Firefighter Phoenix

by Zoe Chant

  “It’s an accurate description,” Cal said, completely straight-faced. “My brother is right, Rory. I’m not a risk-taker.”

  Rory blinked at him. “You may be in the wrong profession, then.”

  “You know what I mean. Wilderness work isn’t like urban firefighting. I’ve heard Connor’s stories.”

  “Connor literally jumps out of airplanes into forest fires. What we do isn’t nearly as insane.”

  Cal’s eyebrows rose, ever so slightly. “So you admit that smokejumping is more dangerous?”

  “Yes-“ Rory started to say—and then the penny dropped at last. “Oh, for the love of—Connor!”

  “Cal’s” face broke into a broad, wicked grin, exactly mirroring Conleth’s. In perfect unison, the pair high-fived each other.

  “You admitted it!” Connor chortled. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, waggling it tauntingly. “And I recorded it.”

  A rumbling growl reverberated through Rory’s chest. His hands fisted, but there was no way he could wrestle the device off Connor without causing an embarrassing scene. “I just said that it was more dangerous. That’s not the same as saying you damn idiots are braver.”

  “It’s close enough,” Connor said, smirking. “I’m sure the rest of my crew will agree.”

  Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Do I even want to ask how you got hold of Cal’s shirt?”

  “That’s not my shirt,” a third voice snarled from behind him.

  Rory turned. Callum—the real Callum—stalked up, his curling red hair mussed and his jaw clenched. A couple of grinning firefighters that Rory didn’t know trailed him. One of the men was shirtless.

  Cal’s glare swept over his brothers and fellow firefighters alike. “For the last time, this is not funny.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Conleth said solemnly.

  “It definitely isn’t,” Connor agreed.

  There was a beat. A muscle ticked in Cal’s jaw.

  “It’s bloody hilarious,” his brothers said together, and collapsed into laughter.

  Cal’s shoulders fell in a long, heartfelt sigh as his colleagues roared with mirth as well. He turned to Rory, ignoring the whole lot of them with icy dignity. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  With a twinge of unease, Rory realized that Connor’s impersonation of his brother had only been slightly exaggerated. There was a stiffness to Callum’s posture that hadn’t been there the last time Rory had seen him. Some joshing and teasing was inevitable on any fire crew…but there was a cruel edge to the laughter that had his griffin snarling in protective fury. He wanted to wade in with both fists, just like he had years ago: Leave him alone! Stop picking on him!

  But Cal hadn’t appreciated it when he’d been nine. He really wouldn’t appreciate Rory trying to play the white knight now. Rory drew in a ragged breath, forcing his hands to uncurl.

  Wystan appearing at his shoulder was a welcome distraction. The unicorn shifter cast a glance over the scene, not looking the least surprised by either the still-chortling Connor or any of the smirking firefighters. He turned to Cal. “So, are you in?”

  Cal’s eyes narrowed. “In what?”

  “Run while you can, Cal,” Joe said from behind Wystan. Even slouching disconsolately, he was still a good six inches taller than the rest of them. “Rory wants to offer you a job.”

  Cal digested this. “Somewhere that isn’t here?”

  “A very long way from here,” Rory said. “It’s-“

  “Yes,” Cal interrupted.

  “But I haven’t told you-“

  “Yes,” Cal repeated, in tones of utter finality.

  “All right then.” Rory clapped him on the shoulder, which the pegasus shifter bore with stoic resignation. “Three down, one to go.”

  “One more?” Wystan raised an eyebrow. “But that would only make five. I thought you said there were six on a squad.”

  “There are.” Rory beckoned them all to follow him. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Wystan looked around the cellar. “You want us to meet…beer barrels?”

  “I like this plan.” Joe clapped his hands together, beaming. “Never met a beer barrel that wasn’t excellent company. Are we here to get staggeringly drunk and bond in manly fashion? Can I build a sweat lodge?”

  Cal shot him a sardonic look. “Do you know how to build a sweat lodge?”

  “Actually, yes,” Joe said cheerfully. “I’m also good at blanket forts. And igloos.”

