Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

doors banged behind him. She heard a series of clicks and…
    Oh, no. He’d locked her in, securing the door from the outside.
    Curled on her side, a terrible chill sank deep, seeping into the place where hope lived, obliterating it with one sure stroke. Myst closed her eyes. Without that lock, she might’ve had a chance. Even with her hands and feet bound, she could’ve inchwormed her way to freedom. Gotten out the door and into the alley between containers. Now? She was screwed…stuck waiting for a rescue that might never come.
    “Bastian,” she whispered, finding solace in the sound of his name. “I’m here. Right here. Find me.”
    Before Ivar comes back.
    She didn’t voice the words. Couldn’t bring herself to say Ivar’s name. Not out loud. It seemed a kind of sacrilege, a way to give power to the enemy, and crazy or not, she refused to perpetrate the betrayal. From now on, he would be known as “the asshole” in her heart and mind.
    Fighting to stay calm, Myst rocked against the steel floor. The back and forth motion helped clear the fear-induced fog. Little by little, her mind sharpened, allowing her to play out different scenarios. The game of “what if” made her feel more prepared, gave her answers to implausible questions. “If he does that, I’ll do this.”
    Another explosion, closer this time, made the container sway. As it shifted and groaned, vibration rumbled beneath her, rattling her bones. Pain followed, reminding her of the beating. The bruises, she could handle. The fear of Ivar coming back? Not so much.
    Against her will, her teeth started to chatter. Sensation flickered, ghosting down her spine. Bastian. God, he was close. So very close.
    Rolling onto her back, she stared at the corrugated roof and screamed his name over and over, choking on the tears she couldn’t hold back any longer. Each shout came out on a sob and, twisting her wrists, she struggled to break the plastic cuffs. All she needed was a little leeway. If she could get one hand out. If she could just…
    “Come on. Come on.” Stupid flex cuffs. The things worked better than ropes and chains. The plastic didn’t give at all. “Goddamn it.”
    She tried her legs, flexing her feet to get her shoes off. Maybe without the Reeboks she could—
    An unearthly shriek sounded overhead. Myst froze and looked up at the ceiling, afraid the asshole was coming back for her. She flinched as a clang rippled through the air. A low growl came next, then the sound of claws raking steel. Myst worked faster, rocking like a mental patient as she fought imprisonment and her terror.
    Something sprayed the back wall of the container. Breathing hard, she pushed onto her knees, praying that whoever had set up camp on the other side of the wall was on her side. She heard the sizzle first…then saw the fire. A thin line flared, cutting through the steel like a welding torch, drawing an arch near the container top before flowing to the floor.
    A doorway.
    Shivering in the cold, she waited—fearing the worst, hoping for the best—as fire ate through the steel. With a scraping sound, the cut panel fell forward, banging as it hit the floor. Smoke billowed in. The acrid smell coated the back of her throat before the cloud cleared, giving her a clear view outside. Something moved and she caught a glimpse of purple.
    “Bastian?” she whispered, her voice sounding as uncertain as she felt.
    A huge man appeared in the doorway.
    Myst’s heart rate went into triple overtime. Not Bastian.
    Obscured by shadow, the guy stood unmoving for a moment, then dipped his head and stepped into the container. She shuffled backwards, her focus fixed on his face…and the glowing amethyst eyes trained on her.
    Oh, God. He wasn’t a Nightfury.
    “Myst Munroe,” he said, his deep voice rolling on a thick Scottish accent.
    Lovely under normal circumstances, but right now? She didn’t like the sound of it. Or the fact he stared at her from beneath his black brows. It wasn’t a good sign, and as he walked toward her, casting long shadows on the steel walls, Myst wanted to scream. She swallowed instead, trying not to shiver, keeping her gaze on his face. No way she was looking lower. The guy didn’t have a stitch on. Even his feet were bare.
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re the nurse.”
    Her bottom lip trembling, she nodded. “W-who are you?”
    “Forge.” He stopped a foot away and sank to his haunches, bringing himself to her level. “You knew my