Wildfire Shifters: Collection 1

by Zoe Chant

  Wystan was instantly seized by an intense need to know the man’s name, appearance, and current address, so that he could go beat the bastard to death with a shovel. He could barely form words, his voice twisting into a feral snarl. “He did this to you?”

  Candice twisted to cast him a bleakly amused glance over her shoulder. “He’s in jail, so you don’t need to look quite so homicidal. The last thing I want is for you to end up locked up in the cell next to him for attempted murder.”

  “It wouldn’t be attempted,” he growled.

  “That’s sweet. Psychotic, but also sweet.” Candice pulled her shirt up again, though she kept her back to him. “Listen, I didn’t show you because I want you to go on some avenging crusade. Or because I want your pity.”

  He couldn’t leave her there like that, so alone and brave. Candice didn’t move or look around as he moved to kneel behind her. Very gently, he put both hands on her shoulders, feeling the difference between them through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her breath sighed out, almost too quietly to hear, as he rubbed her tense back in small circles with his thumbs.

  “Why did you show me?” he asked softly.

  “Because you needed to see how bad the damage is on the outside.” Her head was bowed, showing him only the delicate nape of her neck. “So that you’ll understand exactly what it means when I say that the damage on the inside is worse.”

  “You aren’t damaged, Candice.” How could this incredible, courageous woman think that she was broken? “You’re forged in fire, like the finest steel.”

  She huffed, though it didn’t sound entirely in annoyance. “Shut up and listen. Like I said, there was a guy. A bit older than me. He was…oh, handsome and charming and all that crap. He made me feel like I was in a fairytale. I was just a stupid, naive kid. I believed everything he told me.”

  He kept rubbing her back, in slow, soothing strokes. “What did he tell you?”

  “Oh, that he could give me everything I’d ever wanted, of course.” Her voice softened, turning wistful. “I had…I had this dumb dream. I wanted to have my own ranch, where I could work with rescued horses. And dogs and cats and goats…it was going to be a haven for all animals in need. I had it all planned out. I was going to go to school, get vet qualifications, work my way up until I could afford to buy my own place. And I had a secret stash of money, that I’d been saving since I was seven. Nearly enough for my two years of tuition. You see where this is going now.”

  “Unfortunately.” He concentrated on not letting his growing anger show in his gentle massage. “He found out about your nest egg.”

  “I was stupid enough to show it to him, can you believe? Because I wanted him to come with me when I finally got free of the care system.” Candice’s muscles were rock-hard under his palms. “And he hugged me and said he wanted that too, and he couldn’t wait until I was eighteen. He said we should go right then and there. Just sneak out of the home and run away together. Because—what an amazing coincidence—he had this elderly aunt in Montana. Who had a horse ranch. She was getting old and needed help and would definitely take us in. She’d probably even leave us the whole place in her will when she died. And I believed him. I was that stupid.”

  “It sounds to me,” Wystan said, “more like he was a master of manipulation. And a predator. You were brave enough to open your heart to him, and he took advantage mercilessly.”

  “Well, whatever. The upshot is, I ran away with him. He took me to this crappy motel room and lit all these candles. He bought wilting gas station flowers and scattered the petals all over the bed as if we were newlyweds. I had this sexy nightdress, all tacky lace and polyester, and when I put it on he looked at me as if I was a goddess. I thought it was all the most romantic thing in the entire world.” Candice stopped for a moment, swallowing hard. “And then I woke up in the middle of the night, a few of those candles still burning, and I saw him shoving all my cash into his backpack.”

  He tightened his hands on her shoulders, holding her, and said nothing.

  “He tried to tell me he’d just been packing for the morning, but he had his coat and shoes on and even I wasn’t that stupid. I threw myself at him, screaming, fighting to grab my life’s saving’s back. He grabbed the desk lamp and brained me with it.” Candice’s breathing was going ragged. “I fell down, half-unconscious. And as he bolted for the door, he knocked into the table and one of those oh-so-romantic candles fell down. Onto my cheap fire-hazard nightdress.”

