by Zoe Chant
Edith pinned her hands between her knees. “What are you all talking about?”
“You,” Blaise said cryptically. She handed the card to Rory. “All right, you win. Don’t rub it in.”
“Win what?” Edith stared round at them all. “What’s going on?”
Rory’s face broke into that broad, boyish grin again, wider than ever, as he read down the list. “Type 2 Firefighter certified, Type 1 Firefighter provisional, Basic Feller provisional…this is a hell of a lot more than ‘a little training,’ Edith. Why on earth are you just a fire watcher?”
She stared at the dirt between her boots, hands gripping each other. For a moment, she was back at another campfire…in the circle but apart, silent and shaking as cruel laughter cut through her…
Something cold and wet nudged her wrist. Edith pulled herself back into the present, to find Fenrir’s copper eyes fixed on hers. The enormous dog rested his head on her knee with a quiet, concerned whine.
She stroked his fur, drawing comfort from his simple animal presence. “Fire watching suits my strengths. Wildland firefighting… didn’t work out.”
Callum stood up abruptly. For a sickening, lurching moment, she thought that he was drawing away in disgust, repelled by her failure—but he stepped aside, revealing Rory. Without exchanging so much as a glance, the two men changed places, as synchronized as ballet dancers.
Rory sank down onto the log next to her. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could feel his body heat against her side.
“Why didn’t it work out?” Rory asked quietly.
She concentrated on Fenrir, working tangles out of his thick black ruff. “I got the basic Type 2 qualification easily—that was just classroom training. But then… I couldn’t get a job. I tried and tried, but the few times I got an interview, they told me I didn’t have enough qualifications.”
She wished that those crew superintendents had just come straight-out and said it: We don’t want someone like you. It would have saved her years of humiliation and heartbreak.
She swallowed the pain in her throat. “I took them literally. I thought that if I got the advanced qualifications, the Type 1 certification and the chainsaw handling, then they’d have to give me a job. So I searched and searched until I finally found a crew willing to take me on as a trainee. They were dubious about it, but there had been some kind of publicity stink about a lack of diversity in the local fire services, so they agreed to try me out. But they let me go before I even got to work a real fire. I couldn’t do the job. I didn’t fit on the team.”
Blaise muttered a vile swearword. “Let me guess. Was this team all men, by any chance?”
“They were, but that wasn’t the problem.” She took a deep breath. “I was the problem.”
Her fingers twisted in Fenrir’s fur. The big black dog didn’t flinch. He just leaned into her hand, silently supportive.
I’m autistic.
She tried to shape the words, but they hooked into her throat and refused to come out. She couldn’t bear to have them look at her like her old crew had done, like some kind of alien inexplicably beamed into their midst. Or, even worse, with the kind, humiliating pity of her own parents. As if she wasn’t really a whole person. As if she was broken.
“Bullshit,” Rory said.
Her whole body jerked, startled by his ferocity. Before she could stop herself, she looked into his eyes. They blazed molten gold, brighter than wildfire, filled with fury.
Not directed at her… but for her.
“You are not the problem.” His Scottish burr had morphed into a feral growl, on the verge of a snarl. “Whoever told you that was a lying asswipe, and he’d better pray I never catch up with him. You’re not only competent, you’re exceptional. Just look at that line you cut, all on your own.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I could only do that because I was on my own. I—I don’t work well with others. In drills, when we practiced, I would just freeze up.”
She could still hear the way her squad boss had hurled orders at her like rocks. On and on, a barrage of conflicting demands, until she was disorientated and panicking, not knowing where to go or what to do first.
“Bullshit,” Rory said again, even more fiercely. “You responded today without hesitation, didn’t you? I bet you didn’t even think twice about it. You just did it. So congratulations. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve passed with flying colors.”
Once again, she had the sensation of falling through a hole in the conversation. “Passed what?”
“Your job interview,” Wystan said, smiling. “Want to be a hotshot?”
She’d never understood why breathtakingly cruel remarks were meant to be funny. But she’d learned the hard way—only teasing, don’t be so uptight, can’t you take a joke?—how to respond in these situations. She forced out a laugh.
No one else did.
“Wait.” She stared around at them all. “You can’t be serious.”
Rory slid off the log, kneeling down in front of her so that their faces were level. He looked more like he was proposing marriage than making a job offer. She fixed her gaze on the top button of his shirt, avoiding the fiery trap of his eyes.
“I have never been more serious in my life.” His deep, resonant voice shook her bones. She could feel every word in her chest as if he spoke directly into her heart. “Any crew would be lucky to have you. Come down from the tower, Edith. Don’t let your life be defined by stupid words from stupid men, who needed you to be small so that they could feel big. Be bold, be daring, be you. The person you were always meant to be. This squad needs you. I need you. Join us.”
Chapter 7
Rory’s whole chest ached with the effort of getting the words out—not because he didn’t mean them, but because he did. Edith’s whole life history was clear in every line of her posture; shoulders hunched, hands pressed so tightly between her knees that her legs trembled.
