The bump and scrape of chair legs skittered through the quiet. Raising his fists, Bastian pivoted, bracing for the threat.
“Sorry.” Sloan pushed to his feet, hands raised to the side. “I didn’t mean to…”
As the male paused, Bastian dropped his fighting stance and tipped his chin. “You’ve been sitting with her?”
Sloan glanced away, color tingeing his cheeks. “I didn’t want her to be alone.”
At the end.
He didn’t need to hear the words to know Sloan thought them. The dark-skinned male knew better than most about loss…about pain. Eleven years, and still he mourned his female and son. And now? Bastian finally understood. Was already living that hell, and Myst wasn’t even gone yet.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with gratitude. “For staying.”
A frown furrowing his brow, his warrior nodded. Planted on the opposite side of the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you’re pissed, B, but…don’t be angry with Rikar.”
Fantastic. Just what he needed: a peacemaker. Shit. Now all he wanted to do was hit something. Rikar was his first choice, but the male standing across from him would do in a pinch.
“We need you. I would have done the same in his place.” Dark eyes full of regret, he met Bastian’s gaze head on. “I would’ve hated it. But, like Rikar, I would’ve done it anyway.”
Bastian shook his head. He couldn’t do this. Not now.
When he didn’t answer, Sloan headed for the door. As he came even with the end of the bed, he hesitated, boots squeaking on linoleum, and changed course. Bastian tensed as his warrior came alongside him. He didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t deserve the comfort, but as Sloan’s shoulder bumped his in a show of support, he broke, inhaling a shaky breath as tears blurred his vision.
Raising one massive hand, Sloan cupped the nape of Bastian’s neck. Taking strength from his warrior’s touch, Bastian reached for Myst. His fingertips brushed her jaw, slid against her skin, traced the sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose. So beautiful. His female was hands-down the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen or had the privilege to touch.
He stroked her cheek, brushing the damp strands of hair away from her temple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Ah…Bastian?” Sloan retreated a step, his hand dropping from his shoulder.
Focused on his female, Bastian didn’t acknowledge the interruption. He was too busy memorizing her face: the curve of her cheek, the softness of her skin, the shape of her mouth. All the small details that would sustain him…that needed to last a lifetime.
His friend knocked the side of his arm. “B.”
With a growl, he glanced over his shoulder, hammering the male with a load of leave-me-the-fuck-alone. “What?”
“Jesus, man. Look at her.”
Still cupping her cheek, Bastian drew a gentle circle on her temple. He stared at Sloan. The male pointed at Myst. Frowning, he switched focus, scanned her face and…his heart paused mid-beat. What the hell? Was she—
“Oh, my…holy shit, B. Get in. Get into bed with her.”
He froze as Myst took a deep breath and turned her face into his hand. “Bellmia? My baby…can you hear me?”
“Screw that…move your ass!” With a quick arm thrust, Sloan shoved him.
Bastian’s injured leg buckled, pitching him forward. With a quick twist, he tunneled his arm beneath Myst, wrapped her close and rolled, protecting her from the brunt of his weight. The wires connecting her to the machine tangled, wrenching her shoulder into an unnatural position.
Giving the f-bomb a workout, he unwound the mess and, seeing the marks on her skin, snarled, “What the fuck, man?”
His attention on the monitor, Sloan ignored him.
Myst whimpered, scissoring her legs against his, tucking her head beneath his chin. Bastian murmured, used his voice to soothe her, and slipped his hands beneath her tank top. As his palms connected with bare skin, she hummed, turning her face into the base of his throat. He drew her closer, touching his mouth to the curve of her shoulder as he whispered her name.
“Sloan…what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but…she’s reacting to you. Her color is better and…get her out of those clothes. I think you need to be skin to skin with her.” Dark eyes narrowed, Sloan studied Myst for a moment before switching his attention back to the monitor beside the bed. He tapped the glass, following the green blip across the small screen. “Her heart rate is evening out, too. What are you doing…feeding her?”
Bastian didn’t have a clue. He didn’t much care either, but—
An electroshock blindsided him, hitting him chest level. Bastian twitched and tightened his grip on Myst as the current spread, corkscrewing in a heated twist around his torso.
Jesus. The Meridian.
Like a switch being flipped, the energy went live, roaring through him without prompting. Okay. That was different. Usually he controlled the energy surge, opened the connection from Meridian to female, and drew what he needed. Right now, though, his well was capped. He wasn’t feeding. Myst was the one linked in, creating the bond between them.
