Fury of Fire (24 page)

Although, if given a do-over, he would’ve taken the scientist instead of gutting the female in her kitchen. Had he known how difficult genome typing would be…the sheer effort it would take to decipher her notes and create the serum? Hell. He would’ve locked her up and thrown away the key. Forced her to work in his lab until she found a way for Dragonkind to produce female offspring.

With her expertise, she might’ve done it. But she was long gone, leaving him to discover the answers on his own. He must find a way to unlock and alter dragon DNA. The problem? Magic was a bitch to break through, and with the tendrils roped around the quadruple helix of chromosomes? He was fighting an uphill battle.

But not for long. His latest formula looked promising; possessed the potential to break through the genetic markers and allow males of his kind to sire daughters. Dragonkind needed females of their own. Without them, his race would remain dependent on humans. Which meant he couldn’t kill all of them. At least, not without starving his kind to death.

So, here he was…back at the beginning. Starting over.

It all came down to patience. Yeah, that and a kick-ass game plan.

Step one? Develop the breeding centers, both in his lair and in Europe. If he couldn’t annihilate the humans all at once, he’d use them…breed them to feed his kind while he mapped the genomes and found answers. Only the strongest humans would be imprisoned in the centers, ensuring pure bloodlines and that each female born possessed the best energy. Once the centers were full and producing, he’d release his super bug, wiping the weakest of humankind from the face of the earth.

Hmm. He loved a good plan, and speaking of which, his lab awaited. Time to put phase one to work.

Setting the pen aside, Ivar flipped both notebooks closed. Journals in hand, he leaned forward and opened the wooden box sitting in the center of his desktop. A small, stainless steel tube glinted under the overhead lights. Ivar hummed as he picked it up. Seesawing the thing between his thumb and forefinger, he studied the curvy container. It was so ordinary. Unremarkable, but for the deadly nature of its contents.

With a smile, he fisted the tube. Man, he could hardly wait to see what his little monster could do.

He lifted his boots from his desk and, ignoring the squeak of his new armchair, pushed to his feet. His footfalls echoed on the concrete floor, shattering the quiet as he rounded the edge of the table and headed for the door.

Turning into the corridor, he mind-spoke to his XO.
“Lothair…status?”

“Five in the chamber. We’re good to go,”
he said, the soft beep of computers in the background.
“ETA?”

“Five minutes. Lock it down.”

Anticipation carrying him forward, Ivar strode toward the airtight vault. Apartment, though, was probably a better description for the chamber. With enough space for nine, the place was decked out with the best of everything: soft beds, three roomy bathrooms, and a fully stocked gourmet kitchen connected to a plush living area. Yup, only the best for his lab rats. He figured it was only fair. No sense making them suffer the indignity of squalor along with the agony of a slow death.

Or not.

Who knew? It might take his worker bees just minutes—not the hypothesized days—to die.

The smell of fresh paint in the air, Ivar rounded the last corner. Seven strides later, he hung a right, rolling into the vault’s control room. One shoulder propped against the far wall, Lothair stood next to the observation window, his gaze trained on the humans locked on the other side.

Without glancing away from the test subjects, he shook his head. “They think they’re going home. A decontamination area, I said…before we take them to the surface.”

“You’re a good liar.” Throwing his XO an amused look, he headed toward the high-tech computer system.

“Better than you.”

No shit. Lothair could charm the hooves off a goat if he wanted to. Ivar grinned, setting his journals on the granite countertop surrounding the touch-screen control panel. As he scanned the screen, he went to work, running the usual tests.

All of the levels in the vault read as normal. Airlock sealed tight…check. Temperature a balmy seventy-five degrees and closed-circuit ventilation system operational…double check. Cameras on and microphones rolling…triple check.

All right. Take one of “Experiment Super Virus” was good to go.

With quick fingers, Ivar punched his personal security code into the digital keypad. The rotation of robotics hissed and a glossy black panel slid open in the wall to his left. Opening his hand, he stared at the tube resting in his palm. He breathed deeply, savoring the moment before relinquishing his baby. With a whispered “God speed,” he set the viral beast inside the robotic hand and watched it retreat into the wall.

The control panel lit up, waiting for his final thumbs-up.

Pushing away from his perch, Lothair moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Ivar met his XO’s gaze and tipped his chin. His friend nodded, reached out, and tapped the green button, setting the process in motion.

Computers geared up, the whirl of mechanics soft accompaniment as the plunger depressed, releasing the virus into the apartment.