  “Why—“ Rory started, and then shook his head. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.” He raised his voice a little. “Here they are. The shifters I told you about.”

  Nothing happened.

  “There’s nobody here,” Cal said.

  “There’s a spider,” Joe pointed out. His forehead wrinkled. “Do you get spider shifters?”

  “I sincerely hope not,” Wystan murmured.

  “It’s just a spider.” Cal folded his arms. “I’m a pegasus. Trust me. There’s no one here.”

  “This is Wystan,” Rory said to thin air, ignoring the backchat. “The tall one is Joe, and the scowling one is Cal. It may be difficult to believe, but you can trust them. I trust them.”

  “Awww. Thanks, Rory.” Joe paused. “Not entirely a ringing character endorsement, of course, given that it’s coming from someone who’s talking to a barrel of bitter.”

  Rory rolled his eyes. “Will you all just be quiet for a moment? You’re scaring him.”

  “Scaring who?” Wystan asked, a hint of annoyance breaking through his usual polite tones. “Rory, you’re being excessively mysterious.”

  “Be. Quiet.” Alpha power echoed under Rory’s command, like a rumble of distant thunder.

  Joe, who’d been about to say something, shut his mouth with a snap. Wystan’s lips thinned. Cal’s expression darkened even further.

  But they all obeyed. Rory let out his breath, the silence ringing loud in his ears.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly to the air. “They’re pack.”

  The silence drew out for a long moment.

  Then the air shimmered.

  Joe yelped a expletive in sea dragon language. Wystan recoiled so hard he fell off the stairs. Cal raised an eyebrow.

  The enormous, wolf-like creature stared at them all with burning red eyes. Thick, coal-black fur bristled.

  *Pack?* The voice in Rory’s mind sounded distinctly dubious.

  “Pack,” Rory confirmed out loud. “Guys, this is Fenrir. He’s a hellhound.”

  “Rory.” Wystan was plastered against the far wall. “I know hellhounds. My aunts are hellhounds. That is not a hellhound.”

  “Is it a hellpony?” Joe said, his voice rather higher than normal. “A hellbear, possibly? More importantly, is it hungry?”

  “He’s a hellhound,” Rory repeated firmly. He put his hand on Fenrir’s head, which was about the same level as his own shoulder. “Just…a little bigger than average.”

  “A little?” Cal muttered.

  “Well.” Joe swallowed, recovering a little of his customary aplomb. He essayed a shaky grin, holding out his hand. “I take it we’ll be working together. Fenrir, was it?”

  The hellhound cocked his head to one side, eying the sea dragon, then stood up. Joe paled a little as Fenrir padded forward, but held his ground.

  “I, ah, was expecting a handshake,” Joe said, as Fenrir sniffed at his fingers. “Maybe a fist bump? No?”

  “Fen doesn’t do handshakes,” Rory said. He grimaced. “Or, for that matter, hands.”

  Joe yelped again as Fenrir transferred his attention to the sea dragon’s crotch. “Whoa, bro! At least buy me a drink first.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t do hands?” Wystan asked.

  “He’s…stuck.” Rory blew out his breath, as Fenrir went to sniff the unicorn. “He can’t shift. Claims he never has.”

  Wystan tried to shove Fenrir’s enormous muzzle away from h
is groin. He might as well have tried to deflect a bulldozer. “But no hellhound is born that way. They’re always bitten.”

  Fenrir growled, the sound echoing in the confines of the cellar. *Not a two-leg. No soft-skin inside.* He glanced sidelong at Rory, ears flattening. *No matter what birdcat says.*

  “You are a shifter,” Rory told him. “And don’t call me that.”

  “Call you what?” Joe asked. “Wait, can he talk to you telepathically? But hellhounds aren’t mythic shifters.”

  “I can talk to him because he’s decided I’m pack. I found him in the wilderness, or rather, he found me. It’s a long story.” Rory shrugged. “In any event, he saved my life, and I saved his. So here we are.”

