Wildfire Phoenix Read online

  Blaise bit her lip, but she couldn’t help herself. Curiosity had gnawed at her ever since the crew had first encountered the Thunderbird. “Where were you? When you weren’t flying around Montana, I mean. You always just seemed to disappear into thin air.”

  “Not air,” Zephyr said, so softly that even her shifter hearing could barely catch the words. “Dreams. The dream of the Thunderbird. The dreams of the world.”

  Before she could ask what he meant by that, he looked at her at last. His eyes were so dark that they seemed all pupil, black on black. Once again, she felt that lightning-bright bolt of recognition, searing all the way to the center of her soul.

  “I was lost.” His voice dropped, deep as distant thunder. “There should have been no way for me to return home. But I heard you, in my dream. You found me. You called me back.”

  The back of her neck prickled. By his own admission, he wasn’t a shifter. He shouldn’t be able to feel the connection between them.

  But the way he was looking at her…

  She broke the eye contact, taking refuge in practical matters. “Look, will you please sit down? For my sake, if not your own. If Buck walks in here and finds that I’ve let you faceplant on the floor, he’ll fire my ass so fast it’ll leave a smoke trail.”

  For the first time, Zephyr smiled. It was only a little quirk of his mouth, a slight spark in those midnight eyes, but it was like clouds clearing to reveal a sky full of stars. Blaise had an immediate urge to crack another joke, just to see him laugh.

  Oh God, I’m turning into Joe. Kill me now.

  “I suspect my uncle would sooner cut off his left arm,” Zephyr said. “He couldn’t afford to lose you. I’ve seen you in action, remember?”

  That was the last thing Blaise wanted to do. She cleared her throat, rubbing her sweating palms down her jeans. “Yeah, well. I still have to look after you. I’m pretty sure people aren’t supposed to jump up from a coma and start wandering around. I really need to go find a doctor.”

  Zephyr rotated his wrists experimentally, as though testing his range of motion. Blaise tried very hard not to stare at his flexing forearms, and failed miserably.

  “I feel fine,” he said. “Physically, at least. How can that be possible, if I’ve been in a coma?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a normal coma. Like I said, you got pumped full of anti-shift serum. Made from basilisk venom, mostly.” It was probably best not to tell him what else had gone into that hellish cocktail. Blaise definitely wouldn’t have wanted to know if someone had shot demon secretions into her veins. “It put you in some kind of suspended animation. We’ve seen something similar in shifters who were hit with the stuff, though it didn’t last so long. Are you sure you aren’t a shifter?”

  “Yes.” Zephyr rolled one shoulder, then the other, still loosening his muscles. “Though I suppose thunderkin could be considered a distant cousin to your kind. Perhaps that’s why this serum affected me. Where did it come from?”

  “Uncegila brewed it up, with the help of some of her minions. She meant to use it to stop the Thunderbird.”

  Zephyr’s forehead creased. “I thought you said my uncle shot me.”

  “He did. We thwarted Uncegila’s plan, but then Buck picked up the dart gun and shot you before anyone could stop him. He figured out that you were the Thunderbird, see, before any of the rest of us even suspected. He wanted to rescue you.”

  “Yes,” Zephyr said softly. “He always does.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important now. How long will this last? When will the Thunderbird return?”

  Rattled as she was, the truth slipped out before she could stop herself. “Never.”

  His only visible reaction was a long, slow exhale.

  Oh shit. I’m doing this all wrong.

  She’d always made fun of her friends for the way that they’d all lost their goddamn minds when they’d met their mates. At the moment, she would have been doing better if she’d whacked Zephyr over the head, shoved a baby unicorn at him, fallen off a fire watch tower and pretended to be her own identical twin. While stark naked.

  “I mean, we aren’t totally sure,” she said, not sure whether he would find this reassuring, or the precise opposite. “But Uncegila designed that serum to kill the Thunderbird, and she seemed pretty convinced it would work. So far, we don’t have any evidence that it didn’t do exactly what she wanted.”