Nothing to do now but wait.

“Got a gift for you.” Digging into his leathers, Lothair pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it over.

“Christmas comes early?”

“Today’s a big day. Figured I’d check item number two off your wish list.”

Clean edges and crispy paper crinkled as he unfolded his gift. He saw the female’s picture first and…hell. Wasn’t she pretty? Myst Munroe, female of the kick-ass energy. A beautiful little blonde with violet eyes and a mouth meant for sucking. Yum. He loved the fair-haired ones. Especially if all that fairness extended south, to the neat triangle between their thighs.

He read the list below her DMV address. A nurse practitioner. Huh. Figured. Bastian always went for the clean, preppy ones. No Gothed-out females with spike collars and fishnets for that male.

“Where is she?” Ivar shifted his hold on the paper and traced the female’s face with his fingertip.

“Denzeil’s running down all the angles. So far, there’s no trace of her.”

“Bastian’s keeping a tight leash on her.”

“Looks like it. But from all accounts, she’s strong-willed. He won’t be able to contain her forever.” A gleam in his dark eyes, Lothair smiled, and not in a pleasant way. Ivar almost felt sorry for the female. His XO relished a challenge and, when the male went after something, he did so with single-minded focus. It wouldn’t be long before Bastian’s high-powered female was exactly where Ivar wanted her…behind bars in cellblock A. “We’ve got cameras in her apartment now. Denzeil’s monitoring the human authorities and their databases. The minute she sticks her head out, we’ll get her.”

Ivar refolded the paper and tucked it away. He’d look at her pretty picture later. Right now, he needed to plan. Map out every detail, imagine all the things he’d do when he finally got his hands on Myst Munroe.

Jesus, he couldn’t wait to taste her.

Myst surfaced from sleep like a submarine, smooth and easy, but with a rushing awareness that startled her. Her limbs twitched, coming online as her brain rocketed into the ON position. As her eyes flipped open, she frowned.

Wow. This was weird. Completely upside down and backward.

Usually, she woke up blurry-eyed. In an incoherent scramble that left her stumbling around while her brain fired on all the wrong synapses. The result was less than fun. Her fail-safe solution? Coffee. And loads of it.

But this morning? Or evening. Man, she didn’t know what time it was, but…

Wide awake didn’t begin to describe her. She was on uppers without downing the drugs. Jazzed for no apparent reason. It was a little scary, actually. So strange alarm bells went off inside her head.

She rubbed her eyes and shifted, registering the softness beneath her and that she lay curled on her side. On board with the super perky rise-and-shine routine, her vision sharpened. Glossy white cabinets and a stainless steel countertop glinted in the low light. A round table broke up the space, sitting between the bank of cupboards and the bed. Two metal chairs sat at odd angles alongside, like they’d been pushed out of the way in a hurry.

She noticed the equipment next.

Lined up like soldiers, a collection of machines stood shoulder to shoulder against the wall and…wow. Nothing but the best for this unit. The medical equipment was state of the art, the most expensive models on the market. Not that the person using them cared. The heart-rate monitor was a complete travesty. Wires and electrodes hung to the floor in a messy tangle that just made her mad. Someone needed to kick that nurse’s—or intern’s—butt. That machine helped save people’s lives and—

Wait a second.

What was she doing in a hospital? Okay. Stupid question. Part of her job involved spending time in hospitals, but she’d never been a patient. Until now.

Myst squinted at the pale walls, looking for a clue: a picture, a diploma, signs of any kind. Nada. A big, fat blank. Just like her memory.

Man, this was getting old. She could do without the whole “can’t remember the next morning” routine. Especially when every time it happened, she ended up eyeballing someone else’s sheets. With a sigh, Myst stretched, arching her back to work the kinks out and…

She was naked. No hospital johnny. Just skin on cotton. Again.

Her mind came back online in a hurry. Holy crap. Bastian. It had to be. Every time she closed her eyes around the guy, she woke up without a stitch on. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad if he stuck around after he’d gotten her that way.

Whoa. Wrong thought. Ah…wasn’t it?

Chewing on her bottom lip, Myst tried to decide. She wanted him—no denying it—but was sleeping with him the smart thing to do? She knew herself well, could feel the fall coming. She didn’t do casual sex. At least, not well. The one time she’d tried, she’d ended up getting hurt, wanting something the guy wasn’t prepared to give.

She sighed, admitting she was in too deep.