  She was shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. Her spine was rigid as an iron bar.

  “Later—a lot later—his lawyer argued that he hadn’t seen me go up in flame. That if he had, he would have come back and rescued me. Of course.” Candice let out a dry, choked chuckle. “The jury was not impressed. So justice was served, for once. And I learned a really valuable life lesson about trusting people. Especially perfect, romantic men who say they want to sweep me off my feet and fix everything.”

  “I wish…” He had to stop, his own throat raw. “I wish that I could fix everything. Or anything.”

  “I know. You’re a good man, Wystan. I know that, up here.” Candice tapped her head. “But down here…” She moved her hand to her chest, over her heart. “I was burned, Wystan. Badly, badly burned. In here, where it matters.”

  “I understand now why you tried so hard to keep me at a distance.” He rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her closer. “And how much bravery it must have taken just now to make yourself vulnerable in that way again. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Candice.”

  “You still don’t understand,” she said, her voice breaking. “Wystan, you need someone who can offer you her whole heart, you said so yourself. I’m never going to be able to love anyone that way. He broke that part of me.”

  “No.” He brushed his hand down her right arm. “You didn’t recover the use of this arm all at once, after your injury, did you? But you didn’t give up. You exercised and practiced, and every day the scar tissue stretched just a little bit further. Why would your heart be any different?”

  She shook her head in a sharp, jerky motion. “No matter how much physio I do, I’m never going to be able to extend my arm above my head. I’m never going to be able to give you what you need. Every time I look in a mirror, I remember what happened to me. I can’t help it. No matter how perfect you are, there’s always going to be some scared, scarred part of me holding back for fear of getting burned again. And that means when I crack and have sex with you--and I will, Wystan, because even this exact second you smell so damn good that it’s all I can do not to rip your clothes off here and now—I’ll destroy you. I’ll kill your unicorn.”

  “You won’t,” he said firmly. “You’re my mate.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t, Wystan. This isn’t going to work.”

  A sudden storm of wings outside the hatch made them both jump. Wystan spun around, twisting to shield Candice as a huge feathered head blocked the opening. A fierce eye peered in at them—and shrank down to human dimensions.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” said Rory, crouched at the top of the ladder. “But we’ve got a visitor.”

  Wystan tensed, still protecting Candice. “The Nightmare?”

  “Nope.” The griffin shifter’s expression was grim. “It’s the Thunderbird.”

  Chapter 22

  Joe gazed thoughtfully up at the Thunderbird’s distant, wheeling silhouette. “I feel we should offer it a cup of coffee.”

  “Not your coffee,” Blaise muttered. She took a long swallow of Joe’s special brew and shuddered, straightening a little. “I can’t believe you didn’t wake us all up, Rory.”

  Rory shrugged one shoulder. There were dark shadows under his golden eyes. “You were already asleep. And it wasn’t doing anything. No sense in all of us being exhausted.”

  Candice sipped her own drink—which had come from the ranch’s communal coffee pot rather than Jo
e’s hip flask—gratefully feeling the caffeine hit. She’d only slept fitfully throughout the night, jolting awake at the slightest noise. Every time she’d opened her eyes, Wystan had been silhouetted against the hatch, watching the sky. She didn’t think he’d slept at all.

  He’ll do anything to protect me. He’s a good man. I can trust him.

  She knew that, without a shadow of a doubt. But when she looked at him, trying to picture herself being able to say yes to him, in all the ways that he wanted…her heart flinched.

  It was ironic, really. Fool me once, shame on you. She’d sworn never to be fooled twice, to never let stupid emotions overrule cold logic again. But now, no matter how much her head insisted that Wystan was kind and honest and true, that scarred part of her soul screamed no, no, run!

  She’d been burned once. And even the gentlest and most comforting of fires was still flame.

