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

by Zoe Chant

  Pressed against him, she could feel his great heart beating powerfully in his broad chest. The rhythm echoed through her own bones, her blood singing in answer. He was immense, magical, and hers.

  She wanted to be his, too. Forever.

  “I want us to be mates. Fully, like you said.” She pulled back so she could look up into those luminous golden eyes. “What do we have to do?”

  He knelt, folding his front legs with easy grace, until his back was level with her waist. One wing unfurled in clear invitation.

  Giddy delight filled her. Without hesitation, she scrambled up onto his back, perching just in front of his wings. The feel of his hot, powerful form between her thighs made her tingle in delicious anticipation.

  She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck again. “I’m ready.”

  His muscles bunched under her. In one incredible bound, he leaped into the air.

  The wind snatched her gasp from her lips. Heart hammering with excitement, she huddled against his warm strength as the world fell away. In a matter of seconds, the base looked like a child’s model; toy houses and matchstick trees. Antler glittered on the horizon, just a handful of lights in the vast darkness of the National Park.

  She gazed down in wonder as Rory swept steadily higher in a wide spiral. Despite the chasm of air underneath her, she didn’t feel the least bit afraid. Rory wouldn’t let her fall.

  Cold, clammy fog wrapped around them, making her shiver and bury herself even deeper into his feathers. Then they were through the cloudbank, out into breathtakingly clear night air.

  She found herself staring down at the forbidden peak of Thunder Mountain, usually hidden behind its ever-present veil of cloud. Bare, stark rocks gleamed in the moonlight. The very top seemed oddly flat, as though it had been sheared off with a knife—and then Rory banked again, his broad wing hiding her view. By the time he’d curved round again, the mountain was too far below to make out any more details.

  She looked up instead, into the sea of stars. They glittered in impossible profusion, far denser and brighter than she’d ever seen. It was getting hard to breathe now, the air thin and sharp in her throat. Even Rory’s mighty wingbeats seemed to be becoming more labored. She couldn’t guess where he was taking her, except possibly the moon.

  Just as she was starting to seriously wonder if he was taking her to the moon, he leveled out. She could feel how his own breath rasped in his chest as he went into a smooth, circling glide.

  His head turned, one eye fixing on her. He made a little inquiring, encouraging noise, somewhere between a chirp and a meow. It was such an incongruous sound from that axe-blade of a beak that she couldn’t help giggling.

  “I’m fine,” she said, and meant it. “This is wonderful. What happens now?”

  He turned to catch the wind, his wings beating hard so that they came practically to a standstill. His beak turned to point straight downward. His feathered ears flattened against his head.

  Even without words, his intention was obvious. She gulped, taking a firmer grip on his feathers. Her knees pressed into his sides. He stayed steady, balanced on the wind, waiting for her signal.

  “I trust you,” she whispered. “Go.”

  He folded his wings, and dove.

  She couldn’t have screamed even if she’d wanted to. The wind was a howling hammer-blow against her face, trying to rip her from his back. She clung to him with all her strength, eyes scrunched shut. Her world narrowed to the rhythm of his heartbeat thundering through her blood, his soft-strong heat, the burn of her muscles as she locked her limbs around him.

  He was hers. She was his. And she would never let anything separate them.

  She was so focused on holding tight that she didn’t realize they were back on the ground until the warmth of his wings closed over her legs. She blinked, head spinning from the dizzying dive. He’d landed just outside his cabin, not far from where they’d started.

  Before she could try to unclench her numb fingers, his form blurred underneath her. For a stomach-lurching instant, she was falling again—and then his arms caught her.

  “Edith.” His fingers tightened, pulling her against his chest. “Oh, my Edith. You were magnificent.”

  “I did it right?” she managed to gasp out, still breathless from the wild flight.

  In answer, he kissed her again, even more fervently than before. There was a new feral urgency about him that made her already trembling legs go completely boneless. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have been a puddle on the floor.

  His hot, demanding mouth left her lips, roving across her jaw and down her neck. He tasted her as though he was starving, her skin a feast.

