by Zoe Chant
“And turned the entire crew into toasted marshmallows.” Buck spat on the ground. “I said the wind had picked up, idiots. This wouldn’t hold.”
Edith swallowed hard as Buck wandered over to inspect their own attempt. Her hands twisted on her Pulaski. She made herself stand still.
Buck grunted. “Good.”
She was so busy making sure she met his eyes, she didn’t realize she should have responded until it was too late. By the time she’d found her tongue, he’d already turned away to check B-squad’s work.
“Woohoo!” Joe jogged up to them, beaming ear to ear. “Nice job. And now we get to finish early for the day. Lay on me the highest of fives!”
She grinned back, Buck’s grudging praise still ringing in her ears. She jumped up as high as she could, but her own hand barely made it as far as Joe’s elbow, let alone his palm. Laughing, he lowered his arm to offer a fist-bump instead.
“Come on.” Joe slung an arm over her shoulders. He started to do the same to Callum, but desisted as the other man raised his Pulaski defensively. “We’re going to head into town, find some decent food instead of that tasteless mush our so-called cook dishes up. Drinks are on me.”
Her satisfied glow flickered and died. “Thanks, but I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll just head back to my cabin.”
Joe made a face. “All you’ve done over the past week is work and sleep. You’re gonna dig yourself into the ground at this rate. You can let yourself relax occasionally, you know.”
That was exactly what she couldn’t do. Her face hurt from maintaining her mask-like smile. It was all she could do to keep her hands under control.
“Sorry.” She moved out from under his arm. “I’m not really a bar person.”
Callum frowned at Joe. “I’m not either.”
“A picnic then,” Joe said promptly. “We’ll pack some snacks and drinks, go chill out by the lake. How about that?”
“Sounds good to me,” Blaise said, overhearing as they rejoined the rest of the squad. She tightened the straps on her backpack, settling it on her hips. “Might be the last chance for a while. Buck’s gone off to call Control and officially put us on the books. As of tomorrow, we could get deployed at any time.”
“In that case, we definitely need to celebrate,” Joe said. “Come on, Edith. We’re meant to be a squad, you have to hang out with us. Rory, you tell her.”
He was standing quietly a little way off, waiting for the squad to finish packing up. The late afternoon sun lined him with golden light. His eyes caught hers.
“Join us,” he said gently. “Please.”
He was so beautiful, it hurt her heart. It was hard enough not to stare at him while they were working. Suddenly trying to maintain a polite distance for a minute longer—let alone the rest of the afternoon—was utterly impossible.
“I-I can’t.” She stumbled back, groping for an excuse. “I…I dropped my canteen somewhere. I’m going to go look for it. Don’t wait for me.”
She strode away so fast it was almost a run, pretending not to hear Joe’s protests. She jogged back along the line they’d cut, dreading at any moment that someone would come after her.
To her relief, no one did. She made it all the way back to where they’d started cutting, on the bank of a small brook. The gentle white noise of the water was soothing, quieting some of the jangly static in her head. She sank down onto a fallen log, hugged her knees, and rocked.
Her senses were scraped raw from constantly monitoring her body language. Every bird call and rustle seemed unbearably loud. Every flicker of motion demanded her attention—a falling leaf, a beetle scurrying over the ground, a hawk circling overhead.
Gradually, her jangling discomfort eased. She let out her breath, tipping her head back. The hawk was still circling above her. The smooth, graceful arcs of its flight against the blue sky relaxed her shoulders even further.
It almost seemed like she’d drawn the hawk’s attention too. It dipped lower, balancing on the wind. She glanced around, wondering if it had spotted prey, but the woods had gone silent. The hawk was so low now that she could make out the barred patterns on its wings, the flex of its claws—
“Hey.”
In a flurry of wing beats, the hawk swooped away. All the tension crashed back into her body.
Rory sat down on the other end of the log. She turned her face away from the pressure of his eyes, clenching her hands on her knees.
“You did a good job today.” His voice was a deep, soft rumble. “Nice call, reinforcing the line around the spot fire.”
She picked up some rocks as an excuse to avoid looking at him. “Callum told you about that?”
“Yes. You should be proud of yourself.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him duck his head to try to see her expression. “So why are you hiding out here in the woods rather than celebrating with us?”
She pitched a rock into the stream. “I just…I’m used to being on my own. It’s a lot, always being around other people.”
“Edith.” His hand covered hers as she drew back to toss another rock. “Look at me.”
The warmth of his touch froze the breath in her throat. Longing stabbed through her. She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d shatter. She shook her head mutely.
He took the rock out of her hand. Bereft of the distraction, her palms itched. She rubbed them on the sides of her safety pants as subtly as she could, using the rough texture to anchor herself.
Rory closed his fist over her pebble as though he needed something to hold. “Edith, why are you still doubting yourself? You’ve worked harder than anyone over these past few days. You’ve proven over and over again that you belong on the squad. But you still look like you expect to be fired at any moment.”
Because I could be fired at any moment. And then you would be too.
