Firefighter Unicorn (Fire & Rescue Shifters Book 6)

by Zoe Chant

  “Jezebeth!” the tattooed skinhead snapped from the doorway. “Heel!”

  The girl jumped. “So, uh, yeah!” she said loudly, baring her teeth in a snarl that was wildly incongruous with her pleading eyes. “Do what the boss says, or you’ll regret it!”

  Ivy counted under her breath, both to focus herself and to make certain Gaze’s gang would have moved off. When she reached five hundred, she slid out from the café booth herself. Tugging her gloves up, she headed for the door—and nearly ran smack into the muscular chest of Hugh Argent.

  “What are you doing here?” he snarled.

  His ice-blue eyes were narrowed with anger, blazing in his handsome face. His short, spiky white hair bristled like the fur of an enraged wolf. He looked even more pissed off than he had after rescuing her from the elevator shaft.

  “What are you doing here?” Ivy snapped back, bristling herself.

  “Hope told me more about Gaze after you left.” Hugh’s jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

  “Excuse me?” Ivy glared at him. “I’m not your damn property. And why do you care, anyway?”

  Hugh made a low, frustrated growl under his breath. “Because—because—oh, sod this. Come on.”

  He reached for her arm, and she reflexively jerked back out of reach before remembering that he was immune to her venom. They circled each other like a pair of fighting cats, glaring. There was a brief tussle as they both attempted to open the door for the other, which Hugh won. Ivy had to settle for walking past with icy dignity, spine straight, trying to ignore his delicious, masculine scent.

  “How did you find me anyway?” she asked as they set off down the street. Then she groaned. “No, wait, stupid question. Ponyboy.”

  She knew full well that he was friends with Chase. The pegasus shifter had the irritating ability to home in on people, even from several miles away. Ivy had run afoul of Chase’s special skills before.

  To her surprise, Hugh shook his head. “I’m not foolish enough to mention you to Chase. No, you can blame your sister. Turns out she knows all your Internet passwords. She found the messages you exchanged with Gaze.”

  “I am going to email links to her fanfics to her entire school,” Ivy muttered. “The whole world will know of her secret passion for Twilight Sparkle.”

  Hugh raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t ask,” Ivy advised.

  “I have a suspicion that in this case, ignorance is bliss.” Hugh’s taut shoulders had eased down a little, though he was still stalking along as though the entire world personally offended him. “In any case, once your sister realized what idiocy you were planning, she enlisted my help in stopping it. Too late, I fear.”

  “Good thing you didn’t get here faster, or you’d have ruined everything.” Ivy glared up at that annoyingly perfect profile. “And you were supposed to be watching over Hope! She’s got the common sense of a bar of soap, and you just left her alone?”

  “No, actually, because unlike certain people I make plans that include contingencies. I took her to Griff’s place before I came to find you. I didn’t want her unguarded, not when you’ve apparently managed to offend the entire criminal population of Brighton.”

  Ivy didn’t like being even more in debt to Griff, but at least she knew he could keep her sister safe. Even her wyvern had to admit that the griffin shifter was a powerful protector.

  “Anyway.” Hugh glowered down at her. “You’ve still got all your limbs, which is more than I was expecting, but I’m betting you didn’t escape from that meeting without giving up something. What did he want?”

  Ivy couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked down at her boots, shoving her hands deep in her pockets.

  “I said I’d take care of Gaze, and I did,” she said. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Despite her words, her gut twisted. There was more that Hugh needed to know. Was he even aware that Gaze was targeting him?

  “Have, uh, you ever run across Gaze before?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

  “Never heard of him. But from what Hope’s told me, I don’t trust him as far as I can kick him. No matter what arrangement you think you’ve made, you’re still in danger. So you’re both staying with me until this is over.”

  Surprise jerked her head up again. “What?”

  He lengthened his stride, taking the lead. “I hope you like cats.”

  Dumbfounded, Ivy stared at his broad back. “But—you hate me.”

  “I’m a paramedic and a firefighter,” he said without turning round. “It’s my job to rescue people, even when they’re bloody idiots. Now keep up.”

