Firefighter Phoenix

by Zoe Chant

  His face was utterly expressionless.

  “It is not my place to have an opinion one way or another,” he said. His eyes met hers, very briefly. “But I wish you every happiness, Rose.”

  Wayne was good at three things.

  The first was appearing to be a lot drunker than he actually was.

  The second was noticing things.

  And the third was noticing what to notice.

  It was a surprisingly lucrative set of talents. And right now, his mouth was watering at the juicy scent of a big, fat payout coming his way. One that might keep a roof over his head for months.

  He slumped over his beer, letting his eyelids droop as if he was utterly sozzled. In truth, he was watching carefully. Noticing.

  Right now, he was noticing the Phoenix’s hand.

  It was no good staring at the man’s face. Wayne had long since learned that no secrets ever slipped out from behind that blank, frozen wall. But his hands…those were another story. You could learn a lot, watching the Phoenix’s hands.

  Ash’s fingers gripped his glass of water. He held it, and held it, and didn’t once raise it to his mouth. Not even when all his friends finished their own drinks, excusing themselves with awkward, stumbling goodbyes. He held onto it for a good five minutes after they’d all left, sitting alone at the table, staring at nothing.

  Finally, he released it, one finger at a time. Usually, he came up to the bar, to say goodnight to Rose. This time, however, he left without a backward glance.

  Wayne slid off his own barstool. Affecting a stumbling, weaving gait, he staggered over to Alpha Team’s corner booth. He pretended to stumble, catching himself on the edge of the table. His hand brushed against the Phoenix’s abandoned drink.

  Rose was wiping down a nearby table, her movements rather jerkier and more forceful than usual. She looked up at his yelp. “You all right, Wayne?”

  “Yep,” he mumbled, around his stinging fingers. “G’night.”

  The water in the glass was still boiling.

  Fighting down a grin, Wayne made his way outside. He ducked down an alleyway, pulling out his phone. The special phone, that he only used for one number. The one that he’d given him.

  Wayne blew on his reddened fingers, trying to cool them, before opening up a new text.

  Got a good one for you, he typed. I think the Phoenix is in love.

  He started to put the phone back in his pocket. To his surprise, it buzzed in his hand.

  Tell me everything, said the reply.

  Chapter 4

  Past

  20 years ago…

  Blaze arced across the sky like a comet, trailing fury. His rational mind was stretched paper-thin, barely containing the raging inferno underneath. Only the binding biting into his soul kept his humanity from being consumed utterly.

  Unchecked, his beast would have scorched a firestorm of devastation across the state. Its burning rage grew with every unwilling wingbeat. The binding forced him on, but there was a new pull resisting it. An equally demanding call, tugging him back.

  Back to her.

  He was used to the constricting agony of one leash. But now he was caught between two, and the opposing forces threatened to rip his mind in half.

  Blaze, I am Blaze. He held onto his name like a lifeline, a point of certainty amidst the howling wildfires sweeping through his soul. Not just the Phoenix. Not just a beast. I am Blaze. I am in control.

  Though he barely had control. He could stop his beast from starting new fires, but he couldn’t help its rage from reaching out to the parts of the forest that were already alight. Whenever he passed over smoldering patches of wilderness, the inferno roared up anew.

  He swooped low through the flames, seeking solace. But for once, not even their heat could cool him.

  For the first time in his life, it was not the fire’s embrace that he craved.

  Anger burned in his soul—and not just from his animal. It was as much his own fury as the Phoenix’s that set fire to the sky as he arrowed toward home.

  Mundane people were blind to him in this form. But the compound he called home was guarded by more than mere humans.

  The alarms were already wailing at full volume as he shot over the outer perimeter fence. The complex boiled like a kicked anthill, people streaming out of the scattered dormitories and labs. Armed soldiers barked orders at panicked acolytes and staff, trying to maintain order as they herded everyone into the emergency underground bunkers.

