Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(7)

He glanced up at the lookout tower. He’d seen the fire watcher run into it at the start of the brief fight, but there was no sign of activity now. All the storm shutters were closed.

His griffin clawed at his soul. Danger! Hurry!

The platform was too narrow for his griffin form. Shifting back into human form, he took the stairs up to the platform two at a time. As a mythic shifter, his gear came with him when he transformed—which was handy, since if he’d turned up on the fire watcher’s porch buck-naked, he would have had some explaining to do.

Just as he got to the top, a muffled shriek came from behind the closed door.

He didn’t hesitate. The door might have been designed to be bear-proof, but it definitely wasn’t shifter-proof. His first charge smashed it off its hinges. He kicked apart the shattered remains, stepping over the threshold.

The inside of the tower was as dark as a tomb. Rory squinted, his sensitive eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden change. “Hello? Are you-?”

And that was as far as he got, before a furry missile hit him square in the chest.

He barely managed to get his arm up in time to protect his throat. Razor-sharp teeth sank deep into the sleeve of his protective jacket.

Too startled even to shift, Rory leaped backward. Catching his heel on the splintered wreckage of the door, he stumbled, put a foot down onto thin air, and had a long, drawn out second to fully appreciate how much this was going to suck.

He fell down the stairs.

All of them.

With a snarling, slavering thing trying to savage him, Rory couldn’t do anything to arrest his bruising descent. The best he could manage was a semi-controlled slide, careening down the switchback stairs like a human toboggan. His attacker rode him down the entire way, emitting muffled screeches around its mouthful of jacket.

Everything still under control, boss? Blaise inquired.

No! he managed to get out, as he crashed down the last few feet. Under attack!

Seriously? At least Blaise had been jolted out of her snit. By what?

Still flat on his back, Rory managed to haul the rabid creature away from his throat long enough to get a glimpse at it. A rabbit!

The mental silence was deafening.

Confirm that? Blaise said after a moment.

Yes, I damn well confirm it! It was very definitely a rabbit, albeit one apparently sent straight from hell. Its back legs kicked his abdomen with the force of a pair of jackhammers.

*Birdcat needs assistance with this prey?* Fenrir said, with only a hint of snideness.

For a moment, Rory was strongly tempted to say no. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Would you please, he gritted out, as the bunny did its level best to chew through his safety gear, be so kind as to get this thing off me?

A burst of delighted barking erupted nearby. The rabbit froze on Rory’s chest, cocking its ears. It released his sleeve at last, gifting him with a last parting kick to the balls as it bounded off. With a flash of white tail, it streaked away.

Fenrir trotted up, ears pricked and tongue lolling out in a doggy smirk. If that was an alpha challenge, Birdcat just lost.

Rory groaned, allowing his head to fall back with a thump. Every inch of his body hurt. “To be fair, the stairs did most of the damage.”

“Don’t try to move! I’ll be right there!”

It was the voice of an angel, floating down from high in the sky. A pair of battered workboots clattered down the stairs, upside-down from his perspective. Fenrir let out a low, rumbling growl, rising to straddle his chest protectively.

“No,” the woman told the hellhound, very firmly. “He needs help. Let me see.”

Without a trace of fear or hesitation, she shoved Fenrir’s muzzle aside. The hellhound’s snarl tapered off into a bemused whine. Fenrir backed off, giving way to the woman.

She knelt next to Rory, her hands hovering just over his body as though she was afraid to touch him. The sun made a halo around her head, backlighting her so that he couldn’t make out her face. But just the line of her neck, the slant of her shoulders, even the cute curves of her ears…he was instantly gripped by the firm conviction that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Rory blinked. Do I have a concussion?

“You probably have a concussion,” the woman said, echoing his thought. “How far did you fall? When I saw you lying at the bottom of the stairs, I thought you were dead. Oh, the fire! I have to get you away—but you might have broken something—I shouldn’t move you—but the fire!”

“I’m fine,” Rory said, despite all evidence to the contrary. He put a touch of alpha power into his voice, warm and reassuring. “No need to panic. We’re safe from the fire here. Everything’s going to be fine.”

He’d only meant to soothe her, but to his surprise the attempt backfired. She jerked, her shoulders stiffening.

“I’m not panicking,” she said. “I just…don’t know what to do first.”

“How about helping me up?” This time, he was careful not to use his power. Trying a friendly smile, he held out one hand.

She flinched again, as though he’d offered her a live spider. For some reason, that small, quickly stifled movement felt like she’d punched him in the gut. He didn’t want her to recoil from him. He wanted her to lean into his touch, greedily demand his caresses, naked skin pressing against skin…