Wildfire Shifters: Collection 1

by Zoe Chant

  Edith’s eyes were wide. “How do they do that?”

  “I don’t entirely know. The Wild Hunt is something of a secret society. Aunt Hope can’t talk about it much.” Wystan spread one hand, palm up. “But I’ve gathered it’s something to do with the pack leader. It takes a very particular type of alpha power to be able to gather the Wild Hunt and make the pack more than the sum of individual shifters.”

  “And you think Lupa is an alpha like that?” Rory asked.

  “Yes. One strong enough to form her own Wild Hunt. If she is, she might even be strong enough to compel other canine-type creatures to obey her. The shifters with her—even the wendigo—may not have been acting of their own volition.”

  “Just as well you weren’t there,” Candice said to Fenrir. “She might have been able to turn you to her side.”

  Fenrir showed all his teeth. *Tear out her throat first.*

  But you don’t, Joe thought, a cold shiver of unease running down his back. In his original vision—the one where he hadn’t been with the squad—Fenrir had hesitated when he’d locked eyes with the mysterious woman. As if she had hypnotized him…

  “Well, whatever she is, the most important thing is that she’s our enemy,” Rory said. “Lupa and her pack nearly took down the Thunderbird today. And according to Joe’s visions, she’s hell-bent on snatching one of us to serve up as some giant demon’s first meal.”

  “Just me or Blaise,” Joe put in. “If she can’t get me, she goes after Blaise. That’s what my visions have shown me.”

  “Me?” Blaise scowled, looking more irritated than worried at being singled out by an evil hellhound super-alpha. “Why me?”

  “Power,” Callum said, succinctly.

  “Cal’s right,” Wystan agreed. “You and Joe are innately special, thanks to your respective parentages, in a way that the rest of us aren’t.”

  Candice elbowed him. “Says the unicorn?”

  Wystan smiled at his mate. “I’m not being self-deprecating. My kind may be rare, but I’m not a walking embodiment of elemental forces. I suspect this alpha demon would find me to be a distinctly unsatisfying snack.”

  “So we need to protect both Joe and Blaise. And possibly Fenrir, if Wystan’s theory about Lupa is correct.” Rory leaned back on his log, bracing himself on his hands. He stared up at the sky as though a plan might materialize there. “Joe, you said you saw—”

  “Wait,” Callum interrupted. The pegasus shifter was abruptly on his feet, so fast that he hardly seemed to move. “Someone’s coming.”

  Everyone else tensed as well, but Callum held up a hand. He stared into the distance, eyes unseeing, as though he was listening to something. His taut shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  “It’s all right,” he said, sitting down again. “It’s just Buck.”

  Rory swore. “Is he bringing the rest of the crew back?”

  “No. He’s alone.”

  “That’s a relief. I didn’t want to test whether the Thunderbird can still make itself invisible even when it’s hurt.” Rory paused, forehead furrowing. “Funny. When I called Buck, he didn’t say he was going to turn around and head back to us.”

  “Well, he is.” Callum shrugged. “At speed. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Joe indulged in a groan, letting himself slump theatrically. “Great. So I have to go through all this again? If I’d known he was coming back so soon, I would have waited for him.”

  Wystan cocked his head to one side, looking curious. “Would you have known, if you’d scried the future?”

  “Probably not. I only see stuff that’s really important.” He raised a finger as a speculative expression began to dawn across Blaise’s face. “And before you ask, no, lottery numbers aren’t included in that. Neither are the results of horse races. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Blaise pouted. “Pity.”

  “If we’re all quite done exploring the potential monetary applications of Joe’s gift,” Rory said dryly. “Perhaps we could return to the small matter of the murderous demon-worshipping hellhound pack. Joe, you said that you had a vision of them attacking us on a callout near Bluebrook. Can you tell if that’s still going to happen?”

  “I can try.” Joe patted his pockets, but came up empty. “Anyone got some water?”

  “Yes.” Callum tossed him a canteen. “Here.”

  Joe poured a splash of water into his cupped hand—and paused. He was uncomfortably aware of the ring of avid stares boring into him.

