Wildfire Phoenix by Zoe Chant

Chapter 15

“Well, now,” Rory said as Zephyr went past, whistling. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

Zephyr grinned, taking the seat next to his squad leader. The mess hall had been turned into an impromptu classroom, the long tables pushed back to clear space for ranks of folding chairs. Up front, Buck was fiddling with a projector, muttering under his breath as he tried to focus the image.

“Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Zephyr clicked his pen out, settling his notepad on his knee. “No hikes today, or weights. Just have to sit back and listen to theory, then take a test. Compared to last week, that’s practically a vacation.”

“Thus speaks someone who has clearly never suffered through fire safety training before,” Joe said from somewhere behind him. “Believe me, bro. By the second hour, you’ll be dreaming of a nice ten-mile hike. Uphill.”

Fenrir’s deep chuckle rumbled from off to one side. “Don’t think that’s what has been occupying Stormheart’s dreams.”

Zephyr ducked his head, his face heating. Still, his smile widened. Last night’s dream…

By unspoken agreement, they hadn’t gone as far as they had during that first intoxicating, out-of-control encounter. Some things, he wanted to experience for the first time in real life, not dreams. But even though he’d taken care to keep both their imaginary pants firmly fastened, that had still left a lot of scope for… practice.

Just the memory of Blaise’s burning touch was enough to set his blood surging now. Her bold lips against his… her strong fingers scratching down his back, leaving trails of fire…

He adjusted position, shifting his notepad to cover his lap. Perhaps it would be better not to think of such things right now. He was in front of the whole crew, not to mention his uncle.

He heard footsteps approaching, and his pulse jumped—but it was only Wystan. The unicorn shifter sank into the chair at his other side with a sigh, nodding at him in greeting.

“Cub?” Fenrir said hopefully.

“Not yet,” Wystan replied, in what had become a well-worn ritual by now. He rubbed at his shadowed eyes. “The consultant says she’s doing very well, but she needs to put on more weight before she can come out of the incubator.”

Zephyr would have asked Wystan how he was doing, but something tugged at his awareness; not a sound, or any mundane sense, but a deeper whisper. He looked round just in time to see Blaise saunter into the hall. Catching his eye, her grin widened.

“Hi guys,” she said, taking a chair in the row behind him. “Hi, Zeph. Sleep well?”

Could anyone else hear how her tone softened, just a little, on his name? “Very well. You?”

Blaise stretched, arching her back. This did riveting things to her tight black T-shirt. “Restless night, actually. I’m still pretty tired. Might take a nap at lunch break.”

“A nap,” he said thickly. “Yes. What a good idea.”

Behind Blaise, Joe leaned forward, smirking. Zephyr didn’t catch what he muttered, but it made Blaise whip round, threatening the sea dragon with her notebook. Zephyr took the opportunity to shift position again, adjusting his jeans as discreetly as he could manage.

“You two seem to be getting on,” Rory murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Zephyr felt his flush deepen. He busied himself writing the title of the class on his notebook. “We’re managing.”

“Mmm. Still haven’t seen you two come within arms-reach of each other, mind.”

“Is that required for a professional working relationship?”

“In our line of work, yes, actually.” Rory eyed him side-long. “And I’m not sure the word ‘professional’ belongs near your relationship.”

Zephyr was saved from further interrogation by his uncle. At the front of the room, Buck dropped a thick stack of handouts onto the table with a thump.

“Wildland Fire Safety Training,” the Superintendent announced, to a chorus of groans. “Yes, I know, most of you have been through this half a dozen times and counting. Suck it up, because yes, there will be an exam, and yes, anyone who fails gets to pack their bags and go home. You want to get that sweet, sweet overtime pay, you listen up. This stuff could save your life one day.”

Despite Joe’s warning, the lecture turned out to be surprisingly interesting (enlivened, as ever, by Buck’s liberal use of what were technically not swear words). Most of the rest of the crew soon had the glazed expressions of people praying for the next coffee break, but Zephyr scribbled notes, trying to keep up with Buck’s rapid-fire delivery.

He was so intent on his uncle’s descriptions of weather conditions and warning signs that he didn’t notice the paper ball until it hit his ear. He jumped, startled out of his focus. His first suspicion was Joe, but when he twisted round, the sea dragon was surreptitiously playing with his phone, his notepad abandoned underneath his chair.

Blaise caught his eye again. To all appearances, she was industriously taking notes, fully engrossed in Buck’s lecture. But there was something about the tilt of her head, her too-innocent expression, that made him grin and unfold the note in his lap.

This isn’t exactly Calculus,it said, in Blaise’s distinctive sloppy scrawl. But I see a cute American boy ;)

Zephyr suppressed a smile. He smoothed the paper out, hiding it in his notebook.

Stop distracting me, he wrote at the bottom. I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask the hot girl in the next row out on a date.