  “Higher the flight, stronger the bond,” he gasped into her neck, between savage, toe-curling kisses. “Griffin tradition. Edith, oh, Edith.”

  She pressed against him, nipping at his own smoke-spice skin with equal passion. “What—what next?”

  An animal growl rumbled through his chest, making liquid heat pool within her. He swept her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, kicking the door of his cabin open.

  Good thing Wystan had to go watch over Callum, Edith thought distantly as he carried her inside. Though with the need burning within her, she wouldn’t have cared if the entire squad was still present. Every part of her was on fire, craving more.

  Fortunately, Rory seemed to have shed the last remnants of his careful control. He practically threw her onto the bed, ripping at her clothes in a fevered frenzy.

  All thought disappeared as he laid her bare. All she knew was the heat of his mouth, the roughness of his work-hardened hands skimming exquisitely over her curves.

  He explored every inch of her as though gloating over a priceless treasure. He seemed to know what she needed even better than she did—lingering here, teasing there, until she was arching her back and crying out, hands fisting in his hair.

  Even as his clever mouth made ecstasy crash through her, she needed more. Her muscles quivered with aftershocks of pleasure, yet she yearned for him worse than ever. She yanked at his shirt, near blind with desire.

  He made a deep purr of masculine satisfaction. With a last teasing lick, he straightened up, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid movement.

  All the breath sighed out of her. She’d thought she’d known the shape of his body, but she’d never seen him bare like this before. His fully glory was revealed at last, every plane and ridge honed to sheer perfection.

  She ran her hands greedily over his chest as he worked at his belt, reveling in the feel of his sleek, hot skin. She dug her nails into his sides and was rewarded by a hitch of breath, the muscles of his abdomen tightening. His hands worked even more feverishly at his clothes.

  At last, at last, he was stripped naked for her, his desire clear. Part of her wanted to linger over him, exploring his velvet length with fingers and tongue as he’d explored her—but he caught her wrists, pinning her back against the bed. She was more than happy to accede to his urgency. She wrapped her legs around his lean hips, thrusting her own up in invitation.

  As his body covered her, he turned his head aside a little, in a way that didn’t seem quite natural. Her heart melted as she realized that even now, in this intimate position, he was avoiding locking eyes with her.

  “Rory.” She twisted her hands free, taking hold of his face and turning it back to her. “Look at me.”

  His eyes were dark and fierce with hunger. They blazed like eclipsed suns, a thin rim of gold around wide, black pupils.

  She fell into those burning depths boldly, without fear. She wanted to be flooded by his presence, to embrace his mind as much as his body.

  “Yes,” she gasped, opening willingly to him. “Yes.”

  He slid into her with a single hard thrust, filling her utterly with white-hot pleasure. It was more than the overwhelming sensation of his body buried deep in hers. He slid into her too—his love, his awe, his deep, true joy.


  *My mate!* His mind joined with hers even as their hands linked in shared ecstasy. *My mate!*

  Chapter 29

  Edith awoke to a satisfied ache between her legs, a heavy arm draped across her chest, and a cold wet nose poking her cheek.

  “Yuck!” She groggily batted away the morning dog-breath panting in her face. “Fenrir!”

  *Up, Stone Bitch. Sun rises. Pack calls.*

  The deep, unfamiliar voice made her come wide-awake in an instant. Rory made an indistinct sound of protest as she sat bolt upright, taking the sheet with her. Clutching it to her chest, she stared around—but all she could see was Fenrir.

  The dog’s tail swished like a windscreen wiper. *Morning, Stone Bitch.*

  She wasn’t hearing the voice with her ears. It was in her head. Just like she’d heard Rory last night…

  “Edith?” Rory mumbled. Somehow she could feel his surge of concern, like a light brightening in her heart. “Wha’ wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She fumbled for his bare shoulder, patting it in reassurance. “Go back to sleep.”

  He sighed and relaxed again, his muscles unknotting. That strange sense of him in her chest faded again, though it didn’t disappear entirely. She could sense it pulsing gently, in time with his slow breathing.

  Fenrir peered with interest at Rory’s slack, slumbering face. *Good. Worn out. Serviced Stone Bitch well?*

  Edith stared at the dog. His mouth wasn’t moving. “That is you talking, isn’t it?”