  He squashed a sudden flutter of performance anxiety. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  He looked down into the water.

  And what he saw had nothing to do with Bluebrook, or Lupa, or demons.

  “Oh no,” he breathed. “Someone, stop him!”

  Chapter 19

  “Stop who?” Seven asked—but she was talking to Joe’s back.

  He charged in the direction of the Thunderbird, flinging his handful of water aside. Seven ran after him, drawing her stunsword between one step and the next. The rest of the squad followed in a disorganized pack, shouting half-formed questions.

  The roar of an engine cut through the babble. Up ahead, Buck’s car shot into the car park. He was driving so fast, Seven expected to see the hellhound pack hot on his tail—but the road behind stayed empty.

  The Thunderbird’s head snapped up as the Jeep roared toward it. The vast bird tried to push itself to its feet, but its talons slipped out beneath it. Its geometric markings lit up, sparks of electricity crackling between the feathers.

  The Jeep slewed to a halt, the driver’s door flinging open before the vehicle had even fully stopped moving. Buck burst out, right in front of the Thunderbird.

  “No!” Joe yelled.

  His long legs outpaced them all. He flung himself between Buck and the Thunderbird, just as the Superintendent raised a gun.

  Seven froze, along with everyone else. The muzzle of Buck’s gun pressed against Joe’s chest. Every part of her screamed to defend her mate, but she’d never be able to knock either of them out of the way in time.

  “Chief,” Joe was saying, his voice very calm. “Chief, no. You can’t.”

  Buck’s eyes and weapon stayed locked on the Thunderbird. “Get out of my way, Joe. Wystan, keep your hands down. Rory, if you so much as take a deep breath, I swear on my sister’s grave I will pull this trigger.”

  Rory, who had indeed been drawing in his breath—presumably to use his alpha power to command Buck to stand down—let it out again unused. Wystan’s fingers twitched helplessly at his sides. Even if he did fling up a shield, he’d only be able to protect the Thunderbird. There wasn’t the slightest gap between Joe and Buck’s weapon.

  Step back, Seven willed Joe. If only she was a sea dragon, or fully mated to him, they would have been able to speak mind-to-mind—but he couldn’t hear her silent plea.

  Behind Joe, the Thunderbird had frozen as well, staring down at Buck with lightning-filled eyes. Joe kept his body pressed hard against Buck’s gun, stopping him from re-aiming.

  “We need the Thunderbird, Chief. I know you hate him because he starts forest fires, but we need him,” Joe said. “He’s fighting the demons, just like us. He’s on our side.”

  “It’s a motherfucking murderer!” Buck shouted. His finger was tight on the trigger. “It killed—it killed...”

  “Who?” Joe said gently, when Buck didn’t finish the sentence. “Who did you lose?”

  “My sister. My brother-in-law.” Buck’s voice shook, but his hand stayed rock-steady. “My nephew.”

  Joe exhaled as though he’d been punched. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Buck. But whatever happened, I’m sure the Thunderbird didn’t—”

  A soft rumble like distant thunder interrupted his words. The Thunderbird’s massive head bent. Never taking its eyes from Buck, it nudged Joe aside with its beak. Wystan instantly started to raise his hands to summon his shield, but the Thunderbird’s eyes flashed like lightning, stopping him.


  Slowly, gently, it laid its great head on the ground in front of Buck. The markings on its feathers had faded completely, to the barren color of ashes. It tipped its head back, exposing the soft, vulnerable pulse of its throat.

  “He was a kid.” Buck’s voice was the barest whisper. “Just a kid.”

  The Thunderbird made no response.

  “There can be no justification for what you did.” The point of Buck’s gun started to waver, just a fraction. “I don’t care what you were fighting, or what was at stake. You should never have started that fire. No one should ever die like that.”

  The Thunderbird closed its eyes. It held very still.

  Very slowly, Joe reached out. Buck’s arm fell limp to his side as Joe cautiously took the gun out of his hand.

  “Nobody can change the past, Chief.” Holding the gun out to one side as if it was covered in maggots, Joe draped his other arm across Buck’s shoulders. The Superintendent didn’t resist as Joe steered him away from the motionless Thunderbird. “Only the future. And that’s what we need to talk about.”

