Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew Book 1)

by Zoe Chant

  He froze too, as if her paralysis was contagious. The tips of his gloves brushed her collar, not quite touching her neck.

  “Rory.” Wystan’s hand closed on the other man’s shoulder, dragging him back. “Don’t just lunge at the poor woman. I’m terribly sorry for my colleague’s appalling manners, Edith. May I take a look at your injury? I’m…a paramedic, of sorts.”

  Edith sucked in a shaky breath. Every inch of her skin felt simultaneously on fire and frozen. She managed to jerk her head in a nod.

  Moving as though trying not to spook a feral cat, Wystan approached her. He lifted a hand—and jerked it back as another low growl came from Rory’s direction.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face up. “Don’t pay any attention to me. Go ahead.”

  Wystan threw Rory another of those strange looks, but complied. His bare fingers were cool and impersonal against Edith’s skin. His presence didn’t light up her nerves in the same way that Rory’s had; his closeness was simply uncomfortable. She forced herself to hold still for the brief examination.

  “Not a bite. Just some shallow scratches from its claws.” Wystan shrugged off his pack, rummaging in one of the pockets. “I’ll clean it up and put a bandage on it. That rabbit certainly made a spirited attempt to get you.”

  “It was a snowshoe hare, not a rabbit.” Edith winced as Wystan swabbed her wound with an antiseptic wipe. “I’m lucky Rory arrived when he did. I swear it was trying to kill me. It was acting more like a predator than a prey animal.”

  Rory raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think it’s too late for us to claim it was a very small wolverine?”

  Edith had an abrupt, crystal-clear memory of the hare lunging at her, jaws gaping wide… “I think it had fangs.”

  Rory let out a brief, delighted peal of laughter, making her twitch. “There you go, Wystan. Straight from an impartial witness. Also, I’ve just recalled that the animal was seven feet tall and breathed fire.”

  Wystan snorted. “Nice try. You aren’t going to live this one down for a long time, Rory.”

  They thought she was joking.

  She opened her mouth to explain that no, she really did think she’d seen fangs in the hare’s mouth—but stopped. She’d learned long ago to copy people’s expressions and tones, mimicking like a parrot, always a second behind.

  Rory had seen the hare too, and he clearly hadn’t noticed anything odd. Maybe she’d been wrong. And both Rory and Wystan were smiling at her. If she didn’t smile back, if she tried to insist that she’d sensed something in the smoke, that there had been something wrong with the hare…

  She didn’t want Rory’s warm regard to turn cold. She didn’t want him to stare at her like she was a freak.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding high and fake in her own ears. “Only kidding. Haha.”

  “Well, you got off lightly.” Wystan finished applying the bandage. “Could have been a lot worse.”

  “Yes, it could have been,” said Rory, his grin fading. He hesitated, rubbing his chin. “Edith, did you notice anything odd about the storm?”

  She frowned. “What storm? The lightning came out of a clear sky.”

  Rory and Wystan exchanged glances.

  “Never mind,” Rory said. “I, uh, assumed there had to have been storm clouds. Since you saw lightning. Must just have been freak weather conditions.”

  “Rory!” the female firefighter called from the truck. She and the others had unloaded a pile of gear from the back--helmets, backpacks, digging tools, and a chainsaw. “We’re ready. Want me to judge the line?”

  “Hang on, I’ll be right there,” Rory shouted back. He turned to Edith. “I’m afraid we were the only squad in range. The rest of our crew is still back at base. We’re short-handed for this fire.”

  Her heart hiccupped. For a mad, shining, terrifying moment, she was convinced he was about to ask her to work with them. He’d complimented her fireline, after all.

  “So this is going to take a while,” Rory continued. “Will you be all right here?”

  Reality reasserted itself. Of course he didn’t need her help. He was a hotshot, an elite wildland firefighter. And she was just…her.

  “Yes,” she said, trying to smile. “I need to check out the tower equipment, anyway. Lightning hit it pretty hard.”

