Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

the Otis.
    Newly installed by Venom, the elevator was a thing of beauty. A real stunner of modern efficiency. And Bastian hated the reinforced steel box. Enclosed spaces made him twitchy…violent, even. No way would he willingly put himself in that cage.
    Shifting his female a little, he punched in a code, waited for the go-ahead beep and then popped the security door open to reach the double-wide staircase. Taking the steps two at a time, he kept his ascent smooth and his rhythm steady. Myst was REMed out now, sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake her.
    Bastian told himself he was being considerate, that she needed her rest. The truth, though, was much more damning. The second she woke, he’d be all over her. One kiss would lead to another, and then? He’d be finished: roasted, parboiled, cooked with a capital C. And for some reason, he wanted to do the right thing…whatever that was. But it sure as shit didn’t mean taking advantage of her in a weakened state.
    Four days.
    Ninety-six hours.
    Five thousand, seven hundred and sixty minutes.
    Before the Meridian realigned.
    Then he would have Myst beneath him, be inside of her…make her scream with crazy, orgasmic pleasure. Until then, he would bide his time, get to know her better. As far as plans went, it wasn’t a bad one. Well, at least until he thought about the consequences. Then it became terrible because he knew it would get messy, and yeah, no way he would come out of it unscathed.
    And wasn’t that a tragedy.
    Uh-huh. Huge. Gigantic. Colossal.
    And man, were there any more synonyms for “big”?
    No doubt, but as Bastian pushed the door open at the top of the stairs and turned toward his suite, his mind blanked out. As priceless paintings flashed by—done by guys like Jackson Pollock, Picasso, and van Gogh—it took all he had to walk past his door and continue down the hall. The lavender bedroom was just up on the left, close to his, yet not close enough. Down the hall from Myst just wasn’t good enough. Instinct told him nothing would be until she slept in his bed.
    He wanted her with him, if only just to spoon up against her. Holding her while she slept would be heaven. Bastian knew it with a certainty that made his heart ache. The need defied everything he’d been told. Everything he’d been taught by his father and the males who had taken charge of him after his sire’s murder. The painful memory set him straight, reminding him of his goal, but didn’t focus him like it normally did.
    The female in his arms overrode the system, tugged at the deepest part of him, and he faltered, nearly doing a one-eighty to hotfoot it back to his room.
    Standing motionless in the deserted corridor, with a Rembrandt landscape eyeballing him, Bastian debated. No…no, no, no. Myst wouldn’t appreciate waking up with him. She wasn’t ready for that yet, so he forced his feet to move. Made his hand grip and turn the knob to her bedroom. Compelled himself across the plush carpet to reach the bathroom on the far side of the space. Only then did he glance down at the precious gift the fates had set down in his lap.
    Drained of energy from the feedings, she curled like a kitten in his arms: eyes closed, cheek against his chest, a relaxed, warm bundle against him. Bastian felt the heavy load weighing on him lighten a little. The contrast she presented amused him. Awake, she was fierce, direct in a take-no-prisoners kind of way. Asleep, she was vulnerable; so sweet he wanted to keep her close and protect her always.
    Bastian sighed. He was so screwed.
    Juggling her in his arms, he reached into the glassed-in shower stall to turn on the water. He shouldn’t be doing this, but…
    Man, he couldn’t put her to bed like this…with the strain of the night and blood of another female on her skin.
    “Myst.” Kissing her temple, he nudged her. “Wake up for me, baby.”
    A furrow appeared between her brows. Unhappy with the interruption, she grumbled and snuggled closer. His chest went tight, enjoying her dependence as he jostled her again.
    “Just a little. Enough to stand.” The softness of his voice roused her, and the second her eyelashes flickered, he lowered her feet to the floor. More asleep than awake, she whispered something. He murmured back, holding her close as she swayed in his arms. “That’s it, bellmia …lean against me. I’m going to…”
    He kept up the chit-chat and, with gentle hands, stripped her out of the stained hospital