He wanted to enfold her in his wings, wrapping her in warmth and reassurance. He wanted to rip apart whoever had convinced her that her dreams were futile. That she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough.
All he could do was draw as hard as he could on his griffin’s alpha power. Not to dominate—never that, not to her—but simply to convince. He filled every syllable with his trust and certainty and unwavering support. He had to make her believe him, believe in him, as he believed in her—
“No,” Edith said. There was nothing but bleak resignation in her own voice.
Rory’s lungs felt like they’d turned inside-out. For a moment, all he could do was gape at his mate in utter consternation.
*Did she just ignore your alpha voice?* Blaise said in his head.
He tried again, harder. “Edith. We need you. Join us.”
Fenrir flattened against the ground. The rest of the squad all rocked back in their seats as though he’d fired a pistol past their faces.
Edith just looked mildly annoyed.
“I heard you the first time,” she said, tone sharpening. “And the answer is still no.”
The entire squad stared at her.
She flinched, curling around herself more tightly. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Because we kind of assumed you’d say yes,” Blaise said, wide-eyed. “People generally have a hard time saying no to Rory.”
“Well, I don’t.” Edith’s mouth set in a determined line, even though her body language was still meek and defensive. “I know that he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying.”
“Trust me.” Callum rubbed one ear with a rather pained expression. “He does.”
“I do,” Rory said, this time being careful not to use his power. “Why don’t you believe me?”
Her gaze flicked briefly up from his collar, skating across his face and away again. She still wasn’t looking him in the eye.
“Because it’s unbelievable.” Edith pulled her hands out from between her knees to tuck them under her armpits,
hugging herself. “Hotshots are the best of the best, the elites of wildland firefighters. People try for years to be good enough to get on a crew. Now you want me to believe that you want me in your squad? A random fire watcher you’ve only just met? I don’t know if this is a sick joke, or some kind of misplaced sense of charity, but I’m not falling for it.”
She paused, looking down. A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What’s the matter with him?”
Fenrir had crept forward on his belly until his head rested on her boot. He whined, his tail tucked between his legs in a posture of extreme respect. For an enormous hellhound, he looked remarkably like a puppy trying very hard to prove he was a Good Boy.
“I think you’ve impressed him,” Rory said.
*Very. No one else has ever been deaf to Birdcat’s bark.* Fenrir rolled over in full submission, paws waving in the air. *Pack needs her. Run with us, Stone Bitch.*
Fenrir still hadn’t grasped the concept of personal names. Or mastered some of the finer subtleties of human language. Rory knew he didn’t mean any insult.
His griffin, however, didn’t.
*Fenrir,* Blaise said silently, while Rory was fully occupied with stopping himself from shifting on the spot. *I strongly advise that you pick a different nickname.*
*Why?* Fenrir asked, sounding puzzled. He was still upside-down, showing Edith his throat. His copper eyes fixed on her face in clear adoration. *Is what she is. Tough. Strong. Break your teeth if you bite her. Stone Bitch.*
“Edith,” Rory snarled, his head too scrambled with his griffin’s outrage for telepathy. “Edith.”
Edith’s expression shifted from wariness to baffled annoyance. “I’m sitting right here. You don’t need to yell.”
Callum stared at the stars. Blaise buried her face in her hands. Joe was biting down on his knuckles, his huge shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
*May I make a suggestion?* Wystan cast an aggrieved glance around the circle. *Shall we try not acting like raving lunatics?*
Rory finally wrestled his inner beast back under control. He briefly contemplated trying to explain that he’d been talking to the dog, and discarded the idea. She already thought he was suffering from some kind of brain injury.
“I’m sorry, Edith.” Damn it, he wished she would meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to shout. I swear this isn’t a joke. We really do want you to join us.”
She shook her head, still looking unconvinced. “Why?”
*To keep Birdcat in line,* Fenrir said earnestly. *Bite his haunches when he tries to run too far ahead of the pack.*
Blaise managed to turn a laugh into a cough. “Well, for a start, Fenrir likes you. He’s generally an excellent judge of character.”
“Your Red Card says you’re more than qualified.” Rory handed it back to her. “And we’re one person short.”
Fenrir flattened his ears. *Am here. Am pack.*
*But technically not on the payroll,* Rory sent to him in exasperation. *If you aren’t going to shift, you can’t complain that humans don’t see you as a person.*
“Usually Thunder Mountain Hotshots consists of three squads, with a minimum of six firefighters on each,” Wystan was explaining to Edith. “Our Superintendent wasn’t pleased with us for being undermanned compared to the other squads—it makes it harder for him to balance tasks across the entire crew when the numbers don’t match up. Truly, you’d be doing us a favor by filling the vacancy.”
Edith’s eyebrows drew down further. “But aren’t hotshot crews always flooded with applications? I would have thought that you guys would be able to take your pick.”
Wystan winced, glancing at Rory. *Oh boy. How do we explain this one?*
Tell her the truth, his griffin urged.
Rory opened his mouth—and hesitated. If he told Edith about shifters, she’d only demand to know why they wanted her on the team, since she obviously wasn’t one. Then he’d have to explain about fated mates… and that would sound perilously like he only wanted her on the team in order to be close to her.
