Wildfire Shifters: Collection 1

by Zoe Chant

  Just not with her mate.

  She hadn’t grown up with shifters. When she’d first come to Atlantis and heard people talking about true mates, she’d scorned the entire concept as a ridiculous fairy tale. No one could actually fall in love in a single moment of eye contact.

  And now she knew that she’d been right.

  This gaping, cavernous craving was nothing as gentle and civilized as love. It was need. It was hunger. It was a pure, primal instinct to grapple and bite and claim, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, bodies slick and surging—

  Seven took a deep breath, and mentally worked her way through all twenty-seven stanzas of the rules for honorable duels.

  Just his bodyguard.

  The Prince stirred at last, dropping his untouched bottle of water into a pocket. Seven tried not to stare too openly at the line of his neck as he leaned forward to peer out the window.

  “We’re here,” he shouted over the thunder of the helicopter blades.

  She pressed her face to her own window, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. A wrinkled landscape of green and brown lay below. Rocky mountain peaks thrust toward them, flanks blanketed by thick pine forest. A few thin, winding roads cut through the wilderness.

  The helicopter’s shadow flickered over a small town, buildings huddled together as though for warmth. The pilot brought the machine round, following the line of a road that curved up the flank of the mountain. Tips of pines waved in the downdraft from the helicopter’s blades.

  Seven clung to a strap, teeth rattling as the pilot brought them down into a broad clearing. The Prince was moving even before the helicopter’s skids touched the ground, unclipping his harness.

  She started in alarm, scrabbling for her own seatbelt. “My prince-!”

  She lurched, tossed off her feet by the unfamiliar movements of the machine. His hand closed over her arm before she could fall, holding her upright.

  “Sorry,” he shouted in her ear. He slid the door open, balancing effortlessly in the swaying metal deathtrap. “Force of habit. We had to do a few aerial drop-offs last season. Learned to jump out as quickly as possible. Hold on to me.”

  She didn’t have much choice, since it was that or pitch unceremoniously headfirst out the door. She clung to his waist, trying to ignore the heat of his body against hers. She wished she was still wearing her armor.

  She’d dressed to match the Prince, in jeans and a plain t-shirt. After so long wearing the all-enclosing leathers of a sea dragon squire, she felt naked in the flimsy human clothes. At least she still had her stunsword, discretely holstered at her hip.

  “Ready?” he said, gathering up their bags with his free hand and tossing them out the hatch. “On three. One. Two. Three—”

  She yelped as he pulled her out the door. She braced herself, only to discover that the ground was far closer than she’d expected. A jarring impact went through her legs as her boots hit the ground. Instinctively, she absorbed the momentum, curling into a roll that would bring her gracefully back to her feet.

  Or at least, it would have been graceful, if she hadn’t still been tangled up with the Prince.

  “Argh,” he said from somewhere underneath her thighs, as the helicopter rose back into the sky and thudded away. “Let’s hope no-one saw that.”

  “Too late,” said a deep, amused voice.

  Seven twisted her head, and found herself staring up at a broad, upside-down grin.

  “Trust Joe to arrive late, in a private helicopter, and entwined with a beautiful woman,” the man said. He bent to offer her a hand up. “I’m Rory MacCormick, A-squad boss. Welcome to Thunder Mountain.”

  More out of politeness than necessity, Seven accepted his hand. His palm was rough with calluses, though not in the pattern of a swordsman.

  Rory pulled her to her feet with a smooth, easy motion. He stood a good four inches or so taller than she was, though still nowhere near Joe’s height. He was broad and rugged, with tanned skin and bronze hair. His eyes were startling—rich and golden as a lion’s, and just as penetrating.

  He’s the griffin, she realized. His family was famous in Atlantis. She’d heard poets singing the ballads about the deeds of his father Griff, who was oath-brother to the Imperial Champion. There was a whole epic saga about the many adventures they’d shared as part of the famous Alpha firefighting team in England. Recently, she’d even heard a few songs about Rory himself. Meeting him now, she could believe that they hadn’t been exaggerated.