  “Take this.” Rory unclipped a radio from his belt, handing it to her. “Just in case you need us and don’t have comms. Wystan can show you how to operate it. He’ll stay here with you.”

  Wystan stiffened. “I may be green, Rory, but I like to think I’m not entirely useless. You just said yourself we’re under-manned for this fire.”

  “And I don’t need a babysitter,” Edith said, irritation sharpening her tone. “Or help working a radio.”

  Rory’s eyes narrowed. “You’re hurt. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “I’m used to being alone,” she snapped. “I’ve been a fire watcher here for years. You’re the one with a concussion. If anyone here shouldn’t be alone, it’s you.”

  “The lady has a point, Rory,” Wystan said. “You’re acting rather, ah, erratically. Perhaps you should stay here and keep Edith company.”

  Edith had expected Rory to hotly shoot down the suggestion, but to her surprise he hesitated. His gaze flicking from her to the waiting squad and back again. He ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, mussing it up even further.

  “No,” he said, shoulders falling in a sigh. He bent to scoop up his fallen helmet. “The squad needs me. But we really can’t leave Edith alone here. Fenrir? Would you mind?”

  The dog tilted his head. He stood up, shaking himself with a jingle of harness, and trotted over to her side.

  “Thanks,” Rory said to the dog. He looked back at Edith. “Fenrir will stay with you, Edith. He’ll protect you.”

  He thought a dog was more competent than she was.

  Apparently taking her outraged silence as assent, Rory fitted his helmet back onto his head. “Call me on the radio if you need anything. Anything at all. And stay in the tower until I get back. Let’s go, Wys.”

  Edith folded her arms, tucking her hands under to hide the way her fingers were twitching with anger. She glared at Rory’s back as he headed for the truck.

  “Who does he think he is, ordering me around?” she said under her breath. “Condescending ass.”

  Fenrir made a deep, huffing sneeze that sounded awfully like a stifled laugh. His cold wet nose prodded her side.

  Edith felt like pointedly staying outside just as a matter of principle, but the dog poked her again. He was a lot stronger than she was. Edith suspected that if she didn’t do what he wanted, he was quite capable of carrying her off like a chew toy.

  “Fine,” she sighed, allowing Fenrir to herd her toward the tower. “What exactly are you supposed to protect me from, anyway? More killer hares?”

  The dog’s ears perked up. His copper eyes turned hopefully in the direction of the forest.

  “It’s like you understand every word I say.” She reached for his collar, only to discover—to her surprise—that he wasn’t wearing one. She settled for taking a firm grip on his harness instead. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you inside, just in case the hare is still around.”

  Even though the animal had attacked her, she didn’t want the huge black dog hunting it down. There had definitely been something odd about the hare, but that didn’t mean it deserved to be torn limb from limb. The poor creature had probably just been terrified by the fire.

  She cast a last backward glance at the forest as she led Fenrir up the stairs. She hoped the hare would be all right.

  Chapter 4

  The hare’s body wanted to run.

  It tightened its grip on the animal, squeezing with iron will. The hare had only a small mind, a candle flame of soul. It was easy to dominate.

  It crouched in a charred thicket of brambles, wearing the hare’s skin, and watched.

 
Five souls. Dangerous souls, not human nor animal, but a mixture of both.

  Shifters.

  It knew their kind. Knew enough to be wary of them.

  At the moment they walked on two legs, working their way through the forest. It had feared at first that they were hunting for it, but they only scraped at the ground and hacked at trees with cold metal tools. Sometimes they stopped to smother smoldering patches of vegetation with dirt. Fire seemed to be their enemy.

  That was interesting. That was what made it creep closer, watching.

  That…and one other thing.

  The shifter leader’s soul was like none it had ever scented before. Power rolled from him, thick and intoxicating. If it could find a way to wear that one’s skin…

  Nothing would be able to stop it.

  The shifter leader was too strong to attack directly. Not yet, not now, when it had only fed on weak, animal hosts. To claim its prize, it would need a subtler approach.