  Wystan’s gaze, which had been fixed on the circling Thunderbird, flicked to her. Candice realized that she’d been staring at his profile like a teen geek girl crushing hopelessly on the school quarterback. She hastily focused on the sky like everyone else. If she was going to save him from herself, she had to stop giving him any false hopes.

  The only way to protect him was to cut him off. No matter how the thought of never seeing him again made her stomach cramp in misery, it was the only way. She couldn’t trust herself around him, and he was too trusting. She’d never be able to convince him that she was a danger to his unicorn. She had to leave.

  But she also couldn’t leave. Not yet, with Flash still in danger. Candice couldn’t walk away from an animal who needed her. And even if she could, she was pretty sure that Flash would just teleport after her. The little unicorn seemed to have imprinted on her. Even now, she was leaning against Candice’s legs, idly nibbling at the grass. The unicorn seemed entirely unconcerned about the presence of the circling Thunderbird.

  “It hasn’t done this before?” she asked Rory.

  “Turned up and stayed passive, you mean?” The hotshot squad boss shook his head. “No, this is new behavior. It’s been hesitant to attack us before—“

  “It flung lightning bolts at us,” Blaise interjected, scowling. “Multiple times.”

  Rory turned his hands palm-up, shrugging. “Yes, but not straight away. Remember when it turned up after we killed the snake-demon? It definitely thought for a moment before it torched the area.”

  Blaise folded her arms. “Guess it takes a while to build up a zillion volts of electricity. I think it’s just tired after starting that last forest fire.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Rory conceded. “It certainly didn’t seem keen to come down and say hello. It just circled higher when I tried to go up to its level. It can fly a lot higher than I can. Callum?”

  The pegasus shifter shook his head. “Can’t go that high either.”

  “Well, we can’t just sit here and let it recharge,” Blaise snapped.

  “You volunteering?” Rory said, a note of challenge entering his tone. “If any of us could get up there, it’s you.“

  “Oh, great idea.” Blaise rolled her eyes. “Let’s replace the giant deathbird with something even worse. Seriously, Rory. There has to be something we can do.”

  “Well, what we can’t do is sit here debating it all day,” Joe said. “Otherwise we’ll have Buck descending on us as well. We’re already late reporting back.”

  “Were you able to get in contact with the chief?” Edith asked Rory.

  “I could only get through to Control, at base camp. Buck and the rest of the squad are deployed far out on the front at the moment, out of cellphone contact. I gave them a coded message to relay to him by radio, but it’ll take a while to reach him. I could hardly explain why it was urgent.” Rory blew out his breath, his brow furrowed with worry. “We’re on our own for this one, squad.”

  “We don’t need the chief’s orders, though, do we?” Blaise raised her eyebrows, her jaw setting as she looked around at her teammates. “We already know what they would be, after all.”

  “He’d want us to attack it.” Edith’s hands fluttered through the air in an agitated gesture that was curiously at odds with her firm stance and focused expression. “But he’d be wrong. He thinks the Thunderbird is pure evil, but maybe we just don’t understand it. We’re speaking different languages.”

  “I agree with Edith,” Wystan said. “I believe the Thunderbird is here to hunt the Nightmare. Given how the creature backed off when I baited it too close to the wildfire yesterday, I’m now convinced that fire is the snake-demons’ fatal weakness. That’s the reason the Thunderbird starts the forest fires with its lightning—not out of malice.”

  “Oh good. It has a reason for burning innocent people,” Blaise said. “How comforting.”

  Candice frowned. Wystan’s theory was sound, but something was nagging at her…

  It clicked into place at last. “It’s not hunting.”

  The bickering shifters fell silent, blinking at her as though they’d forgotten she was in their midst. “Why do you say that?” Rory asked.

  “The flight pattern is all wrong. It’s circling as if it’s riding a thermal, but there’s nothing around to produce that sort of updraft.” She gestured around at the flat paddocks surrounding them. “Look how much it’s flapping to stay in position.”

  Joe tilted his head. “So, bro? I’m no expert, but isn’t that how flying works?”

