Fury of Fire (27 page)

Bastian nodded, praying his friend was right, but not really believing it. He had control issues around Myst. And that was before the hungering got ahold of him. He’d never been with a female when the Meridian surged. Had no idea what he’d do…or how rough he’d get when need grabbed him by the balls.

Her plan got shot to hell right out of the gate. Myst shook her head, marveling at Daimler’s cleverness. The elf was magic in the distraction department…a lifelong member of “Oh, I need your help with just one more thing.” And she’d fallen for it. Had spent hours searching Web sites, scouring the Internet for baby stuff.

Now, Gregor had more paraphernalia than was strictly legal.

Well, all right. Setting her angel up with the best had been fun, but the unfortunate causality in the whole mess? Her alone time. She hadn’t gotten any yet, but things were looking up. Daimler had left five minutes ago.

Hallelujah.

Time to snoop.

Careful to keep her movements steady, she shifted Gregor in her arms. Fast asleep after his bottle, he snuffled then settled, his cheek against her shoulder as she crossed the nursery. With gentle hands, she laid him in his crib and adjusted his blanket beneath his chin.

“Sleep well, angel,” she murmured before snagging the baby monitor off the nightstand.

Tiptoeing across the room, she entered the corridor on the fly. She didn’t have much time. Daylight was fading, and the Nightfuries would roll out of bed soon, beating feet toward the kitchen and Daimler’s rack of lamb. The elf had hemmed and hawed for the better part of the morning, trying to decide what spices to put on the damn thing. Now she could smell them, the delicious mix of flavors making her mouth water.

Not wanting to bump into the chef extraordinaire, she headed in the opposite direction. No way did she want to be anywhere near the kitchen. Bastian would no doubt show up there along with his crew, and right now? She didn’t want to see him.

He’d lied to her.

All right. Maybe calling him a liar was a stretch. But crap, not much of one. She kept replaying the time they’d spent together—avoiding the sex, because…God…remembering the way he touched her sent her into fricking orbit—and she realized that he’d left a lot out. Case in point? The Meridian. What was it exactly? What did it do, how did it operate, why did Dragonkind need it? But the big one, the question to end all questions? How did the Meridian involve her?

Deep down, she knew she was mixed up in the middle of it.

Her first clue had been Bastian’s reaction. He’d avoided the issue, giving her token answers. And as he skirted the subject like a pro, her BS meter had thrown all kinds of red flags. Now her conspiracy theorist was neck deep in what-if land, kicking out theories that made her doubt everything.

Strange, but when she was with Bastian the voice in the back of her head went silent. The second he left her alone?
Wham.
Uncertainty came rushing back.

Raking her hand through her hair, Myst jogged up a set of shallow stairs. Her flip-flops clacked on the marble treads, echoing in the quiet as she paused under a huge archway. Her breath caught, the magnificence of the space taking her by surprise. Perfectly round, the room boasted a domed ceiling painted with a fresco. Dragon warriors took flight from its center, the colorful array of strength and power flashing above the bright light of the rotunda. The curved walls were similarly adorned, each panel between the marble half columns showcasing a single dragon. She recognized Bastian right off, the midnight blue scales and green eyes a dead giveaway. A white dragon with gold flecks occupied the spot beside him, the pale blue eyes telling her it was Rikar.

Remarkable.

Awe made her shiver and, as the fine hairs on her nape rose, she crossed the space, examining the mosaic-tiled floor. The intricate pattern swirled, forming a crest of some kind. A foreign language surrounded it, curling around the emblem’s outer edge. Myst crouched to stroke one of the letters with her fingertip. After tracing the loop, she stared at the fresco depicting Bastian.

God, he was beautiful—in and out of dragon form—and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she yearned for him. Totally crazy. Completely stupid. But true in every way that mattered.

