Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

in some respects, terrible in others.
    Seasoned fighters would see Myst as a trophy and keep the fighting away from her. Inexperienced ones would set the trap and attack without care for collateral damage.
    “How is she?” Rikar asked, concern edging out impatience.
    He cupped the nape of Myst’s neck, praying his touch soothed her. She was throwing off too much energy, levels that drew dangerously close to breaking through the invisibility cloak he’d thrown around them. “Petrified.”
    “Shit.”
    No kidding. He needed her to calm down, to level out before enemy eyes turned in their direction.
    “Figure it out, man,” his friend said, ready to break cover.
    “You’ve got about thirty seconds before I break cover and the fuckers sense me coming.”
    “Give me a couple of minutes. Let me get a handle on her first.”
    His first in command grunted, but held course, flirting with the edge of the fighting triangle and detection.
    Bastian lowered his head until his mouth brushed Myst’s ear. He kept his voice low, more vibration than actual sound, and said, “Relax, Myst…you’re safe with me. Take a deep breath.”
    Air caught, hitching in the back of her throat as she tried to do as he asked. It didn’t go well. She was strung too tight, panic locking her lungs into spasm.
    “In through your nose, out through your mouth…come on, baby. Listen to my voice, feel the release.” Keeping his tone soft and steady, Bastian kept talking as he found the pressure point at the base of her skull. He rotated his thumb, massaged in gentle circles, hesitating, not wanting to do it. He shouldn’t be touching her, not like this, without her understanding or consent.
    In the kitchen, he’d been unable to help himself, had taken a sip and sampled her energy…and God. She was delicious, so sweet that arousal hit him like a brick house. The head below his waist had a mind of its own, was still complaining, wanting inside her with an insistence the circumstances didn’t warrant.
    Jesus, he was sick. She was scared out of her mind, and he was turned on.
    What did that say about him? That he was a deranged fuck? Or that he hadn’t fed in far too long?
    Probably a little of both, but he couldn’t worry about either now. Rikar wouldn’t wait much longer.
    Myst took another choppy breath and, with a silent curse, Bastian slipped his free hand under the hem of her green hospital scrubs. His palm settled on the small of her back. He spread his fingers wide, touching as much of her as he could reach, and nearly came in his leathers.
    Oh, man, she was good, her skin the softest he’d ever touched.
    Shifting her so he wouldn’t crush the infant, he set his mouth to her temple, breathed her in, losing himself in her scent. Connected at three junctions—nape, lower back and temple—he tapped into Meridian. White hot, potent, energy surged, flowing through her into him. Bastian bit down on a groan. God, that was unbelievable. Delicious in a way that defied description.
    He only meant to soothe her: to drain the excess, bank her energy to keep her hidden, ensure her safety, but…Jesus. He was starving, so empty inside he couldn’t control the hunger. It was too powerful, and Myst was too good. He needed more than just another sip.
    With a growl, Bastian let his baser needs take over. Guilt was nothing but an echo now—something to endure later when compulsion subsided and reason returned. Hunger overwhelmed him and, senses wide open, he pulled the white-hot energy she possessed out of her body and into his own. She hummed, the sound one of pleasure and relief as Bastian drank, mouth traveling across her cheek to her neck. Flicking his tongue across her pulse point, he took her in, damning himself with the incredible taste of her skin.
    When she sagged, he capped the flow and lifted his head, so full his fingertips tingled. A violent shudder rolled through him and, dipping his chin again, he brushed the corner of her mouth with his own. The kiss could barely be called one; the simple touch nothing more than a gentle pass, a small thank you for what she had unknowingly given him.
    She sighed. “I feel better now.”
    “Good,” he murmured, forcing his hand from beneath her shirt. Continuing to touch her wasn’t doing him any favors. It made him want to strip her down and take the sex he craved. The thought made Bastian back the hell up, putting space between them as he helped her sit up. She swayed. He steadied her,