  If only it had been able to sink its teeth into the human woman. She was linked somehow to the shifter leader—that was clear from the way both their souls brightened when they were together. Even now, it could smell his sickening desire and longing for her.

  She would be able to get close to him. He would never suspect her, until it was too late.

  The hare’s body would not last long. Already the changes had started—teeth lengthening, nubbins of horns pushing up, fur falling away. In a matter of days the small animal would be twisted into uselessness.

  It needed to find a new host. A stronger one, a better one.

  And then…

  Then, it would hunt.

  Chapter 5

  Edith was perfect. That little snub nose, those wide hazel eyes, the freckles dusting her sun-browned cheeks…every inch of her was utterly perfect.

  And she thought he was an idiot.

  Rory had always secretly hoped that he’d meet his mate while doing something heroic, just like his own father had. When he’d been younger, he’d avidly listened to tales from mated couples about how they’d met. He’d pictured himself taking the starring role, boldly winning his own mate’s heart. One day he would rescue his one true love from a burning building, or fight a duel for her honor, or save her from a corrupt dragon.

  Bunnies had not featured prominently in his fantasies.

  Rory was pretty sure that no one, in the entire history of shifter kind, had ever made a less impressive first impression on his mate.

  She is our mate, his griffin said consolingly. We are made for her. She will see that.

  Given that so far Edith had seen him fall down three flights of stairs, get beaten up by a rabbit, and then completely lose coherent speech, Rory did not share his griffin’s confidence. Not unless Edith had a secret kink for tongue-tied dorks.

  She will choose us, his griffin insisted. Once we prove that she can trust us. That we will always guard her back, always support her and cherish her.

  Yes. Edith needed a mate who was strong, who could protect her. She’d been so wary, so shy. She hadn’t even been able to meet his eyes after that first lightning-bolt of recognition.

  Just recalling Edith’s hesitant, nervous body language filled him with protective fury. Who had hurt her so badly, that she curled in on herself like that? Who had shredded her self-confidence to the point where she stumbled over words as if she didn’t believe she had the right to speak at all?

  He longed to stroke away the tension in those huddled shoulders. He wanted her to hold her head up high, meeting his gaze boldly, so that he could bask forever in the beauty of her green-brown eyes.

  He’d prove that he could be the mate that she needed. That she didn’t have to move through the world like a wild creature on the verge of flight. That he could shelter and protect her from any threat.

  Rory revved his chainsaw, attacking the next dead tree with renewed determination. From Edith’s own fireline, she clearly knew a thing or two about fighting wildfires. She’d understand how much skill and endurance it took to contain even a little forest fire like this one. He had to work faster, harder, to impress his mate-

  “Rory. Rory!”

  Blaise’s yell cut through the snarling whine of the chainsaw. Letting the blade power down, he turned. He’d left a messy trail of devastation through the forest, cut-down vegetation scattered haphazardly in his wake. Blaise clambered over a tangle of branches, her heavy work boots stomping through the leaves.

  “You’re going too fast,” she said, jogging up to him. “Joe can’t keep up.”

  Rory glanced impatiently at the fallen material waiting to be cleared. “Joe can learn how to shift his lazy arse.”

  “I’m right here.” Joe’s voice came from amidst the trees.

  “I know,” Rory said. “Move it, prince. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Joe reappeared from between the trunks, sweating and scowling. “Join my squad, Joe,” he muttered. “Become a firefighter and heroically save lives with your special skills, Joe.” He heaved the next log onto his shoulder, carrying it safely out of reach of the approaching fire. “You’ll get to spend hours picking up sticks, Joe. Oh wait, you didn’t mention that last one. Must have slipped your mind.”

  “If you’ve got breath to complain, you’re not working hard enough!” Blaise yelled after him. She turned back to Rory, lowering her voice. “Seriously though, you need to slow down. Even if Joe could swamp fast enough to keep up with you, there’s only three of us to cut line. You can’t expect the squad to hold this pace all day.”