With a sigh, Myst pushed to her feet and got herself moving. Three archways—identical to the one she’d just passed through—stood ready to take her deeper into Black Diamond. She chose the one across from her and, after trotting down another set of stairs, entered a large living room.

The ceiling soared twenty feet above the space, looming over furniture groupings. One entire wall contained windows, the brilliance of the setting sun muted by heavily tinted glass. Myst skirted the end of the pool table, walking past the cue racks to run her hand along the back of the couch. Butter-soft leather sliding against her palm, she approached the fireplace. Double-sided, the hearthstone rose in a sweep toward the ceiling. Space flowed on either side of its massive foundation, creating two equal passageways into the dining room beyond.

Jackpot. The French doors leading out to the garden. She’d come full circle, slipping beneath Daimler’s radar.

Tiptoeing past the fireplace, she hid behind its stone facade, using it for cover as she peeked into the dining room. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of the archway leading into the kitchen. No elf in sight. Thank God. So far so good.

The smell of roasting lamb in the air, Myst prayed for quiet floorboards and, skirting the enormous table, made a beeline for the double glass doors. Outside, the trees swayed, waving her along, making Myst imagine the colorful leaves acting as lookouts in her personal getaway movie.

Except, she wasn’t trying to get away.

She’d given Bastian her word. Three days. He’d asked for three days, and foolish or not, she intended to give them to him. But as she opened the door and stepped out onto the patio, a pang of anxiety unfurled in her belly. This wasn’t betrayal. She wasn’t being unfaithful to Bastian—or her promise—by being outside the lair.

Myst frowned. Right?

Her feet rooted to the flagstone, Myst rubbed her upper arms, fighting the urge to go back inside and confess her sins. Which was just plain crazy. All she wanted was some fresh air, a little time alone to think and…to locate the garage.

And there it was, an honest thought at last.

Yeah, and she’d accused Bastian of lying. Her conscience told her she wasn’t any better. Despite her promise, she’d explored the house, searching for the best way out. Her actions spoke more of preparation than curiosity and, standing in the shadow of Black Diamond, she faced an inescapable truth.

She had one foot in and the other out.

Half of her wanted to commit and stay with Bastian while the other half itched to run. Hiding would be easier but more painful. No matter how she sliced it, Myst knew she would miss Bastian—her craving for him was too hard to ignore. Somehow, she’d fallen hard, gotten in too deep to ever get out unscathed.

A gust of wind tugged at her, playing with her hair as she looked to the sky. A storm was coming. The fury of it didn’t surprise her. About the same time each year, Seattle suffered through a doozy and the cleanup afterward. Downed trees and severed electrical lines were par for the course, and the least of the problem. She always felt supercharged during Mother Nature’s fantastic crash-bang show: unable to stay still, like she had an overabundance of energy and no viable outlet.

Usually, she did something stupid.

Last year, she and Tania had gone running, a full-on sprint fest through rain-soaked streets. Trotting down the patio’s steps, she walked into the garden, taking the pathway to her right, wondering what Tania would do without her this year. Her best friend was high-strung, a little neurotic at the best of times. But during what they’d come to call the Fall Storm, Tania got so edgy she was prone to idiocy.

She needed to call her friend, if only to hear her voice and make sure she was all right. But Bastian had told her the truth about the phones. In the hour that she’d searched, she hadn’t found a single one.

Following the dirt path, she brushed her hands over some leafy ferns and walked parallel to the house. Black Diamond was a monster, a timber-framed structure that went on and on. The wing she could see sprawled out, taking up ground space with rustic majesty. She kept an eye on it, looking for a way to skirt its perimeter and find the front of the house. She’d already tried the front door. Talk about Fort Knox…the thing had more deadbolts than a maximum security prison. Ones that didn’t budge, no matter how much muscle she put into it.

A few minutes later, she found what she sought: a break in the shrubbery and a narrow trail along the side of the lair. She studied the thorny ground cover and then glanced at the flip-flops on her feet. Work boots would’ve been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Barefoot, it would have to be.

