Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

and rolled, protecting her from the brunt of his weight. The wires connecting her to the machine tangled, wrenching her shoulder into an unnatural position.
    Giving the f-bomb a workout, he unwound the mess and, seeing the marks on her skin, snarled, “What the fuck, man?”
    His attention on the monitor, Sloan ignored him.
    Myst whimpered, scissoring her legs against his, tucking her head beneath his chin. Bastian murmured, used his voice to soothe her, and slipped his hands beneath her tank top. As his palms connected with bare skin, she hummed, turning her face into the base of his throat. He drew her closer, touching his mouth to the curve of her shoulder as he whispered her name.
    “Sloan…what’s happening?”
    “I don’t know, but…she’s reacting to you. Her color is better and…get her out of those clothes. I think you need to be skin to skin with her.” Dark eyes narrowed, Sloan studied Myst for a moment before switching his attention back to the monitor beside the bed. He tapped the glass, following the green blip across the small screen. “Her heart rate is evening out, too. What are you doing…feeding her?”
    Bastian didn’t have a clue. He didn’t much care either, but—
    An electroshock blindsided him, hitting him chest level. Bastian twitched and tightened his grip on Myst as the current spread, corkscrewing in a heated twist around his torso.
    Jesus. The Meridian.
    Like a switch being flipped, the energy went live, roaring through him without prompting. Okay. That was different. Usually he controlled the energy surge, opened the connection from Meridian to female, and drew what he needed. Right now, though, his well was capped. He wasn’t feeding. Myst was the one linked in, creating the bond between them.
    Shifting a little, he relaxed into the sensation. The current settled deep, gentling as his dragon responded and rose, channeling the energy flow from him to Myst.
    One hand flat against her bare back, Bastian pushed the sheet out from between them. He cursed as he got tangled up in the wires again. “Sloan…get this shit off her. I can’t strip her if—”
    “On it.” With quick hands, Sloan peeled the electrodes from Myst’s skin. “Good to go. Do you need—”
    “Turn around.”
    The second the command left his mouth, Bastian knew it was stupid. And possessive as hell. He shouldn’t care if anyone saw her naked. Not when her life hung by a thread. But he couldn’t control the need to keep her for himself. He didn’t want another male near her, never mind looking at her.
    As Sloan spun to face the wall, Bastian got busy stripping her down. The white tank top went first. As it cleared the top of her head, he tossed it aside. Trying not to look at her bare breasts, he slid his hands beneath her waistband. Soft skin met his palms. God, she was naked beneath here, too. No panties, no barriers between them as he rolled the black pants down her thighs, off her feet, and kicked them to the end of the bed.
    With a flip, he covered them with the sheet and wrapped his arms around her. Drawing her in, he put them chest to breast, tangling his legs with hers. She moaned, and Bastian hugged her closer, turning his face into her hair. As he kissed the soft waves, the current between them increased, tugging at his energy center. He gave it up, letting her take from him.
    God, it was extraordinary. And a little strange.
    He was feeding her, providing what he normally took. Though it was different, somehow. A gentler kind of nourishment, male to female instead of the other way around. He’d never heard of such a thing…hadn’t known his kind was capable of feeding another.
    Was this some kind of ancient rite, one Dragonkind had forgotten?
    He didn’t know, but as his hands traveled, stoking along Myst’s spine, he vowed to find out. He needed to visit the Archives and read what his ancestors had written. And he would. As soon as he got his female back on her feet.

     
    Mont Blanc in hand, red leather-bound notebook in his lap, Ivar leaned back in his new chair and propped his feet on his makeshift desk. The folding table wobbled, threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his boots. He ignored the sway, too busy scribbling in the margins, adding detailed notes to the complicated formula.
    He needed to get it right this time.
    Ivar snorted, wishing solutions were like dogs. Those four-legged fuckers always came when called. Science? Not so much.
    Each experiment followed its