  Part of him—the tiny part that was still vaguely human—was darkly amused by the sight. Like mere blast doors and concrete walls would do anything to protect them if the Phoenix was ever truly unleashed.

  His binding tightened in warning. It bit into his wing like barbed wire, making him lurch in the air. Hissing, he tumbled ungracefully into the landing courtyard, scorching the already-blackened stones with a fresh layer of soot.

  Pulling the Phoenix back into his skin was like swallowing a sun. Even in human form, it burned beneath his chest.

  His binding burned, too. The tattooed runes cut deep into his right arm, deeper than they ever had before. Blood dripped from his fingers, scarlet drops vivid against the scorched flagstones.

  The pain was irrelevant. So were the four guns trained on him, and the four shaking soldiers who held them. There was only one person he wanted to see.

  “Corbin!” he shouted, heedless of the way the soldiers’ fingers tightened on their triggers. “Damn you, Corbin! Let me go back! I have to go back! Corbin!”

  “I am here,” said the familiar, calm voice. “And we will speak once you can do so like a man rather than a beast, Blaze.”

  A fresh throb of pain shot through Blaze’s binding. He clenched his fist as a tall, austere figure stepped out from the shadowed doorway.

  As always, Corbin wore the black, full-length robe and gold-lined hood that marked his rank. A casual observer might have mistaken the outfit for traditional academic dress. With his graying hair and lined, thoughtful face, Corbin did look the part of an absent-minded college professor.

  In truth, he was something far more dangerous.

  Corbin folded his hands into his wide sleeves, regarding Blaze with cool appraisal. “You are not in control of yourself. You know what that means, Blaze.”

  The Phoenix rose in his soul, alight with hatred. With gritted teeth, Blaze forced his beast back down. He didn’t like this process any more than his animal did, but fighting only made it worse.

  Blaze’s binding burned. His vision went dark, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him. His beast shrieked in outrage and fear—and fell into strangled silence, as Corbin fully opened the link between them.

  Blaze swayed, power running out of him like blood from an open vein. Across the courtyard, Corbin drew in a soft, sharp breath, his chest rising as he siphoned off the Phoenix’s fire.

  The warlock kept the connection open for a long, agonizing minute. By the time Corbin finally released him, Blaze was on his knees, hands braced on the flagstones.

  “There,” Corbin said, calmly. “Better?”

  For a moment, all he could do was breathe. His ears rang with the sudden silence in his mind. There was a sick, sour taste in his mouth.

  But the warlock had drawn off the rage that had threatened to consume him. The Phoenix fire burned low and fitful in his soul, leaving him space to think.

  Painfully, he got back to his feet. “Thank you, High Magus.”

  The warlock tipped his head in acknowledgement. “And now that you are not half-feral, you can explain yourself. I summoned you back the instant I sensed you start to lose control, but even so, I was nearly too late. What happened, Blaze?”

  “I don’t know.” He swallowed hard, still feeling dizzy and nauseous. “I went to the fire. It was helping to calm my beast, just like it always does. But then—there was—”

  He stopped, words failing him. His memories were a confused jumble, as they always were after he walked in a wildfire. It wa
s like awakening from a dream, and trying to pierce together sense from jagged, too-bright fragments.

  A voice like a song, calling to him. Skin as soft and dark as soot, every rich curve gloriously, maddeningly bare. And her eyes, her eyes…

  “There was a woman,” he said, haltingly.

  Corbin went very still. “A woman?”

  “Yes. The most beautiful woman…and I knew her.” Just the thought of those heart-stopping eyes made fire rise again in his soul, even though Corbin had only just drained him. “But I’ve never seen her before. High Magus, how is that possible?”

  A muscle ticked in Corbin’s jaw. “I do not know.”

  The warlock had raised Blaze from childhood. Corbin had been parent and mentor and prison warden for as long as Blaze could remember. Their very souls were bound together. He knew Corbin better than anyone.

  And he knew when Corbin was lying.

  “You do know something! Or you suspect it, at least.” Unable to contain himself, Blaze took a step forward. “Tell me! Now!”

