Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(53)

Seth set off again, punctuating every step with curses. Antler was just a distant cluster of lights behind him. He had no idea how far he’d walked so far, or how much further it was back to base.

“I’m a dam’ hotshot,” he muttered to himself, squinting through the warm fog of tequila. “Don’ care about a lil’ hike. Do it ev’ry day. Easy peasy.”

He didn’t care if it took all night. He’d be damned if he called for someone from his squad to come pick him up, like a little girl crying for momma. No way was anyone ever finding out about tonight.

Except if Rory told them.

Which he no doubt was, right at this very minute.

Likely he was back at base already, that hot-ass Edith chick snuggled up against his side. The two of them spreading the story across the whole crew. Everyone laughing their heads off.

Seth’s fists clenched at his sides. When he finally got back to base, he was going to…to…

Piss his pants again, probably.

Just the thought of confronting Rory again made his bladder squeeze ominously. He had to stop and take a long pull from his bottle of liquid courage to steady his nerves.

He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t. The only explanation was that Rory had used some kind of trick on him. Seth had always known in his gut that there was something weird about that guy. Something weird about all those foreign freaks on A-hole squad.

It wasn’t fair. There was no way he could go toe-to-toe with psycho Rory and his hypno-stare. It wasn’t a fair fight.

So he wouldn’t fight fair either.

Oh, he would have his revenge. On freaky Rory and that little tease Edith.

Yes.

All this was her fault. She’d led him on, and then dumped him without a backward glance. Likely the two of them had planned the whole thing, just to humiliate him.

Maybe he’d punish her first. Rory was crazy about her, plain as day. Hurting her would be the best way to hurt him. Yes.

Yesssssss.

The thought echoed oddly in his skull, hissing. He frowned at his tequila bottle. Maybe he was a teeny bit drunker than he’d thought.

He shook his head to clear it, and set off again. The road swerved and swayed under his boots. His feet were starting to hurt. Another thing to add on to the end of his long, long list of grudges. Oh, Rory and his bitch were going to pay.

Lots of ways someone could get hurt out on the line. A faulty chainsaw. A misheard command. A rip in a fire shelter.

I have a better way.

He stopped, tripping over his own feet as he tried to see who had spoken. “Who’s there?”

Silence. The road stretched out in both directions, empty. The only thing he could hear was his own harsh breathing. The forest was pitch-black and impenetrable.

A twig snapped, somewhere in the darkness under the trees. A deep, ancient instinct prickled down his spine. He hefted his tequila bottle by the neck, holding it like a club.

“Don’t come any closer!” He brandished the bottle at the lurking shadows. “You don’t want to mess with me!”

I want to help you.

The voice didn’t come from the bushes. It sounded in his head without involving his ears at all. That couldn’t be real. He was definitely drunk.

I can help you get revenge. The voice coiled through his mind like a snake. We have the same enemy.

Even his hallucinations were pissed off with Rory now? Heh. Maybe he could get a dancing pink elephant to squish the bastard.

“Yeah?” he said, entertained by the experience of talking to his own subconscious. He should get this drunk more often. “Awesome. Got any suggestions for me?”

Let me in.

“You’re already in my head, dumbass.” Wait. Was he insulting himself?

Let me in fully. If you let me in of your own free will, I will be more powerful than you can imagine. More powerful than our enemy. I promise you, everything you desire will come to pass, if you just let me in.

He shrugged, taking another swig of tequila. “Sure. Whatever.”

Laughter filled his mind, drowning out his own muzzy thoughts. Something huge lunged out of the bushes. He was abruptly, icily sober…but it was too late.

Fangs bit down.

And there was nothing left of Seth at all.





Chapter 26





“Hang on.” Edith stared around Rory’s crowded cabin. “You’re all were-griffins?”

“We’re called shifters.” Rory leaned back against the log wall, giving Wystan as much space to work as he could in the small common-room. “And we’re not all griffins. My type of shifter is very rare.”

“Not as rare as mine,” Wystan murmured, his sensitive fingers probing at Callum’s skull. “Or, for that matter, Blaise’s.”

“Yeah, Rory, don’t go giving Edith the impression griffins are special or anything,” Joe said, grinning. “I mean, there are a whole five of you guys in the whole world.”

Five griffins seemed like a lot to her. It was certainly five more than she’d expected. If she hadn’t already been sitting down, her knees would have buckled.

All the squad looked so ordinary. Well, not ordinary, exactly—Rory could make anyone walk into a post, and all the others were just as good-looking in their own different ways. But she’d seen them drinking coffee and scratching bug bites and washing their socks. What sort of magical shapeshifter washed socks?