He folded up the paper, and waited. When Buck next turned around to point at something in his presentation, he flicked the note back to Blaise.

A few minutes later, the paper bounced into his lap again.

That had better be the row BEHIND you

Next to the words, she’d drawn a little grumpy emoji face with crossed eyes and fire coming out of its head. He didn’t quite manage to stifle his snort. Rory glanced over at him, one eyebrow rising.

“Sorry,” he mouthed at his squad leader. He waited until Rory returned to his own private thoughts before scribbling a new line on the note.

She’s the woman who haunts my dreams. I can’t stop thinking about her. Flick.

This time, the paper bounced off his shoulder on its return journey, ricocheting into Wystan. The unicorn shifter started, his eyes flying open.

“I’m awake!” Wystan announced, and went a spectacular shade of red.

“Glad to hear it,” Buck said dryly, as sniggers ran around the room. “This seems like an excellent time to cover situation eighteen, otherwise known as ‘Don’t take a nap near the motherloving fire.’ Or any other dangerous things. Like, for instance, the man who writes your pay check.”

Still the color of cooked beetroot, Wystan fumbled for his pen. His groping hand found the note. He stared at it, with an understandable expression of bafflement.

“Wys,” Zephyr hissed. “Wystan.”

“Oh.” To Zephyr’s immense relief, the unicorn shifter passed the note over without opening it. “My apologies.”

Zephyr breathed out, thanking all the spirits that the errant missive had hit polite, mild Wystan rather than anyone else in the crew. Or—horror of horrors—his uncle. It was a good ten minutes before he dared to glance at the paper.

If you haven’t worked out by now that she has a crush on you too, then you’re an idiot, Blaise had written under his last line. If you ask her out, I’m 100% sure she’ll say yes.

100%was circled several times, and underlined for good measure.

Zephyr hesitated, wrestling with temptation. He really shouldn’t be doing this, for multiple reasons (one of which was standing at the front of the room making pointed comments about staying alert at all times). But still…

That’s the thing,he wrote under the note. I want to take her out on a real date. In the waking world. But I don’t know if she’s ready for that.

Steeling his nerve, he waited for the next opportunity. When Buck turned round, Zephyr quickly swiveled in his chair. Heart pounding, he tossed the paper before he could think better of the whole thing.

In his haste, he completely messed up the throw. To his horror, the note sailed straight past Blaise… and dropped into Joe’s lap.

The sea dragon jumped, his phone vanishing up his sleeve. He looked down at the note. He looked at Zephyr, and then at Blaise, who appeared to be trying to set the sea dragon on fire with nothing more than aggressive eye contact. He looked down at the note again. A slow, evil grin spread across his face.

“Something more interesting than me back there, Zephyr?” said Buck.

He jerked round guiltily. “No, sir.”

“Then pay attention.” Buck clicked to the next slide. “Right. Let’s talk wind speed, and why a nice cooling breeze is absolutely not your friend.”

Zephyr didn’t dare look round again. He tried to concentrate on Buck’s lecture, but he couldn’t help straining to catch any sound from behind him. Was that the rustle of paper? A muffled laugh?

That had definitely been a chuckle, and far too low to be Blaise’s. Zephyr slumped in his chair, his ears burning. This was a disaster. Blaise was going to be mortified, and it was all his fault—

“Callum Tiernach-West,” Buck said, in tones of utter doom. “Are you passing notes?”

At the end of Zephyr’s row, Cal froze, his hand outstretched toward Rory. A familiar slip of paper gleamed between his fingers. The bottom dropped out of Zephyr’s stomach.

Buck’s eyes narrowed. “Must be an important message. Maybe you’d like to stand up and read it out loud?”

Callum’s eyes swiveled in Zephyr’s direction, then back to Buck. Quick as a flash, his hand shot to his mouth.

“I was just passing round some gum,” Joe said, as Callum chewed furiously. “You know, to help keep everyone awake.”

Buck folded his arms. “Did you bring enough for everyone?”

“Actually, yes.” To Zephyr’s complete astonishment, Joe pulled half a dozen packs of gum out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s see, I’ve got Mexican Heatwave, Extreme Jalapeno, Killer Ghost Pepper—”

Buck pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I asked. Anyone chewing gum had better spit it out or swallow it. Now.”

With a clear effort, Callum swallowed.

Buck’s suspicious stare lingered on the back rows for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “Motherloving… A-squad. Anyone else want to confess to smuggling in snacks? No? Then perhaps we can all attempt to act like this is a professional hotshot crew, and not goddamn junior high. Moving on.”

An hour later, a tiny ball of paper rolled into Zephyr’s foot.

Stop sweating. No one peeked (which is just as well, because I don’t know where I would have hidden that many bodies)

Saturday, my truck, 7pm. Don’t be late.