  The soldiers in the corners of the courtyard tensed. Corbin lifted a hand slightly, motioning them back down.

  Corbin’s gray eyes never left his. Blaze was used to being studied by the warlock for any sign of instability, but this much unwavering scrutiny was unnerving.

  If he didn’t know better, he would have said that the High Magus was…afraid.

  “Tell me,” Blaze repeated. Though he felt like he was burning from the inside out, he forced his voice to match Corbin’s calm, measured tones. “Please. I need to know. Who was she?”

  For a long moment, he thought the High Magus wasn’t going to answer. Then Corbin let out his breath in a resigned sigh.

  “Someone very dangerous,” Corbin said, a hint of grimness shadowing his usually level voice. “Especially to you.”

  A disbelieving laugh escaped him. If he hadn’t known that the warlock possessed absolutely no sense of humor, he would have thought it was a joke. “One naked, unarmed woman is a danger to the Phoenix Eternal?”

  “Yes,” Corbin said, his jaw tightening again. “And if you use your head rather than letting your beast continue to rule you, you will understand. Think, Blaze. When you looked into her eyes, how did you feel?”

  Heat rose in him at the mere memory. “Like she was the only person who mattered in the entire world.”

  The warlock looked at him, silently, and waited.

  “The only person who mattered.” Blaze repeated his own words more slowly, ice replacing the fire in his veins as he realized what he’d said. “One word from her, and I would have gladly burned anything she asked.”

  “You see now,” Corbin said.

  He did. He scrubbed his hands over his face, sickened at the thought of how close he’d come to endangering the population of the entire country. Of the world.

  “But who was she?” he asked, dropping his hands again. “To have such power over my beast…what was she? Some kind of witch? A rival of yours, even more powerful?”

  Corbin’s severe expression turned even more icy. “Of course not. I am the High Magus. No other warlock could come close to breaking my binding of you. No. She was something else.”

  The High Magus turned away, heading back into the building. Blaze didn’t need the slight tug on his binding to know his cue to follow. He fell into his accustomed place, half a step behind Corbin.

  The plain gray corridors of the menagerie building were deserted. He could sense the knotted, feral fires of some of the other shifters behind the heavily-reinforced doors they passed, but none of the dimmer, steadier energies of human souls.

  On a normal day there would have been plenty of people around; cleaning staff mopping out the cages, soldiers bringing in freshly-captured feral shifters, brown-robed acolytes hurrying on minor errands for their mentors. But all the residents of the complex usually made themselves scarce whenever Blaze was out of his cell.

  They were afraid of him. And he knew that there were whispers about the way Corbin handled him. Mutterings that he had too much freedom, that Corbin treated him too much as if he was a person.

  Other warlocks at the facility never let their familiars range out of sight. When their shifters grew too agitated, they let them vent their bestial urges hunting within the extensive grounds of the secluded, private base.

  But the Phoenix was not a mere wolf or bear, to be pacified by ripping up a deer. Only wildfire soothed the creature that lived in Blaze’s soul. Corbin could hardly accompany him into the heart of the inferno, but it made the other warlocks nervous whenever the High Magus allowed him off-site.

  Blaze could have told them not to worry, if they would have listened to a mere shifter. The runes around his arm bound him equally tightly regardless of whether Corbin stood two feet away or the other side of the planet. No matter how far he might fly, Corbin could always pull him back.

  Or at least, he always had been able to. Blaze glanced down at his right arm, uneasily. The cuts edging the inked runes stung. Even shifter-fast healing struggled with the wounds inflicted by the binding whenever he fought it.

  He hadn’t fought it for a long, long time. As far as he was aware, he wasn’t deliberately fighting it now.

  And yet still the binding cut into his arm, seeping blood in slow drips.

  Perhaps the other warlocks were right after all.

