by Zoe Chant
“That,” Blaise said, after a moment of consideration, “is quite possibly the least romantic thing anyone has ever said.”
He grimaced. “I could have phrased that better. But it’s true. In the waking world, seeing me triggers your phoenix, and that triggers you into a cascade of powerful negative memories. It becomes a vicious feedback cycle. It’s no wonder you can’t stand to be near me. I’m honestly impressed that you’ve managed so well for this long.”
“So you’re saying you want to try to… desensitize me?”
Zephyr nodded, his black eyes lighting up. “Exactly. Look at how easily we’ve been able to talk here. This is a safe place, away from your phoenix. I want to try to use that. If we can create positive associations here, it might help in the waking world. Give us both more control over our emotions.”
Blaise was a long way from convinced, but she shrugged. “Well, I literally don’t have anything better to do right now, except drool into my pillow. Might as well give it a shot. What kind of thing did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could start by recreating a normal daily scenario. A dress rehearsal for the real thing, as it were. If we practice until we’re comfortable here, then it should make it easier to do later.”
“Okay. How about weight training?”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat, a slight flush staining his cheeks. “Perhaps something a little easier, for a first attempt. One moment. I’m not entirely sure how… ah, there we go.”
Sunlight fell across her face. Blaise shaded her eyes and discovered that they were now standing in the familiar meadow that the crew used for training drills. She could feel the breeze against the back of her neck, the warmth of the sun; yet the blades of grass blurred together, and the edge of the forest was just an impressionistic green haze. Everything was a little too bright, the colors too saturated.
“This is like being inside an Instagram filter,” she said. “Whose dream is this?”
“Mine. Sorry, I don’t usually have to construct the entire setting from my own memory.” As Zephyr spoke, the scene steadied, detail filling in like a JPEG downloading over a terrible connection. “I thought we could run through line cutting drill.”
“In that case, we’re going to need tools,” Blaise said, and discovered a Pulaski in her hand. “And also beer.”
“Nice try.” Zephyr now had a Pulaski too, and his clothes had morphed to the dull dun of turn outs. He pursed his lips. “Hmm. For accuracy, I suppose I should include the rest of the squad too. I can’t actually bring them into my dream, but a basic simulation of their appearance and behavior should suffice.”
A set of figures appeared, frozen in place like clothing mannequins. Blaise took one look at them, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “Is that how you see the guys?”
Zephyr looked from her to his fictional creations, and back again. “You… don’t?”
“Are you kidding me? Fenrir’s accurate, but Wystan’s way too short, and Rory only wishes he was that ripped.” Fighting down giggles, Blaise circled the group. “Shit, is that meant to be Joe? You’ve made him look noble. And Callum! What did you do, mash him up with Chris Evans?”
Zephyr held out his hand. “Perhaps you’d like to try?”
“Sure.” She rested her palm on his, and concentrated. The images of the crew blurred, rippling into much more accurate representations. “There. Much better.”
Zephyr blinked at her new, improved versions. His lips twitched, and he covered his mouth with one hand.
“It is suddenly very apparent that you grew up with them,” he murmured. “On second thought, perhaps this would be better without a simulated audience. Let’s try something simpler.”
Like a bad slideshow transition, the meadow dissolved, turning into the mess hall. The tables were set for breakfast, with pitchers of juice and bulk boxes of cereal lined up at the side. No one else was present, yet Blaise had an impression of the usual early morning sounds; a clatter of spoons, and a low, indistinct grumble of sleepy complaints and conversations.
Zephyr backed up a bit, then strode confidently toward her, as though he’d just entered the room. “Good morning, Blaise. Did you sleep well?”
She managed to suppress another laugh, though not her grin. “Oh, yeah. Really weird dreams though. You?”
“I had an interesting night,” he replied, black eyes sparkling. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks,” she said, playing along. “Black, two sugars.”
“I know.” He returned from the coffee pot, handing her a mug. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “Don’t actually try to drink it. Taste and smell are the hardest senses to fool.”
There was something subtly off about the liquid in the mug. When she looked at it, her brain said coffee, but it was like reading the word rather than actually smelling the aroma of the beans.
She pretended to take a sip, then put the mug down, still fighting not to laugh. “Well, here we are. Look at us, having a perfectly normal conversation.”
“Indeed.” He leaned against the edge of the table, a smile tugging at his lips. “Here we are, all alone, with no one bursting into flame.”
The dawn light caught the playful curve of his mouth. She was abruptly very aware of the hard lines of his braced arms; the way his pose pulled his T-shirt taut across his chest.
The urge to laugh vanished, replaced by a very different need. She swallowed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Here we are. Without my animal.”
Something shifted in Zephyr’s eyes. He was still smiling, still relaxed; but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at her. The low hum of background noise faded, and the details of the room blurred. She couldn’t have said where they were now, if anywhere. It didn’t matter.
“Here we are.” His voice was a deep, soft echo of her own. “Together. Alone.”
She wasn’t sure which one of them moved first. Maybe they both did, in unison, drawn by the same unstoppable force.