  “Seventh Novice of the Order of the First Water, Squire to the honored Lord Azure,” she said, turning her grip into a handshake. “People call me Seven for short.”

  Rory’s tawny eyebrows rose slightly at this introduction. “Nice to meet you, Seven. And not to be rude, but why are we meeting? Joe said he was bringing someone back with him, but he was a little hazy on the details.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” A tall, broad-shouldered blonde woman shouldered Rory aside. She had a snub nose and freckled cheeks, and the most unabashed, infectious smile Seven had ever seen. “She’s Joe’s mate!”

  Seven felt like she’d been punched straight in the gut. Was it that obvious?

  “She’s Joe’s what?” Before Seven could even open her mouth, a second woman pushed past Rory. She too was dressed in a black T-shirt with THUNDER MOUNTAIN HOTSHOTS written across the chest in bold yellow letters. She adopted an exaggerated, mournful expression. “I’m so, so sorry. If you want to run for the hills, we’ll hold him down to give you a head start.”

  “Hey!” the Prince said, struggling upright. “I’m not that bad.”

  “You are,” Rory told him.

  “Oh, Blaise, don’t be silly,” the first woman said. She fixed Seven with an earnest expression, as though she was genuinely concerned Seven might take Blaise up on her offer. “I’m sure that the two of you will be perfect for each other. You’re a shifter, right? So you must have known straight away. You’re so lucky, it took me ages to trust my feelings about Rory. I’m Edith. Rory’s my mate. This is Blaise, and those three over there are Callum, Wystan, and Fenrir.”

  Seven followed Edith’s pointing finger, and discovered two more men—one red-headed, the other a pale, silvery blond—standing a bit further back. The red-head had a cool, reserved expression, but the other man gave her a little wave of greeting, smiling. A huge, black-furred dog sat between them, head cocked to one side.

  The pegasus, the unicorn, and the hellhound. The poet’s songs had mentioned them too, and Edith. Blaise, however, was a mystery. A half-remembered line floated through Seven’s head—and at their side, the fire’s shadow—but if that had referred to Blaise, it didn’t give her any clues as to her shift form.

  “Fenrir can’t shift, but don’t worry, you’ll be able to talk to each other telepathically once the pack-bond kicks in,” Edith continued without pausing for breath. “Are you really named Seven? I like your hair. How did you meet Joe? Was it romantic?”

  Seven was still reeling from having been literally knocked off her feet, and the barrage of questions wasn’t giving her any time to regain her metaphorical balance. Without meaning to, she blurted out, “I hit him over the head.”

  “I like you,” Blaise informed her.

  “Congratulations.” Rory clapped the Prince on the shoulder, his grin widening. “You now officially have the most embarrassing meeting-my-mate story out of all of us. And to think you said nothing could ever top me falling off a fire tower while being savaged by a rabbit.”

  “For the love of sweet little fishes.” The Prince swatted Rory’s hand away. He scowled around at his colleagues. “She’s my bodyguard, okay? Seven’s here as my bodyguard.”

  For all that she’d agreed it was best to keep their other connection hidden, hearing him say the words still twisted something deep inside her. She lifted her chin under the startled stares, not letting any of her inner hurt show in her face.

  “She’s your bodyguard?” Blaise sounded skeptical. “Just a bod
yguard?”

  “Why wouldn’t I tell you if she was more?” The Prince shrugged. “What shifter wouldn’t be desperate to show off his true mate to his best friends?”

  Something about the way he phrased that caught Seven’s attention. He hadn’t said that he wasn’t. And he’d said that she was here as his bodyguard—which was true—not that she wasn’t his mate.

  She’d sworn to uphold the Seven Knightly Virtues, which included candor—which was just a fancy word for honesty (whoever had first codified the seven Knightly Virtues had clearly been deeply fond of both alliteration and the letter ‘c’). She couldn’t tell a direct lie…but he hadn’t made the same oaths. That was why he’d told her to let him do the talking.

  So why didn’t he just lie?

  Blaise folded her arms. “Something’s fishy here. Seven, what isn’t Joe telling us?”