  He looked back at Corbin, trying to judge his mood from the straight line of his back and the set of his head. With most people, Blaze could get an idea of their general thoughts from the patterns of their soul-energy…but not Corbin. Despite the bond between them, the warlock was—and always had been—utterly impenetrable to him. Nonetheless, Blaze had the impression that his mentor’s mind was working furiously.

  That was comforting. Corbin was the most powerful warlock in generations. He was the High Magus, the only one ever to bind a shifter as powerful as the Phoenix. He had not only studied all the ancient lore on shifters, he had substantially added to it through his own research. If anyone would be able to work out what was going on—and more importantly, how to stop it—it was him.

  “You said she was naked.” Corbin spoke without looking round, his stride measured and unhurried. “Did she also appear to recognize you?”

  He nodded, knowing that the warlock would sense his assent down their bond. “She seemed drawn to me. As much as I was to her.”

  The sweet, searing heat of her skin against his palm, close, so close…

  Corbin shot him a sharp glance over his shoulder, and Blaze tamped down his rising fire as much as he could. He had no desire to have his power drained twice in a single day.

  The warlock’s eyes narrowed slightly, but to Blaze’s relief he made no move to re-open the link. Corbin continued on, without even a scathing comment about Blaze’s lack of discipline.

  That unnerved him. It wasn’t like Corbin to pass up what he called a ‘teaching opportunity’. The High Magus was preoccupied.

  “Given what you say, I believe that she is a shifter as well,” Corbin said, sounding thoughtful. “A lesser kind of animal, if she was unable to shift with her clothes.”

  “A shifter?” Blaze said, startled. “But she had no binding. And she spoke to me. She shouted at me to stop the fire. How could she maintain her human mind, with no warlock to help her?”

  “Some feral shifters, particularly those with weak beasts, can do surprisingly well at maintaining the pretense of humanity.” Corbin’s shrouded shoulders were set in a tense, straight line. “But do not be misled. Underneath the veneer of civilized behavior she is driven by base animal desires. No better than a bitch in heat. And that was what drew your own beast.”

  Blaze stared at the back of the warlock’s head. “My animal is in some kind of…mating frenzy?”

  “It is a sickness that can strike some shifters. An urge to rut, which drives out all other thought. When it occurs, madness is the inevitable result.” Corbin sighed. “We have sometimes had problems with it h
ere, with other familiars. But I never thought it would affect you, given your singular nature.”

  She certainly couldn’t be the same species as him. There was only one Phoenix, thankfully. Blaze would not have wished his own inner monster on anyone else. Yet he couldn’t deny that his body had responded powerfully to the mysterious woman.

  Not just his body, though.

  She’d run toward the wildfire. Toward him. He’d been nearly lost to the inferno, more elemental force than man, and yet she’d faced him without flinching. In the defense of innocent lives, she’d defied the fire, standing bare and unafraid. Her courage and compassion had arrested him as much as her feminine curves.

  “You truly think that it was only my beast?” he asked, uncertain. “She was very…striking. Not to mention very naked. Surely any man would have responded to her as I did.”

  Corbin made a slight, impatient sound. “Becoming instantly infatuated? To the point of throwing away all training, all discipline, all ethics and morals? Think, Blaze. How long were you in her presence? How many words did you exchange? And you have the idiocy to think that this sudden passion you feel can possibly be real?”

  Blaze dropped his gaze to the hem of the warlock’s robe, stung by his scorn. Corbin was right, of course. Even as isolated as he was, he knew enough of regular humans to understand that love—true love, the kind that lasted—didn’t work that way. You didn’t lock eyes with a woman and instantly know that she was the one and only for you, always and forever.

  But it had felt so real.

  It still felt so real.

  “You said this drove shifters mad,” he said, quietly.

  Corbin stopped, turning. His mouth was set in a thin line, eyes as hard as steel.

  “I will not allow that to happen,” the warlock said. “But you must fight this as well, Blaze. No matter how much your beast rages, you must keep control. The Phoenix must be contained. You cannot let it rise.”

  His binding throbbed, an ever-present ache ebbing and falling in time with his own pulse. He was used to constant pain.