Wildfire Sea Dragon (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew Book 3), page 12
A muscle ticked in Buck’s jaw. “How soon can you get A-squad on the road?”
Blaise shrugged. “Maybe around midday?”
“We won’t be too far behind you, Chief,” Rory said. “Look, the other squad vehicles are already loaded up and ready to go. We’ll lose even more time if we try to swap everything round now. You take the rest of the crew, and we’ll catch up as soon as we can.”
Buck subjected Rory to the same long, penetrating look that he’d used on Callum. Then he turned his head to consider the rest of the squad. Seven braced every muscle, trying not to flinch as his gaze swept over her.
“Fine,” Buck said at last. “Keep me updated. Tanner, Jessica! We’re moving out!”
The B and C squad leaders scrambled into their waiting crew transports. With a final curt nod, Buck swung himself into his own Jeep. The three vehicles roared away, kicking up plumes of dust.
We did it. Seven took a deep breath, despite the choking fumes. We got away with it—
“So.” The dust settled, revealing Rory’s broad form, now squarely planted in front of Joe. She’d never seen the griffin shifter’s golden eyes so cold and hard. “You two going to tell us what’s really going on?”
“I can’t,” Joe said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Bros, I really wish I could. But I can’t tell you.”
“So, what, you just playfully and randomly sabotaged our truck?” Blaise shoved him with both hands. She was so angry, he could feel the searing heat of her palms even through his protective jacket. “This isn’t a joke, Joe!”
“You owe the courtesy of an explanation, at least.” The icy politeness in Wystan’s voice could have frozen the sea. “We know you did it.”
“I sensed you.” Callum stood next to the unicorn shifter, arms folded, equally cold. “Last night. Just never thought you might be doing something that I should stop.”
“We lied to Buck for you,” Rory snarled, his hands clenched into fists. “And now you don’t even have the decency to tell us what’s going on?”
“S-Stop!” Edith’s hands clamped over her ears, her face twisting in distress. “Please!”
The guilt he felt at lying to the squad was nothing compared to the shame that washed through him. All the angry, overlapping voices must have been pure torture to Edith’s autistic senses.
The entire squad instantly quieted as well, backing off. Rory enfolded his mate in a tight hug, shooting Joe a vicious glare over the top of her head.
“I’m sorry, Edith,” Rory said, his voice softer but no less dangerous. “Maybe you’d better go wait somewhere else while we settle this.”
“No.” Edith was still pale and shaking, but she pushed herself free from Rory’s embrace. “I w-want to know too. Joe. Please. We’re your friends.”
The hopeful faith in her face hurt even more than the others’ anger. “I can’t explain,” he said yet again, miserably. “I wish I could. All I can do is ask you to trust me.”
Rory shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joe, but that’s not good enough. One last chance. Tell us, or I’ll make you tell us.”
He’d been dreading this. Joe clenched his jaw, bracing himself for the whip-strike of Rory’s alpha voice.
“Rory, no!” Edith grabbed Rory’s arm. “You can’t. You promised.”
The griffin shifter gently disentangled himself from his mate. “I don’t want to use my power on our friends, but they’re not leaving me any choice.”
“Bring it, bro,” Joe said, with a bravado he didn’t entirely feel. He called on his dragon’s strength, imagining his mind armored in its scales. He had to resist Rory’s attempts to compel the truth out of him, he had to—
Rory’s eyes narrowed. He stared hard at Joe for a long second…and then turned to Seven. The griffin shifter took a deep breath, his voice dropping into the bone-rattling growl of the alpha voice. “Seven—”
Protective fury drowned shame. Joe surged forward, putting himself between the griffin shifter and Seven. His fingers crooked, nails ready to sharpen into claws. “Leave my mate alone.”
*ENOUGH!* Fenrir let out a sharp bark, echoed his mental roar. The hellhound shoved between Joe and Rory, his body swelling into his true hulking, bear-sized form. *Stone Bitch is right. No more snapping and snarling. We are pack!*
Rory’s golden eyes bored into Joe’s. “I thought we were.”
