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

by Zoe Chant

  Blaise rolled to her feet, dusting off the seat of her pants. “What is it with you and the squirrels, Fen?”

  “One day I’m going to have to eat one just to find out what all the fuss is about.” Joe rubbed the side of his head where Cal had whacked him. He cast an aggrieved glare at the pegasus. “You’re lucky I didn’t shift on reflex. I’d be scraping you off the grass with a shovel.”

  Callum shrank back into human form, looking slightly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  The squirrel retreated further up the tree, climbing rather slowly. One leg dragged as though injured. Apart from that, it seemed to be a perfectly normal squirrel.

  “It is just a squirrel, isn’t it?” Rory asked Callum.

  The pegasus shifter shrugged one shoulder. “As far as I can tell. But I didn’t sense anything strange about the hawk either. And look.”

  Callum pushed feathers apart on the hawk’s head, exposing two black, bony nubbins. They looked like baby goat horns, pushing through the bird’s skull.

  “Well that’s not creepy at all,” Blaise commented, shuddering.

  Rory studied the bird more closely. There was an odd reddish tinge to the glassy, staring eyes. The beak was wrong too, serrated and jagged, like fangs. Even though the body was fresh, a fetid, rotting smell hung around it.

  “Definitely not a normal animal,” he said, standing up again. “Let’s take it back to Wystan. Maybe he can do an autopsy or something.”

  “What a treat for him,” Blaise said dryly. “And who’s going to carry it?”

  They all looked at Fenrir. The hellhound wrinkled his lips back from his fangs.

  *No,* he said, his mental tone final. *Bad meat.*

  “This from the shifter who considers week-old raccoon a delicacy.” Joe sighed, pulling off his shirt. He rolled the bird into it to make an anonymous bundle. “I’ll carry it. We should be getting back, we’re already late for dinner.”

  “I’ll take Blaise,” Rory and Callum said simultaneously.

  “I’m not that heavy,” Joe said in a wounded tone.

  “You’re nearly seven feet tall and built like a cathedral door,” Blaise informed him. “Also, you’re carrying a dead monster that stinks to high heaven. I’ll go with Rory. Cal’s a stronger flier, after all.”

  Rory wanted to object to this assessment, but that would have gotten him stuck with Joe and his evil-smelling bundle. Pride took a back seat to pragmatism.

  “We’ll meet you back at base,” he said to Fenrir. The hellhound had his own ways of travelling quickly. “Let’s go, squad. Edith and Wystan will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

  He shifted, holding still as Blaise swung herself up. When she was safely settled on his neck, gripping his feathers, he took off. Callum followed, carrying Joe with a resigned air.

  *You really should fly yourself, you know,* he sent privately to Blaise.

  “No. I can’t.” Her flat tone of voice told him there was no point trying to talk her round. “Got any theories about the hawk?”

  *None whatsoever. I’ve never even heard of anything like it.* His wings ached, still tired from the hours chasing the hawk across the mountains. *Maybe your dad will have some suggestions. He’s seen a lot in his time.*

  “Maybe.” Blaise sounded dubious. “Though he hasn’t been able to track down any leads on your lightning-throwing arsonist yet, last time we talked. I’ll call him again tonight, anyway.”

  *All these weird things skulking around.* Rory’s talons clenched in frustration. *If only they’d just come out and attack already. That I would know how to handle.*

  “Be careful what you wish for.” Blaise poked the side of his neck, where the feathers blurred into fur. “Speaking of things you don’t know how to handle, how are things going with Edith?”

  *Don’t ask.*

  “Ouch. That bad, huh?”

  *I’m going out of my mind. It’s taking everything I’ve got to control my beast. But no matter how slowly and gently I try to take things, she isn’t relaxing around me at all. Around any of us. She can tell there’s something off. She knows there’s something different about us.*

  “Edith’s no fool, Rory.” She stretched out along his back, tucking her feet up. “You really should just tell her, you know.”

