Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

the countertop, Bastian stared at her a moment longer, then pushed away from his perch.
    Without meaning to, she breathed, “Hey.”
    “Hey,” he said, echoing her in word and meaning.
    It was more than just a how-the-heck-are-ya kind of greeting. Somehow, the “hey” seemed profound, as if they were speaking a language no one else understood. Which scared Myst more than a squad of terrorists at close range…armed with rocket launchers.
    Rubbing her upper arms, she watched Bastian cup the back of the baby’s head, supporting his neck as he adjusted his hold. A blue blanket tucked around him, her angel let out an ear-piercing howl. The guys at the island cringed, rearing a little in their seats.
    With a grimace of his own, Bastian patted the baby’s bottom, no doubt hoping the movement would soothe the little guy. “Looking for him?”
    “Yeah. And you, too. We need to talk about…” Pausing, Myst chanced a quick peek at their audience, who were now watching them with rapt attention. Like she and Bastian were the best show in town. “Umm—”
    “Come and take him, okay?” Skirting the massive center island, Bastian crossed to her in a hurry. The newborn wailed, little fists pumping over the blanket edge as Bastian shifted him from his shoulder, preparing to hand him over. “He doesn’t like me very much this evening.”
    “Or anyone else,” one of the four muttered.
    Myst smiled. She couldn’t help it. The news that these big, tough guys were having trouble handling one little boy made them seem normal. Well, not quite, but still their grumbling was music to her ears. So were Bastian’s bloodshot eyes as he got close enough for her to see them.
    “Have you been up with him all day?”
    “Pretty much,” he said, sounding as tired as he looked.
    Well, all right. Vindication. She might have had a shower without her consent, but he hadn’t slept all day. Somehow, that seemed, well, if not quite a fair trade, it came really, really close. “Is he fed?”
    Bastian nodded. “An hour ago.”
    Raising her arms, she accepted the newborn, feeling her heart lift as his slight weight settled warm against her. He stopped crying mid-wail, as though he knew who held him and was happy to see her. Myst cooed in greeting as she checked him out, making sure his vitals were good and his heartbeat strong. Red-faced from his temper tantrum, he grumbled at her baby-style and then blinked, looking up at her solemnly as if to say, “How could you leave me like that?”
    A round of murmurs rolled through the kitchen.
    “Wow,” one guy said.
    “How did she do that?”
    “The hell if I know,” a third voice answered, awe in each syllable. “Probably all that energy.”
    Myst ignored them and feathered her fingertip over the baby’s cheek. With one last snuffle, he turned his face toward her and closed his eyes as she whispered, “That’s a good boy. Go to sleep, angel. I’m right here.”
    With a sigh that sounded an awful lot like relief, Bastian peered over her shoulder. “You’re good with babies.”
    “I love them.”
    “Good,” he said, his tone so soft she barely heard him.
    Someone cleared his throat, and Bastian stepped back, giving her room to breathe.
    “Myst…you remember Rikar and Sloan?” With the slight head tilt toward his men, Bastian pivoted and, planting himself next to her, leaned back against the countertop. Huge black boots crossed at the ankles, he pointed to the biggest guy. “That’s Venom. Wick’s on the far end.”
    She nodded, because honestly, what else could she do? Rikar, with his pale eyes and dark blond hair, was unforgettable. The mocha-skinned Sloan was gorgeous with a capital G. Venom’s laughing eyes and quick smile were no sloppy seconds either. Myst had seen all three in the clinic when she treated Rikar. But the fourth?
    He scared the crap out of her.
    It wasn’t his appearance. Wick was as good looking as the other three, but…his eyes. Something about the golden hue set her get-out-of-town bell ringing. She’d always thought gold was a warm color. Wick proved her wrong. His gaze was raptor flat, his eyes lifeless pits that bordered on cruel. And his stillness—the absolute absence of movement—screamed predator.
    Myst inched closer to Bastian, thinking they should have called the guy Fuse instead of Wick. Light him up and watched him detonate. Kaboom!
    “Are you hungry? Want some waffles?” Bastian’s shoulder bumped hers as he leaned around her to