Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

his decision, wasn’t he? Looking for excuses…seeing the LZ as a good reason for taking Myst. Jesus. He was beyond deranged if he believed that load of crap.
    Careful to keep the car steady, Bastian landed on his back paws. His claws scraped the black-and silver-speckled granite, echoing in the vastness as he set Myst’s hatchback down with a gentle bump. Time stood still for a second, the silence absolute before he uncurled his front talons. A soft screech—steel against razor-sharp claws—sounded as he released his grip on the car’s frame. Bastian heard Myst suck in a quick breath as he stepped away from the car and shifted, moving from dragon to man in the space of a heartbeat.
    Planted six feet from the front bumper, he gathered his clothes, drew his leather trench coat around him, and turned to look at his female. She met his stare through the windshield. Her eyes were wide. His gaze was steady, commanding her attention, willing her to trust him. She’d done it before with the baby in her arms and the dead mother on the floor beside her. He wanted her to do it again. To suspend the belief that the boogeyman came complete with scales and remember the gentleness he’d shown her.
    But as the silence stretched, Bastian called himself a fool. Not much in life was easy. And Myst wouldn’t surrender without a fight.
    She was too smart to relinquish her power easily. His female needed the kind of attention most males didn’t have enough patience to deliver. But Bastian wasn’t like most males, and despite the desperate nature of his need, he appreciated her even more for the challenge she presented.
    Pride for her spirit tipped his lips up at the corners.
    Goddamn, but she was beautiful.
    Even frightened she took his breath away, and as their gazes locked, his eyes stung a little, the tears he refused to show making his throat ache. No, it wasn’t fair. At least, not to her. Yeah, he might hate the end game, but to hell with regrets and future pain, because…
    Holy shit, he was glad she was here.

Chapter Eight
    Myst wanted to be anywhere but sitting curled up in her car, having a staring contest with Bastian. Not that it was much of a contest.
    She was losing.
    He was winning. Hands down.
    Which was so unfair. All she needed was a break, but she couldn’t catch one. Luck wasn’t in the cards.
    Bastian had dealt her a crappy hand, and now? He held her in place, paralyzed. All without lifting a finger. The power was in the intensity of his gaze. The way he watched her. Waited. Gauging her response so he knew which way to jump. Or pounce.
    Myst swallowed. She didn’t like the analogy. It made her feel like prey to his predator.
    Her mind went in circles as she stared at him, connecting the dots, trying to understand. To feel less afraid and more empowered, but…
    He’d changed so quickly. Had gone from scales and fangs to, well… that .
    Six and a half feet of WOW. Dressed in leather. Oozing raw sex appeal. And the OMG factor didn’t stop there, either. She swore she could smell him. The scent drifted, claiming her attention and, unable to help herself, she breathed deep. Yeah, that was definitely him. Yummy clean male with a hit of knee-weakening cologne.
    Unnatural.
    Unreal.
    Unbelievably hot.
    With a slap, Myst hit the reverse button on her brain. No way. She refused to go there…into hotsville with a guy she’d just seen transform from a dragon.
    Think scales…think scales…think scales .
    The instruction stomped across her cerebral cortex, but didn’t make much of an impression. How could it with him standing there looking like a freaking cover model? If only he would move…start acting big, bad, and scary. She needed to stay afraid of him, but his stillness had the opposite effect. For some reason, it calmed her, slowing her heartbeat one thump at a time. What was he doing? Giving her time to adjust to his transformation…hoping she’d forget what she’d seen?
    She chewed on the inside of her lip. No chance of that. She couldn’t shake the mental image of dark blue scales, a spiked tail, and razor-sharp fangs.
    He was a walking, talking nightmare. A fascinating one, but…
    Mesmerizing or not, Bastian was still scary. His intensity added that extra special something—sort of like the special sauce on a Big Mac—to the OMG factor.
    Fighting the cold sweats, the old Mickey D’s song streamed into Myst’s head. She latched onto it, clinging to the familiar, and strained to remember