Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

shirt and yanked, pulling her off balance.
    As she stumbled backward, Myst yelled, “You don’t understand! I can feel them out there. It’s not Bastian, and I can feel …oh, God…no.”
    The building rocked on its foundation.
    Angela lost her footing, stumbled back a step and…holy hell. A dark shadow settled over the window, blocking out the night sky. Something hissed and glass shattered, blowing into the room like shrapnel, ripping into her upper arm. The pain barely registered before the blast picked her up and threw her. She went down hard, taking out Myst, hitting the floor butt first. They landed in a heap, her teeth slashing against the inside of her mouth. She ignored the taste of her blood, shouted for Mac.
    “Ange, incoming,” he roared as flames licked through the shattered window. “Get her out!”
    Choking on toxic fumes, Angela ripped the Velcro away from her Glock. Screw his instructions. No way would she leave her partner. Not while they were under attack.
    Screaming at Mac to stay clear of the window, she dragged Myst toward the door. She would shove the nurse into the bullpen with the other detectives then—
    Huge black talons curled around the steel-framed window.
    Time faltered, tripping into slow motion. Frame by frame, Angela watched the impossible unfold. Felt her heartbeat and the adrenaline rush. Smelled the smoke. Heard Myst scream and the animalistic growl as cinder block gave way, crumbling like dry earth beneath scaled talons and sharp claws. The thing snarled, fangs bared, black eyes flashing as it exhaled. Like pressurized gas, acrid air streamed through the hole in the wall. The blast picked Mac up and threw him through the one-way mirror.
    As glass shattered and her partner disappeared, Angela palmed her Glock. With a battle cry, she pulled the trigger, emptied the entire clip into the monster clawing its way through the precinct wall.

Chapter Thirty-four
    Heavy footfalls bounced off metal, echoing down endless corridors created by Port of Seattle authorities. Stacked like Legos beneath the open sky, shipping containers read like a maze, the twists and turns hemming her in until Myst didn’t know which way was forward or back. The nasty trifecta herding her between the boxes’ high walls added to the effect: suffocating her, closing the cage, marching both her and Angela toward a man-dragon neither of them wanted to meet.
    Ivar.
    The leader of the Razorbacks was in the shipping yard somewhere. Waiting.
    Suppressing a shiver, Myst twisted her hands, fighting to loosen the zip-tie cuffs around her wrists. Made of thick plastic, the edges dug in, rubbing raw patches on her skin. She didn’t care. Time was running out. The dark-eyed SOB leading them into the heart of the shipping yard wasn’t slowing down, and with a pace that quick? It wouldn’t be long before she came to face-to-face with the head psycho.
    Angela bumped her from behind. Losing her balance, she stumbled forward and tossed the cop her best what-the-hell glare. The detective kept coming, nudging her with her shoulder, pretending to lose her footing, and understanding struck. An act. Angela was acting her ass off, trying to stay close. With her arms crossed in front of her chest, she went along and tripped again, praying Angela had a plan.
    The cop was smart…had lots of training. Maybe she’d figure out how to get them both the heck away from the bastards holding them prisoner.
    The detective listed sideways and, bumping her again, whispered, “Get ready to run.”
    Crap. That was her plan ?
    Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been a good one. Excellent, even. The only problem? Myst didn’t know which way to go. They’d taken so many turns she was hopelessly lost. The next kink in the plan didn’t make her feel any better, either. The guys surrounding them were fast, able to shift into dragon form in a heartbeat. No way they’d be able to outrun them.
    But, God…what other choice did they have? Meeting Ivar wasn’t an option she wanted to entertain. Not after all Bastian had told her about the bastard.
    Swallowing, Myst forced moisture into her mouth, trying to forget what her captors were capable of, but the last half hour played like a bad movie in her head. The interrogation room, the explosion, and smoke. The screaming and gunfire. Sharp claws ripping through the police station wall. The tug and pull of being dragged backward through the hole by her legs. Angela being hauled out on her