Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

by Coreene Callahan

  Second-guessing himself wouldn’t change anything. He’d made a choice. Had hurt a female to save his best friend and…fuck. He hated himself for it. Could hardly stand to be inside his own skin. But consequence was a bitch. So he would stand firm at the whipping post and take every last lash. He deserved it…all the blood and pain. Bastian’s fury was justified. He only hoped his best friend found mercy enough to forgive him someday.

  Rikar snorted and took another swig of his beer. Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. He’d seen the devastation. The awful emptiness in Bastian’s eyes as he’d turned toward the door, toward the female lying in the hospital bed on the other side.

  Bastian loved her. There wouldn’t be any easy up and over for his best friend when it came to Myst.

  His focus on the pretty cop, Rikar shook his head as he slid his cue stick into the slotted wall rack. How the hell had his friend fallen into that trap? And so fast. Bastian was the strongest male he knew. Tight in the head, solid in the heart, his friend never allowed the emotional side of his nature—aka the human side—to rule him. Okay, so they shared certain DNA markers with humankind—and, God knew, the humans went wild for the lovey-dovey BS—but that didn’t explain his friend’s reaction. Something far bigger than chromosome pairing was at work here.

  And Rikar itched to know the what, how, and why. Maybe if he could answer those questions he’d be able to free Bastian. Maybe then he’d get his best friend back. But answers weren’t coming tonight. A trip to the Archives to study the texts would have to wait. Right now, he had another female to deal with. Rikar sighed, wanting to hang his head.

  Deal with. Right. Traumatize was a better word. It seemed more in keeping with his MO lately.

  Yeah, he was a fucking peach. Pillar among males.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Swirling ice in her almost empty glass, Angela watched the big guy approach from the corner of her eye. She’d wondered when he would make his move. He’d been staring, checking her out from across the bar for at least fifteen minutes.

  She would’ve been flattered. Really. Had she been an airhead without the sense God gave her.

  Something about the guy was, well…off. Not wrong, exactly, just different in a way that raised her radar, got it blipping like a warning shot across a warship’s bow. Or maybe it was more meteorological. Like an oncoming storm, Mr. Rough-and-Tumble rolled toward her, his “hot” factor whipping her hormones into a frenzy.

  God, was that what she was feeling? Molten attraction? The urge to unlock her long neglected libido’s cage and let it out to play? Sure seemed like it.

  Angela took a sip of her Cran-Raz. Mixed with ice, the cold slide felt good going down. Keeping an ice chip, she cracked it with her teeth. The sharp sound chilled her out, helped her take a breath and control her heart. The steady thump-thump-thump was ridiculous. Especially considering she didn’t know the guy.

  But, man, he was something. Male beauty and strength wrapped up in one crazy-hot package.

  Skirting a couple of chairs, he walked between tables on a direct collision course with her position at the bar. The closer he got, the more intrigued she became. Mr. Rough-and-Tumble was a walking contradiction. Big, yet graceful. Handsome without being pretty. Casual body language covering lethal ability and iron will. How did she know? She saw it in the way he moved. Recognized the aggression—and potential brutality—in the coiled strength of his body. In the swing of his arms, the angle of his shoulders, and in each controlled stride. An enforcer, maybe. Or military.

  Yeah, definitely. The SEALS or Delta force. Maybe even the Green Berets. The guy had seen action…and plenty of it.

  Didn’t explain why he was here, though. In McGovern’s, a cop bar on the outskirts of town.

  He slid in next to her, taking the elbow room to her right. And…thank you, God, he smelled fantastic, like spicy cologne and hardcore male. One whiff of him and her libido went first-grader on her: hand raised, butt dancing in the chair as her hormones screamed, “Pick me! Pick me!” Which was just plain crazy. No way should she be reacting to him like that. Her brain had obviously been short circuited by one too many handfuls of salted peanuts.

  Angela pushed the bowl of Planters’ finest away and, glancing at Mr. Rough-and-Tumble, raised a brow. “Looking for trouble?”

  His mouth curved up at the corners; he took a handful of nuts. “Nah, just a pool game. You play?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether or not you like to lose.”

