Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(4)
Lightning, Edith realized, her ears ringing. It must have been a direct strike on the tower, but fortunately the lightning rod on the roof seemed to have done its job, earthing the strike safely. Nonetheless, her hair snapped with static, and sparks showered from the radio equipment. No chance now of calling for help now…even if anyone would have believed her.
Edith squeezed her eyes tight shut, clamping her hands over her ears and rocking back and forth. Just a storm. Just a thunderstorm. Not a monster. Monsters aren’t real…
Something soft and wet brushed against the back of her hand. Edith screamed, recoiling so hard she fell flat on her butt. The hare leaped away from her flailing arms, dashing back to the far side of the room. It fixed her with black button eyes, quivering.
“Oh,” Edith gasped. “Sorry.”
Somehow, it was easier to be brave when there was someone to be brave for—even if it was just an animal. She took a gulping breath, trying to get herself back under control. Her entire body felt as though it was filled with bees, but she made herself hold still. She didn’t want to terrify the poor creature any further.
“It’s okay,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s just a storm. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The hare’s shivering stilled. One ear slowly cocked forward, followed by the other. Its tiny tongue darted out, licking at its muzzle. Tentatively, it crept forward, never taking its eyes off her.
“That’s it,” Edith said, focusing on the animal in a desperate attempt to ignore the storm screaming all around. “It’s okay, little guy. We’re safe here.”
A strange red light glittered deep in its eyes, like reflected flames. Its lips wrinkled back, exposing teeth as sharp as chisels. It was a peculiarly predatory gesture. If she hadn’t known better, she would have called it a snarl.
Then it leaped for her throat.
Chapter 2
Rory MacCormick stared out the windscreen of the hotshot crew truck at the thick plume of smoke billowing from the crest of the mountain.
In the incident description, the dispatcher had made it sound like some hysterical firewatcher had mistaken morning mist for smoke. From the man’s weary, annoyed tone, he clearly hadn’t thought it could be anything serious.
“I am going to call that stuck-up, self-important, incompetent excuse of a dispatcher,” Rory growled, “and make him eat his own radio.”
“No idle threat, coming from you,” Blaise murmured. She kept her eyes on the road, handling the twisting mountain track with smooth skill. “Looks we’ll be getting some action rather sooner than anticipated.”
Rory grimaced. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the rest of the squad. Callum was studying the rising smoke with his usual cool, unreadable detachment. No worries there; Cal was a veteran firefighter, even if most of his experience had been on an engine crew rather than out here in the wilderness.
Joe and Wystan were another matter. The two rookies pressed against the other window, broad shoulders wedged against each other as they stared in open fascination at the orange glow glimmering through the trees. It was the first time either of them had seen a real wildfire.
Rory looked back at Blaise, pitching his voice low. “How fast is it spreading?”
Her brown eyes went abstracted for a moment, looking at something that only she could see. Her lips compressed into a thin, worried line. “Faster than it should, given the conditions. I don’t like it.”
Rory didn’t have Blaise’s special talents, but he felt the same way. Years fighting wildfires across America had taught him to listen to his instincts, and right now every one of them was screaming at him. It should have been too wet, too early in the season, for the forest to catch so easily. Something wasn’t right.
He drummed his fingertips on the dash, staring unhappily at the smoke column. It was noticeably thicker than it had been just a few minutes ago.
It was too risky. If he’d had the entire Thunder Mountain Hotshot crew with him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to go in…but he only had his own squad. And nearly half of his firefighters were untested, rookies. He couldn’t put his friends in danger.
“We’re not equipped for this.” Rory reached for the satellite phone on the dashboard. “I’m going to call the control center. See if there’s anyone else in the area.”
“There isn’t,” Callum said with calm certainty.
Joe sang a few short, staccato notes that sounded like a snatch of Vivaldi and was actually a particularly vile curse in sea dragon language. He switched back to English. “You sure there’s no one else we can foist this on, Cal?”
Callum gave him a flat stare, not bothering to dignify the question with an answer. Pegasus shifters had the power to locate people, and Cal was more sensitive than most. If he said there wasn’t anyone around, there really wasn’t.
Joe slumped down in his seat, crossing his arms. “We’re not even meant to be on the clock yet. This was supposed to be our last farewell to freedom, before we spend an entire summer choking on our own sweat. Can’t we have one weekend of beer and bonding without something spontaneously igniting?”
“You’re the one who wanted this particular mountain for our camping trip,” Wystan observed mildly. “You were very insistent, as I recall.”