  It was clear the conversation was over. Ivy could only trail at his heels, struggling to keep up with his longer legs. Inside, she was a turmoil of emotion. Confusion, hope, anger, delight…and underneath it all, a terrible, bone-gnawing guilt.

  She’d made a deal with Gaze to find out Hugh’s secrets.

  If it came down to protecting her sister or her mate…who would she choose?

  Chapter 8

  Hugh had been angry enough before. Now, having seen Ivy’s apartment when they’d made a brief stop to pick up her things, he was bloody furious.

  “Did you know how they were living, Griff?” he demanded into his phone—quietly, since Ivy was in his guest room overhead and he didn’t want her to overhear. “There were holes in the floor. I thought you said you’d helped them get an apartment! That wasn’t an apartment, it was a fire-trap waiting for its chance to star in a tragic local news story!”

  “It was the best I could do.” Griff’s rich Scottish voice sounded rather less patient than normal. “Rory, no! For the last time, don’t do that with your peas! Ross, use your own spoon, not Danny’s—and there go the peas again. Hugh, do you really need to talk now?”

  Hugh held the phone away from his ear as a deafening clatter crackled out of the speaker. It sounded like someone had just thrown an entire cutlery drawer on the floor. Quite possibly someone had. Hugh was beginning to suspect that one—or both of—Griff’s year-old twins might possess the power of telekinesis.

  “Look at it this way,” he said, when the din had abated marginally. “I’m giving you an excuse to skip out on feeding time at the zoo.”

  “Hayley, my love, could you take over here? Sorry, Hugh says it’s important.” The background noise faded away, thankfully. “Right. What were you yelling at me about again?”

  “Ivy and Hope’s apartment. Or rather, hovel. That decrepit pile of bricks should have been demolished thirty years ago. Couldn’t you have found them anything better?”

  “I offered to help cover the cost of a decent place, but they wouldn’t accept a single penny from me.” Griff sighed. “All they would let me do was negotiate with the landlord for them, so that they could afford anything on Ivy’s wages.”

  “And that’s another thing! She told me what she does for a living.” Hugh clenched his free fist, his temper rising again. “A whip-smart woman like Ivy, and she spends her days scrubbing toilets?”

  “Says the Eton and Oxford-educated man who spends most days elbow-deep in bodily fluids himself,” Griff said dryly. “You do realize that you could have been angry about this for two entire years, right? At least I’ve been trying to help them.”

  Hugh winced, his friend’s words slicing through him like a scalpel. Griff had been the only member of Alpha Team—probably the only shifter in Brighton—who’d been willing to even talk to Ivy after what had happened with Chase’s mate. In the past, Hugh had thought it foolish, not to mention a betrayal of Chase. Now he could only be thankful for the griffin shifter’s kind heart. How much worse could things have been for Ivy and Hope if Griff hadn’t stepped in?

  How much better could things have been for them if we had? his unicorn said, with its usual knack for spearing him straight in the guilt.

  “Well, I’m…I’m helping now,” he said, rather lamely.

  “I’m glad you are,” Griff said.
“Even if I’m astonished that Ivy’s accepting it. She’s suspicious of any sort of assistance, poor lass. I told her that they could always come to me if they needed anything, but she’s only ever done that once. And unfortunately, on that occasion, I couldn’t help.”

  “What did she want?”

  Griff blew out his breath. “For me to persuade Ash to burn out her wyvern.”

  Hugh let out a startled curse word. “Seriously?”

  “Oh yes.” The griffin shifter’s tone was grim. “Thankfully he refused.”

  The Phoenix’s most feared power was his ability to permanently destroy a shifter’s inner animal. Hugh had only seen Ash do it on a handful of occasions, as a last resort to neutralize dangerous criminals. He hoped never to have to witness it again.

  It did more than just remove a shifter’s abilities. It burned away part of their soul, fundamentally changing their core nature. The thought of Ivy’s fierce, stubborn personality going up in smoke, leaving behind a vacant-eyed, smiling husk…just the mental image made his unicorn flatten its ears in distress.

  “I can’t believe Ivy even asked,” Hugh said. “Didn’t you tell her she was basically volunteering for a lobotomy?”