  “So that’s why it’s so quiet,” Zephyr whispered. He closed his eyes, as though looking inward. “It’s strange. I never realized it, but the storm was always there, even before I transformed. Now I can’t hear it at all.”

  “But that’s a good thing, right?” she said, desperate for his lost, shadowed expression to lighten. “You couldn’t come back, before. The Thunderbird wouldn’t let you go. Now it’s gone. You’re free at last. You’re home.”

  “Home,” he echoed, as though the word had no meaning. “I don’t think that exists anymore.”

  “Hey, you’ll be okay.” Almost, she reached out for him, but stopped herself at the last moment. “You still have people who care about you.”

  “One person, at least.” Zephyr rubbed at his eyes. “What am I going to say to him?”

  Blaise hadn’t just meant Buck, and there was no way in hell she was going to admit that. “You don’t have to say anything. He’ll just be happy you’re back.”

  “But I failed him. Twice over, if the Thunderbird is truly gone.” He dropped his hand, revealing hollow, haunted eyes. Anyone would have thought he hadn’t slept for days. “I’ve failed everyone. Uncegila is rising, growing stronger. Without the Thunderbird to stop her—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Blaise said firmly. “The only thing you need to do now is rest and recover. Now lie down, or I swear I will throw you onto that bed.”

  She had a sudden mental image of doing exactly that, and then following him down. Her face went as hot as her hands.

  “I don’t doubt you could,” Zephyr murmured, his gaze lingering on her upper arms. Then he flushed too, angular cheekbones darkening. “That is, I know you’re strong. Not just physically. Even the Thunderbird respected your power.”

  That was far too close to topics Blaise really didn’t want to discuss. She covered her discomfort by folding her arms and fixing him with a glare. “Believe me, I don’t need my animal’s help to put your ass anywhere I want it. I spend fourteen-hour days cutting line, two weeks at a time. So lie down and let me take care of you, or else.”

  “Very well. Thank you…” Zephyr hesitated. He swept her with a long, thoughtful look that tingled across every inch of her skin. “I’m sorry. We’ve met many times, but I don’t know your name.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’ve been formally introduced.” Out of sheer habit, Blaise stuck out a hand. “Blaise Swanmay, Thunder Mountain Hotshots.”

  Slowly—as though it took conscious effort to remember what to do—he took her hand.

  “Blaise,” he repeated, softly.

  The way he said her name ran down her back like a caress. His skin was cooler than hers, yet fire lit in her blood.

  Her breath stopped. Zephyr had gone perfectly still, as though his heart too had stuttered to a halt at the contact. His midnight eyes filled her world.

  “Blaise,” he whispered again.

  Then his forehead creased. “Is something burning?”

  She was burning. Literally. She could smell smoke, curling up from the edge of her T-shirt.

  With a gasp, she jerked back. “Don’t touch me!”

  Zephyr let go instantly. He started to put both hands in the air, only to have to grab at his sheet as it threatened to part company with his hips.

  “What was that?” He stared at his palm, then at her. His dark eyebrows drew together in sudden concern. “Blaise? Are you all right?”

  “No!” Blaise yelped. “I mean, yes! It’s not you, it’s me. I just nearly, uh…”

  Accidentall
y set you on fire were probably not reassuring words to hear from the person who’d just woken you up from a coma.

  Her shoulder blades were still radiating heat. She must have two long scorch marks down the back of her Thunder Mountain Hotshots T-shirt. A heartbeat longer, and her wings would have unfurled…

  “I have to go.” Back plastered against the wall, she scuttled for the exit, keeping as far away from Zephyr as she could. “Right now. I—I’ll find a doctor for you. Don’t move!”

  “Blaise,” he started.

  She was already out the door, slamming it behind her. A couple of passing nurses jumped at the crash, shooting her looks of alarmed disapproval.

  “He’s awake.” Blaise backpedaled away from the medical staff. “Zephyr Frazer, in there. He’s awake. ”

  Not waiting for a response, she ran down a side corridor. To her relief, there was a women’s bathroom marked at the end of the hallway. Hurrying inside, she locked the door, then fumbled for the faucet. The metal softened, sagging away from her touch.

