Firefighter Pegasus: BBW Pegasus Shifter Paranormal Romance (Fire & Rescue Shifters Book 2)

  Firefighter Pegasus

  By Zoe Chant

  Copyright Zoe Chant 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  A note from Zoe Chant

  More Paranormal Romance by Zoe Chant

  If you love Zoe Chant, you’ll also love these books!

  Firefighter Dragon

  CHAPTER ONE

  Connie West was an excellent navigator. She could find her way through a fog bank at thirty thousand feet with nothing more than an altimeter and a compass. She could plot a course across three states with just a paper map, and beat pilots flying planes with the latest GPS computers. She could navigate back to an unfamiliar landing field at night with nothing more than her own two eyes.

  And she could also, unfortunately, always find her way to the roughest, dirtiest gambling den in any city in the world. She'd had a lot of practice at that one.

  She'd never been to the English seaside city of Brighton before, but it only took her an hour of searching its narrow back streets before she found the sort of bar she was looking for. She knew she'd come to the right place by the way the room fell absolutely silent the moment she opened the door.

  The only patrons in the place were a small group of hard-eyed men, their glasses frozen halfway to their mouths. Connie flinched as their suspicious stares assessed every inch of her ample body.

  As one, the bar patrons seemed to silently conclude that a lone, plump, nervous-looking young woman in khakis and a flight jacket was unlikely to be an undercover cop. The low buzz of muttered conversations resumed as the men turned back to their drinks and cards.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Connie edged her way to the bar. “Excuse me? Sir?”

  “Well, you certainly aren't from around here.” The shaven-headed bartender didn't look up from the shot glasses he was cleaning, if that was the right word for what he was doing with his gray, greasy dishcloth. “I think you've taken a wrong turn, Yankee girl.”

  “I'm looking for someone.” Connie showed him the well-worn photo she always carried with her. “Very tall, very loud, very Irish?”

  The bartender's eyes flicked from the photo to her face momentarily. “No idea.”

  Connie fumbled through the unfamiliar bills in her wallet, pulling out a twenty. “You sure about that?”

  The bartender gave her a long, thoughtful look. Connie put the twenty down on the bar, keeping her finger on it.

  With a shrug, the bartender jerked his head in the direction of a door at the back of the bar. “You could try in there. Though if I were you, I'd go straight back home instead.”

  Connie sighed. “Boy, do I wish I could.”

  Leaving the money on the bar, she headed for indicated door. It opened into a narrow, dirty stairway that sloped steeply down into darkness. As Connie gingerly descended, a familiar Irish voice floated up the stairs.

  “—the most beautiful plane you'll ever have the pleasure of laying eyes on, my hand to God. If you won't take my word for it then you can all come and see her in action at the race next week. In fact, would any of you fine gentlemen care for a little side bet…?”

  “Not again,” Connie groaned. She hastened down the last few steps so fast she ran straight into the door at the bottom.

  “What was that?” said a man sharply.

  The door opened, and an enormous hand grabbed Connie's shoulder. She stumbled as she was yanked forward into a small, smoky room.

  A small group of men were seated around a green-topped table, cards and cigarettes in their hands. They started at Connie's intrusion, their cards reflexively jerking closer to their chests.

  All except one man. He greeted her arrival with a dazzling smile—and not the slightest hint of repentance.

  “Darlin'!” Connie's dad exclaimed with evident delight.

  The huge man holding Connie's shoulder brandished her in her father's general direction. “This yours, West?”

  “You'll not be speaking of my daughter like that, thank you,” her dad said indignantly. “Or else I'll be having to ask you to step outside.”

  Connie twisted her shoulder free from the giant. “Dad, you promised!”

  “Ah, now, don't be like that.” Connie's dad flung his arms wide, regardless of the other men’s scowls. “It's just a friendly little game.”

  Connie looked at the not inconsiderable pile of money already stacked in the center of the table. Even with her unfamiliarity with British currency, she could recognize they were mostly high-value bills. “A friendly game? Dad, you know we can't afford this right now!”

  One of the other men at the table folded his cards, casting a level look over them at Connie's dad. “Is that so?”

  “I said I'd be good for it, and I will be.” Her dad gestured extravagantly at her. “With my lovely daughter copiloting my plane with me, we're a dead cert for winning the air race next week. The prize money is as good as in my pocket.”

  “It is not,” hissed Connie. She cast a weak, apologetic smile around at the seated men. “We really have to go now. Sorry for any misunderstanding.”

  “But I'm winning!” her dad protested as she tried to tug him to his feet.

  “Yeah, you can't go yet, West,” said a man whose skinny, supple fingers seemed oddly out of proportion with the rest of his hands. Connie mentally nicknamed him Longfingers. “Have to give us a chance to win back our money.”

  “That's only fair,” said another man.

  A general rumble of agreement ran around the table. There was an ominous undertone to the sound that made Connie think of a pack of wolves, growling low in their throats as they closed in on their prey.