  Fenrir flicked an ear. *Have always talked. Stone Bitch just started listening. Is pack now.*

  “Um. You know my name is Edith, right?”

  *Yes,* Fenrir said serenely. *Stone Bitch.*

  As nicknames went, it was…pretty badass. She’d take it.

  “What do you call Rory?” she asked, curious.

  Fenrir’s jaw dropped in a sly doggy grin. *Birdcat.*

  Edith choked back a laugh, not wanting to wake Rory up. “Does he mind?”

  *Immensely.* Fenrir sounded distinctly satisfied.

  Now she knew how to tease Rory, if she ever needed to. Not that she could imagine ever wanting to. She gazed down at him, the warmth in her heart expanding to fill her whole chest. He was perfect.

  And he was hers.

  She wanted nothing more than to spend all morning—all week—in bed with her mate, but she made herself roll away. From the angle of the light filtering through the curtains, it was just past dawn. Soon the whole crew would be up, beginning the now-familiar morning routine of breakfast and exercise.

  Or possibly not. A shivery tingle went through her as she realized that it was the first day that the crew was officially on call. From now on, they could be deployed at any moment, anywhere in the country.

  Today might be the day she fought her first real wildfire as a hotshot.

  Yesterday, that would have made her stomach twist with nerves. Now, with the mate bond beating steadily in her chest, she just felt excited. This was what she’d been training for, what she’d dreamed about for so long. She was ready.

  *Yes. Too long in den.* Fenrir’s eyes gleamed like molten copper, as though he too felt the same restless energy. *Pack needs to hunt.*

  She started to throw back the sheet, and then stopped abruptly. A blush heated her face.

  “Uh, Fenrir?” Wystan had said that the dog was really a man, after all. “Would you mind turning around? I’m not wearing anything.”

  Fenrir wrinkled his nose. *Two-legs. Never understand you.*

  Nonetheless, he obligingly fixed his gaze on the wall. Edith scrambled out of bed, hunting for her clothes. Her shirt was a tragic casualty of the night before. She had to steal Rory’s crew tee, although it hung from her much narrower shoulders like a tent. His spice-smoke scent wrapped around her like an embrace.

  Got to get some clothes from my cabin, she decided as she pulled on her boots. Otherwise I’m going to be drifting round all day smelling myself and walking into things.

  Rory didn’t stir as she got dressed and bound her hair into a messy braid. He was even more beautiful in sleep, all control relaxed at last, the lines made by worry and responsibility smoothed away. The rising sun turned his hair the innocent gold of an angel’s. He looked strangely vulnerable, in a way that he never did when he was awake.

  She couldn’t bring herself to disturb his well-earned rest. There was still time to let him sleep a little longer. She tiptoed out, Fenrir at her heels.

  The front door of the cabin was still closed and bolted. She glanced at Fenrir as she opened it. “How did you get in here, anyway? I thought you never shifted.”

  He snorted. *Two-legs as foolishly proud of hands as they are ashamed of their hides. Overrated. Watch.*

  His body expanded into the bristling, flame-eyed monster wolf. In that shape, she half-expected him to huff and puff and blow the whole cabin down. But to her surprise, his hulking coal-black form faded, going thin and shadowy. In seconds, he’d vanished entirely.

  Before she could call out, his distinctive bark sounded from outside the cabin. Opening the door, she found him sitting right in front of it, looking rather smug.

  “Wow.” She had to reach out to touch him, just to make sure he was really there. “How did you do that?”

  *Don’t know.* He rumbled in pleasure, nudging into her hand until she hit just the right spot. *Just do. Is like Birdcat’s voice, or Shadowhorse’s nose. Natural.*

  She frowned as she started toward the mess hall. “Shadowhorse? Do you mean Callum or Wystan?”

  *Mean Shadowhorse.* Fenrir shrank back into his dog form, padding along at her side. *Flies. Quiet.*

  “Oh, Callum.” Her frown deepened. “But he doesn’t have black hair or skin. Why do you call him Shadowhorse?”