  He laughed, flashing straight, white teeth. “You’re that good?”

  “You wanna find out?”

  “Yeah,” he said, eyes intense as he popped the peanuts into his mouth. Angela swallowed as he chewed, reining in errant urges—ones that included full body contact as she licked the salt from his bottom lip. “I really do.”

  His voice came out low, almost purr-like, and Angela shivered as the vibration slid up her spine. Wow, he was a wet dream with the body to back it up. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’d be good in bed…so unbelievably hot and—

  Holy hell, what was she doing?

  Cozying up to this guy was a big mistake…one she shouldn’t make. Mac would kick her butt if he found out. Which was almost guaranteed. Yeah, McGovern’s might not be busy tonight, but the bar held court for its regulars. She recognized the cops in the corner booth. And just her luck, they were old school, throwbacks from the glory days when women were receptionists instead of detectives.

  For some crazy reason, she didn’t care. Not tonight. Right this minute, she wanted to ride the edge—let go and live dangerously for a change. The blond sitting beside her would give her that. She knew it like the chill in her glass. He was a flesh-and-blood opportunity. One she couldn’t pass up without at least exploring…if only for an hour or two.

  Setting her glass down on the damp napkin, Angela pivoted on the stool seat. Knee to knee with him now, she studied him, absorbed the chiseled planes of his face and the pale blue of his gaze. Hmm, his eyes were incredible, the color of ice…of the unspoiled glaciers she saw on the National Geographic channel. Icy, yet warm. Another paradox. One that upped her interest in him.

  She held out her hand. “Angela.”

  “Rikar.” He stared at her hand.

  A heartbeat passed before he raised his own. As his palm met hers, a prickling rush slid through her, ramping up sexual attraction, shoving sanity aside. He sucked in a quick breath and pulled back, letting her go. The second his skin left hers, she wanted the feeling back.

  A little breathless from his touch, she asked, “No last name?”

  “Not tonight.” He slid off his stool and tipped his chin toward the pool tables. “Maybe tomorrow, though.”

  Angela clamped down on a smile. He was a tease. Using a string-along strategy designed to not only heighten her curiosity, but keep it in orbit. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. Rikar was a player, a guy who understood the finer points of the game. Fine by her. She held the ball and controlled the field. No was no, after all, and instinct told her Rikar would respect her decision…either way.

  Sliding off the stool, she followed him, enjoying the view from behind. Man, he moved well, male power coiling, releasing with each step, making her imagine what he’d feel like mouth to mouth and skin to skin.

  And, oh, boy. Was she actually thinking about this? Considering taking Rikar home? After a measly fifteen minutes of watching and thirty seconds of talking? Jeez. She needed her head examined. But even as she told herself that, temptation called, urging her to answer. She hadn’t been with a guy in…what? Close to two years. Not from lack of wanting, but from lack of time…and trust. Other than Mac, trust and men didn’t coexist well for her. And, well, no way she would sleep with her partner. She didn’t want Mac that way.

  But Rikar?

  Angela blew out a long breath. Yeah, he was perfect. With his pale eyes, skull-trimmed blond hair, and ripped body, he
was number one on her list of stupid things to do on a Friday night.

  Wiping damp palms on her dark jeans, Angela studied the cues hanging in the wall rack. She made a show of it, buying time to collect herself. The guy standing quietly in her shadow rattled her more than she wanted to admit, and honestly? Acting like an idiot came in at minus two thousand on her personal Richter scale.

  Cue balls clinked together, rolling on the table as she picked her weapon, a beautiful dark piece with light wooden inlays. As she turned, Rikar positioned the balls on the white dot and lifted the rack, leaving a perfect triangle behind.

  He tipped his chin in her direction. “Your break.”

  “Magnanimous of you.” Chalking the end of her cue, she moved to the end of the table.

  “Maybe I just wanna see you bend over. You’ve got a very pretty ass.”