*We are pack,* Fenrir repeated stubbornly. *When one hunter howls to turn to follow a trail, pack turns, no matter if no one else has scented the prey. Pack trusts pack, otherwise nothing but hungry bellies and crying cubs. Seasnake has not led us wrong before. Heed his howl now.*
“Please,” Seven said. She came forward, drawing her stunsword out from beneath her jacket. Rory tensed, but she just knelt down in front of him, on both knees, head bowed. “You can trust Joe. I will give you my oath on that.”
Alone out of all of them, he knew what she was doing. His heart contracted in his chest. “Seven. Don’t.”
“I won’t claim to understand all the intricacies of sea dragon culture, but I’ve visited Atlantis enough times to know how much honor means to knights.” Rory released Edith, hunkering down so he was eye-level with Seven. “I believe that you wouldn’t make that sort of offer lightly. Will you swear that you and Joe have a good reason not to tell us what’s really going on? And promise that your secret won’t hurt anyone?”
“Yes.” Seven offered Rory her sheathed sword, across her palms. “I swear on my honor that Joe is working for the good of all, no matter how strange his actions may seem. I swear that no one will come to harm. I swear that I trust him, and that you can trust him too. By my blade and my blood I swear it.”
A formal oath-binding wasn’t just empty words. Joe’s skin prickled with the rush of power that swept over them all like an invisible wave.
He could tell that the others could sense it too. Callum and Wystan both started, looking round. Blaise hugged herself as if she was suddenly cold. The fur rose down Fenrir’s spine.
Rory gazed at Seven for a moment, brow furrowing. Then he looked up at Joe. “You’d better be worthy of this lady.”
“I’m not,” Joe said, honestly. “But I’ll do my very best. I really am sorry, Rory. If I could explain what was going on, I would.”
“I believe you.” Rory touched his arm, in a brief gesture of forgiveness that Joe knew he didn’t deserve. The griffin shifter’s voice turned brisk and businesslike. “So, do you need me to call Buck and come up with more excuses?”
There wasn’t any water nearby that he could use to check the future. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on remembering what he’d seen earlier. They’d been in the car park, the sun still rising in the east, barely past the tops of the trees…
“It’s okay. I only needed to delay us for a little while.” Joe shrugged apologetically at Blaise. “Sorry, you really will need to go into town. I flushed the coolant down the toilet.”
Blaise shot him a glare that said that she wasn’t going to forgive him in a hurry for any of this. “Fine. But you’re going to be scrubbing out my toilet for the rest of the season. I’ll head off now.”
“Wait,” Rory said as Blaise headed for the door. “That Lupa woman is still out there. The one that attacked Joe, that he thought might be possessed. Joe, is all this something to do with her?”
He nodded. “I can’t say for certain, but I’ve got a hunch it is.”
“Then none of us should be on our own, just in case.” Rory turned back to Blaise. “Take Fenrir and Wystan with you.”
Wystan, his hands upraised, his shield springing into life…
“Not Wystan,” Joe blurted out. “Cal should go. Wystan has to stay here.”
Wystan’s eyebrows rose. “And why would that be?”
*Because that is how Seasnake saw it,* Fenrir said, matter-of-factly. *Come, Shadowhorse. We must hunt.*
And the hellhound trotted off, leaving Joe staring after his waving tail.
Joe puzzled over Fenrir’s statement for the next hour. It would have been longer, except that he abruptly had a more pressing concern.
Because, just as the sun cleared the tops of the pines, the Thunderbird crashed into the car park.
Chapter 17
Seven sensed it first.
For lack of anything better to do, she’d been running through sword-drills in the empty car park, while Joe paced endlessly around the perimeter. She would have liked to talk to him privately—especially about Fenrir’s peculiar statement—but there wasn’t an opportunity. Rory hadn’t let the two of them out of his sight all morning.
The squad boss was over by the useless truck, along with Wystan and Edith, unpacking and inventorying the squad’s supplies one-by-one. It was busywork, and they all knew it, but nobody said anything. Tension filled the air like a thunderstorm.