She clenched her jaw, holding back the words. She couldn’t let Rory find out about Buck’s threat. If she’d learned one thing about him, it was that he was fiercely protective of his squad. She had no doubt that would outweigh his loyalty to the chief, or even his own self-interest. This was one battle she couldn’t let him fight for her.
Rory was still studying her face. “Edith, I can tell something’s wrong. You clearly aren’t happy with us.” His voice dropped a bit. “Is it…me?”
“No!” She jerked her head up, horrified that he could even think such a thing. “You’re wonderful. You’re kind, and gentle, and—“
Her social filter cut in just in time to save her from blurting out, and I never get tired of staring at your butt, even when it’s mostly hidden under bulky turn outs.
“I, I mean,” she stuttered, heat rising in her face. “Your orders are always clear, and you give us space to do things our own way, and you’re always looking out for us. I like working for you. You’re a good boss.”
“Glad to hear it.” He pitched the rock away with considerably more force than she’d thrown hers. It missed the stream entirely, disappearing into the undergrowth on the far bank. “Then why are you holding yourself back from the squad?”
She wished she still had the rock. She tucked her hands between her knees to hide their fluttering.
“I’m just not a very social person,” she said. “I don’t have to be everyone’s best friend to do the job, do I?”
She risked a sideways glance at him, only to be hit by the kilowatt force of his intent stare. She wrenched her eyes away again.
“You just said that I’m doing good work,” she mumbled. “That should be all that matters.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“What matters to me,” he said at last, “is that you’re happy.”
“Why wouldn’t I be happy? All I ever wanted is to be a wildland firefighter. Now I am one. It’s a dream come true. And it’s all thanks to you. I’m grateful.”
“But you aren’t happy,” he said quietly.
She opened her mouth to contradict, but the words stuck in her throat. She
couldn’t work out why. What was one more lie added to the pile of falsehood?
“I’m as happy as I can be,” she said, which was true. “To have the chance to do good work, to use my skills to help people…that’s more than I thought was possible. It’s enough.”
And if it came at the cost of hiding her whole self…well, every dream required some sacrifices.
She picked her words carefully, trying to make him understand without saying too much. “Rory, you really are a good boss. Your concern means a lot to me. But please stop worrying. I’m okay. Really. I appreciate the way everyone is trying to include me, but I wish they’d all just stop.”
He stared down at his folded hands. “I just want—that is, we just want you to feel like one of us. Part of the family.”
“I know. But I’m not. You’re all so easy and close with each other, and I’m never going to be like that. I don’t fit in. I never will. Pushing me to try just stresses me out. Can you explain that to everyone for me?”
He heaved a long sigh. “Okay. If that’s what you really want.”
It wasn’t.
What she really wanted was to press closer to him. To rub her face into the hollow of his shoulder, breathing in his delicious scent. She wanted those big, work-rough hands skimming over every inch of her skin…
But he didn’t. He’d been very clear about that. No matter how kind and attentive he was, he’d flat-out said that he didn’t want to sleep with her.
She squelched her longing down. Just one more part of herself she had to keep locked away.
“It’ll be easier if everyone keeps things strictly professional.” She tried to smile at him. “Like you do.”
He shifted away a little, putting more space between them. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Professional.”
Chapter 17
Wrong, wrong!
His griffin clawed at his soul, demanding release. It was a physical effort to keep himself in his own skin. He clenched his fists, trying not to let any sign of his inner turmoil show on his face.
Hold her! his animal howled. She needs us, she needs us to show her she is cherished and loved. That she deserves to be cherished and loved. HOLD HER!
He stood up abruptly. It was either that or tackle Edith around the waist. That wouldn’t have been very professional.
“I have to go do something.” Despite his best effort, it came out as a growl. He was about twenty seconds away from shifting on the spot. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.” She gave him a wan, pale smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, Rory.”
He had no idea what she was thanking him for. As far as he was concerned, he’d made everything worse.
With a curt nod, he strode away. It was only sheer luck he didn’t pitch himself straight into the stream, he was so blind with churning need. He crashed randomly through the undergrowth until he was certain he was well out of sight of Edith.
Then he tipped back his head, baring his teeth in a soundless scream. He spun and lashed out at a tree. Claws erupted from his finger tips, slicing deep gouges through the bark.
*Are you okay?* Blaise sent to him telepathically.
She wasn’t the only one to notice his turmoil. Joe, Wystan, Callum, Fenrir—tendrils of worry from all of them brushed against his mind.
*NO.*
His mental roar blasted them all back. He didn’t want their support. Didn’t deserve it. How could he accept comfort from his friends while Edith huddled cold and alone?
His griffin was still raging, demanding that he go back to her and sweep her into his arms. He gritted his teeth, focusing his will. Golden claws slowly shifted back into fingers as he reasserted control over his inner beast.
“Right.” Blaise appeared round a tree, the others following close on her heels. She planted herself firmly in front of him, hands on her hips. “What’s going on? And don’t even think about using the alpha voice on us.”