  “Nice try, hot shot, but I’m not that easily distracted.” At least, under normal circumstances. Rikar’s compliment, though, cracked her wide open. She liked the fact he saw her as a woman, complete with curves and white-hot need. After years on the force, the cops she worked with considered her one of the boys and treated her like one. Thank God…on so many levels. Her job was hard enough without adding a sexual angle.

  Grinning like the devil she suspected he was, Rikar walked toward her end of the table.

  “Stay where you are.” She pointed the end of her stick at him. Yeah, he might like the way she looked in her jeans, but that didn’t mean she’d give him a free show.

  Eyes intense in the low light, his chest expanded then released as he breathed out. Just loud enough for her to hear over the retro ’70s music, he said, “You gonna make me earn it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  With her hand braced on the table, Angela pulled the stick back and let it fly. As the chalked end struck, the white ball shot down the table, cracking the colorful triangle wide open. Stripes and solids ricocheted, bouncing off felt bumpers, heading toward pockets and…

  The blue ball rolled into the middle pocket.

  Solids it was.

  As she worked her way around the table, sinking shots like a pro, Rikar stood by, the butt of his pool cue planted on the wooden floor, watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. But she hadn’t lied. Pool was her game. A family tradition learned at her father’s knee.

  Minutes ticked into an hour and, as she beat Rikar time and again, he teased her, made her laugh, kept her guessing. And God, she enjoyed every second of it. Soaked up the attention. Loved that he wanted her and wasn’t afraid to show it. Even when it meant losing one game after another.

  Yeah, he was a good sport: charming, clever, and…watchful.

  Something about that made the cop in her wake up. The way he watched her was on par with how she studied suspects. In a word?…probing. Okay, so the examination was mixed with desire, but…

  Just like him, it was a little off. Wasn’t right, somehow.

  Why? She didn’t know, but her observation changed the game plan. No matter how much he interested her, she couldn’t abandon caution so completely. Other women would’ve done it, but she’d seen too much—been to too many bloody crime scenes—to trust without knowing. So, no. Taking Rikar home wasn’t an option for her. Not tonight. Not until she got to know him better.

  He racked another round.

  Angela leaned her pool cue against the side of the table. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Wanna save round two for another night?”

  “I don’t have another night, angel.”

  Brows drawn tight, she stared at him. “What do you—”

  He struck so fast Angela didn’t see him move. One second he stood at the end of the table. And the next? His hands were on her, one wrapped around her wrist, the other against the nape of her neck. Her training kicked in, shoving her into defense mode. But it was too late.

  Out-muscling her, Rikar picked her up, moving them back into shadows. She bucked, brought her knee up, aiming for his groin. He shifted, using his legs to trap hers. She screamed for the cops across the bar. They would hear her. Old school or not, they would come and—

  “They can’t hear you, angel.” Rikar brushed his mouth against her ear and, tone full of regret, whispered, “Can’t see you either. We’re alone here.”

  “D-don’t…” Helplessness rose, choking her with fear as she fought to break his hold. Rikar held firm, pinning her arms and legs, pressing her shoulder blades into the wall at her back. Oh, God. He was too strong. She couldn’t escape and…

  He’d rape her, here in the shadows, in plain view of a bar full of cops. Why couldn’t they see her? Why weren’t they rushing to help her?

  Tears blurred her vision. She screamed again. “Get off me…get off—”

  “Easy. I want you, yes…but this isn’t about sex. I won’t touch you that way. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, knowing he lied. A guy didn’t pin a woman down to have a friendly conversation. “Get your hands off me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking like he actually meant it.

  Angela didn’t believe the lame apology for a second. She knew better. The sick SOB was a predator. The kind of scum she hunted and put away every day. She should have listened to her instincts. Something about Rikar hadn’t added up from the start. If only she’d paid better attention.

  His eyes started to shimmer.

  Angela’s breath caught as the silvery light expanded until his entire iris glowed. The blue wave lit up the darkness and…oh, God. Rikar was more than a criminal. He wasn’t normal. He was…something else.

  A chill slid along her spine. “What are you?”