Her hands tangled in his hair. His slid around her waist. And this was a dream, it wasn’t truly happening, but God, he felt real. He was there, solid and hard, body pressing against her own.
Their lips met, and a heat that had nothing to do with her animal shot through her. She was a sunbaked forest, parched and yearning, and he was the sweet kiss of lightning. Finally, finally she was alight, every part of her burning with a pure fire that consumed nothing but her own awareness.
She claimed his mouth with fierce need. And if there was a slight vagueness to the sensations of teeth and tongue and lips, it was still him, her mate, kissing her back with the same desperate hunger.
Zephyr made a rough, primal sound at the back of his throat, his mouth never leaving hers. His palm slid up her back, under her shirt, and suddenly there was no shirt. Her nipples brushed against his bare chest, sending bolts of white-hot pleasure through her blood.
With a thrill, she felt his bare cock press against her stomach, hard and hot and slick with eager desire. She was wet too, need pounding between her legs. All she could hear was that desperate pulse, filling her mind, as loud as—
—Someone knocking on her bedroom door.
“Blaise?” Rory’s voice called. “Are you in there?”
Frustrated desire beat through her blood. Her whole body was still aflame with phantom sensation. Blaise had never in her life so badly wanted to murder someone.
While she was still trying to remember how legs worked and where she’d left her utility knife, the door creaked open. Rory stuck his head round the frame.
“Are you okay? Why are you still—hey!” He jerked back as her pillow hurtled past his face. “What was that for?”
“Be grateful it was the sharpest thing to hand.” Blaise sat up, rubbing at her pounding forehead. Everything seemed thin, unreal, like it might dissolve into the swirling clouds between dreams. “Something had better be o
n fire, Rory.”
“It’ll be your ass, if you aren’t geared up and ready to hike in five minutes. It’s nearly eight.”
Groggy as she was, it took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, a jolt of adrenaline cleared out her lingering almost-coital fog.
“Shit!” Blaise fell out of bed, scrambling for her jeans. “Why the fuck didn’t you come and get me earlier?”
Rory had turned his back. He cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. “We, uh, noticed that Zephyr wasn’t at morning exercises either. We thought you two might have been… together.”
They had been, in a way, and she’d go ice-skating in hell before she relayed the details of that to her oldest friend. Face burning, she yanked a crew T-shirt down over her sports bra.
“Well, he’s not hiding in my closet.” She shoved her feet into her boots. “I, um, think he probably overslept too. We’d better go grab him.”
Zephyr had picked a cabin clear on the other side of the base from hers. They’d jogged half the distance when he met them coming the other way, out of breath and with his bootlaces flapping.
“Sorry!” he panted. His hair was plastered to his head, and droplets of water gleamed in the hollow of his throat. Blaise suspected that he’d just run through a very cold shower. “I’m so sorry, Rory. I, er, overslept.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Rory replied, one eyebrow quirking. “The rest of the crew’s waiting. Put your boots on properly. I’ll go tell Buck you two are on your way.”
Blaise kneeled to retie her own boots more securely as Rory hurried off. “You okay?”
Zephyr flashed her a pained smile, fingers busy with his laces. “I have had better awakenings. That was somewhat of an abrupt transition.”
“Hey, at least we didn’t both wake up in your body.”
“That would have been exceptionally awkward, for multiple reasons.” Zephyr finished tying his laces. He straightened, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Blaise. That did not go as I planned.”
Her lips tingled with the memory of his. Deep in her soul, black feathers rustled. Blaise tensed—yet her animal didn’t attempt to rise. It was just a warmth at the bottom of her mind, like a banked fire.
Mate, it murmured, low and content. Our mate.
She moistened her lips. “Hey, look at us. Having a perfectly normal conversation.”
His dark eyes met hers, widening. She saw his throat work.
“Here we are,” he whispered. “Together. Alone.”
He was barely a foot away. It would be easy to step closer. To run her fingers through his short, damp hair, and draw his mouth down to hers—
MATE!
She jerked back. Zephyr retreated too, instantly, as though he’d also felt that flare of heat in her palms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Too fast?”
“Yeah.” Blaise forced a shaky laugh. “I guess we need more practice.”
His eyes were still dark with want, but the corner of his mouth hooked up. “Then I’ll see you again tonight.”
Chapter 15
“Well, now,” Rory said as Zephyr went past, whistling. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
Zephyr grinned, taking the seat next to his squad leader. The mess hall had been turned into an impromptu classroom, the long tables pushed back to clear space for ranks of folding chairs. Up front, Buck was fiddling with a projector, muttering under his breath as he tried to focus the image.
“Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Zephyr clicked his pen out, settling his notepad on his knee. “No hikes today, or weights. Just have to sit back and listen to theory, then take a test. Compared to last week, that’s practically a vacation.”
“Thus speaks someone who has clearly never suffered through fire safety training before,” Joe said from somewhere behind him. “Believe me, bro. By the second hour, you’ll be dreaming of a nice ten-mile hike. Uphill.”
Fenrir’s deep chuckle rumbled from off to one side. “Don’t think that’s what has been occupying Stormheart’s dreams.”