He’d been opening his mouth to do just that, but a flicker of motion overhead caught his eye. He looked up, simultaneously with Callum.
“Oh, for the love of sweet little fishes.” Joe shaded his eyes too, looking in entirely the wrong direction. “Don’t tell me that bloody bird is spying on us again.”
Even with his eyesight, Rory could only make out the bird as a tiny dot in the sky. He glanced at Callum. “Same hawk?”
Callum’s mouth twisted. “Same hawk.”
The distant speck circled once over their heads, then veered off. With an unpleasant jolt, Rory realized that it was heading for the place where he’d left Edith.
“It did that before.” Callum looked even grimmer. “Went for her the instant she moved away from us all.”
“Wystan, go,” Rory said instantly. “Get her back to base.”
Wystan nodded, but hesitated. “What should I tell her?”
“I don’t know!” It wasn’t like he had a great track record of talking to Edith. “Something. Anything. Just get her out of here.”
*And rest of the pack?* Fenrir asked as Wystan sprinted off. *What will we do?*
He might not be able to help his mate. He might not even be able to hold her.
But he could damn well protect her.
Rory bared his teeth in a feral grin. “We’re going to hunt.”
Chapter 18
“Edith?” Wystan said from behind her. “Apologies for interrupting. Rory sent me to fetch you.”
Keeping her back to him, she scrunched up her face in a silent scream of irritation. She’d thought that she’d reached an understanding with Rory. Yet somehow he seemed to have managed to interpret please ask the others to leave me alone as sure, send them over!
“I’m sure he meant well, but I’m not in the mood for socializing.” She scooped up another rock, pitching it into the stream. “You all go ahead without me.”
“Actually, they already have. I’m staying behind too. I, er…need to inventory all the first aid kits. To make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow. Rory said you should give me a hand.”
“Oh!” She reassembled her face into a more appropriate expression, swinging round. “In that case, of course! I’d be happy to help!”
Wystan’s eyebrows lifted a little. “You seem remarkably more enthusiastic about the prospect of counting bandages than you did about an afternoon off.”
She fell into step with him. “I’d rather be doing something than nothing. I like to be useful. In fact, if you show me what needs doing, I could take care of it on my own. It doesn’t seem fair that you get stuck behind with the chores while the others are off having fun.”
“Ah, well.” He looked away, his shoulders tightening. “I like to be useful too. And counting bandages is at least something I can do.”
“What do you mean, ‘at least’?” she asked, surprised by his self-deprecating words. “You do a lot more than that. You’re one of the most valued people in the crew. No one else is a trained paramedic.”
He winced. “I’m not much of a paramedic. I only lasted three weeks on ambulance crew. I can only hope no one on the crew ever has a serious injury.”
“Well, if someone does get hurt, it’s better that we have you than no one.”
His mouth curved in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. “High praise indeed.”
With a jolt, she realized that looking in his face was like looking in a mirror. She knew that expression. From the inside.
His eyes met hers, and she realized that she was staring. She guiltily jerked her attention to the path ahead. She’d never thought that someone else could be doubting that they were good enough for the crew. Let alone Wystan.
Her heart ached for him. She wished she was better at words. She tried to imagine what Rory might say.
“No matter what else, you’re a good firefighter,” she said firmly. “You’re strong and steady, and you’re always so polite, even at the end of the day when we’re all tired and cranky. The squad is lucky to have you.”
“Than
k you,” he said, his voice softening. “I truly appreciate that.”
They walked along in silence for a while. It gradually dawned on her that he kept glancing at her, as though something was preying on his mind.
“Wystan?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Ah.” He hesitated. “I was actually about to ask you the same question.”
She tensed, running a quick self-check. Had her expression drifted? Had her hands slipped free of her pockets? Had she accidentally done something inappropriate? What had he noticed?
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said nervously. “Nothing at all. Why would you say that? I’m fine.”
“Edith.” His mouth firmed as though he’d come to a decision. “Forgive me for mentioning it, but you are obviously not fine. As the closest thing to a medical professional that the crew has, I’m concerned about you. Long-term stress can have catastrophic consequences.”
“I’m not stressed out.” She was painfully aware of how her voice had risen, giving the lie to her words. “Really, I’m not.”
“It’s all right. I’m not trying to declare you unfit for duty or anything of that nature. It’s just…I think I know what’s worrying you.”
Her voice shot up another octave. “You do?”
Too late, it struck her that Wystan was a trained medical professional. Of course he’d recognize neurodivergent behavior. He’d probably seen right through her attempts to mask it.
“Yes,” he said, confirming her worst fear. “But I need to tell you, it shouldn’t be worrying you. You don’t have to hide it.”
That was sweet. And totally wrong. She shook her head. “No. No. I do.”
“I mean it,” he said earnestly. “Any…urges you might feel are completely natural. No one would think any less of you if you acted on them.”
Did he mean stimming? She’d endured enough disapproving stares and loud, pointed comments when she’d accidentally hand-flapped in public to know that wasn’t true.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she said desperately. “Especially not the chief. He’d fire me.”