  Fenrir tried to sniff Cal, and was met by a flat stare. The hellhound paused for a moment, then backed away. He sank to his haunches again, sweeping them all with his burning eyes. One ear flicked.

  “Well?” Rory asked him.

  Fenrir’s lips wrinkled back, exposing finger-long fangs. *Not pack.*

  “I know they’re not pack yet.” Rory scratched the hellhound behind the ear. “But they will be. Trust me.”

  Cal’s frown deepened. “He’s on the squad?”

  “The hellhound who can’t shift is a firefighter?” Joe looked delighted. “Oh, please, please tell me he has a little doggy uniform. And a hat. I demand that he has a hat.”

  Fenrir growled again…but his tail thumped twice against the floor in a reluctant wag.

  “He’s on the squad,” Rory confirmed. “Hellhounds need a pack, or they go…unstable. I think that’s why he can’t shift. He’s been alone too long.”

  *Birdcat promised pack,* Fenrir rumbled in his mind. *Proper pack. Not this.*

  “What’s he saying?” Wystan asked.

  “That we’re still missing an essential part of a real pack.” Giving Fenrir a last pat, Rory headed for the stairs. “And that’s why we need one more person.”

  The sounds of the party drifted up to her room, even through closed doors. As a child, she’d always fallen asleep to the warm, comforting sounds of the pub below. She could remember lying in the dark, listening to that low susurration of half-heard laughter and muffled voices, a fierce hunger burning in her own heart.

  She’d been so impatient to grow up. So eager to be allowed into that mysterious adult world, to be part of the conversation rather than straining her ears to catch the occasional word. She’d lain awake night after night, planning, dreaming, mapping out her life. The future had seemed a broad, shining path, leading inevitably to her destiny.

  And now, here she was. All her dreams in ashes.

  Soft, familiar footsteps echoed down the hall. She barely had time to crumple the uniform shirt in her lap into an anonymous ball of fabric before the door opened.

  “Sweetheart,” her mother started…and then paused, her gaze flicking down to the shirt briefly.

  No hope that she hadn’t recognized it, or course. Her own cheeks heated as her mother’s eyes softened.

  “Oh, my love.” Her mother sat down on the bed next to her, putting a hand on hers. “None of this is your fault.”

  It was a lie. It was her fault, all of it. Every clink of glasses, every laugh from the party below cut her like a razor. If it wasn’t for her, none of them would be here. They wouldn’t have been having to pretend to celebrate…

  Her mother’s fingers tightened on hers. “It is not your fault,” she repeated, more firmly. “What happened was a blessing in disguise. An overdue wake-up call.”

  “But he nearly died.” She swallowed, and forced herself to say the truth out loud. “I nearly killed him.”

  “Which made him take stock of his life, rather than continuing on in familiar channels. Your father is retiring because he wants to, sweetheart.” Her mother’s smile was as warm as summer sunlight. “At last. I’ve been badgering him for years. You’ve given me a gift, not taken anything away from him. You mustn’t throw away your own dreams out of misplaced guilt.”

  She looked away, down at the shirt in her hands. Her fingertips traced the embroidered crest on the sleeve.

  East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service.

  She stuffed her former uniform into the bag next to her on the bed. “I was just packing up the last of my old work gear. Can you ask someone to take them back to the station for me?”

  Her mother was silent for a long moment.

  “You can’t hide up here forever, love,” her mother said at last, very gently. “You should go yourself.”

  Just the thought of facing everyone again—the stares, the whispers, the pity—made her throat tighten. Every shifter in the fire service was down there. They all knew what she’d done.

  What they didn’t know was how easily she could do it again.

  “I can’t.” She pushed the bag into her mother’s hands. “Please?”

  Her mother blew out her breath, but accepted the sack. “Your friends are asking after you. Are you sure you won’t come down to the party?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Her mother went to the door again, opening it. “Which is why I told them to come up.”

  Her heart lurched sideways in her chest. Rory stood there, broad and stocky, with that familiar big-brother look of concern in his golden eyes. Others crowded behind him—Wystan, Joe, even Cal. All her old childhood friends.