  Rory looked back along the line. Wystan and Callum were some way back, digging down to mineral soil along the path that he’d cleared. The paramedic was gamely matching Cal swing for swing, but exhaustion showed in his bowed head and dragging steps. Even Callum was looking a little less crisp and perfect than normal.

  Rory clenched his jaw in frustration, but had to concede Blaise was right. “Take a break!” he shouted down to them.

  Wystan immediately cast down his tool, flopping to the ground with a heartfelt groan. Callum just settled into something resembling parade rest, feet apart and spine straight, but Rory detected a certain relief to the line of his shoulders.

  There wasn’t any point in continuing to clear fuel without his squad supporting him. Rory switched his chainsaw off, slinging it over his shoulder. Grabbing hold of the sapling he’d just cut down, he started to drag it away—and discovered that he was trying to drag Blaise as well.

  “You need to take a rest too, boss,” she said, one foot firmly planted on the slender trunk. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

  “I’m fine,” he growled, barely resisting making it an alpha command. He yanked on the branches, but Blaise kept her balance. “And we need to get this fire under control.”

  “It is under control. Trust me, it’s not going anywhere. We’re well ahead of the advance, so you don’t need to act like there’s a wall of flame bearing down on us.” She glared at him, her hands on her hips. “I promised your family I would watch out for you. Now come on, before you face plant into the dirt and we have to drag you behind the line.”

  We will be of no use to our mate if we are exhausted, his griffin agreed.

  Rory growled again, but let Blaise lead him back to the rest of the squad. Joe had returned as well, and was busy rummaging in his pack for his canteen. Wystan lay flat on the ground, eyes closed. Callum was still standing, staring intently into the bushes.

  “Something wrong, Cal?” Rory asked as he set down his chainsaw.

  “Hare’s back.” The pegasus shifter pointed, though Rory couldn’t see anything himself. “Shadowing us.”

  “Watch out, Rory,” Joe said, smirking. “It might be looking for another round.”

  Rory frowned, unslinging his pack. “That’s odd. I would have thought it would be miles away by now. You sense anything strange about it, Cal?”

  Callum shook his head. “Not a shifter.”

  “Well, let me kn
ow if it does anything. Maybe it’s just wistful thinking, but I’m not so sure that was a normal animal.” He couldn’t help wincing a little as he lowered himself to the ground. Even with shifter-fast healing, his bruises were still tender.

  Noticing, Wystan struggled up onto his elbows. “Let me check you over again, Rory. That was quite a knock you took earlier.”

  Rory waved him back down. “For the last time, stop fussing. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Blaise sat down cross-legged, taking off her helmet and running a hand through her sweat-damp curls. “I still think he’s concussed, Wys.”

  “I am not concussed!”

  “Yeah, it’d take more than a twenty foot fall to dent Rory’s thick skull,” Joe muttered.

  “You aren’t acting yourself, Rory,” Wystan said, looking concerned. “Please, let me take another look. Head injuries need to be treated seriously, even with shifter healing.”

  They weren’t going to let it go. He could use the alpha voice on them, but that would only raise their suspicions even further. He didn’t have any choice but to tell them the truth.

  “I really am fine.” He couldn’t stop a silly grin from spreading over his face. “Better than fine. I met my mate.”

  Joe, who had just taken a drink, sprayed water across Callum.

  “Edith?” Wystan sat bolt upright. “Edith is your mate?”

  “Rory, that’s wonderful!” Blaise punched his shoulder, grinning ear-to-ear herself. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

  “Yes,” Callum said, dripping. “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want you lot gaping at her and elbowing each other.” Rory swept them all with a glare. “She’s already on edge enough.”

  “I have to admit, she did seem rather skittish,” Wystan said, a faint crease appearing between his brows.

  “One wrong move and she’ll run for the hills.” He settled back on his arms with a sigh. “Let’s face it, I haven’t exactly covered myself in glory so far.”

  “Cut yourself some slack,” Blaise said. “You’ve spent, what, an entire ten minutes in her company?”