Wildfire Sea Dragon (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew Book 3), page 15
Chapter 21
“Are you sure that this will work?” Rory asked Joe.
Joe shrugged. “No. But Wystan thinks it will.”
Wystan was pacing around the edge of the base in unicorn form, stopping now and then to touch the point of his horn to the ground. A dozen actual unicorns followed him at a respectful distance. They were all adult stallions from Sunrise’s herd, but Wystan dwarfed them like a racehorse among ponies.
Rory blew out his breath, watching Wystan’s slow progression. “I’d just feel a lot better about this if you’d seen it work, Joe.”
“I haven’t seen it not work,” Joe said, with a touch of irritation. “I told you, I don’t see everything, bro. And until yesterday, you didn’t even know I could see anything at all. Yet somehow you managed to make decisions without my blessing.”
Whatever Rory might have said in response was forestalled by Wystan cantering up to them. With a shimmer of rainbow-edged light, he shifted into human form.
“It’s done.” Wystan looked tired, but satisfied. “The barrier is complete.”
Rory stared at the base, which appeared unchanged. “I was…expecting it to glow, or something.”
“That would be a bit of a giveaway, wouldn’t it?” Wystan lifted his eyebrows, a small, smug smile playing around his lips. “Go ahead and try walking forward, Rory.”
Rory gave him a dubious glance, but did so. He’d only taken three steps when a crackling silver shield sprang into existence, right in front of his nose. The griffin shifter leapt back with a startled curse.
Joe grinned as nickers of equine laughter drifted from the watching unicorns. “I’d say it works. Is it permanent, Wys? Like the shields around the unicorns’ old mountain, or your own ancestral lands back in England?”
“No. Those wards were reinforced over many years. But one should last at least a few days without any further input from me, according to Petrichor’s lore.” Wystan gestured at a large stallion with a silver horn and grey eyes. “He’s the herd’s equivalent of a historian. Even though he doesn’t have shield powers himself, he knew enough theory to teach me to create protective wards. We’ve been experimenting around the ranch over the past few months, before fire season started. I didn’t want to leave Candice unprotected.”
Rory poked at the barrier with a gloved finger, and jerked his hand back as silver sparks snapped at him. “And you’re sure it’ll hold if the hellhounds attack again? Their last assault seemed to drain you pretty quickly.”
“That’s because I was having to actively shield everyone. This is different.” Wystan tilted his head, as though searching for the right words to explain it. “Think of it as building a wall out of bricks. In a pinch, I can pile them up and hold them in place with brute strength, but they’ll fall apart the instant I let go. But if I have enough time, I can mortar them together to make a much stronger barrier. One which stays up even when I’m not here.”
“Sounds good.” Rory stepped back, and the barrier faded into invisibility again. “Although I do have to point out that you seem to have locked us out as well.”
“That’s just because I haven’t given you the metaphorical key yet. Hold on.”
Wystan shifted into unicorn form. He touched his horn to Rory, and a brief shimmer of light outlined the griffin shifter’s stocky body. He did the same to Joe, which was a bit disconcerting. Unicorn magic looked pretty, but it felt like having a billion spiders briefly run across your skin.
Wystan shifted back again. “There. I’ve already given access to the others. Including the Thunderbird, but please don’t tell Buck that.”
“Don’t tell me what?” Buck growled, emerging from the storeroom next to them.
Wystan jumped, going an interesting shade of red. “Er. Nothing, Chief.”
Buck scowled indiscriminately at the unicorn shifter, the unicorn herd, and the general vicinity. “You done sprinkling glitter, or peeing on the corners of the buildings, or whatever it was you needed to do for your little magic trick?”
“Yes. The wards are all set up. And the stallions from the unicorn herd are briefed and prepared. They’re ready to fight if needed.”
Petrichor snorted. He nudged Wystan with the point of his horn.
“Yes, I was getting to that,” Wystan told the stallion. He turned back to Buck, his blush reaching his ears. “Er. I did have to promise them two salt licks and a bag of peppermints each in return for their service.”
