Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(10)

“It’s more than good,” Rory said, beaming as if he’d dug the line himself. She still couldn’t pin down those exotic rs. “We’re safe here, with that line holding the head back. I checked it—properly anchored, well judged, and a nice clean cut. Superb work, especially for one person under extreme pressure.”

The praise kindled an answering warmth under her breastbone. It was a strange, foreign sensation, like a glowing bubble expanding from her heart. She hadn’t felt anything like it for so long, it took her a moment to identify the emotion.

Pride.

“What crew did you work with?” Rory continued, turning to her. “You must have professional experience to cut line like that.”

The bubble popped.

“Not really. Just…just a little training.” She changed the topic with the grace of an elephant on stilts. “What happened to the hare?”

“You mean the deceptively fuzzy spawn of Satan that was lurking in your lookout tower?” Rory waved a hand in the direction of the unburned forest. “It ran off after it knocked me down the stairs. Is it your pet? Callum could track it down for you.”

And now she was all confused again. “I thought the dog was called Fenrir.”

“He means Fenrir,” Wystan said. He pinned Rory with a meaningful—though indecipherable—stare. “Don’t you, Rory?”

“Ah, yes.” Rory rubbed the back of his neck again. “Sorry, still a bit dazed. From, uh, falling down the stairs.”

“Clearly,” Wystan murmured. The dog let out a deep woof, as though agreeing.

“Well, anyway, the hare wasn’t my pet,” Edith said. “It was a wild animal. I rescued it from the fire.”

“I hope it was more grateful to you than it was to me,” Rory said, one tawny eyebrow quirking up.

“Actually, it attacked me too. It let me pick it up and take it inside, but then it suddenly went for me without warning.” Edith gingerly probed at her neck. “It was trying to tear out my throat when you arrived and scared it off.”

A low rumbling noise made her jump. She thought for a moment the dog was snarling—but the sound came from Rory. His hands flexed like claws. “It hurt you?”

She took a step back, caught off-guard by his abrupt intensity. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, but there was still something disconcerting about being close to so much focused power. It was like standing right next to a raging bonfire—contained, tamed, but definitely not safe.

Fenrir let out a high, quizzical whine. His black nose nudged Rory’s clenched fist.

Rory took a deep breath, his golden eyes closing for a moment. His shoulders relaxed again. “Nothing,” he said, as though answering an unspoken question. “Explain later.”

Edith usually felt as though she was missing half of any conversation, as though everyone else was tuned into a radio station she couldn’t hear. This one, however, was more like trying to follow a TV show playing in another room, where she could only catch every other word.

Rory pinned her with that unnerving sunlight stare again. “Did it hurt you?”

Her searching fingers found something sticky on the side of her neck, under the collar of her shirt. She became aware of a dull, throbbing pain, under the brighter jangle of sensory discomfort. “I think it bit me.”

Rory moved so fast she didn’t have time to react. Suddenly he was right up in her personal space, the heat of his body battering her skin, his spice-sweat-smoke scent overwhelming her senses. His sheer presence squashed her flat, like a mouse pinned by a lion’s paw. She froze, unable to even breathe.

He froze too, as if her paralysis was contagious. The tips of his gloves brushed her collar, not quite touching her neck.

“Rory.” Wystan’s hand closed on the other man’s shoulder, dragging him back. “Don’t just lunge at the poor woman. I’m terribly sorry for my colleague’s appalling manners, Edith. May I take a look at your injury? I’m…a paramedic, of sorts.”

Edith sucked in a shaky breath. Every inch of her skin felt simultaneously on fire and frozen. She managed to jerk her head in a nod.

Moving as though trying not to spook a feral cat, Wystan approached her. He lifted a hand—and jerked it back as another low growl came from Rory’s direction.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face up. “Don’t pay any attention to me. Go ahead.”

Wystan threw Rory another of those strange looks, but complied. His bare fingers were cool and impersonal against Edith’s skin. His presence didn’t light up her nerves in the same way that Rory’s had; his closeness was simply uncomfortable. She forced herself to hold still for the brief examination.

“Not a bite. Just some shallow scratches from its claws.” Wystan shrugged off his pack, rummaging in one of the pockets. “I’ll clean it up and put a bandage on it. That rabbit certainly made a spirited attempt to get you.”

“It was a snowshoe hare, not a rabbit.” Edith winced as Wystan swabbed her wound with an antiseptic wipe. “I’m lucky Rory arrived when he did. I swear it was trying to kill me. It was acting more like a predator than a prey animal.”

Rory raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think it’s too late for us to claim it was a very small wolverine?”