Holding her footwear in one hand, she stepped carefully, tiptoeing through the bramble, ignoring the small scrapes against her skin. With one last hop, she landed on the trail and peeked around the side of the house.

Bingo. An outbuilding dead ahead.

The smell of rain blew in as thunder rumbled and the wind picked up, tugging at her clothes. Myst ignored the warning and, slipping her footwear back on, trotted down the path toward the building.
Please, let it be the garage.
She needed to know where it was…and the kind of vehicles housed inside.

As she came even with the front, lightning forked overhead. The hair on her nape lifted, sensation tingling down her spine, gravel crunching beneath her feet. She moved right, running across the driveway and…

Thank God. Big, industrial-sized doors.

Set in a row, seven garage doors stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting patiently to be opened and, as one second ticked into the next, Myst tasted freedom. It was a moment away: the simple press of a button, a quick search for the keys. And standing in the growing darkness, she imagined the steering wheel in her hands and the roar of the engine as she drove away from Bastian’s home. A heavy weight settled on her chest, the pressure vise-like and painful.

Moisture pricked the corners of her eyes. How could this have happened? She’d finally found the right man, the perfect one for her and…Goddamn it. Fate left her with a terrible choice. Give him up and reclaim her life. Or stay and lose everything.

Myst hung her head.
Guess he wasn’t so perfect, after all.

The soft scrape of footfalls sounded behind her.

With a sigh, Myst raised her head to stare up at the storm-swept sky and watched the angry clouds tumble. She should’ve paid better attention. The tingle she’d felt earlier wasn’t storm-driven. It was about Bastian, and the fact she could track him when he was near.

She glanced over her shoulder. Serious green eyes met hers, unraveling her one thread at a time.

“What are you doing out here, Myst?” His tone was soft, barely rising above the wind.

“Exploring.”

“Are you done?”

When she nodded, he held out his hand, palm up, inviting her to come to him. She stayed still a moment, holding his gaze—hesitating—then gave in. She wanted him too much. But as she slid her hand into his much larger one, she called herself a fool. Her love affair with Bastian wouldn’t end well and still, like a lamb to the slaughter, she went to him without a fight.

Standing on the threshold between the French doors, Bastian scanned the dining room. The thing was lit up, candlelight bouncing off polished silver and hand-cut crystal. A stark contrast from the beer-drinking, trash-talking poker game the table saw every Saturday afternoon. Usually, the place smelled like a locker room and the cheezies Wick liked to munch on while he kicked their asses at five-card stud.

Daimler had outdone himself. Yet again. But then, the
Numbai
was all about pleasing those he served. Well that, and food.

The male never missed a beat in the kitchen. Was always experimenting, serving new dishes, everything gourmet-style. Which was a good thing. Daimler kept the males of the lair satisfied in the eats department while making sure each got the nutrition he needed to stay in prime fighting shape. Although, Bastian could do without the curlicue garnishes. A steak was a steak. All that other crap was just window dressing.

Tonight, though, Bastian appreciated Daimler’s flare for high drama. The male might drive him crazy with marzipan flowers on cupcakes, but he knew how to throw together an intimate evening for two.

His fingers still laced with Myst’s, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” Her breath caught as she got a load of the table. “Wow.”

Untangling her hand from his, she stepped around him. While he mourned the loss of her heat, her gaze skimmed over the candelabras, pale linens, and the two place settings arranged at one end of the long table. Drifting to a stop, she cupped the back of an upholstered chair. Silence stretched, drawing him tight before she turned to look at him.

Wariness in her gaze, she asked, “Wine me, dine me?”

“I thought we could share a meal.”

“You want a news flash?”

“Sure,” he murmured, watching her closely, trying to gauge her mood. Pensive. Too quiet. On edge. Not exactly the reaction he imagined when he asked Daimler to set up the romantic evening.