Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

his eyes, his focus went pinpoint sharp, his night vision kicking in to help him. Across the room, Rikar pivoted, pushing away from the bank of stainless steel cabinets. A furrow between his brows, his friend met his gaze. Bastian went on high alert. Something was wrong, more than just the normal, everyday stuff.
    Cup in hand, pale eyes intense, his friend returned to his bedside. “Thirsty?”
    The polite inquiry cranked Bastian one notch higher. Rikar was never polite. Direct as a sledgehammer to the forehead? Yeah, okay, but he never danced around a problem. Right now, though? His best friend was chewing on one and, by the looks of him, it didn’t taste good.
    Attention trained on his friend’s face, Bastian reached for the glass. What the hell? His hand shook. And his arm felt like a lead pipe, heavy and uncooperative. Ignoring the rattle and shake, he drank deeply, draining the cup dry before handing it back to Rikar. As his first in command grabbed hold, Bastian tightened his grip, connecting them as he drilled his friend with a look.
    “Spit it out.”
    “I’m sorry…” His brows drawn tight, remorse flickered across Rikar’s face. “I’m sorry. She’s…she’s—”
    “Holy fuck.” His mind snapped back online, clicking the puzzle pieces together. Adrenaline hit him like a freight train. He jackknifed, coming off the bed in a single surge of movement. “Myst!”
    As his bare feet hit the floor, his left leg buckled. Bastian barely noticed, catching the edge of the bed, scanning the room. Empty, but for him, Rikar, and the king-size bed. Where the hell was Myst? She should be with him, not alone in the lair.
    Bastian lurched forward, ignoring the pain. He needed to find her. What if…oh God. If he’d taken too much of her energy she would be in pain. Was that what Rikar didn’t want to tell him? Was she hurting and—
    “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, his throat so tight he could hardly breathe. And as fear picked up his heart and slammed it against his breastbone, he hated himself for what he was…for what he needed from the female he wanted so badly to protect. “Where is she?”
    Reaching out, Rikar steadied him when he rounded the end of the bed. “B…listen to me. Just—”
    “Tell me.” Bastian turned on his friend and grabbed him by the throat. With a vicious shove, he pushed Rikar backward until his shoulders hit the wall behind them. Pinning him, Bastian got right in the male’s grill. “Tell me where or I’ll fucking end you. I’ll fucking—”
    “She’s in the next room, but B…you need to be prepared.” Rikar glanced away. “She’s not doing well…her vitals are meandering downward. All her major organs are slowly shutting down.”
    “God damn son of a bitch…you promised to pull her free.” Bastian’s voice broke, grief and self-hatred overwhelming him. “You promised!”
    “Jesus Christ!” Pale eyes alive with pain and fury, Rikar grabbed Bastian’s wrist, lessening the pressure on his windpipe. “Yeah, I made the call and saved your life. And you know what? If I had to do it over? I’d fucking do it again.”
    Bastian’s fingers flexed around Rikar’s throat. In that moment, he didn’t care that he loved the male like a brother. The pain of losing Myst was too much. He was fractured, split wide open, less of a male for what he’d done to her and…he wanted someone to pay. To hurt as badly as he did.
    “Yeah…go ahead,” Rikar said, reading his intention. “Take your best shot. I won’t fight back…but it won’t change a fucking thing.”
    Nose to nose with his best friend, Bastian snarled.
    Tears in his eyes, Rikar raised his hands, palms up, body unresisting…a sacrificial lamb to Bastian’s rage. “You’re more important than her, B. Without you, Dragonkind—the whole race—is fucked. Do you think the fucking Archguard will keep it together when you’re gone? Jesus! The European packs follow your lead. Is one female worth your warriors’ lives…all of Dragonkind’s future?”
    The dutiful answer? No. No one was worth the destruction of his kind. But his heart said something different. Myst was more important than anyone or anything. He needed her like he needed air, and now, he couldn’t breathe. And it was his fault…all of it. Had he done what she asked, Myst would be safe in her own world. But he’d been selfish—believing he could take without giving in return—and for his sins, she would lose her life.
    With a hoarse