powerful males who didn’t give a damn about him.
    Needing to forget, Bastian shifted on the mattress, welcoming the pain. As the burn moved through him, the sheets rustled and memory faded, turning his attention away from his past and into his injuries. The weight of his limbs reassured him. He was all there, nothing vital missing. Thank God. The tightness along his left side and the faint ache below his knee he could accept. But a missing limb?
    Yeah, not so much.
    Now, all he needed was his brain back. He felt like a lobotomy patient, complete with blank memory. Nothing jived. His head was fuzzy, a messy jumble of fragmented thoughts that didn’t fit together.
    Hoping movement would help slide the pieces into place, Bastian pushed up onto one elbow. The sheet slid, pooling at his hips as he drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. Fluorescents nailed him, bright lights shooting straight to the back of his