Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(21)

Once again, she had the sensation of falling through a hole in the conversation. “Passed what?”

“Your job interview,” Wystan said, smiling. “Want to be a hotshot?”

She’d never understood why breathtakingly cruel remarks were meant to be funny. But she’d learned the hard way—only teasing, don’t be so uptight, can’t you take a joke?—how to respond in these situations. She forced out a laugh.

No one else did.

“Wait.” She stared around at them all. “You can’t be serious.”

Rory slid off the log, kneeling down in front of her so that their faces were level. He looked more like he was proposing marriage than making a job offer. She fixed her gaze on the top button of his shirt, avoiding the fiery trap of his eyes.

“I have never been more serious in my life.” His deep, resonant voice shook her bones. She could feel every word in her chest as if he spoke directly into her heart. “Any crew would be lucky to have you. Come down from the tower, Edith. Don’t let your life be defined by stupid words from stupid men, who needed you to be small so that they could feel big. Be bold, be daring, be you. The person you were always meant to be. This squad needs you. I need you. Join us.”





Chapter 7





Rory’s whole chest ached with the effort of getting the words out—not because he didn’t mean them, but because he did. Edith’s whole life history was clear in every line of her posture; shoulders hunched, hands pressed so tightly between her knees that her legs trembled.

He wanted to enfold her in his wings, wrapping her in warmth and reassurance. He wanted to rip apart whoever had convinced her that her dreams were futile. That she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough.

All he could do was draw as hard as he could on his griffin’s alpha power. Not to dominate—never that, not to her—but simply to convince. He filled every syllable with his trust and certainty and unwavering support. He had to make her believe him, believe in him, as he believed in her—

“No,” Edith said. There was nothing but bleak resignation in her own voice.

Rory’s lungs felt like they’d turned inside-out. For a moment, all he could do was gape at his mate in utter consternation.

*Did she just ignore your alpha voice?* Blaise said in his head.

He tried again, harder. “Edith. We need you. Join us.”

Fenrir flattened against the ground. The rest of the squad all rocked back in their seats as though he’d fired a pistol past their faces.

Edith just looked mildly annoyed.

“I heard you the first time,” she said, tone sharpening. “And the answer is still no.”

The entire squad stared at her.

She flinched, curling around herself more tightly. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Because we kind of assumed you’d say yes,” Blaise said, wide-eyed. “People generally have a hard time saying no to Rory.”

“Well, I don’t.” Edith’s mouth set in a determined line, even though her body language was still meek and defensive. “I know that he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying.”

“Trust me.” Callum rubbed one ear with a rather pained expression. “He does.”

“I do,” Rory said, this time being careful not to use his power. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Her gaze flicked briefly up from his collar, skating across his face and away again. She still wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“Because it’s unbelievable.” Edith pulled her hands out from between her knees to tuck them under her armpits, hugging herself. “Hotshots are the best of the best, the elites of wildland firefighters. People try for years to be good enough to get on a crew. Now you want me to believe that you want me in your squad? A random fire watcher you’ve only just met? I don’t know if this is a sick joke, or some kind of misplaced sense of charity, but I’m not falling for it.”

She paused, looking down. A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What’s the matter with him?”

Fenrir had crept forward on his belly until his head rested on her boot. He whined, his tail tucked between his legs in a posture of extreme respect. For an enormous hellhound, he looked remarkably like a puppy trying very hard to prove he was a Good Boy.

“I think you’ve impressed him,” Rory said.

Very. No one else has ever been deaf to Birdcat’s bark. Fenrir rolled over in full submission, paws waving in the air. *Pack needs her. Run with us, Stone Bitch.*

Fenrir still hadn’t grasped the concept of personal names. Or mastered some of the finer subtleties of human language. Rory knew he didn’t mean any insult.

His griffin, however, didn’t.

Fenrir, Blaise said silently, while Rory was fully occupied with stopping himself from shifting on the spot. *I strongly advise that you pick a different nickname.*

Why? Fenrir asked, sounding puzzled. He was still upside-down, showing Edith his throat. His copper eyes fixed on her face in clear adoration. Is what she is. Tough. Strong. Break your teeth if you bite her. Stone Bitch.

“Edith,” Rory snarled, his head too scrambled with his griffin’s outrage for telepathy. “Edith.”

Edith’s expression shifted from wariness to baffled annoyance. “I’m sitting right here. You don’t need to yell.”