  Buck took it all much more calmly than Joe had expected.

  Then again, he wasn’t sure how much the Superintendent was actually taking in. Buck had the fixed, glassy look of a man who would have been drinking steadily, had there been anything to drink.

  Joe knew that look only too well. He’d seen it in the mirror, more times than he cared to recall.

  And I only have to watch people I love potentially die in the future. Buck’s actually lived it.

  But he hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  Buck had chased the Thunderbird across the state for over ten years. But when he’d finally had his enemy helpless at his feet, he hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  Now he sat, blank-eyed and motionless, as the squad collectively tried to explain everything from Joe’s talent to the hellhound attack. They’d moved inside, to one of the long tables in the mess hall. It was stiflingly hot and airless—Buck always growled about 'motherloving state penny-pinchers’ whenever any crew member wistfully raised the possibility of air conditioning—but nobody had even suggested staying outside. They all wanted to keep Buck as far away from the Thunderbird as possible.

  Candice and the unicorns were still with the creature, continuing to tend to its wounds. Callum and Fenrir had volunteered to patrol the perimeter of the base, just in case the hellhound pack returned. Joe didn’t think that they would—he’d checked the future, and seen nothing except the usual cold chains around his wrists—but better to be safe than sorry.

  “So,” Buck said at last, when they’d all finally run out of words. His flat voice gave no indication what he might be thinking. “Hellhounds. Working with demons.”

  “Apparently,” Rory said. He was watching the Superintendent carefully, with the air of a bomb-disposal expert eying a ticking suitcase. “Which is why we might need the Thunderbird.”

  “We know it can sense demons,” Joe added. “And they’re afraid of it, enough to send out some kind of hellhound hit squad. The demons are planning something big. We can’t afford to lose anything that might help us stop them.”

  Buck’s eyes flicked to him. “You’ve…seen this?”

  “Some of it, yeah,” Joe said. “Enough to know that we have to protect the Thunderbird. I’m really sorry, Chief. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

  Buck moved for the first time in an hour, stiffly. Seven, who was discretely standing guard behind the Superintendent with one hand on her stunsword, tensed.

  The glare that Buck flashed her showed that he knew full well why she was hovering at his back. “Relax. Your boyfriend over there still has my gun.” He rubbed both hands across his face, hiding his expression for a moment, then dropped them again. “You can give me that back now, Joe. What with all this motherloving weirdness on the loose, I want to be packing.”

  “Uh.” The weapon was an uncomfortable weight in Joe’s pocket. He’d worked out how to take the magazine out, but he’d still rather have had a live rattlesnake down his pants. “Maybe I’d better hang onto it a little longer, okay?”

  “When even Joe is questioning whether something is a good idea, you know it isn’t.” Blaise swapped the cold coffee at Buck’s elbow for a fresh cup. “Here. Drink this. You must have been driving like a dem—uh, for a long time today. You’ll feel better with some caffeine inside you.”

  Buck made another inarticulate growl. “Motherloving shifters. Nothing but a pain in my ass.”

  Despite his words, he didn’t refuse the drink. He wrapped his large, scarred hands around the mug, staring down at the black liquid as though he was reading the future.

  “Stop staring at me like that, all of you,” he said after a minute. “Y’all look like you think I’m about to swallow your favorite puppy. Or burst into tears.”

  “Are you?” Edith asked apprehensively.

  “Nope. Your damn dog is too big to fit on my grill.” Buck took a sip of his coffee. “And I ran out of tears a long time ago.”

  They all exchanged glances.

  “Do you…want to talk about it?” Wystan asked. His tone of voice indicated that he strongly preferred the answer to be ‘no.’

  “No,” Buck said from behind his mug. He sighed, setting it down again. “But I suppose you all need to know. If only to give you second thoughts about following that motherloving monster around like little lost chicks.”

  “We know it’s unpredictable,” Rory said. “And that it doesn’t hesitate to go through anything standing in its way. But I have to admit, I didn’t think it would kill in cold blood. I’m sorry to have to ask you about this, Chief, but anything you can tell us about its behavior in the past might help us now.”