  No matter how infuriatingly impulsive Connie's dad was, at least he wasn't stupid. “Ah, well,” he said, starting to gather bills toward him. “Better call it a night. Sorry, lads.”

  Longfingers caught his sleeve. “No. You said you'd play, so you play to the end.”

  Connie's hand closed on the pepper spray she always carried in her pocket. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to use it to buy them a quick escape.

  Connie's dad flashed his trademark disarming, charming smile as he brushed off the man's clinging fingers. “I wish I could, my friend, but I daren't cross my daughter here. No man can change her course when she's got the bit between her teeth. Women, eh?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the giant man cast a swift, questioning glance at Longfingers. The smaller man jerked his chin in an almost imperceptible nod.

  “He's been cheating,” the giant announced. “I saw him. He's got cards up his sleeve.”

  “Now, no one likes a poor loser—” Connie's dad started.

  A large man to his right grabbed his wrist, twisting it viciously. Connie's dad's protests fell on deaf ears as the thug ripped back his
jacket sleeve.

  A card fluttered out, landing softly on the tabletop. The black ace stared up like an accusing eye.

  Connie's dad's mouth hung open for a moment. “I honestly don't know how that got there,” he said weakly.

  “Cheat!” roared the thug.

  “Dad!” yelled Connie.

  “Run, Connie!” Her dad ducked the first punch, toppling off his chair. “Run!”

  The table overturned as men shot to their feet, shouting and pushing. Cards flurried into the air. Her dad disappeared into the middle of a mob of angry muscle.

  Connie took aim and maced the nearest man. He screeched, dropping his cigarette to claw at his eyes. But that still left five, and her action hadn't gone unnoticed.

  “Don't get in the way,” growled the giant. “Ain't none of your business.”

  Connie tried to get him with her pepper spray, but he was too fast for her. The giant shoved her aside, kicking her feet out from under her with a casual movement. Leaving her sprawled on the ground, he waded into the fight.

  Pushing herself up to her hands and knees, Connie saw her dad for moment between the angry, shoving bodies. Most of the men were just taking outraged, imprecise swings at him, but not the giant. He moved with complete control, cutting through the crowd like a shark through water.

  Connie's blood ran cold. In a flash, she knew her dad had been set up. And she had a bone-deep certainty that he was in terrible danger.

  She desperately cast around for some way to distract the mob. Her eye fell on her dropped pepper spray… and the still-lit cigarette beside it.

  I can't believe I'm doing this, but...

  Connie grabbed the cigarette and a handful of fallen bills. She'd never wondered how well money would burn, but the answer turned out to be 'surprisingly fast.' Connie yelped, involuntarily dropping the bills as flames licked at her fingers. They landed in a puddle of spilled alcohol and cards.

  The result was considerably more impressive than she'd intended.

  “Fire,” Connie yelled, as loud as she could. “Fire!”

  “What?”

  “Where?”

  “Hey, there is a fire!”

  Longfingers glanced back over his shoulder. His face froze as he noticed the flames. Even though the fire wasn't that big yet, he suddenly looked utterly terrified.

  “Oh no,” he moaned. “Hammer!”

  “What?” The giant's head appeared above the crowd. His expression changed to horror too as he saw the fire. “Oh, shit.”

  The other men had lost interest in Connie's dad by now, more concerned with rescuing their money before it was caught by the rapidly-spreading flames. The giant hesitated, one meaty hand still wrapped around her dad's throat. “What about—?”

  “We'll finish the job outside!” Longfingers was already bolting for the door. “Come on, we gotta get out of here! Before they come!”

  “No!” Connie threw herself in their path. She grabbed for her dad's dangling legs, trying to wrestle his limp body away from the giant. “No!”

  “Out of the way, girl,” the giant snarled.

  Connie didn't even see his fist coming. The last thing she heard as darkness closed over her was the fire's greedy, triumphant roar.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chase Tiernach barreled gleefully at sixty miles per hour the wrong way down a twenty mph street. He lived for this—the thrill of speed, the urgency of the mission, the horrified looks on other drivers’ faces as they found themselves unexpectedly confronted by a wall of bright red steel hurtling toward them.

  His inner pegasus shared his elation. Driving wasn't as good as flying, but it still made his stallion prance and snort with fierce joy. Like all pegasi, his stallion was intensely competitive. There was nothing that gave it as much satisfaction as matching speed and strength against a rival, and winning.

  To Chase's delight, an oncoming Lexus convertible tried to play chicken with twenty tons of oncoming truck. Whooping, Chase slammed the accelerator to the floor. The truck roared like an animal. Chase laughed out loud as the sports car was forced to veer off the street, ruining its shiny chrome hubcaps.

  “Bastard!” the Lexus driver yelled.

  Chase gave him a cheery wave out the side window as he hurtled past. “Just doing my job!”

  “Alpha unit checking in,” Commander Ash said calmly into the radio. The Fire Commander balanced easily in the passenger seat, barely swaying despite the fire truck’s wild, bouncing motion. “Any update on the situation?”