  “I tried. But she was desperate. She’d gladly sacrifice half her mind and soul if it meant she’d be able to touch her sister. But Ash wouldn’t even contemplate it. You know how he feels about using his power that way.”

  Hugh made a mental note to buy Ash a beer at the next pub night. Of course, the Phoenix would only stare at it in polite bafflement—Hugh had never seen him drink anything stronger than water—but it was the thought that counted.

  “Let’s all be grateful for his restraint,” he said. “Pass me over to Hope, will you? I need to talk to her about a change of plan.”

  “Hugh!” Hope’s high-pitched squeal blasted his eardrums, nearly making him drop the phone. “Is everything okay? Did you get to her in time?”

  “Yes, and no. I’ll tell you the full details later, but suffice it to say that I’m not having you two running around loose. We stopped by your place to get your clothes and things. You’re both staying here until all this is settled.”

  “Here…with Griff?” Hope said dubiously. “Um. It’s kind of crowded, you know. I mean, I love little Danny, and the twins are beyond adorable, but I’m not sure that—“

  “No, I meant stay here with me. I’ve got plenty of space.”

  There was a long pause from the other end of the line.

  “Me and Ivy?” Hope sounded like he’d just proposed they book a suite at the International Space Station. “In your actual house?”

  “Well, I’m not going to store you with the potting forks in the shed,” Hugh said in exasperation. “Yes, in my house.”

  “Aaaaaand…let me get this straight. Ivy is in your house right now. With you. Alone.”

  “What, you think we’re having a party without you? Of course we’re alone. Tell Griff I’ll be picking you up after dinner.”

  “Okay.” Hope’s voice raised, going distant as if she was holding the phone at arm’s length. “Hey, Griff! Hugh says I need to stay with you tonight!”

  “What?” Hugh spluttered. “No! I said—“

  “Griff says that’s no problem,” Hope said sweetly. “Pick me up in the morning, okay? Have a nice evening!”

  “No, wait, what?” He was talking to a dead line. “What the hell? Hope!”

  “Something wrong?” Ivy had come into the kitchen, carrying a large, lidded plastic box in her arms.

  Hugh stared at his phone, completely baffled. “Apparently, your sister would rather stay in a house full of screaming children than come here.”

  “What? Why would-“ Ivy stopped mid-sentence, apparent enlightenment dawning. She let out a low, heartfelt groan. “Why that little—I swear, I am going to kill her with my bare hands.”

  “Why? What’s she up to?”

  Ivy circled past him, keeping her box between them like a shield. “It’s not important. Let’s just say that I’m pretty sure her latest dumb scheme is doomed to failure. Just forget it.”

  Hugh redialed, but the call went straight to voicemail. Hope must have switched Griff’s phone off. He tried contacting Griff telepathically, but the griffin shifter was clearly preoccupied, probably with attempting to force nutritious vegetables into the protesting mouths of his three children.

  “I could go get her anyway,” he said to Ivy.

  “Don’t bother.” Ivy was busy unpacking her box on the worktop. “You’d only have to prize her off the doorframe while she yells her head off. Hope has never been shy about making a scene to get what she wants.”

  Hugh opened his mouth to argue further, but was distracted by Ivy pulling a pan and a packet of ramen out of her box. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Making myself some dinner,” she said, flashing him a look as though he was being the weird one. “Is it okay if I use your stove?”

  Hugh looked pointedly at the pan already simmering away there. “You mean the stove that I am currently using to cook dinner?”

  “Yeah, well, obviously I’ll wait until you’re done.”

  “You don’t honestly think I’m intending to eat all this myself, do you?” Hugh lifted the lid, releasing a fragrant waft of steam redolent with saffron and paprika.

  “I dunno. Some—some types of shifter need to pack away a lot of protein.” For some reason, Ivy stumbled over the last sentence, her cheeks flushing. “I thought you might be a polar bear. Or just really hungry.”

  “Neither. And this is to share. So put your terrible cardboard noodles away and get a plate.”

