Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

cars until her gaze landed on an SUV. The Denali sat in the third spot, so logic—and Daimler’s tendency for extreme organization—told her the truck’s keys were on the hook number three.
    Careful to stay in the sun, she kept her eyes on the back of the garage and hotfooted it toward the keys. Bastian was quick. He could pull a fast grab-and-go—haul her into the tunnel and the lair before she knew what hit her. With slow deliberation, she reached out and grabbed the set she needed. Metal rattled then settled in the palm of her hand.
    “I won’t let you die,” he repeated, his tone as desperate as she felt.
    “That’s crap and you know it. You can’t protect me…not from this.”
    “Rikar thinks I can, because of our bond, and—”
    “How many women survive?” Moving fast, she headed for the SUV’s driver-side door. “Tell me! How many?”
    As her shout echoed, Bastian stood up. Protecting his eyes with his hand, he stayed deep in the shadows, following her movements, walking with her, marking her progress as she stepped up to the Denali. Her hand curled around the handle.
    “Myst…”
    “They all die, don’t they?” Her grip tightened on the door pull. God, she wanted to hit him so badly. Maybe then he’d hurt as much as she was right now. “Just like…”
    Caroline.
    Her mouth parted, and Myst went completely still.
    “Oh, my God.” The test results. The ones with all the anomalies. Caroline’s blood work had been bang-on until the twenty-eighth week of her pregnancy. After that, something strange started to happen…a surge in dragon DNA maybe? A hormonal shift of some kind—maybe even a magical one—that protected the baby, but hurt the mother?
    Her mind whirled as she stared at Bastian. Purpose grabbed hold, infusing her with hope. Okay, so it was a Hail Mary pass, but…
    She needed to get to the hospital and access Caroline’s medical file. Instinct told her the clues lay in the blood work. Maybe the techies had isolated the platelet problem. Maybe the ME had noted something odd in the autopsy report. A small detail. A tiny clue. That’s all she needed to set her on the right path. The one that would help her find the answer that might save her life.
    Myst cranked the SUV’s door open. “I have to go.”
    “Stay…give me another chance.”
    “No,” she whispered, fighting the compulsion to let him persuade her. Even now—pissed off and hurting—she wanted to touch him…to hold him close and be held in return. “Bastian, please. You need to let me go.”
    “I can’t,” he said, eyes shimmering in the gloom. “I love you, Myst. I can’t let you leave knowing you won’t be safe out there.”
    More tears fell. He loved her. No fair. It was all she ever wanted and, yet she couldn’t stay. Finding the truth—discovering what killed Caroline—was more important than pleasing him right now.
    “You don’t have a choice,” she said, her voice raw with regret. “And neither do I.”
    With a pitiful hiccup, she slid into the seat and slammed the door behind her. Jamming the key into the ignition, she cranked the engine. She heard Bastian roar, saw him lunge toward her in the side-view mirror and, with more desperation than will, threw the SUV into gear. Before he stopped her, she put her foot down, peeling out of the garage on squealing tires and a truckload of hurt.
    As she shot into the sunshine where he would never be able to reach her, she whispered, “I love you, too.”
    But she knew with certainty that it was too little, too late.

    Plastic crinkled as Ivar stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out two pieces of bread. His stomach rumbled, running on empty after the realignment and a long night filled with pleasure. Well, at least, his own. The female hadn’t been so lucky.
    He’d dumped her an hour before dawn. In an alley across town. Another dead body for the cops to find. Oh, goody.
    With quick hands, he slapped together his sandwich. Mustard got slathered on first. The thinly sliced meat and cheddar went on next, then lettuce and tomato. He liked a little crunch with his ham and cheese. Pressing down on the protein-feast, he grabbed a knife and sliced the whole mess in half.
    The first bite made him groan, the kaleidoscope of flavor hitting his tongue just right. Turning away from the kitchen island, he held the half sandwich in one hand and opened the fridge with the other. He went for the 3 percent and, cracking the top, drank right from the milk