Petrichor neighed in agreement. A few of the other stallions licked their lips.
“Wonderful. So now I have to hide ‘payments to guard unicorns’ in the crew’s financial accounts.” Buck sighed heavily. “I hate my life.”
Edith emerged from the storeroom, followed by the rest of the squad. Seven came last, looking pale and worried. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked down, fiddling with the scabbard slung from her belt.
“All good, Chief,” Edith said to Buck. “Everyone’s ready to go.”
“Everyone except me,” Blaise groused. Alone in the group, she was still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt rather than full turn out gear. She cast Buck a hopeful look. “But if you’ve changed your mind, I could get myself kitted out in thirty seconds.”
Buck nodded at Joe. “His call, not mine. I’m no happier about it than you.”
The weight of responsibility was heavier than his fully loaded backpack. “Sorry, bro. You and Fenrir gotta sit this one out. This alpha hellhound chick has a special interest in both of you. We can’t give her a choice of targets.”
“You two can make yourselves useful babysitting that.” Buck jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the Thunderbird, which was lurking some way off, half-hidden behind the mess hall. “I’m still not real thrilled about letting it stay while we’re out.”
The massive bird withdrew a little further into the shadows, as though aware it was being discussed. Its unblinking white stare stayed fixed on Buck.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice about that, Chief,” Wystan said. “Candice thinks it’ll take another couple of days for it to be fully healed. She and Sunrise are working as fast as they can, but between the hellhound pack and the crash landing, the Thunderbird sustained an awful lot of damage. Perhaps you could assist them, Blaise.”
Blaise eyed the Thunderbird with distinct unenthusiasm. “I’m a firefighter, not a nurse. And that thing gives me the heebie-jeebies. It keeps staring at me like I’m a snack.”
“Maybe it’s hungry,” Edith offered.
“Well, we’re fresh out of demons,” Buck growled. “It better not need to eat. If it takes a crap in my base, I’m rubbing its beak in it.”
*Will tell Stormheart that, Man-Alpha.* Fenrir’s mental voice was solemn, but his tail wagged with amusement. He leaned against Blaise’s leg, making her stagger. *We will guard the den while pack hunts.*
“I wish you’d stay behind too,” Rory said to Edith. “Just this once.”
Edith’s hands fluttered, but her jaw was firm. “Hellhounds or no hellhounds, there’s still a fire to contain. We’re already under-strength. The squad is going to need me. Don’t worry, Rory. I’m prepared.”
“Us regular folks who can’t turn into furry critters can still pack a few tricks up our sleeves,” Buck said, drawing aside his jacket to reveal the gun holstered at his hip. “Let’s hope it’ll be enough. Is this going to work, Joe?”
Joe flung up his hands. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Uh, I don’t know.” Blaise rolled her eyes. “Maybe because you can see the future?”
“I’m not a Magic 8 Ball! Prospects hazy, try again later, okay? Everyone stop shaking me in the hope of getting a different answer!”
They were all staring at him, even the unicorns. With effort, he got a grip on himself again. Smiling felt like bench-pressing an elephant, but he did it anyway.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Little tense, here.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.” Buck shook his greying head. He stomped off in the direction of the crew transport. “Come on, you lot. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”
Joe hung back for a second, letting the others stream past him. He fell into step with Seven, right at the back of the group.
“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice. “This will work. And it’ll earn you your knighthood at last, you know. Not even Lord Asshole will be able to argue otherwise. After today, you’ll have everything you ever wanted.”
Her face was drawn and pale under her helmet. “But you haven’t had a vision confirming that we’ll succeed.”
“I don’t have to.” He squeezed her shoulder, feeling the hard edge of her armor under the padding of her jacket. “I have you.”
Chapter 22
The worst part of any battle, Lord Azure had told Seven once, pompously, is the wait beforehand.
Nine hours ago, Seven would have agreed with him. Now, however, she had changed her mind.