  “I’m in control.” She thrust her hands into the chilling stream. “I’ve got this. I’m in control.”

  Black wings beat in her soul. The water gurgling down the drain began to boil.

  She gritted her teeth. “I. Am. In. Control.”

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn’t answer it. She held her hands in the water until her fingers were numb with cold; until she’d washed away even the memory of her mate’s touch. Until her animal sank back into the dark, ice closing over it once more.

  With a sigh, Blaise sank down onto the toilet seat. She sat there for a moment, head between her knees, as her breathing steadied. Then she pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

  1 New Message

  Is everything all right?

  Her fingers were shaking too badly to text. She managed to send back a simple thumbs-up emoji.

  A pause, then her phone beeped again.

  I’m here if you need to talk. I love you.

  “Love you too, Dad,” Blaise said out loud. “But believe me, this is not a conversation we need to have. Ever.”

  Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she turned off the faucet. Twisting round, she examined the back of her crew T-shirt in the mirror over the sink. Thankfully, the black fabric hid the worst of the scorch marks. She should be able to make it back to her cabin without anyone asking awkward questions.

  No one would have to know what had happened.

  Not even Zephyr.

  After all, he wasn’t a shifter. Even if his Thunderbird was still lurking around somewhere inside his skull, he wouldn’t have the same instincts as her. He didn’t know she was his mate.

  Now, she just had to make sure he never found out.

  Chapter 3

  “Please,” Zephyr repeated yet again. “Honestly, I’m fine. There’s no need for all this.”

  He’d tried to go after Blaise, only to be thwarted by doctors and nurses flooding into his room like a concerned tsunami. Short of strong-arming them all aside, there had been no way to escape. Now he was back on the bed yet again, the unwilling epicenter of a small storm of medical attention.

  One of the nurses had brought him a spare set of scrubs, so at least he wasn’t having to endure the barrage of tests in nothing but a singed sheet. They were all very kind, and seemed genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.

  But for all their questions, no one was listening to him.

  Zephyr filled his tone with calm reassurance, not letting any hint of his agitation show in his manner. “I appreciate you’re trying to help. I’ll submit to any tests that you want to run, but later. Right now I need to find Blaise.”

  “Mr. Frazer,” one of the doctors began.

  “Zephyr.” It was strange enough having people addressing him by his own name. Every time the medical staff called him by his uncle’s, it felt like being punched in the sternum. “Or Zeph. Please.”

  “Zephyr, then.” The doctor gave him a bland, reassuring smile, flicking on a small penlight. “I’m sure your friend is fine. Hold still, please.”

  Zephyr winced as the beam of light stabbed his pupils. “You don’t understand. She…”

  He hesitated, not sure how much to say. He hadn’t yet been able to work out how much the medical staff knew about the true nature of his coma, or if they were aware of the existence of shifters. If he tried to explain the real reason for his concern, they might escort him to a nice padded room.

  “She seemed upset,” he said, since that was safer than She set fire to her own clothes and ran away. “Please. I just want to check that she’s all right.”

  “There’s no need to worry, Zephyr.” The doctor sounded like she was talking to a toddler. Zephyr half expected her to pat him on the head and offer him a lollipop. “No doubt—I’m sorry, what did you say your friend’s name was?”

  “Blaise.”

  It made no sense, but just saying her name out loud made his pulse flutter. One of the machines hooked up to his chest let out a disapproving beep. The doctor glanced at the screen and tutted.

  “Now, Zephyr, you need to try to stay calm,” she said, still in those aggravatingly reasonable tones. “You’ve been very unwell, and you mustn’t put any additional strain on your body. I’m sure Blaise would want you to stop worrying about her and just concentrate on getting better, hmm?”

  This was, Zephyr suspected, an accurate assessment, given how ferociously Blaise had tried to get him to lie down and rest. She wouldn’t want him to fight his way free of the doctors in order to go charging after her, even if she was in distress.