  Rory thought back to his earlier conversation with Edith. She’s looked so small and lonely, huddled on the log next to him. I don’t fit in. I never will.

  She felt alone. She felt so alone that she’d given up on ever not feeling alone. She thought that the best she could hope for was to do a good job and maintain a professional relationship with the squad. No matter what she claimed, that couldn’t really be the fulfillment of her dream. Yet somehow she’d persuaded herself that it was good enough. That it was all she deserved.

  He’d been avoiding telling Edith the truth because he’d been worrying it would change how she saw him. But not telling her was worse. It was changing how she saw herself.

  He set his beak. *You’re right, Blaise.*

  Blaise pretended to swoon in exaggerated shock. “Of course I am. But you’re actually admitting that? Who are you, and what have you done with our boss?”

  *Ha ha.* He rolled in the air, making her swear and grab onto his feathers to avoid sliding off. *I do have to tell Edith the truth. Not just about me, but about all of us. That’s what’s stopping her from feeling like she’s part of the team. It’s not fair on her. No matter how it affects things between her and me, I have to tell her. Tonight.*

  Blaise surprised him by leaning down and hugging him round the neck, hard.

  *What was that for?* he asked.

  “Being brave,” she said, ruffling the short bronze feathers on the top of his head. “I’m proud of you, big almost-brother.”

  It was just the wind that made him have to blink moisture out of his eyes. That’s what he would have told her if she’d asked, anyway.

  *Just be ready to provide a shoulder to cry on when it all goes horribly wrong,* he said gruffly.

  Callum had overtaken them, his flame-red wings catching the last of the sunset as he began to spiral down to the base. Rory followed him, banking in wide, sweeping arcs. The rest of the crew were already at dinner, sitting on the picnic tables outside the mess hall. None of the humans looked up, oblivious to the invisible shifters passing over their heads.

  They touched down outside his own cabin. Wystan opened the door as they landed, hurrying out.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Weirdly.” Joe slid off Callum’s back, handing the shirt-wrapped bird to the paramedic. “We brought you back a present.”

  Wystan unwrapped a corner of the fabric. A pained expression crossed his handsome face as the smell hit him. “Why thank you. It’s just what I always wanted.”

  Rory shifted as Blaise jumped to the ground. “We’re hoping you can tell us what it is.”

  “It’s certainly very dead.” Wystan rolled the bird back up again. “What happened to capturing it alive?”

  “Change of plan,” Blaise told him. “Speaking of changes of plan, Rory needs to talk to Edith. Right away, before he loses his nerve.”

  Sometimes, Blaise was a little bit too much like one of his actual sisters.

  “Actually, I think that’s an excellent idea,” Wystan said, his mouth crooking in a small, mysterious smile. “I saw her heading to dinner a little while ago. Let me just stash this away somewhere, and we can go find her.”

  As Wystan disappeared into the cabin with the bird, Blaise laced her arm through Rory’s. It wasn’t really a casual, friendly embrace. More of an armlock.

  “I am not going to lose my nerve,” he said in exasperation.

  “That’s what you say.” Her fingers tightened. “Get his other arm, Joe.”

  Grinning, Joe complied. Rory found himself being frog-marched toward the mess hall, like a prisoner under police escort. Blaise and Joe still had tight hold of his arms as they rounded the final corner.

  An
d that was the only reason he didn’t murder Seth on sight.

  Chapter 21

  “Oh, there’s my squad!” Edith interrupted Seth’s monologue, relief flooding through her. She jerked her hand out from under his. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Aw, forget those losers.” Seth caught her sleeve as she tried to stand up. “Stay here with me. We’re having a good time, aren’t we? And everyone’s watching. Prove to the crew you aren’t really Rory’s little bi-“

  “I think Blaise wants to talk to me.” Edith managed to jerk herself free. She backed out of reach, plastering what was probably a too-wide smile of apology onto her face. “So sorry. Another time.”

  Blaise was heading straight for her. Edith had never been so glad to see someone in her entire life. She hurried to meet her.

  And walked straight into Blaise’s stiff-armed shove.