  “Relax, angel. Let me in and I’ll take it away…make you forget.” Transferring both of her wrists into one of his large hands, he cupped her jaw and raised her chin. Angela tensed, twisting against him. He dipped his head. His mouth brushed her pulse point. She shook her head, denial locked in her throat as something unlocked deep inside her. A gate opened, flooding her with sensation. The heated curl settled belly low as pleasure surged, spreading through her limbs. “That’s it, love…help me make you forget.”

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but couldn’t find the words. They were gone, taken by bliss on a warm wave. As she went weightless in mental fog, Angela floated, listened to Rikar groan. Felt him settle snug against her as he nestled into the curve of her throat.

  The super-charged current intensified until her fingertips tingled. Angela didn’t care. He felt so good and…

  That was wrong, wasn’t it?

  Shouldn’t she push him away?

  She frowned, trying to catch hold of the thought. Yeah, definitely. She never let a guy get this close. But she couldn’t make herself move. Couldn’t remember a thing as she closed her eyes, tipped her head back and let Rikar have his way.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Bastian couldn’t feel a thing as he pushed the door open. Not the hard edge of the knob in his hand. Nor the cold floor beneath his bare feet. He was numb, frozen from the inside out, unable to feel anything but anguish.

  The turbulence kicked up all kinds of garbage, stirring the debris in his mental junk drawer. Unpleasant things surfaced, the longing for Myst among them. He hadn’t thought himself capable of needing a female to the exclusion of all else. But the thought of losing her…

  The pain of it knocked against his ribcage. Pushed inward until he couldn’t breathe. Reminded him of what he’d done. Damning him with the truth.

  Forget the Razorbacks. He was his own worst enemy.

  The proof of it lay unconscious across the room.

  Afraid to look at her, Bastian stood on the threshold, head bowed, a death grip on the doorjamb as he transferred his weight to his uninjured leg. The one broken in the fight hurt like bitch, but the bone was already knitting. He’d be as good as new in less than twenty-four hours. His heart, on the other hand? Jesus, that wasn’t so simple. No amount of dragon DNA would heal the gaping wound
torn in his soul.

  A beep broke through the silence. The soft, repetitive sound drifted, carrying the scent of clean sheets and…lavender. The room smelled like Myst: the sweetness of her skin and fragrant shampoo. The one he’d used while in the shower with her.

  The memory made him lift his head. She needed him now as she had then. He couldn’t abandon her. Yeah, it would be easier to leave…to protect himself and avoid the pain. Part of him wanted to, but he wasn’t a coward. She needed him, so he would stay until she didn’t need him anymore.

  Taking a deep breath, Bastian opened his eyes. Even in the dim light, his eyesight was perfect, providing details, quick snapshots he wished he couldn’t see. Freaking night vision. He could do without the perfection today, because…God forgive him. She was so pale. So small and still in the center of the big bed.

  Covered by the sheet, she lay on her side, arms curled against her chest, blonde lashes like crescent moons on chalk-white cheeks. Bastian’s throat went tight. She shouldn’t be like this: drained of life, waiting to die.

  He wanted to go back. Reverse the clock and change the last twelve hours. The Razorback would’ve killed him quickly, left him ashed in the rail yard, just one more messy pile for the human police to clean up. Given a second chance, he would’ve taken that route and protected Myst. But it was too late now, and no amount of wishing could alter the facts.

  His female was dying.

  The need to blame Rikar lit him up from the inside out. Made him want to nail the selfish SOB. But taking his loss out on his best friend’s hide wouldn’t change a thing. Myst would still be here, unconscious and looking too small in the center of the big bed.

  His eyes stung as he half-limped, half-hopped across the room. Bastian wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand. He never cried, but now, in the awful wash of dimmed halogens, black despair grabbed hold. He had done this…killed her as surely as if he’d buried a knife hilt-deep in her heart.

  Bastian swiped at his eyes again and, taking a ragged breath, stopped at her bedside. He watched her chest rise and fall, thankful for each breath she took. Each one gave him more time with her. Not enough to say good-bye—there would never be enough hours in the day for that—but maybe he could soothe her. Bring her some small measure of peace at the end.