  Buck didn’t say anything for a moment, turning the coffee mug round in his palms.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said at last. “Thirteen years or so. August. I’d just got back from deployment.”

  Seven’s expression sharpened, as though a puzzle piece had just clicked into place. “You were military?”

  “Marines,” Buck said shortly. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. The Thunder Mountain Hotshots weren’t even a twinkle in my eye back then. Wasn’t nothing but trees, where you all have your butts planted right now. Only people living on the mountain were my sister and her family.” He glanced at Wystan. “Where your wife’s animal sanctuary is.”

  The blood drained from Wystan’s face. “I thought it was just an old, ruined ranch. If I’d know what personal significance it had, I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking to purchase it from you. I’m so sorry, Chief.”

  “Don’t be. Wilma would have kicked my butt for letting the land go unused for so long.” His weathered face softened a little. “She loved her horses.”

  “Wilma was your sister?” Edith said.

  “Yeah. My big sister.” Buck scowled, brushing a hand briefly across his eyes. “She took over the ranch after our parents passed. I spent as much time there as I could, which wasn’t much. But I was back, when it happened. I saw it.”

  “The Thunderbird?” Blaise asked, when Buck didn’t go on.

  He nodded, jerkily, once. “Sheer luck it didn’t get me too. Though whether that was good or bad luck depends on your point of view. I’d gone into Antler to have some beers, raise a little hell. Didn’t notice my phone going off. She called and called, and I didn’t pick up…”

  He paused again, clearing his throat. “Anyway. I didn’t see the missed calls and voicemail until later, when I was dialing 911. But there I was in at the bar, and I suddenly got this sixth sense that something was wrong. I decided to head back home early. Go spend some time with my nephew. He was at that age where kids started acting up. Wilma thought I might be a good influence on him, heaven only knows why.”

  Buck’s gravelly voice roughened even further. “It was a beautiful night. Not a cloud in the sky. And as I rounded the final corner and saw the ranch up ahead, the whole world went white.

  “For
a second, I thought it was an IED.” Buck stared straight ahead, into the past. “Wasted I don’t know how long having a screaming flashback, while lightning hammered down all around. When I finally came to, my car was on its side, and I was flat on my front in the drainage ditch clutching a stick like a damn AK-47. And the ranch was on fire.”

  Nobody said anything. Timidly, Blaise reached out to touch Buck’s hand. He didn’t look round, but his fingers gripped hers.

  “I saw it. Through the flames and the smoke.” Buck jerked his chin in the direction of the door, and the unseen Thunderbird. “Looking down at what it had done with those evil white eyes.”

  Wystan frowned. “Pardon the interruption, but are you certain there are no shifters in your family tree? Regular humans aren’t able to see the Thunderbird.”

  “Well, we can when it’s hovering over the ashes of everything we’ve ever loved like a motherfu—like a motherloving vulture,” Buck snapped. He abruptly let out a harsh, dry laugh, rubbing his forehead. “Listen to me. Thirteen years, and I’m still watching my tongue in case my nephew is listening. Wilma trained me too well. Anyway, there’s no freak show stuff in my background. For a while, I didn’t even believe what I’d seen. Thought I must have been hallucinating.”

  “What made you decide it was real?” Rory asked.

  “When I saw it again. Couple of years later.” Buck glanced down, and pulled his hand out from Blaise’s with an embarrassed twitch. “I was a mess for a while. Left the Marines. Joined up with a wildfire crew, thinking at least I could save other people from burning to death. Then, while we were out battling a forest fire, I saw the monster sail overhead. Big as life and twice as ugly. That was when I realized what I actually needed to fight. To stop.”

  “Chief.” Rory’s voice was deep and soft, his golden eyes filled with compassion. “You know what the Thunderbird hunts.”

  “I know now,” Buck said heavily. “And…Wilma’s last voicemail, she was talking about something big prowling around the ranch. Some kind of wild animal. That was why she wanted me to come back. She sounded scared. She was my big sister, she was the brave one…but whatever she saw, it scared even her.”