  Edith staggered back, a picnic table catching her painfully across her hip. The breath whooshed out of her lungs. Not from the impact—but from the punch of Blaise’s contemptuous glare.

  “Seth?” the other woman hissed, clenching her fists. “Seriously?”

  “Wh-what?”

  Blaise’s lip curled. “Don’t play dumb. We all saw what you were doing.”

  What she’d been doing? Eating dinner? Suffering through an incredibly tedious conversation? Edith had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to have done wrong.

  She looked around for help. Callum stood a little way off, arms folded over his chest. She’d never seen him look so cold.

  Wystan and Joe had turned their backs on her entirely, as though so repulsed they couldn’t stand to spend a moment more in her presence. There was something weird about the way they were lurching away. It looked almost like they were wrestling something invisible between them.

  Rory. She needed Rory. He was the only thing that always made sense. She’d been sure she’d seen his stocky form between Joe and Blaise when she’d first caught sight of the squad, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen now.

  “Where’s Rory?” she asked.

  “Getting changed,” Callum said.

  “Come on, Cal.” Blaise turned on her heel. “Let’s go help.”

  “Wait!” Edith hurried after them. “Why does Rory need help? What’s wrong?”

  “He saw you!” Blaise wheeled round again, eyes blazing. “He saw you, Edith! Do you have any idea what that did to him?”

  Someone whistled from the C-squad table. “Oooh, catfight!”

  “Y’all are attracting attention, friends.” Tanner drifted over, frowning. “Something going on?”

  Words were slipping from her mind like water through a sieve. She could only stare at Blaise wide-eyed, in mute confusion.

  Blaise flung her one last scorching look. “I told you there was only one thing you could do to make us dislike you. Congratulations. You did it. Just stay away from us for a while. Especially me.”

  She felt cold from her fingertips to her toes. She turned to Tanner as Blaise and Callum stalked away. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t think she takes kindly to people helping themselves to more than one pie.” Tanner gave her a long, level look. “Can’t say I do either. Think you should pick a stool and sit on it, if you take my meaning.”

  She didn’t. She’d been sitting in the same place as always. And she hadn’t been eating pie. Why was everyone staring at her like that?

  “Hey.” Seth’s broad chest blocked out the accusing eyes. He took her arm, drawing her aside. “Ignore these assholes, Edith. You’re no one’s property. You want to get out of here?”

  He was smiling.

  Out of the entire crew, he was the only person who was smiling at her.

  She nodded.

  * * *

  Close. Too close.

  It made the squirrel crawl along the ground, ignoring the way red pain shot through the animal’s injured leg. There had been no time to take care with the transfer, or to find a better host. With the shifters a heartbeat away from catching the hawk, it had been forced to dive and snatch the first creature it saw.

  Even so, it had thought that it had been caught. When the black-furred shifter’s burning eyes had fixed on it, it had braced itself for a fight. Almost, it had relinquished its host and taken its true form, regardless of the risk.

  But the shifters had turned aside from it. They’d taken the hawk’s empty body away like a trophy. From that, it now knew they didn’t understand its ability to move from host to host.

  It still had the advantage of surprise.

  It dragged the squirrel’s body out into a clearing. All the little creature’s instincts fought, filled with terror at being exposed in the twilight. It tightened its will, forcing the squirrel to stay motionless.

  It did not have to wait long. A passing fox surged out of the bushes, all lean purpose and hunger. A pounce, a bite, teeth sinking into flesh…and it had a new host.

  It shook the fox’s body like settling a coat, then set off purposefully through the trees. The fox’s sharp nose easily picked out the scents of men twisting through the forest. A simple matter to track them back to the shifters’ den.

  As it drew closer to the angular man-dwellings, it picked up a different, subtler aroma. Not one that could be detected by any earthly creature, but intoxicating to its own unique senses.

  Rage. Disgust. Anger. Shame.

  The emotions hung thick over the shifters’ den. Something had happened. Something which had turned the bright, repulsive scents of friendship and trust and loyalty into a delicious stew of chaos.