  Especially when he might be the cause of that distress.

  He could still feel the heat of her skin, burned into his palm like a phantom brand. When they’d touched, it had been like clasping a live wire. Like a connection closing. And he’d felt… he’d heard…

  Maybe it had been nothing. Blaise was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Perhaps it had just been his own pulse, pounding in his ears.

  But there had been the way Blaise had yanked her hand back as though burned. The flash of sheer panic in her brown eyes, her sudden fear.

  She’d felt something too. Something that had made her rush from the room, leaving nothing but the scent of smoke. Had her inner animal responded to him, sensing a rising threat?

  And if that was the case… did it mean the Thunderbird was still there?

  If it was, there was no sign of it now. Though his current surroundings weren’t exactly conducive to quiet meditation and spiritual reflection, he still had that unnerving sense of hollowness. It was as though part of his heart had been scooped out while he’d been unconscious.

  But when Blaise had touched him, he’d felt whole.

  With a sigh, Zephyr sat back, submitting to the doctors’ prodding and poking. If Blaise had sensed that the Thunderbird wasn’t entirely gone, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep her distance. She knew all too well that he couldn’t control its furious power. She was wise to be wary of him.

  But selfishly, he still wished she hadn’t fled. That he could talk to her further. Their brief encounter had left him burning with questions. Why had she shown him such kindness, when he’d caused her and her friends so much grief? How had she called him out of the darkness of his coma? How had she known all his secrets?

  I know what it’s like to be tired of fighting, she’d said in his dream. I know what it’s like to be scared to wake up.

  Did she battle her own monster, in the private depths of her soul?

  A nurse popped his head around the door, smiling broadly. “Mr. Frazer? You have a visitor.”

  A combination of relief and anticipation shot through him. Zephyr half rose, trailing sensor wires and making the monitoring devices connected to him emit shrill bleats of alarm.

  “Blaise?” he started—and then froze.

  It wasn’t Blaise.

  “Zephyr,” said Buck.

  He looked different. It was
more than the passage of fifteen years. Zephyr had seen him through the Thunderbird’s eyes; only a handful of times, but enough that the wider streaks of gray in his hair didn’t come as a shock. Maybe there were new lines around his eyes, but that wasn’t it either. As far back as Zephyr could remember, Buck had always been weather-beaten and grizzled.

  But before, he’d seemed timeless. Like a mighty oak, or a good pair of work boots; tough and hardened by the elements. Throughout Zephyr’s childhood, Buck had been a strong, solid presence, as unchanging as the granite peak of Thunder Mountain itself.

  But now… now Buck looked old, as he never had before. Zephyr had never seen his uncle like this—weary and burdened, scarred by grief and long, sleepless nights.

  There was so much Zephyr wanted to say to him. So much that he needed to say—or perhaps only one thing. The most important thing, the only one that mattered:

  I’m sorry.

  Sorry that he hadn’t saved his family; sorry that he’d disappeared without a trace, caught up in storm winds. Sorry that he hadn’t been strong enough to control the Thunderbird, that he hadn’t been able to stop its blind fury. Sorry for the fires and the destruction that he’d caused, and the horned serpents that had slipped past his guard.

  Most of all, sorry that he hadn’t been able to find his way home. That he’d left his uncle like this, alone and grieving, weighed down by a guilt that should never have been his to carry.

  I’m sorry.

  The simplest words, yet he couldn’t get them out. Emotion choked him, so tangled and knotted he couldn’t even breathe.

  Buck pulled him into a tight embrace. And for all the shadows under his uncle’s eyes and weariness in his stance, this was still the same; the strength in his arms, the unbreakable grip of his hands. His uncle held him, and he was finally home.

  “I’m sorry, Zeph.” Buck’s voice, always gruff at the best of times, cracked and broke. “I’m so sorry.”

  Zephyr closed his eyes against the burn of tears. He hugged his uncle back, hard, trying to say with touch what he couldn’t with words. He was startled to discover that he was taller than Buck now. His uncle had always loomed so large in his memories, and in dreams.