  Her stomach lurched, but the Prince leapt in before she had a chance to open her mouth. “Don’t you dare start badgering poor Seven. I’ve been back for two minutes. Let me catch my breath before you start the cross-interrogation. I promise, I’ll tell you all about strip club and the demons and the kidnapping in my own good time, okay?”

  “Demons?” Rory said.

  “Kidnapping?” Callum said at the same time.

  “Strip club?” said Blaise.

  “My word.” Wystan raised a white-blond eyebrow. “You have been busy.”

  “Yeah.” The Prince’s aggrieved expression faltered, revealing something more real underneath. “I…I’m sorry I missed your wedding, Wys. I really wanted to be there.”

  Wystan came forward to clasp his hand, his green eyes gentle. “I know you would have come if you could.”

  “Thanks, bronicorn.” The Prince pulled him into a brief hug. “Now tell me the bad news. Exactly how pissed off with me is Candice?”

  “She saved you a piece of cake,” the unicorn shifter said, extricating himself. The corner of his mouth hooked up. “Admittedly, I think she’s planning to throw it at your head.”

  “Though perhaps that wouldn’t be a good idea,” Rory murmured, his gaze lingering on Seven’s sheathed stunsword.

  “Oh, Seven’s just here to protect me against foes.” The Prince drew himself up, adopting an uncharacteristically regal expression. “Seven, I hereby declare that you are not to defend me from any beatings my friends see fit to dispense. Except Blaise.”

  Blaise threw a mock-punch at him, which he ducked, laughing. Seven felt a strange pang in her chest. It wasn’t the horseplay—that was all clearly good-natured. Her animal lay quiet, untroubled. It wasn’t its protective instincts that made her heart twist.

  It was him.

  In the club, he’d been all calculated seduction and playboy charm. With the Imperial Champion and Lord Azure, he’d been stiff and spiky, aggressively trampling over the expected etiquette. But here…here, he was different.

  Among his friends, his shoulders had relaxed at last. His grin flashed like the sun breaking out from clouds, dazzling and unguarded. For all that he was clowning around now, pretending to cower in fear from Blaise’s wrath, she had the oddest certainty that she was finally seeing him, not a role he was playing.

  In contrast to everyone else’s smiles, Edith was looking anxious. Her hands jerked in a nervous, fluttering gesture. “Seven, I’m sorry I assumed that you were Joe’s mate. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  She hadn’t been offended at all. Quite the opposite. Just for a moment, she’d been enfolded and included. Welcomed.

  It had felt…nice.

  “No apology is necessary.” Her voice sounded stiff and awkward even to herself. “It was an understandable conclusion. I am sorry to have appeared unexpected and unannounced. I thought you were forewarned.”

  “Joe generally prefers to ask forgiveness rather than permission,” Rory said dryly. “When he bothers to ask anything at all. Joe! Did you at least tell Buck about our new friend?”

  Joe—she abruptly found that she couldn’t keep thinking of him as the Prince—broke off from his mock-sparring with Blaise. “I’m not a total idiot, bro.”

  “Just ninety-nine point nine percent,” Blaise called.

  Joe good-naturedly flipped her off. “Come on, Seven. I’ll take you to our glorious leader. Don’t worry. He’ll love you.”

  A flutter of nerves stirred in her stomach. She covered her apprehension by stooping to pick up her discarded backpack—and nearly cracked her head against Joe’s as he bent to do the same. For a moment, they both tugged at the bag, trying to claim it from the other.

  Fenrir let out a deep woof that sounded awfully like laughter.

  Seven flushed, realizing how ridiculous they must look. She let go, allowing Joe to claim her backpack. She grabbed his instead, glaring at him as she hoisted it onto her shoulder.

  “My prince,” she hissed as quietly as she could. “It is not seemly—”

  “You’re really going to have to break that habit,” he interrupted. “There are two other squads in the crew, all regular humans. Buck’s the only person who knows that we’re shifters. If someone catches you deferring to me like royalty, we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

  He sauntered off without waiting for a response, heading for a cluster of low buildings at the other end of the broad clearing. Seven had to trot to keep up with his long-legged stride. The others followed in their wake, but they quickly outdistanced them, even though Joe looked like he was just lazing along.