Zephyr ducked his head, his face heating. Still, his smile widened. Last night’s dream…
By unspoken agreement, they hadn’t gone as far as they had during that first intoxicating, out-of-control encounter. Some things, he wanted to experience for the first time in real life, not dreams. But even though he’d taken care to keep both their imaginary pants firmly fastened, that had still left a lot of scope for… practice.
Just the memory of Blaise’s burning touch was enough to set his blood surging now. Her bold lips against his… her strong fingers scratching down his back, leaving trails of fire…
He adjusted position, shifting his notepad to cover his lap. Perhaps it would be better not to think of such things right now. He was in front of the whole crew, not to mention his uncle.
He heard footsteps approaching, and his pulse jumped—but it was only Wystan. The unicorn shifter sank into the chair at his other side with a sigh, nodding at him in greeting.
“Cub?” Fenrir said hopefully.
“Not yet,” Wystan replied, in what had become a well-worn ritual by now. He rubbed at his shadowed eyes. “The consultant says she’s doing very well, but she needs to put on more weight before she can come out of the incubator.”
Zephyr would have asked Wystan how he was doing, but something tugged at his awareness; not a sound, or any mundane sense, but a deeper whisper. He looked round just in time to see Blaise saunter into the hall. Catching his eye, her grin widened.
“Hi guys,” she said, taking a chair in the row behind him. “Hi, Zeph. Sleep well?”
Could anyone else hear how her tone softened, just a little, on his name? “Very well. You?”
Blaise stretched, arching her back. This did riveting things to her tight black T-shirt. “Restless night, actually. I’m still pretty tired. Might take a nap at lunch break.”
“A nap,” he said thickly. “Yes. What a good idea.”
Behind Blaise, Joe leaned forward, smirking. Zephyr didn’t catch what he muttered, but it made Blaise whip round, threatening the sea dragon with her notebook. Zephyr took the opportunity to shift position again, adjusting his jeans as discreetly as he could manage.
“You two seem to be getting on,” Rory murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
Zephyr felt his flush deepen. He busied himself writing the title of the class on his notebook. “We’re managing.”
“Mmm. Still haven’t seen you two come within arms-reach of each other, mind.”
“Is that required for a professional working relationship?”
“In our line of work, yes, actually.” Rory eyed him side-long. “And I’m not sure the word ‘professional’ belongs near your relationship.”
Zephyr was saved from further interrogation by his uncle. At the front of the room, Buck dropped a thick stack of handouts onto the table with a thump.
“Wildland Fire Safety Training,” the Superintendent announced, to a chorus of groans. “Yes, I know, most of you have been through this half a dozen times and counting. Suck it up, because yes, there will be an exam, and yes, anyone who fails gets to pack their bags and go home. You want to get that sweet, sweet overtime pay, you listen up. This stuff could save your life one day.”
Despite Joe’s warning, the lecture turned out to be surprisingly interesting (enlivened, as ever, by Buck’s liberal use of what were technically not swear words). Most of the rest of the crew soon had the glazed expressions of people praying for the next coffee break, but Zephyr scribbled notes, trying to keep up with Buck’s rapid-fire delivery.
He was so intent on his uncle’s descriptions of weather conditions and warning signs that he didn’t notice the paper ball until it hit his ear. He jumped, startled out of his focus. His first suspicion was Joe, but when he twisted round, the sea dragon was surreptitiously playing with his phone, his notepad abandoned underneath his chair.
Blaise caught his eye again. To all appe
arances, she was industriously taking notes, fully engrossed in Buck’s lecture. But there was something about the tilt of her head, her too-innocent expression, that made him grin and unfold the note in his lap.
This isn’t exactly Calculus, it said, in Blaise’s distinctive sloppy scrawl. But I see a cute American boy ;)
Zephyr suppressed a smile. He smoothed the paper out, hiding it in his notebook.
Stop distracting me, he wrote at the bottom. I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask the hot girl in the next row out on a date.
He folded up the paper, and waited. When Buck next turned around to point at something in his presentation, he flicked the note back to Blaise.
A few minutes later, the paper bounced into his lap again.
That had better be the row BEHIND you
Next to the words, she’d drawn a little grumpy emoji face with crossed eyes and fire coming out of its head. He didn’t quite manage to stifle his snort. Rory glanced over at him, one eyebrow rising.
“Sorry,” he mouthed at his squad leader. He waited until Rory returned to his own private thoughts before scribbling a new line on the note.
She’s the woman who haunts my dreams. I can’t stop thinking about her. Flick.
This time, the paper bounced off his shoulder on its return journey, ricocheting into Wystan. The unicorn shifter started, his eyes flying open.
“I’m awake!” Wystan announced, and went a spectacular shade of red.
“Glad to hear it,” Buck said dryly, as sniggers ran around the room. “This seems like an excellent time to cover situation eighteen, otherwise known as ‘Don’t take a nap near the motherloving fire.’ Or any other dangerous things. Like, for instance, the man who writes your pay check.”
Still the color of cooked beetroot, Wystan fumbled for his pen. His groping hand found the note. He stared at it, with an understandable expression of bafflement.
“Wys,” Zephyr hissed. “Wystan.”
