Wildfire Phoenix by Zoe Chant

Chapter 22

For the first time in many nights, Blaise’s dreams were filled with fire.

Even without entering her nightmare, Zephyr could feel the intense heat of the flames. When he shaped a way out for her, she came through immediately, as though she’d been waiting for that escape to open. Tears made streaks in the soot striping her face.

“Zephyr.” She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him with fierce strength. He could feel her shaking. “Zeph.”

“It’s all right.” He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his embrace. She was so strong and vital, he always forgot how much smaller than him she was, physically. “It was just a nightmare.”

He felt her shake her head. “That’s not why I’m crying. Dumbass.”

“I know.” Gently, he tipped her face up to his. He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away the ash. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

It was his dream, but he let her shape it. It was easy, now, to share his mind with her. All he had to do was step back, giving her unconscious a slight, subtle nudge—the barest suggestion that they were somewhere she felt safe, treasured—and the scene formed around them.

He’d expected to find themselves in her cabin, or possibly the log by the stream where she went when she needed to be alone. Instead, to his surprise, they sat in a cushioned booth, set in the corner of a crooked, timber-framed room with low oak beams and whitewashed walls. An old-fashioned bar dominated the dim, cozy space, with pint glasses and bottles lining the wall behind.

“A restaurant?” he said.

A smile lit Blaise’s face as she took in their surroundings. “Not exactly. This is my mom’s pub, back in England. The Full Moon. I grew up here.”

Zephyr eyed the deep and somewhat alarming claw marks grooved into the dark wooden floorboards. “Forgive me for saying so, but it seems like she caters to a rather rough clientele. Not precisely child-friendly.”

Blaise laughed. “Believe me, no one would dare set a foot out of line in here. Not on my mom’s watch. It’s a shifters-only pub. My mom doesn’t tolerate any aggression or fighting, but there’s always someone who gets drunk enough to forget what form they should be in. Mom always complains she has to spend more on chairs than beer.”

Zephyr watched her shining eyes as she gazed around the room. “You truly love this place.”

“Like I said, I grew up here. Literally.” Blaise pointed at the ceiling above their table. “My parents live above the pub. That’s my childhood bedroom, right over our heads. My dad’s firefighting crew would meet at this table every week. I used to lie in bed, listening to them in the dark, wishing I could make out what they were saying. Wishing I was…”

Blaise didn’t finish the sentence. She looked down at the table, her smile fading.

“A firefighter too,” Zephyr said softly, for her. “Like your father.”

Blaise ran her hand over the scarred wood. There was a burn mark there, blurred and faded. It looked like a child’s handprint.

“We were allowed to join them, sometimes,” she said. “On special occasions. All of us kids. The others would be running around the room getting underfoot and causing havoc, but I just wanted to sit here. Next to my dad, with his crew. Pretending that I was one of them. And eventually I was. For a little while.”

Blaise twitched her shoulders, as though shaking off the touch of the past. She looked up again, her jaw setting in the stubborn expression he’d come to know so well, and love with all his heart.

“I’m going to bring you here one day, you know,” she said. “For real. Not in dreams.”

“Yes.” He put his hand over hers. “You will. I promise.”

“Good.” Her voice thickened. Her fingers twined through his. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He gripped her hand, feeling her fingers clasping his with equal desperation. “I have to call the Thunderbird. If the horned serpents swarm as we fear, it may take me some time to hunt them all down and eliminate them. But I will come back, Blaise.”

Blaise stared down at their joined hands. “You couldn’t hear Fenrir.”

It took him a moment to work out what she meant. “You’re worried that means I’m not truly part of the pack. That the squad’s friendship won’t be enough to hold me here.”

“Do you think it will?”

He hesitated, but he’d never lied to her. “No.”

She made a dry sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or a sob. “And you’re still certain you won’t get lost again. That it’s somehow going to be different this time.”

“It is different this time.” He squeezed her fingers, making her meet his eyes again. “I have you.”

“You don’t, though. We’re not mated.”

“I don’t need a psychic bond to love you. Blaise, there is nothing, nothing that could keep me apart from you. Not Uncegila, not the Thunderbird, not all the storms in the world. I love you. And I am going to come back.”

“You thought that last time too,” she whispered, the barest breath. Her mouth firmed. “Will you do something for me, Zephyr?”

“Anything.”

“Wait.” She shook her head, forestalling his barely formed protest. “Not for long. I know you can’t. But give me a day. Just one more day.”

He could feel the Thunderbird circling, in the deeper dream. He could sense it rising, impatient lightning flickering around its wings. At the back of his mind, he could feel the cold slither of nightmares, writhing ever closer to the soft skin of the waking world.

He let out his breath. “All right. I need a little time to prepare myself for the ritual, anyway. But what difference can one day make?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” She rose like a warrior queen, fists clenching. “Wake us up, Zephyr. I need to make a phone call.”