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fault her for that. Was too taken with her to be anything but proud. Tracing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he whispered, “Hang tough, baby. I’ll come back for you.”
    “Bastian…” she trailed off as he shuffled backward, taking his hands from her. She clutched at him. “No.”
    “You’ll be all right.” With a gentle twist, he broke her hold and shifted out of range. If she grabbed him again, he wouldn’t be able to leave. “Stay here. Trust me to keep you safe.”
    Without a backward glance, he shut out the hitch of her breath, the sound and smell of her fear, and keeping low, moved around the Buick’s rusted-out rear bumper. “Rikar…I’m on the move.”
    “About fucking time.”
    “I’m going in hot. Deal with the back end.”
    Rikar hoorahed as he broke through the three-mile barrier, allowing the Razorbacks to detect him. The enemy’s focus spilt, half on his first in command, half on him, as Bastian shifted into dragon form. Baring his fangs, he roared and, ignoring Myst’s cry of “Oh, God,” he hammered Shit-for-brains in the backyard with an electro-pulse. As much as Rikar liked to razz him about it, Bastian didn’t breathe fire. His magic was more lethal than that, a wicked blue ball of energy combined with poisonous gas—more lightning strike with the added flare of a psychochemical agent.
    Yeah, he was a one-man/dragon show. A regular chemical warfare specialist.
    Shit-for-brains sucked wind as the blast picked him up and threw him backward into the forest. Tree trunks gave way like toothpicks, the crack of wood deafening as the enemy dragon smashed through them, traveling thirty feet into the underbrush. His eyes on the target, Bastian waited for the rogue to get up. He hoped he did, wanted to deliver another nasty exhale for the idiot to choke on. Instead, the rogue turned belly-up. Paws in the air, the dragon twitched into a full body spasm as Bastian’s brand of poison went to work on his central nervous system.
    Bastian snorted. So much for bright and shiny hope, never mind the satisfaction of a good fight.
    Cold air stirred above him.
    Rolling right, Bastian ducked under another set of enemy claws. His razor-sharp tail collided with the Cape Cod, slicing through the two columns supporting the front porch. With a groan, the narrow strip of roof slumped, collapsing over the cedar door. The new threat swung around, purple scales flashing, keen for another go at him. The dumb ass. What did he think? That an aerial assault gave him the advantage in a firefight?
    Bastian almost shook his head. He bared his teeth instead, shifting to face the dragon head-on.
    Warrior-honed patience kicked in and, crouched like a cat, he waited for the rogue to reach him. A split second before the enemy struck, Bastian leapt skyward, twisting in midair. His talons caught and held as he grabbed Dumb-ass’s spade-shaped tail. Muscles along his side pulled, protesting the stretch as he yanked, dragging the Razorback out of the air. Bastian’s paws hit the ground with a thump. Dumb-ass went down hard, wings tangled, horned head buried beneath a pile of earth.
    Not wasting a second, Bastian spun and brought his spiked tail down, thumping the rogue’s skull. A sickening crack went off like a bomb, shredding the air. Yeah, Dumb-ass was down for the count—a healthy helping of skull fracture with a side order of brain hemorrhaging.
    All right. Two down, three to go, though, Shit-for-brains was on the move again, tossing enormous pine trees like pick-up sticks as he struggled to get up.
    Rikar came in like a viper, hot on the tail of another Razorback. Red scales flashing in the low light, the enemy dragon was in full panic mode. Bastian didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want Rikar on his ass, either.
    Breathing out, his friend iced up the younger dragon’s wings, sending him into free fall. The rogue collided with the ground like a derailing freight train, ripping up the front lawn as he left a