So much so, in fact, that it took her a minute to notice the actual thunderstorm approaching.
It wasn’t until her shark tugged at her attention that she realized the sour, electric tang in her mouth was more than just her own anxiety. She looked up.
Though the sky immediately overhead was still clear and sunny, dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Even as she watched, they thickened, boiling and churning. It was like time-lapse photography…except that it was happening right in front of her eyes.
“Joe.” She automatically took up a defensive position in front of him, stunsword drawn and ready. “Look.”
He did so, and swore in sea dragon. “So that’s what we’re waiting for. Rory!”
Rory’s head snapped up. He took one glance at the sky and blurred into griffin form. He crouched on his feline back legs, golden wings spreading.
“No, wait!” Joe yelled. He charged for the griffin shifter, catching a handful of feathers. “Let it come to us.”
Rory’s tufted ears flattened against his head. He let out a hiss, his front talons digging at the ground.
“Please, bro.” Joe put his hands on either side of the griffin’s huge golden beak, turning it to face him. “Trust me.”
Rory hissed again, but his wings dropped, no longer poised to launch into the air. He jerked his head out of Joe’s grasp, turning to look at Edith.
“Like hell I will,” Edith said indignantly, in response to whatever private telepathic message her mate had sent her. She snatched up a chainsaw, holding it poised with her hand ready to yank the chain. “I’m not leaving you to face danger alone.”
“If we are in any danger.” Wystan’s eyes were fixed on the sky. He had his hands outstretched, but hadn’t yet flung up a shield. “Which we may not be. Joe’s right. Let’s see what the Thunderbird wants.”
Seven stared at the rapidly approaching cloud bank. Deep within, lit by flashes of internal lightning, she glimpsed a darker shape.
“That’s the Thunderbird?” she asked.
“Yes,” Wystan replied. “It’s a powerful and unpredictable being, but it has been our ally in the past. I believe it will not harm us now.”
The wind was picking up. She turned her face into it, breathing deep. Tasting.
Rage and pain and fear. The focused, knife-sharp fear of a creature fleeing for its life…
“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s not alone.”
She could hear them now. A distant, feral, high-pitched yelping.
Edith frowned, hearing it too. “Is that—wild geese?”
Joe swore again. “Wystan, get ready! Shields up the instant it hits the ground, understand?”
Wystan opened his mouth, but there was no time for further questions. Hail abruptly lashed all their faces. Rory flung his wings around them all, shielding them from the stinging ice.
Through Rory’s feathers, Seven glimpsed the Thunderbird falling out of the sky. Lightning crackled around it, illuminating the vast shape in sharp flashes. For a horrific second, she was certain it was going to smash into the base like a meteorite.
At the last moment, the Thunderbird spread its wings. The dark pinions spanned the entire width of the car park. They were all knocked off their feet by the downdraft as it fought to control its descent.
“NOW, WYSTAN!” Joe roared.
Wystan’s shield sparkled into life, covering the entire base. It wasn’t a second too soon. Seven heard a howl of pain as something thumped into the shimmering barrier.
A howl of pain that she recognized.
“It’s the pack!” she shouted. Through the distortion of Wystan’s shield, she could just make out their dark, canine forms and burning red eyes. “These are the creatures I fought off before!”
“You might have mentioned that they could fly!” Edith yelled back.
“They didn’t, before!”
The creatures circled Wystan’s barrier, searching for a way in. They ran on thin air as easily as on the ground. It was like being at the center of a nightmarish tornado made of bristling fur and bared teeth.
“I can’t hold this much longer.” Wystan’s voice was tight with strain. His arms shook as he struggled to maintain his shield against the onslaught. “Rory! You have to fly Edith and Seven out of here!”
Seven whirled, fully prepared to smack the griffin shifter with her stunsword if he tried to snatch her up. “I’m not leaving my mate.”