And he didn’t only want her to join because she was his mate. He wanted her because she was, undeniably, a superb firefighter. He’d known that at a gut level, just from looking at her fireline, even before he’d seen the training record printed on her Red Card. It would be criminal to waste such obvious talent in a remote lookout tower.
But she’d locked herself away, because she’d been convinced she wasn’t worthy to join a crew. If he told her they were mates, she wouldn’t believe she’d won her place on her own merits. Not only would she turn him down, but the little self-confidence she had left would be shattered.
Edith’s expression was shuttering down, clearly taking his pause as a bad sign. He had to say something. He wished the alpha voice worked on her. It was a little disconcerting to realize just how much he usually relied on his power.
“We did have a lot of applications,” he said slowly, picking his words as carefully as threading through a bramble thicket. “But I rejected them all. Our Superintendent gave me full power over hiring decisions for the squad. I’d rather have no one than the wrong person. And I didn’t find anyone who came even close to being right for me—for the squad. Until you.”
Edith shook her head. “You must have had people better than me. More qualified. More normal.”
“I don’t want someone normal.” He made a scornful sound. “None of the rest of us are normal. I need someone exceptional.”
Edith’s face had smoothed out again. Even though she still wasn’t looking at him, he could somehow tell that he had her whole attention.
“This isn’t just a squad, Edith. This is a family.” He gestured around the circle. “A bit weird, a bit argumentative, like any family… but at the end of the day any one of us would run into fire for each other. I can’t take on anyone who wouldn’t do the same. Today, you didn’t hesitate to put your own life in danger. And for what? A rabbit.”
“Hare,” she said, barely audible.
He grinned at her. “And you don’t hesitate to correct me, either. That’s the kind of person I want on my squad, Edith. Someone who stands up to me when I’m wrong and has my back when I’m right. Someone whose quirks match ours, who likes Joe’s cooking and talks to Fenrir like he’s a person. Someone who I can trust, whole-heartedly. That’s why I want you. That’s why I need you.”
He held out one hand, palm out. “So. Will you join us?”
Slowly, hesitantly, she put her hand in his. It was only the barest contact, light as a feather. It felt like being kissed by lightning.
“Yes,” she said.
Chapter 8
The prey was on the move.
The hawk’s body was a more difficult host than the hare. It couldn’t simply puppet the bird directly; not without falling out of the sky, at least. Instead, it had to keep a light touch on the beast’s mind, allowing the animal’s own instincts to coordinate wings and tail in the subtle movements required for flight.
It did not like being in the air. The sky was an unnatural domain for it, too far removed from the cold, comforting darkness under the earth. The bright blue emptiness and searing eye of the sun unnerved it.
At least the hawk’s mind was a more comfortable fit than the hare’s, being closer to its own predatory nature. It only needed to nudge the bird’s instincts—good hunting, prey there, find food—to get it to follow the shifter pack’s boxy yellow vehicle.
To Thunder Mountain.
It knew this place. Or rather, knew of it. None of its kind had laid eyes on the mountain for hundreds of years. There were forces that even they feared.
Almost, it abandoned the hunt. But it was not a dumb beast, driven only by fear and instinct. It had waited long to re-emerge into the mortal world.
It would not be driven out. If it was to be free to feast and hunt, it needed a strategy. A way to defeat those who sought to destroy it. And this prey—this fascinating, flawed, unique prey—might be the key.
For such a chance, it would risk even Thunder Mountain. It flew on cautiously, alert for any danger.
The jagged peak stood alone in the sunlight. No shadows swept through the clouds shrouding the sacred mountain.
Where were the guardians?
The world had changed greatly since it had last stalked the earth. Human dwellings infested the once-pristine wilderness in astounding numbers now. It could scent their souls, fat and placid and mouth-watering. If the guardians had truly gone…
No. It could not risk feasting yet. The lesser shifters were still here. In the before time, they had always worked for the greater powers, watching over the human herd. This could yet be a trap.
It circled high over the shifter den. Hunger gnawed at it, but it had to move slowly, cautiously. It had to observe these new guardians. Learn their habits, their weaknesses.
Learn how to destroy them.
Chapter 9
Edith huddled under her noise-cancelling headphones. They muffled the worst of the bone-saw shriek of the hotshot crew vehicle’s engine, turning it from agonizing to merely uncomfortable.
More importantly, they gave her an excuse to avoid conversation.
Even a truck this big was a tight squeeze for the whole squad, given the size of the men. She’d ended up wedged into the back row, gear piled around her feet and Fenrir’s hot, doggy weight pressed against her side. Joe, Wystan, and Callum shared the middle seats, with varying degrees of muttered grumbling and stoic resignation. She could only catch glimpses of Rory past their broad shoulders.
The squad boss rode shotgun in relative comfort, one arm draped along the open window. He kept turning his head, glancing back as though he could sense her looking at him. Every time, he flashed her a warm, private smile that made her skin tingle. Every time, Edith jerked her eyes away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in her music.