  She only had an instant to gape at them before the biggest dog she’d ever seen knocked them all aside. Before she knew what was happening, a cold wet nose shoved under her hand. The dog whined low in his throat, thick black tail wagging hopefully.

  Her mother smiled at her. “I think you should listen to what they have to say.”

  She stared at Rory. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Utterly.” His mouth quirked. “Apparently a proper pack needs an alpha female. And you’re the most alpha female I know.”

  “Uh.” Joe raised a tentative hand, something clearly preying on his mind. “Rory, if you’re the alpha male, does that mean…?”

  She spluttered in knee-jerk disgust. To her relief, Rory looked equally appalled.

  “Joe, she’s like a little sister to me,” he said, in scandalized tones. “I’d rather screw you.”

  “Well, obviously.” Joe smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. “Who wouldn’t?”

  Despite everything, the familiar banter brought a smile to her face. Fenrir, evidently noticing, wagged his tail harder. His nose was still firmly planted under her hand.

  A little tentatively, she stroked his pointed, wolf-like ears. The enormous hellhound wriggled like a puppy, tail thumping hard against the ground.

  *Pack?* The voice in her mind was so faint, she might have been imagining it. *We are pack?*

  Her smile faded.

  “I can’t,” she said, dropping her hand from the hellhound’s head. “Rory, didn’t you hear what happened? I can’t be a firefighter. Not ever again.”

  “Yes, you can.” A hint of a growl entered his voice. “You were born to be a firefighter. You can’t throw that away, just because of one…incident. I know you’re scared. I’ve been there myself. But if you run and hide, you’ll lose who you are. You have to accept the fear, and use it to make yourself stronger.”

  Those deep, rumbling words seemed to pass straight through her ears and grab hold of her spine, forcing it to stiffen. She found that her shoulders had straightened, without any conscious thought.

  She remembered that voice. From when she’d been little, and the three years between them had made him seem like a vast, golden god, delivering commandments from on high: Of course you can climb that tree. Of course you can pass that exam. You can do anything. I believe in you.

  “You just have to trust yourself,” Rory said, in those unshakable, unarguable tones. He leaned forward, his golden eyes intent. “Like we trust you.”

  She looked round at them all. Joe, utterly serious for once, looking oddly like his fat
her as he gave her a slight, solemn nod. Wystan’s kind, intelligent face, quiet understanding in his eyes. Cal, scowling, affecting indifference, but there.

  They were all there. All her childhood friends. And they still trusted her.

  They wouldn’t, if they knew the aching, yearning cold inside her. How even now—despite everything—a tiny, traitorous voice still whispered:

  Burn.

  Rory held out a hand to her. “We need you. So will you join us?”

  She crushed that unwanted presence back into the deepest, darkest depths of her mind. She imagined ice freezing around her soul, locking her animal away in an impenetrable glacier.

  She took Rory’s hand.

  “Yes,” said Blaise, the Black Phoenix.

  The Fire & Rescue Shifters will return in Wildfire Griffin - available Fall 2018

  Make sure you don’t miss it by signing up for Zoe Chant’s New Release mailing list:

  http://www.zoechant.com/join-my-mailing-list/

  A note from Zoe Chant

  Thank you for buying my book! I would really appreciate it if you would leave a review on Amazon, even if just a few words.

  The Firefighter series is now complete…but the story isn’t over yet! Rory, Blaise, and all the other grown-up kids will return in a brand-new spin-off series, Fire and Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew. The first book will be Wildfire Griffin, and features Rory finding his mate (I guarantee sparks will fly…). Look for it in Fall 2018!

  To make sure you don’t miss Wildfire Griffin (and my other new releases), click here to join my mailing list.

  If you haven’t already read them, the other books in the Fire & Rescue series are:

  Firefighter Dragon

  Firefighter Pegasus

  Firefighter Griffin

  Firefighter Sea Dragon

  The Master Shark’s Mate

  Firefighter Unicorn

  Fire & Rescue Shifters Collection 1

  (contains Firefighter Dragon, Firefighter Pegasus, and Firefighter Griffin)