“We can’t fight this many demons!” Wystan’s arms shook as he struggled to maintain his shield. “They could possess any one of us with a single bite. We have to—”
“They don’t have horns,” Edith interrupted. Her sharp eyes darted from place to place, tracking each beast. “Look at them, none of them have horns! They aren’t possessed!”
Edith was right. Seven looked at the hulking, canine shapes, and knew.
After all, she’d seen one close up, only that morning.
“They’re hellhounds,” she breathed.
“Oh, for the love of sweet little fishes.” Joe slapped his forehead, looking simultaneously relieved and aggrieved. “Buck was right. He is going to be insufferable. Well, at least we’ll be alive for him to be smug at…stand back, bros. I got this.”
He shimmered, expanding. Seven had to leap back as he shifted into dragon form. He reared up, horns brushing the top of Wystan’s shield. His tail swept round to protect them all in a barrier of gleaming turquoise scales, each one shining like a star sapphire.
His enormous jaws opened, exposing razor-sharp teeth. He roared.
And, despite everything, Seven felt her mouth twitch in a smile.
Because he’d shouted, in sea dragon language: Come at me, bros!
The yelping snarls of the hellhound pack faltered. One by one, they descended to the ground, massing in a tight, uncertain knot. They milled around too much for Seven to get an exact count, but she didn’t think there could be more than a dozen of them.
An enormous creature pushed to the front of the pack, snapping at the others. It dwarfed them all, a pale iceberg among the sea of the smaller black forms.
It wasn’t a hellhound.
A shock went through her at the sight. Its body was lean and wolf-like, with shaggy white fur…but the creature’s head was a living skull, crowned with a stag’s branching antlers. Eyes like frozen stars burned in the empty sockets.
Behind her, Wystan swore, sharp and profane. It was the first time she’d ever heard the usually mild-mannered unicorn shifter curse.
“A wendigo,” Wystan breathed. She could taste his horror and disbelief, bitter on her tongue. “They have a wendigo. Joe, be careful.”
The wendigo wasn’t all the pack had. A proud, straight-backed figure perched on the white beast’s hulking shoulders. Her long red scarf streamed out behind her like a war-banner.
Seven’s hand tightened on her stunsword. Even through the swirling distortion of Wystan’s shield, she knew that elegant, arrogant profile.
It was Lupa. The woman from the club. The one who’d tried to kidnap Joe.
For a long moment, the woman just stared up at the sea dragon. Although she still wore her red silk scarf, her hair was unbound, no longer held back with a headband. There was some kind of mark or tattoo on her forehead, but Seven couldn’t tell what it was at this distance.
The wendigo bared massive, bear-like teeth. Despite the hot summer sun, its breath steamed in the air as though it was the depths of winter. Frost glittered on its thick fur. Even through Wystan’s shield, Seven could feel the bone-numbing cold of its breath as it roared.
Joe roared right back, spreading his iridescent turquoise ruff like a cobra about to strike. For all the wendigo’s eerie power, he was far larger than it. He raised one foreleg, displaying talons like scythes. Seven knew that the instant Wystan’s shield failed, he’d be on the hellhound pack like a wrecking ball.
Lupa knew that too. Frustration was written all over her face. She tipped her head back, letting out another of those unearthly howls. Her steed sprang into air, massive paws somehow finding purchase on nothing. The entire pack followed, streaming into the air.
Rory shrank back into human form as the pack’s yelping calls faded into the distance. He touched Edith’s cheek, cupping her face. “Are you okay?”
“It’s not me you should be worried about,” Edith replied, though Seven could see her hands shaking on her chainsaw. “Wystan?”
“I’m fine.” Wystan’s shield faded away as he dropped his hands at last. He swayed, then sat down, rather abruptly. “Or rather, I will be fine. Nothing a nice cup of tea won’t cure, anyway. I’m more concerned about our large feathered friend over there.”
The Thunderbird was a vast, panting pile. When she’d seen it in the heart of the storm, its plumage had been lit up in electric-white geometric patterns, but now the markings had faded to a dim glow. It had managed to fold one wing, but the other splayed out like a broken fan. Bright red blood trickled down the storm-grey feathers.