But the worst was knowing Bastian wanted her, too. She could see it every time he looked at her. And when he looked at her, she forgot where she was, what she was supposed to be doing…namely saying
no
.

With a groan, Myst flipped the sheet back. Time to get up.

“Bellmia?”

The sleepy murmur drifted over her shoulder. A strong arm followed, snaking around her body from behind. She twitched in surprise, gasping when he pulled her in tight. His chest touched her first, pressing against her back a second before the rest of him followed. Oh, God. She had him, full-on contact; his breath warming the side of her neck, his strong body up against hers.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned back, relaxing into his embrace. Wrong thing to do, she knew. She should be shrugging out of his hold, telling him off…giving him the heave-ho. He was, after all, taking a truckload for granted. But as he fit her to the curve of his body, she lost the will to resist along with her voice. He felt too good, not even the threat of future pain overrode her desire for closeness.

He needed her. And she wanted to be needed.

Shifting into a shoulder roll, Myst glanced over her shoulder. Sleepy green eyes met hers and…oh, man. Sexy, naked, sleep-rumpled man alert.

“Hi.” Her voice came out on a husky whisper.

“Hi back.” Bastian’s mouth curved up at the corners. God help her. The guy was dangerous when he smiled. “How do you feel?”

“Umm…good. I’m good.” She dragged her focus from his lips and met his gaze. Hmm. His irises were the most incredible color: bright green, blue, and hazel flecks in a unique blend that was all Bastian.

Releasing a long breath, his eyes drifted closed. He murmured low, speaking a language she’d never heard before. One that was beautifully rhythmic, and as the rolling R’s and long-drawn S’s filled the quiet, she realized he was praying. Or thanking someone.

She shuffled sideways, turning in his arms until she faced him. Bad idea if she planned to escape, but her heart wasn’t much into getting free at the moment. And as she cupped his cheek, she didn’t care if she got burned in the end. Here and now? Yeah, that’s what mattered, and being with him like this felt too right to avoid.

She traced the ridge of his cheekbone with her fingertips. “Hey…are you okay?”

“Perfect.” His deep voice rumbled, and she shivered as he opened his eyes. His gaze shimmered in the low light, heating her up, making her want. With a soft growl, he kissed the center of her palm.

Steady girl. Take it slow…breathe.

She took the advice, breathed in then out. But her gaze drifted, wanting a sneak peek. And with the sheet down around his hips? Oh, boy, he was beautiful: smooth skin poured over ripped muscle and solid bone. Stroking her free hand over his shoulder, she leaned away just a little. She needed more, a better view of his chest and the taut six-pack below.

Myst froze mid-look. She frowned. The skin around his ribcage was pink. Not raw exactly. More like scalded, as though someone had poured hot water on him and—

“Oh. My. God.” Planting her hand on his shoulder, she pushed, applying pressure. He rolled onto his back. She came up onto her knees, eyes searching his chest and belly. God, there was a strip of pink skin running from his ribcage to the top of his thigh. He’d been burned. She remembered now, and the memory made her frantic as her gaze ran over him. “You were hurt. I came out of the clinic and…God…Rikar brought you in and—”

“I’m all right, Myst.”

She shook her head, stripping the sheet all the way off him. Bastian grabbed for her hands. She avoided his grasp, checking his thigh and knee. He winced, muscles flexing up hard when she touched his shin. “Your leg. It’s broken and…” On her knees, she forgot about being naked and straddled his uninjured thigh. Looking around, she scanned the recovery room. “Where’s my bag? I need to—”

“Baby, look at me.” Propping himself on one elbow, he cupped her face with his free hand. His touch stopped her in mid-flight, keeping her planted in the middle of the bed. As he met her gaze, he stroked her cheek, soothing her. “The bone is knitting. The burns are almost gone. By tonight, I’ll be good as new.”

“But…how?” Her brows drawn tight, she stared at him. “How is that possible? I saw you. Your injuries…oh, my God, Bastian. They were terrible.”

“I’m half dragon, love. My kind heals fast.”

The reminder of what he was should’ve sent her running. Or at the very least, backed her up a step. Crazy that it didn’t. But all she saw was the man and the way he treated her. With respect, affection, and passion. The fact he wasn’t entirely human was less important…a bit of an afterthought. Hardly worth her attention at all.

And wow. Go team Myst. Way to think outside the box.

“Are you sure?” Still worried, she examined his side again. “I think I should check you anyway. Just to make sure and—”

“How about I make you come instead?”