Shifting a little, he relaxed into the sensation. The current settled deep, gentling as his dragon responded and rose, channeling the energy flow from him to Myst.
One hand flat against her bare back, Bastian pushed the sheet out from between them. He cursed as he got tangled up in the wires again. “Sloan…get this shit off her. I can’t strip her if—”
“On it.” With quick hands, Sloan peeled the electrodes from Myst’s skin. “Good to go. Do you need—”
“Turn around.”
The second the command left his mouth, Bastian knew it was stupid. And possessive as hell. He shouldn’t care if anyone saw her naked. Not when her life hung by a thread. But he couldn’t control the need to keep her for himself. He didn’t want another male near her, never mind looking at her.
As Sloan spun to face the wall, Bastian got busy stripping her down. The white tank top went first. As it cleared the top of her head, he tossed it aside. Trying not to look at her bare breasts, he slid his hands beneath her waistband. Soft skin met his palms. God, she was naked beneath here, too. No panties, no barriers between them as he rolled the black pants down her thighs, off her feet, and kicked them to the end of the bed.
With a flip, he covered them with the sheet and wrapped his arms around her. Drawing her in, he put them chest to breast, tangling his legs with hers. She moaned, and Bastian hugged her closer, turning his face into her hair. As he kissed the soft waves, the current between them increased, tugging at his energy center. He gave it up, letting her take from him.
God, it was extraordinary. And a little strange.
He was feeding her, providing what he normally took. Though it was different, somehow. A gentler kind of nourishment, male to female instead of the other way around. He’d never heard of such a thing…hadn’t known his kind was capable of feeding another.
Was this some kind of ancient rite, one Dragonkind had forgotten?
He didn’t know, but as his hands traveled, stoking along Myst’s spine, he vowed to find out. He needed to visit the Archives and read what his ancestors had written. And he would. As soon as he got his female back on her feet.
Mont Blanc in hand, red leather-bound notebook in his lap, Ivar leaned back in his new chair and propped his feet on his makeshift desk. The folding table wobbled, threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his boots. He ignored the sway, too busy scribbling in the margins, adding detailed notes to the complicated formula.
He needed to get it right this time.
Ivar snorted, wishing solutions were like dogs. Those four-legged fuckers always came when called. Science? Not so much.
Each experiment followed its own protocol, precise steps that took time to develop and implement. Success came after measured results and evaluation, not the other way around. Soon, though, he’d solve the mystery.
Crack the code and unravel the genetic mapping of Dragonkind’s fertility cycles. Once he did that? He’d be golden…have what he needed to start phase two of his project.
Phase one was already underway.
“Christ…underway. Barely,” Ivar muttered, retracing the genetic codes, frustration getting the better of him.
Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. He liked tangible results: the faster, the better. But even with the deck stacked, speed wasn’t in the cards. Which was problem number…oh, he didn’t know. Maybe 207? Number one on the list involved Bastian. The Nightfuries were a pain in the ass. That crew was hunting Razorbacks hard: killing his warriors, searching for him. Meanwhile, what was he doing? Sitting on his duff, waiting for clinical trials to begin, for his warriors to find the right residents for cellblock A.
All right. So the lack of progress wasn’t exactly their fault. High-energy females were a rare breed, harder to find than four-leaf clovers.
Doodling in the side margins, Ivar sighed. He needed six—just six, although, he’d settle for five in a pinch—to get his breeding program off the ground. After that? He’d find more to add to the pot, but until then…
He refused to rush things or get ahead of the data. Mistakes happened that way. And right now? He couldn’t afford to make any.
Ivar tossed his Mont Blanc onto the notebook in his lap. As the pen settled in the vee, he reached out and grabbed the journal sitting open on his desk. The leather-bound book was his bible; 179 pages of formulae and scribbled notes containing secrets he’d yet to unlock. His mouth curved, he smoothed the dog-eared pages, loving the textured paper and…the blood spatter.
Hmm, yes. The three-year-old blood blissed him out every time he touched it. Each droplet reminded him of the battle. He’d fought dirty that night—done the unspeakable in Dragonkind circles—to possess the journal. The one he held along with the six others locked in his safe.
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 an
d 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.
Chapter Twenty-seven
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.
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