  Fenrir shook his head as though not understanding the question. *Is shadow.*

  And apparently that was all she was getting on that topic. “Fair enough, I guess. So what do you call Wystan? And Joe?”

  *Icehorse. Seasnake.*

  Seasnake was obvious enough, since Joe had said he was a sea dragon, but Wystan’s nickname puzzled her. “Because…a unicorn horn is like an icicle?”

  Fenrir gave her a deeply puzzled look. *No. Because is behind ice. Can’t smell him.*

  Now she was going to have to work out a way to politely sniff Wystan. “And what’s Blaise’s name?”

  *Not for speaking. Makes her sad.*

  “Edith.”

  The familiar, unwelcome voice made her whole spine tense up. She hadn’t noticed Seth lurking in the shadowed gap between two cabins.

  The C-squad boss looked awful. He was still wearing the same clothes as last night, muddied and wrinkled. A pair of mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes. As he stepped out of his hiding-place, he winced as though the pale dawn light hurt even through the smoked lenses.

  A deep growl shook the air. Seth halted abruptly.

  “Call off your dog.” Seth tugged his baseball cap a little lower, shadowing his face. “I only want to talk.”

  Ugh. She was done with maintaining polite fictions for the sake of others’ comfort. “I’m sorry, Seth, but I think you got the wrong idea yesterday. I’m not interested in you. I’m actually in a relationship with Rory.”

  There. He couldn’t possibly misinterpret that.

  “I know.” He took a step closer. “I wanted to…apologize. In private. Can we go somewhere?”

  She cast a puzzled glance around. They were the only people in sight. “This is private.”

  His gaze flicked to the still-growling Fenrir. But that was silly. Seth didn’t know Fenrir was anything other than a dog. Did he?

  “Just come with me.” He edged closer. His tongue darted out, licking his lips. “It’ll only take a second.”

  “No, thank you,” Edith said firmly. “Apology accepted, but I think it would be best if you stayed away from me. Rory doesn’t like you very much. And to be blunt, neither do I.”

  Fenrir stayed between her and Seth as she m
arched past. Even with the hellhound guarding her back, her skin crawled. She could feel Seth’s fixed stare burning the back of her head.

  “Gah.” She shivered with relief as they went round the corner of the office building, finally escaping Seth’s unnerving attention. “Trust Seth to find a way to make an apology creepy. I wonder if he meant it?”

  *If he did, he should have brought you a squirrel.* Fenrir’s ears perked up. *Why is Man-Alpha howling?*

  It didn’t take a great feat of deduction to work out that Man-Alpha was Buck, considering that she could hear the chief’s steady, methodical, and heartfelt cursing from clear across the parking lot. The Superintendent was standing with folded arms in front of the battered C-squad truck. The few crew members already up were giving him a wide berth. He fixed her with a scowl as she approached.

  “What,” he demanded, stabbing a finger at the truck, “is this?”

  Edith looked. “It’s a hole in the windscreen.”

  “I can see it’s a damn hole! What I want to know is how it got there!”

  Well, he could have said. “A bear punched it.”

  “A bear punched it,” he repeated. He closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his impressive nose. “A bear punched it. Of course it did. RORY MOTHERLOVING MACCORMICK, GET YOUR FURRY ASS OUT HERE!”

  His roar rocked her back on her heels, but her sense of the mate bond stayed quiet. “He can’t hear you. He’s still sleeping.”

  *Will go fetch him.* Fenrir backed away, ears and tail flat. *Stone Bitch can handle Man-Alpha.*

  “Gee, thanks,” she muttered, as Fenrir beat a strategic retreat.

  Buck glared at her. Then his eyes narrowed. “That’s a very interesting interpretation of uniform you’re wearing this morning, Edith. Do I take it that Rory’s night has been filled with even more excitement than mere bears?”

  Heat colored her cheeks. She tugged self-consciously at her borrowed t-shirt. “Yes, chief. We’re fully mated now.”

  Buck grunted. “Congratulations. I’ll send you a card and a damn waffle-maker. I hope that means Rory will stop dragging about like a sad puppy. All that pining was setting my teeth on edge.”