Myst blinked. Well, okay. That effectively shut her up. And got her thinking, because…holy crap. That was the best offer she’d had in years. She bit her bottom lip, a little unsure, but mostly? Loving the idea of making love to him.

It had been so long. Eons since she’d allowed anyone to touch her. And here she was, naked in bed with Bastian wanting her. She was so tempted, and he was…a freaking sex god or something. No way he could look and smell like he did if he didn’t have some powerful mojo working for him.

Myst swallowed when his gaze dropped to her lips. He paused, his own mouth parting, his breath coming faster, his eyes drifting lower. He skimmed over her: first her breasts, then her belly, and finally, the curls between her thighs. Heat bloomed, pooling at her core as he licked his bottom lip as though he was imagining what she tasted like there.

Desire sent her sideways into the path of anticipation as his gaze returned to hers. She shivered, seeing the wildness in him—all the pleasure he promised without words. And as he reached out and curled his hand around her wrist, she leaned toward him instead of away. Allowed him to tug her off balance, onto her hands and knees above him.

Still propped on one elbow, his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers, he taunted without touching. “Say yes.”

Need made her lose her mind. It was the only explanation. The only reason she closed the distance between them. There were so many questions left unanswered. So many things she needed to know about him. About Dragonkind. But common sense had flown, and as her lips brushed his, Myst whispered the one word she never should have, “Yes.”

As Myst leaned in, Bastian’s heart went jackrabbit, pounding the inside of his chest. Her trust floored him. The gentle brush of her mouth ruined him. And lust? Hell, that bastard lit his fire then poured gasoline on the flames.

The result? Passion’s equivalent of a Molotov cocktail.

Boom. Lights out. Good-fucking-night.

Which wasn’t his MO at all. He was always in control with every female he spread beneath him. But not with Myst. She was different. Special in a way he found hard to describe, but felt just the same.

Her hands on his skin. Her soft mouth against his. Her scent in every breath he took. Jesus. He couldn’t get enough.

Inhaling hard, he dragged her into his lungs, struggling to keep it together. To let her touch him. To give her all the time she wanted to explore.

But…oh, man.

Each caress cranked him higher until nothing existed but him, her, and the wicked pleasure she gave him. Which was backward on every level that counted. He should be the one touching her, taking the lead—blowing her mind, making her beg—not the other way around.

Except, he shouldn’t be making love to her at all.

Not without telling her the truth of his kind. But he couldn’t stop kissing her. Couldn’t slow down long enough to tell her he had something important to say. His drive to please her had taken over, pushing him past the point of no return. Which was so unfair—to her, not him. She deserved the truth before he laid her down and loved her hard. Should know how much she meant to him.

There were so many things he’d left unsaid. She had a right to know about the energy exchange. About how Dragonkind males sustained themselves. About what he took each time he touched her, but…

Goddamn it. She tasted too good. Felt too right poised above him. And the current of energy flowing between them? The Meridian turned incendiary, burning a trail through his veins. And as Myst lit him up she linked in, completing the connection until energy flowed in a continuous loop, from her to him then back.

Addicted to the power she wielded, Bastian moaned and, elbows planted on the bed, tipped his face up, seeking more of her. With a hum, she kissed him softly and, in that moment, he copped out. Knew he wasn’t going to tell her the truth about himself. Not now, when he had her naked in his arms.

Fuck. Could he be any more of an asshole?

Probably. But the fear of losing her made him that way. Rejection was a high-flying bitch without brakes. Once it was airborne, pain followed closely behind. No way would he risk it without making love to her first. Later. They would talk later…after he had the taste of her on his tongue and her scent on his skin.

One afternoon with her would never be enough. He knew it, but didn’t care. A few hours were better than none at all. So, selfish or not, he would take her. Store the memories away to reach for another time just in case she never let him touch her again.

Shifting his weight onto one elbow, he snaked his other arm around her. He drew her closer, smoothed his hand down her spine, then moved up again, exploring from hip to shoulder. God, she was exquisite. So beautiful with her lithe curves and pale skin. Brains and beauty. Softness and strength. Sheer perfection wrapped up in one female.

His.
Every magnificent inch of her.

Bastian groaned as she tilted her head and deepened the kiss. The caress was slow, thorough, more exploratory than true conquest. So far. But it was only a matter of time. She would own him body and soul after this. Maybe she already did. He’d lost the battle the first time he’d laid eyes on her. In that crappy little house in the middle of nowhere.