  “Observers say there's a lot of smoke,” Griff's voice crackled out of the speaker. Concern thickened the dispatcher's Scottish accent. “The buildings around are close-packed, and not in good repair. High danger of the fire spreading.”

  “Alpha unit ETA three minutes,” Ash said. “Currently proceeding east down Montgomery Street.”

  “Correction!” Chase spun the wheel. “Currently proceeding north up Stewart Street!”

  “Please note correction,” Commander Ash said into the radio. He gave Chase a level look. “Chase, why are we proceeding north up Stewart Street?”

  “I can get us there in a minute this way,” Chase yelled over the sing-song wail of the fire truck’s siren. “Trust me!”

  “Just when I thought I couldn't get any more nervous,” muttered Hugh. The paramedic was strapped in behind Ash, and had a death-grip on his safety restraints. “Chase, are you sure you can get to Green Street this way?”

  “Positive.” Chase threaded the fire truck neatly through a slalom course of parked cars. “Up here, then nip down that little alley, and we'll pop out in just the right place.”

  “What little alley?” Hugh's face went nearly as white as his hair. “Chase, that's a pedestrian cut-through!”

  “It's fine. There's no one in it.” Chase knew that for a fact—his pegasus gave him an innate sense of where people were. It was what let him drive so fast in perfect confidence.

  Ash eyed the rapidly approaching alleyway. His eyebrows drew together slightly, just the tiniest crack in his otherwise unflappable expression. “We will not fit.”

  “Yes we will!” Chase gunned the accelerator.

  There was a horrible crunching sound.

  “Mostly!” Chase added.

  “Alpha Team proceeding east down Green Street,” Commander Ash said into the radio. “Without side mirrors.”

  “May I ask if we are there yet?” John Doe said plaintively from his seat next to Hugh.

  In the rear-view mirror, Chase could see that John had his eyes tightly closed. He was faintly green, which was not a good combination with his long, indigo hair.

  Chase stomped on the brake, spinning the steering wheel at the same time. The fire truck lurched on two wheels, sliding sideways round the corner as it decelerated. The smell of burning rubber from the truck's tires mixed with the thicker tang of smoke.

  “And here we are,” Chase announced brightly.

  Ash had the side door open even before the truck had fully come to a halt. He jumped down with a smooth, practiced leap. The rest of the fire team disembarked more slowly as Ash's intense, dark eyes swept the scene.

  To Chase, it all just looked a mess. Thick black smoke was billowing out of the door of a shabby bar, while a small crowd milled uncertainly on the opposite side of the road. From the clouded windows, it looked like the entire building was filled with smoke. A man was collapsed on the sidewalk out front, but no one seemed to want to go to his aid.

  Chase couldn't even begin to guess where the fire had started, or the best way to go about putting it out. His talents were suited to making instinctive, split-second decisions when driving, not to this sort of tactical stuff.

  Fortunately, that wasn't his job.

  Commander Ash gave the building the barest glance before turning back to his fire team. “Basement. There must have been a great deal of paper debris.”

  That was the advantage of being led by the Phoenix. He always knew exactly where the fire was.

>   “I am keeping the fire from spreading further, but we must work quickly,” Ash continued. He had the slightly abstracted look that meant he was focusing on using his special talent to control the flames. “Hugh, attend to the casualties. Chase, is there anyone in the building?”

  Chase concentrated. His stallion raised its head, sniffing the wind. Its ears pricked up sharply. There was a scent under the smoke. Something compelling, and familiar…

  Chase shivered, suddenly feeling oddly on edge. “Yes. One person. A woman, I think.”

  “In which case, John and I will go in.” Ash looked up at the enormous shifter. None of the fire team were small men, but John still loomed over them all. “We will need respiratory gear.”

  John nodded, heading back to the truck to unpack the breathing masks. Normally, they didn't need such equipment—Dai, their fire dragon shifter and the last member of the team, would have just strolled straight into the smoke without any protective gear at all. But he was off duty today, and miles away in London with his mate. The fire team would have to carry out the rescue the old-fashioned way… and just hope that they could reach the trapped woman in time.

  Chase stared into the swirling smoke darkening the windows of the bar.

  Why do I really, really wish that Dai was here right now?

  “Chase. Chase.” He started, Commander Ash's voice finally getting through to him. “I said, get the hose ready.”

  “What? Oh.” Chase shook himself, forcing himself to concentrate on the job instead of his strange, rising sense of urgency. “Right.”

  He tried to turn toward the truck, but his stallion reared up and screamed at him. His pegasus was frantic, hooves flashing and wings beating with agitation.

  Run! Go! Now!

  And abruptly Chase knew exactly who was trapped in the burning building.

  “Chase!” Ash's shout followed him as he plunged into the smoke.

  Immediately, Chase's eyes started to burn. He closed them, relying on his stallion to guide him as he charged blindly through the bar. He could feel the heat of the floor even through the thick soles of his boots.