Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

of the gate. Myst shook her head, marveling at Daimler’s cleverness. The elf was magic in the distraction department…a lifelong member of “Oh, I need your help with just one more thing.” And she’d fallen for it. Had spent hours searching Web sites, scouring the Internet for baby stuff.
    Now, Gregor had more paraphernalia than was strictly legal.
    Well, all right. Setting her angel up with the best had been fun, but the unfortunate causality in the whole mess? Her alone time. She hadn’t gotten any yet, but things were looking up. Daimler had left five minutes ago.
    Hallelujah.
    Time to snoop.
    Careful to keep her movements steady, she shifted Gregor in her arms. Fast asleep after his bottle, he snuffled then settled, his cheek against her shoulder as she crossed the nursery. With gentle hands, she laid him in his crib and adjusted his blanket beneath his chin.
    “Sleep well, angel,” she murmured before snagging the baby monitor off the nightstand.
    Tiptoeing across the room, she entered the corridor on the fly. She didn’t have much time. Daylight was fading, and the Nightfuries would roll out of bed soon, beating feet toward the kitchen and Daimler’s rack of lamb. The elf had hemmed and hawed for the better part of the morning, trying to decide what spices to put on the damn thing. Now she could smell them, the delicious mix of flavors making her mouth water.
    Not wanting to bump into the chef extraordinaire, she headed in the opposite direction. No way did she want to be anywhere near the kitchen. Bastian would no doubt show up there along with his crew, and right now? She didn’t want to see him.
    He’d lied to her.
    All right. Maybe calling him a liar was a stretch. But crap, not much of one. She kept replaying the time they’d spent together—avoiding the sex, because…God…remembering the way he touched her sent her into fricking orbit—and she realized that he’d left a lot out. Case in point? The Meridian. What was it exactly? What did it do, how did it operate, why did Dragonkind need it? But the big one, the question to end all questions? How did the Meridian involve her?
    Deep down, she knew she was mixed up in the middle of it.
    Her first clue had been Bastian’s reaction. He’d avoided the issue, giving her token answers. And as he skirted the subject like a pro, her BS meter had thrown all kinds of red flags. Now her conspiracy theorist was neck deep in what-if land, kicking out theories that made her doubt everything.
    Strange, but when she was with Bastian the voice in the back of her head went silent. The second he left her alone? Wham. Uncertainty came rushing back.
    Raking her hand through her hair, Myst jogged up a set of shallow stairs. Her flip-flops clacked on the marble treads, echoing in the quiet as she paused under a huge archway. Her breath caught, the magnificence of the space taking her by surprise. Perfectly round, the room boasted a domed ceiling painted with a fresco. Dragon warriors took flight from its center, the colorful array of strength and power flashing above the bright light of the rotunda. The curved walls were similarly adorned, each panel between the marble half columns showcasing a single dragon. She recognized Bastian right off, the midnight blue scales and green eyes a dead giveaway. A white dragon with gold flecks occupied the spot beside him, the pale blue eyes telling her it was Rikar.
    Remarkable.
    Awe made her shiver and, as the fine hairs on her nape rose, she crossed the space, examining the mosaic-tiled floor. The intricate pattern swirled, forming a crest of some kind. A foreign language surrounded it, curling around the emblem’s outer edge. Myst crouched to stroke one of the letters with her fingertip. After tracing the loop, she stared at the fresco depicting Bastian.
    God, he was beautiful—in and out of dragon form—and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she yearned for him. Totally crazy. Completely stupid. But true in every way that mattered.
    With a sigh, Myst pushed to her feet and got herself moving. Three archways—identical to the one she’d just passed through—stood ready to take her deeper into Black Diamond. She chose the one across from her and, after trotting down another set of stairs, entered a large living room.
    The ceiling soared twenty feet above the space, looming over furniture groupings. One entire wall contained windows, the brilliance of the setting sun muted by heavily tinted glass. Myst