Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

herself closer, welcoming the male who held her.
    “ Bellmia …”
    “Here.” Small hands in his dark hair, her mouth parted as B thrust his thigh between her own. With a hum, she made room for him, wrapping her legs around his hips.
    Ignoring his injuries, Bastian groaned against her throat, drawing hard on her energy. “ Bellmia …mine.”
    The pair were extraordinary. Beautiful. Like nothing Rikar had ever seen. And Christ. He was just standing here, watching them…like some kind of perverted voyeur. But, he couldn’t leave. Still had to get them into the clinic.
    God knew Bastian wouldn’t make it on his own. And Myst? Man, she was already out of it: energy-overloaded and pleasure-bound gone.
    But as he steadied Bastian—careful not to touch his wounds or Myst—and moved the pair along the corridor, the center of Rikar’s chest grew tight. He’d lied to his best friend. Looked him in the eye and…
    Bastian would never forgive him.
    And Rikar wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t deserve a free pass on this one…was in the wrong on so many levels: for ignoring B’s wishes and forcing him toward Myst, for lying, for not pulling the female to safety before Bastian took too much.

    She should be doing something. Shouldn’t she? Myst frowned as the mental merry-go-round went round and round, spinning her from one thought to the next. She could’ve sworn there was something. A list she wanted to check. A task she’d started and needed to finish, but…
    Her brain was gone. A blank slate that turned inward, chasing its tail inside her head. The endless loop lured, left her foggy, making her give in to the warm, heady rush. As the siphoning current gathered her up, she rode the wave, gasping as another round of pleasure rolled through her.
    God, it was so good: the floating, the burn, the blur of oblivion.
    She wanted more of the pleasure-bound sensation. And then more after that, but she couldn’t indulge. Not now. Not without solving the problem first. It was mission one, critical to, well…something. Or someone.
    Yeah, that was it.
    A person needed her. Someone really important.
    She shifted, locking down on the internal flow. The streaming rush narrowed, shutting out sensation until nothing but a trickle remained.
    “ Bellmia …no. Open. I need…”
    As the rough voice rose on dark pleasure, the pressure at her throat increased. Gasping, she fell into the sucking rhythm and the hardness between her thighs. God, that was unbelievable: delicious, undeniable, beautifully intense. So good she struggled to catch her thoughts—and keep them straight. Delight closed the gap, drawing her back into mindless pleasure. With a sigh, she gave up and settled in, moving closer to the hard heat surrounding her.
    “Yes, baby…yes.”
    Hmm…what a voice: deep, wicked, full of promised ecstasy that guaranteed a wild ride. And God, she wanted to take that trip, but…with whom?
    The question was probably important. One she should, no doubt, find the answer to, but…hell. The pitch and swell was just too good. And so was that groan. Delicious and desperate, the sound was deeply male and, oh…wow.
    Bastian.
    Oh, yeah. She was with him. He was with her. She could feel him now: his hands against her bare back, his mouth on her skin, his body strong against hers and—
    Myst frowned. Wasn’t he…she seemed to remember…
    He needed help, and she was set up, trauma kit ready to go in the clinic. Her hands tightened in his hair. “Bastian…”
    “Easy,” a guy said as the world went topsy-turvy.
    As her head spun, Myst touched down, her spine connecting with something soft. A bed? A gurney? She didn’t know…didn’t care. All she knew was that Bastian needed help…the kind a trauma hospital specialized in giving.
    “Help…hurt…need doctor.”
    “Shh…it’s all right.”
    Oh, God, the stranger didn’t understand. Myst shook her head, desperation taking root inside her. He needed to go for help. She didn’t have the strength to let Bastian go…to call his friends. Something was wrong with her. She was tapped out, muscles and mind so unresponsive she struggled to put two thoughts together.
    She struggled to open her eyes. “No…help him. He’s hurt…burned.”
    “Relax, female. You’re helping him,” the guy said, all soothing tones and easy rhythm. Cracking her lids, Myst got a blurry impression of a face. Pale eyes glowed from the masculine planes and angles, shimmering like blue stars. “He