  Ivy hesitated for a second, then took a scuffed tin plate out of her box. It was the sort of thing sold at army surplus stores. There was a big red X scrawled in enamel paint across the bottom.

  “Something wrong with my plates?” Hugh asked as he ladled paella onto it.

  “Contamination.”

  Hugh stared at her. “What in God’s name do you think I have? Cooties?”

  Ivy snorted. “Not you, dumbass. Me.”

  She turned away, digging one-handed in her box until she extracted a knife and fork. Like the plate, both were marked with an uneven slash of red paint.

  “Don’t touch anything marked in red,” she said, waving them at them as she sat down at the table. “They’re the ones I use. You shouldn’t handle anything that’s been in my mouth, just in—”

  She stopped, a strange expression creeping over her face.

  “And you’ve just remembered I’m immune to your venom,” Hugh said, taking his place opposite her. “Feel free to take off your gloves, by the way.”

  “I shouldn’t.” Nonetheless she toyed with the fingertips, clearly tempted. Then she shook her head, picking up her fork decisively. “No. I can’t risk falling into bad habits, even when Hope isn’t around.”

  “Is she the reason for all that?” Hugh asked, tilting his head to indicate the box of red-banded cooking utensils and tableware.

  “Mmhm. She’s horribly sensitive to my venom, thanks to her condition.” Ivy poked suspiciously at her paella, as if she was trying to defuse it. “Even the tiniest trace of my spit could send her into anaphylactic shock. What is this?”

  “It’s not a bomb, so you can stop looking at it like it’s about to go off in your face. It’s vegetarian paella. Fennel, broad beans, artichokes, a few Kalamata olives. Nothing elaborate.”

  She shot him a look. “We have very different definitions of the word elaborate.”

  With a slightly dubious expression, Ivy tried a forkful. Her eyes widened, and then drifted closed. The sheer bliss on her face made an electric jolt shoot straight to his groin.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering open. “That’s amazing.”

  Hugh’s own fork hung frozen in mid-air as she dove in with unabashed enthusiasm. Every one of her tiny, breathy sounds of pleasure made his blood surge. The flash of her pink tongue licking away a str
ay grain of rice; the way her glistening, generous lips closed softly over the fork, sliding lusciously down the gleaming tines—

  We’re not really thinking about forks here, are we? his unicorn commented dryly.

  Ivy caught him staring, and flushed deep red. “What?” she snapped. “Something wrong with my table manners?”

  “N-no,” he croaked. Under the table, he was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life. “Just pleased you’re enjoying it.”

  He grabbed his ice water as an excuse to avoid further conversation, downing half of it in a single swallow. It was genuinely tempting to tip the rest of it into his lap, but then he’d have to stand up. As it was, he was going to have to find an excuse to leave before dessert. He didn’t think he could watch Ivy enjoying tiramisu without serious risk of coming in his pants.

  Ivy was now self-consciously picking at her food, pushing the rice around her plate. “So…vegetarian, huh? That’s unusual for a shifter.”

  “We’re not all apex predators, you know.” Hugh cast around for a change of topic, and was saved by Mr. Mittens trotting into the kitchen with a hopeful expression. “But you are an obligate carnivore, you walking waste disposal. Go on, there’s nothing here for you.”

  “Who are—“ Ivy looked down as Mr. Mittens wound around the table legs. “Oh shit, you weren’t kidding about the cat!”

  “You don’t like cats?” Hugh said in dismay, as Ivy scrambled up onto her chair like a '30s film starlet who’d seen a mouse.

  “I love cats,” Ivy said, shrinking back as Mr. Mittens stood on his hind legs to bat at her shoelaces. “That’s the problem. Don’t let him touch me, I don’t want to hurt him!”

  “Oh, right. I see the issue.” Hugh captured Mr. Mittens and deposited him on the table, where he promptly attempted to make a beeline for Ivy. “No, you suicidal fuzzball, stay over here. Have an olive. Have all the olives. Ivy, we may have a problem here.”

  Ivy lowered her feet back down again, though she was still watching Mr. Mittens as though he might suddenly spring for her face. From the enraptured way the old tomcat was gazing at her as he gummed his olives, it was probably a valid concern.