  “Exactly. Flying like that takes work, for a bird that big. It’s got the same general shape as a California condor.” One the size of a light aircraft, admittedly, but that just made Candice all the more sure that it had to be putting in a heck of a lot of effort into staying in such a small area. “When a condor is looking for carrion, it keeps its wings as still as possible, riding air currents over a broad area. That’s the only way they can stay aloft for so long. If the Thunderbird was searching for the Nightmare, it should be flying in wide loops with its wings still, trying to conserve its energy as long as possible, see?”

  “I guess so,” Rory said, still not looking like he was entirely following. “That’s how I’d fly, anyway, if I was searching for something.”

  “But not if you’d already found it,” Wystan breathed, understanding dawning. “You’re right, Candice. It’s working very hard to stay right above us.”

  “Oh joy,” Blaise muttered. “Now there’s a cheery thought.”

  “The Nightmare’s not here.” Callum sounded utterly certain. “I have its…” He appeared to search for the right word. “Its signature, now. Even with that,” he jerked his head at the Thunderbird, “looming over us, I’d sense it.”

  “So if it’s not hunting the Nightmare, and it’s not here to fight,” Joe said slowly. “What does it want?”

  As if it had heard him, the Thunderbird broke off from its tight circles. Its shadow swept across them. Slowly, wings held motionless, it set an arrow-straight course for the mountains to the north east.

  Edith voiced what they were all thinking. “It wants us to follow it.”

  Chapter 23

  “This is a terrible idea,” Blaise muttered. “This is the worst idea.”

  “I’m not disagreeing,” Wystan replied without looking around. Even with shifter reflexes and hotshot training, it took concentration to hike across completely wild terrain. “It does, alas, have a single redeeming quality, though.”

  Blaise’s booted feet crunched through leaf litter behind him. “What’s that?”

  He shouldered aside a low-hanging branch, holding it back with one arm so that Blaise could duck under it too. “It’s the only one we’ve got.”

  Blaise shot him a pained look as she passed him, but didn’t waste breath arguing further. They’d been hiking for several hours now, since the last tiny dirt road had petered out. Since the Thunderbird had sailed serenely onward, they’d had no choice but to park the squad’s truck and follow on foot. Or, in the case of Rory and Callum, wings.

  *A
nything yet?* Wystan sent telepathically to Rory. He couldn’t see the griffin shifter through the dense forest canopy, but he knew he was circling overhead, keeping track of them.

  *Nothing,* Rory sent back. *The Thunderbird is still making a direct line for nowhere, as far as I can tell. Nothing to see for miles but trees. For all I know it’s trying to take us to Nevada. Or Connecticut. Let me know if anyone needs a break, okay?*

  Wystan sent a brief, wordless acknowledgement and let the telepathic connection drop. He moved off to one side, pretending to stop to retie his bootlace in order to have an excuse to check on everyone else as they filed past.

  Edith was still bright-eyed and bouncy, of course, as fresh as when they’d first started out. Although she didn’t have shifter strength, her hard-trained stamina always put the rest of them to shame. Joe, bigger and heavier, was clearly finding the steep, heavily-wooded terrain more challenging, but his stride was still steady even though his usual stream of bad jokes and light-hearted banter had fallen away.

  Candice lagged a good ten feet behind Joe. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead under her hat. She had her head down, her hands gripping onto the straps of her backpack as though she could haul herself up the mountain by her arms. She’d insisted on bringing along her emergency gear from her animal rescue vehicle, with a wide assortment of first aid treatments for just about any species. A telescoping dogcatcher pole was strapped to one side, while a tranquillizer rifle bumped at her hip.

  He already knew it would be futile, but he put out a hand to stop her anyway. “Please, Candice. Let one of us take your things.”

  She shook her head in a tight arc, not looking up from the ground. “I don’t need help.”

  “I assure you, it wouldn’t be a burden. We’re trained to hike long distances with heavy loads. We’re much more used to this than you are.”