  He’s good at that, she realized.

  She remembered how he’d casually he’d posed one-handed during his pole-dance, as though anyone could have done it. How, just now, he’d evaded his friends’ questions with the conversational equivalent of a handful of thrown glitter. He’d danced and deflected and played the fool, and never given a hint that how hard he’d been working to avoid having to tell them a direct lie.

  He was very good at making it look like he was putting in no effort at all.

  Why?

  She stretched her legs to catch up with him. It might have been her imagination, but she thought he shortened his stride, just a little, matching his step to hers. She was able to walk at his side without having to keep breaking into a half-jog.

  A rutted dirt track cut across the clearing, leading to the buildings. The track flattened out into a parking area, home to a handful of dirty pick-up trucks and Jeeps. Three larger, bright yellow vehicles stood out from the others, like bulls in a herd of cows.

  “Behold our noble steed.” Joe gestured at one of the hulking transports. THUNDER MOUNTAIN HOTSHOTS was written on the side in stark black letters, with the letter A in a smaller font underneath. “I keep trying to persuade the others to let me jazz her up a little. I had this great design sketched out, incorporating all our shift forms, but Buck confiscated my spray cans before I could start painting. Something about being a hotshot crew, not a ‘motherloving metal band.’ No appreciation for art, that man.”

  Seven pictured the enormous vehicle covered in lurid illustrations of sea dragons and griffins. “He sounds like a person of excellent judgement and good taste.”

  Joe laughed. “I think you’ll like him. From what I saw, he’s better than your Lord Azure, at least.”

  Privately, Seven thought that was a very low bar to clear. Wild krakens couldn’t have made her admit it, though.

  Joe gave the crew vehicle a last fond pat before ambling on. “That big building over there is the mess hall. The others will tell you shameless and terrible lies about my cooking. If you feel moved to challenge them to a duel for such foul slurs on my honor, feel free.”

  He swung his arm, pointing out another rough-hewn wooden building. “And over there is the torture chamber. Sorry, gym. We do two weight-training sessions a day—the first alongside the rest of the crew in the morning. That one’s just for show. The second session is when we actually sweat. Rory makes us come back after all the humans have finished for the day. The sadist.”

 
; As he talked, Seven studied his face more than the buildings. For all his deprecating words, there was fondness in his eyes as he gazed around the dusty, unprepossessing compound.

  “You like it here,” she said, startled. “Don’t you?”

  “What, this place?” Joe made a theatrical shudder. “I used to spend my summers lounging on golden beaches while beautiful seal-maidens peeled shrimp for me. Why in the sea would I prefer to be here?”

  Which wasn’t a denial, Seven noted. She was learning to pay attention to what he wasn’t saying.

  “Sometimes the place where we belong isn’t the most comfortable one. Or where other people assume we belong.” If anyone knew that, it was her. “You’re at home here, no matter how you attempt to hide it. You’re glad to be back. Why were you so determined to stay at the strip club, before the attack?”

  He turned away sharply, hiding his face…but he couldn’t hide the leap of his pulse. She could taste his sudden spike of fear, sharp on her tongue, calling to her deepest instincts.

  “Ah, there’s the man himself,” Joe said brightly. He sounded like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Come on, Seven. Time to meet the big boss.”

  What in the sea is he hiding?

  There was no opportunity to probe deeper. Joe was waving exuberantly at a man who’d just emerged from one of the buildings. The man did not seem to be nearly as glad to see him. A deep scowl creased his face as he strode over.

  The man addressed Joe in a curt, gravelly voice. “You’re late.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Joe replied, without the slightest hint of shame. “The way I see things, I’m right on time. Nothing’s on fire yet, is it?”

  “It constantly amazes me that your pants don’t spontaneously combust every time you open your mouth.” The man switched his attention to Seven, raking her with a glare worthy of a sea dragon drill sergeant. From his weathered skin and greying hair, he had to be in his late forties, but his body was as hard and muscled as any of the younger crew members. “This her?”