Digging miles of fire line through thorny undergrowth, on a baking summer’s day, with a wildfire breathing down her neck, in full armor. That was definitely the worst part.
“Seven.” Wystan touched her shoulder, interrupting her as she hacked at a stubborn root. “Stop and drink something. We can’t have you passing out from heat exhaustion.”
“I’m fine,” she said, though she was drenched from head to toe in sweat. She cut through the plant at last, scraping it aside to leave nothing but bare soil. “Look after yourself rather than worrying about me. How are you managing?”
Wystan grimaced, tugging at the neck of his outer jacket. His torso was bulked out like the Michelin Man by the double layer of turn out gear he was wearing. “I believe that we have invented a new and unique form of torture.”
“Less talk,” Callum grunted from behind them. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but his Pulaski swung with tireless, mechanical precision. “More digging.”
Out in front of them, Joe paused, turning his head. He had a tree clamped between his massive jaws, soil dribbling down from the roots. The ruff of iridescent spines on the back of his neck rippled, the sea dragon equivalent of flashing a grin.
“Something funny?” she murmured.
He was a good twenty feet away from the rest of the squad, but sea dragons could hear a whisper of song from across half an ocean. He tossed the uprooted tree to one side with a casual flick of his powerful neck, freeing his mouth.
“Trust Callum to be consistent,” he said, in the low, rumbling notes of sea dragon speech. “He said that before, in my first vision of this day. Right before the ambush. Tell Buck to be ready.”
Buck glowered up at Joe’s towering form. “Is he saying something, or just burping?”
“Joe wants to know how much further you need him to break ground,” Seven said, raising her voice a little. “He’s getting tired.”
It was a code phrase. Hellhounds had the ability to make themselves invisible and intangible—Fenrir had called it going sideways, though he hadn’t been able to explain why—which meant that the pack could be shadowing them even now, listening to every word. Not even Callum’s pegasus senses would be able to detect them.
The mythic shifters on the squad could communicate with each other telepathically, but both Buck and Seven herself were excluded from that private channel. Only shifters of the same general type could speak mind to mind…unless they were mated.
Soon, Seven thought, hoping that it was true. I’ll be able to speak to him that way soon.
Buck nodded, a twist of his mouth showing that he’d understood the secret message. “Tools up!” he called to the rest of the squad.
They all stopped cutting line, gathering into a loose huddle. They were supposed to act like they were just taking a normal break, but Rory and Wystan kept craning their necks like owls at the slightest sound, and Edith was practically vibrating in place. Even Callum looked twitchy.
Then again, Seven could hardly criticize her comrades’ acting abilities. Her own nerves were stretched tight. Her shark lurked just below her skin, poised to leap out.
And a lot of good that would do. Seven pushed her useless animal back down. The last thing she needed was for its mindless instincts to take control and ruin everything.
Patience, she told her restless beast. Soon.
Buck stalked a few steps away from the squad. Despite his gear, he moved as silently as a panther, heavy boots making no sound on the leaf litter. He shaded his eyes, staring in the direction of the approaching wildfire. Thick smoke curled through the tree trunks, and Seven could hear a hungry crackle, but at the moment no flames were visible.
Buck grunted, sounding both pleased and perplexed. “Well, there’s one bit of good news. We’ve done enough to cut off the advance. Unless weather conditions change drastically and the fire blows up, Bluebrook is safe.”
“That’s…convenient,” Wystan said, his forehead furrowing.
And strangely considerate, Seven thought, but didn’t dare say. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, she wasn’t the only one wondering why their enemy had given them enough time to contain the fire. The hellhounds had obviously started the blaze in order to lure the squad out from the safety of the base. It seemed odd for demon-worshipping arsonists to care whether or not their trap actually destroyed innocent lives.
Probably just wanted to let us exhaust ourselves, Seven decided. She certainly wasn’t as fresh as she had been when they’d first arrived. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake out the cramps in her arms. Despite the smoke, she deepened her breathing, the better to be ready for combat—
And realized that the bitterness she could taste was more than just smoke.
