Wildfire Griffin (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew #1)(8)

Right. He definitely had a concussion.

He would have dropped his hand, but he honestly wasn’t sure whether he could get up without assistance.

Just as he was about to ask Fenrir to help haul him up, the woman’s back straightened. Taking a deep breath as though steeling herself, she grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands.

Even through his fire resistant gloves, he could feel the heat of her touch. A strange thrill crackled through him like lightning, wiping away the aches of his bruises.

Only for a moment, though. He couldn’t help grimacing as she tugged him to his feet.

“Anything broken?” she asked anxiously.

“Just my pride.” He rubbed his hip, wincing. “And I think my dignity is permanently sprained.”

“Um…do you mean you aren’t hurt?” The woman sounded uncertain.

“I’ll live.” He glanced at her wryly, still investigating his bruises. “Though I can’t say this has been the best day of my life.“

He saw her properly for the first time.

“Oh,” he said, staring into the eyes of his one true mate. “Wait.”





Chapter 3





Edith froze, transfixed. Normally meeting people’s eyes felt itchy, like ants crawling on her skin.

But his eyes…

It was like stepping out of an air-conditioned building into a hammer-blow of midsummer heat. His golden gaze fell on her soft as sunlight, but penetrated to the marrow of her bones. Every inch of her craved more. She was a plant finally breaching an icy blanket of snow and stretching, yearning, for the sun. She wanted to strip off every stitch of clothing and bask in that dizzying warmth.

She was staring at him.

And she’d forgotten to count hippopotamuses.

Edith wrenched her eyes away, mortification sweeping over her. Normally she was scrupulously careful to maintain eye contact for three seconds—counting one-hippopotamus-two-hippopotamus-three-hippopotamus—before looking away and counting again. It was just as unacceptable to stare at people as to never meet their eyes.

No one seemed to have taught the firefighter that social rule. Even with her own gaze fixed on his battered boots, she could still feel the force of his amber-gold eyes like a spotlight on her.

“Oh,” he said again, his voice dropping to a deep, husky rumble that echoed through her bones. “Yes.”

One-hippopotamus-two-hippopotamus-three-hippopotamus.

Ingrained habit tugged her head up again, although she felt like a deer turning toward an onrushing truck. She tracked slowly up his body, unable to help lingering even though she knew it was rude. Baggy, shapeless Nomex pants, equipment belt slung low over his hips. A heavy protective jacket in the same fire-resistant material, the original bright yellow color faded to dirty beige with ingrained soot. Turn outs made anyone look bulky, but he filled out the uniform in a way that left no doubt that there was a lot of muscle under there. Even bruised and battered, he exuded power.

She had to look up to see his face—she was by no means short, but he was still a good four inches taller than her. She didn’t dare make eye contact again, in case she never broke free, so she focused on his mouth instead. He had a strong, square jaw dusted with tawny stubble. With his build, and the dirt and sweat streaking his face, he should have appeared rough and dangerous.

But that rugged face was split by the widest grin Edith had ever seen. For all his unmistakable masculine strength, he looked like a kid who had just discovered it was Christmas and Halloween and the first day of summer vacation, all at the same time.

Edith was pretty certain that this was not an appropriate reaction to falling down twenty feet of stairs.

More likely, she was completely misinterpreting his expression. Even though his whole face shouted pure, unalloyed delight to her, doubtless she was missing some obvious-to-everyone-else twist of the lip or eyebrow which turned This is the best day ever into I am in hideous pain. After all, he’d literally just said that this wasn’t his best day ever.

Listen to his words, not his face, Edith decided. She’d long since learned that was the best course when trying to interact with people.

“We need to get you medical attention,” she said. “Can you walk? Here, lean on me.”

He didn’t move. His smile stretched even wider. He was still staring at her with total, unnerving attention, but he didn’t seem to be taking in a word she was saying.

“You’re everything I ever dreamed,” he said. “And more.”

Edith blinked at him, thrown as much by his accent as the non-sequitur. He definitely wasn’t American. The way he rolled his rs was as rich and heady as hot whiskey.

The tips of her fingers tingled, making her aware that she was still holding his wrist. Blushing, she tried to let go, but he twisted around, catching her hand again. His gloved fingers tightened around hers.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

It was a perfectly normal question, she told herself. This was a perfectly normal conversation. Why was her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth?

“E-Edith,” she managed to get out. “What’s yours?”

He let out his breath in a sigh that was practically a purr. “Edith.”

This seemed unlikely.

“No, I’m Edith,” she said, taking care to enunciate clearly. “Edith Stone. And you are?”