  The fox’s mouth watered in echo of its own hunger. It made the host creep cautiously through the base, slinking from shadow to shadow. Dangerous, to come so close to the shifters. But it could not resist that alluring scent.

  Perhaps…perhaps it would finally be able to claim its prey.

  It watched from under a log pile as the human woman stumbled away from the shifter pack. Shame and confusion clung to her like smoke. The shifters turned their backs on her, crowding around one of their own, pulling him into the privacy of the forest.

  They didn’t see her climb into a vehicle with a smirking, shadow-souled human man. They didn’t see the headlights cut through the night, or hear the coughing roar as the truck pulled away from the camp.

  For the first time, the shifters had left her alone. Unguarded.

  Unprotected.

  Its excitement made the fox’s heart pound in its narrow chest. It steered the animal back into the trees. It took care to loop round wide, avoiding the shifter pack.

  It had been waiting for this chance. It had prepared. Located a special host, saved just for this eventuality.

  A thousand scents filled the fox’s nose. It picked out the one it needed—pungent, earthy, dangerous. The spoor made the fur on the fox’s back stand on end. The animal did not want to go anywhere near that scent.

  But the fox had no choice. It drove the animal onward, already planning its next move.

  Risky, to jump hosts so many times in short succession. It would attract attention.

  But if its plan worked…that would not matter.

  It lolled the fox’s tongue out in a predatory grin, and ran on.

  Chapter 22

  Rory awoke to a scaled, blue-black weight crushing him to the ground.

  His chest burned. With the last of his strength, he pounded as hard as he could on the side of the tail wrapped around his body. The gleaming coils shifted a little, allowing him to suck in a desperate lungful of air.

  “Get off, Joe,” he managed to wheeze.

  He was too groggy to make it an alpha command, but the sea dragon released him anyway. The scales filling his vision were replaced by a ring of anxious faces.

  “Oh good.” Wystan blew out a sigh of relief. “You’re human again. How are you feeling?”

  “Like a dragon sat on me.” Wincing, Rory levered himself to his elbows. He was going to have some spectacular br
uises. “What was that for?”

  The rest of the squad exchanged glances.

  “You don’t remember?” Blaise said cautiously.

  His head throbbed like he’d just woken up from a week-long drinking bender. Deep in his soul, his griffin was screaming, clawing at his bones, trying to wrest them back into its own shape.

  “Last thing I knew, we were going to dinner,” he said, having difficulty hearing his own words over the din his inner animal was making. “Then I went round the corner, and saw—“

  Memory returned.

  He surged upward, his griffin’s anger transmuting into his own. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Sit on him again, Joe!” Blaise yelled.

  Joe’s tail slammed across him, knocking him flat once more. Wystan and Callum pinned his arms. Fenrir hurled his full weight across his head.

  “Rory, of course you’re upset,” Blaise said, speaking so fast her words blurred together. “You’ve got every right to be. But you have to calm down. You can’t just slaughter Seth in front of a dozen witnesses.”

  He couldn’t breathe. Blackness swirled at the edges of his vision, replacing the red mist of rage.

  She was right. He needed to get a grip. He had to be perfectly rational and civilized and draw Seth aside for a private, man-to-man discussion.

  Then he could slaughter him.

  *Let me go,* he said telepathically, since his mouth was full of dog fur.

  This time, he had the control to make it an alpha command. They all fell off him. Rory got to his feet, brushing himself down.

  He frowned as he looked around the group. “Wait. If you’re all here, who’s with Edith?”

  A guilty flicker crossed Blaise’s face. “If I’d stayed with her, I would have done something we’d all regret. You weren’t the only one who needed to cool off.”

  “You left her alone?” His heart lurched. “With Seth?”

  “Now, Rory.” Wystan’s tone dropped into his most soothing, trust-me-I’m-a-doctor bedside manner. “I’m sure she was just flirting a little. I don’t think anything will have actually happened. Certainly not in the last half hour.“