“Ambush!” she yelled, just as Callum’s head snapped up.
Something whined past her ears like a hornet. Wystan, who’d started to fling up his shield, abruptly clapped a hand to the side of his neck. Seven felt something strike her own left arm as the unicorn shifter collapsed. A feathered tranquillizer dart stuck out from her bicep. The needle-sharp point had penetrated her firefighter jacket, but been thwarted by the armor she wore underneath.
He was right, Joe was right! Seven cursed the crack shot that had managed to hit Wystan in the undefended gap between his collar and helmet. Assuming the evil-looking green liquid filling the dart was the same drug that the hellhound alpha had used on Joe at the club, Wystan would be out of action for the fight. She could only hope that the rest of the team had been luckier.
Play dead. Play dead!
Her every instinct screamed to turn and fight, but Seven forced herself to go limp. All around, the rest of the squad were falling to the ground as well. It was impossible to tell whether they were shamming like her, or had genuinely been struck with the tranquillizer darts like Wystan.
Through half-closed eyes, she glimpsed Joe rearing up, bared claws spreading in fury—but sea dragons, adapted to the ocean depths, were not as well armored as their land-dwelling brethren. A dart sank deep into the soft, vulnerable gills behind the hinge of his jaw. Joe’s outline blurred and shrank, his furious roar dwindling into a human cry of pain.
NO, Seven shouted at her inner animal as her shark surged forward. She wrestled it back, every muscle in her body clenched and shaking with the effort of staying still. Not yet! NOT YET!
“Got them all,” said an unfamiliar male voice, sounding distinctly satisfied. “Told you so, Lupa. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Don’t get cocky, Gerulf,” answered a woman. Seven tensed despite herself. She knew that voice. “Wulfric, Lycus, secure the Prince. The rest of you, make sure of the others.”
Scents made a three-dimensional map in her mind. She could taste the hellhound pack closing in—some on two legs, some on four. Their churning emotions lay on her tongue like a complex cocktail. Most of them were reluctant, sweating with fear, but with an even greater underlying terror forcing them onward.
A few of the pack were more dangerous. They reeked of rot; fetid, gloating pleasure at the prospect of hurting someone helpless to fight back. Seven fixed them in her mind, and waited.
Not yet…not yet…
She felt rather than saw a shadow fall over her. A sulphurous breath whispered across her cheek.
NOW!
She exploded upward, flicking out her stunsword as she swung. The glowing blade cracked across the hellhound’s muzzle. She didn’t pause to watch it fall—she was already spinning, striking, felling the man bending over Wystan with a knife in his hand.
“Now!” she shouted. “NOW!”
A gunshot rang through the yelping barks and shouts of the hellhound pack. Buck was on his feet now too, snapping off precise, professional shots. Seven hoped that he was aiming to incapacitate rather than kill, as they’d agreed. After what she’d sensed of the pack’s emotions, she was certain that Wystan was right—the majority of Lupa’s pack were innocents, forced into obedience by her alpha power. She was glad her own weapon was non-lethal.
Callum guarded the Superintendent’s flank, swinging a Pulaski like a sword. A dart dangled from one of his sleeves, the chamber still full of sickly green fluid. The doubled layers of firefighter jackets had worked to protect him, at least.
Rory seemed to be okay too. He was snarling as loudly as his chainsaw, his eyes blazing golden, guarding Wystan’s motionless form. Edith was down on her knees behind him. For a second, Seven thought she was cowering in terror—and then Edith popped up, firing a flare gun over Rory’s shoulder directly into a group of hellhounds charging at Buck. The beasts scattered, howling in pain and confusion, pawing at blinded eyes. Edith coolly dropped behind Rory again to reload.
Seven didn’t have any more time to worry about the rest of the squad. A pair of hellhounds lunged, trying to pin her between them. She pirouetted, bending backward almost to the ground, sliding under their flaming jaws. Her stunsword sent one yelping away, and a shot from Buck made the other fade into invisibility with a howl of pain.
