FireWolf (4 page)

He ran aimlessly for miles and when he finally slowed, he
found he’d circled around to Olivia’s. Letting instinct take over, he raised
his muzzle to the sky and howled.

Far away, he heard an answering howl from another wolf. A
warning from King not to spend much time near town. When a light came on in
Olivia’s bedroom he raced into the woods.

After hours of rambling, and a snack of rabbit, he scented
something acrid.

Smoke
. Each Brotherhood member had one special talent
and that was his. He had a better sense of smell than anyone else in his clan,
especially for fire. Where was it coming from? He lifted his muzzle and let his
inner senses open wide. Did he need to alert the firehouse?

The fire blazed near Cherry Blossom, where the Legion ran
things. They weren’t the enemy they had been, since Bijou had married the
Legion’s alpha, Marcus Pompey, but still, there was hostility. The Brotherhood
stayed out of Cherry Blossom as much as possible.

He heard the distant wail of fire engines. As long as the
fresh fire scent faded soon, he could go back to chasing rabbits and trying to
outrun his lust.

He stopped and curled his body so his nose rested under his
tail, waiting for the fire to worsen or be controlled.

* * * * *

“What, you don’t want one?” Olivia slid to the floor,
caressing Smokie’s leg.

“You caught me off guard.” He’d been inspecting his turnout
gear for wear and tear when Olivia had slinked into the firehouse in a brown
tunic and skirt that matched her eyes and complemented her golden, tanned skin
tone. He suspected she’d left the nipple clamps at home. Of course, she’d
already told him she’d come from another meeting, as she had the first time
she’d appeared in business clothes and rocked his world.

The beautiful summer weather had most of the guys outside
cleaning vehicles, but he’d taken a bucket of dirty water down the front and
decided to do indoor cleaning after he changed his shirt. Seemed like he spent
most of his time with a hard-on these days and he didn’t care to have his wet
jeans advertising the state of his cock to passersby, or to his fellow
firefighters for that matter. He’d taken enough ribbing from Shamsky this
morning when he’d accused Smokie of trying to poach his date.

Smokie hadn’t told his friend he’d just come from a
fantastic fuck and hadn’t been looking for more. Oh well, just one of those
misunderstandings and he was man enough to take the teasing.

“What you were doing looked pretty boring.”

“My equipment means the difference between life and death
sometimes.”

“Of course,” she said. “I just thought you could use a
little break. No one inside but us.”

Her slender fingertips edged up the inner seams of his
jeans. Instantly, his cock throbbed as if most of the blood in his body had
relocated. How had Olivia gained so much power over his body so quickly?

He took a deep breath, trying to stop the panting that
seemed to be his regular breathing pattern around her. “I don’t know much about
you. Tell me something new.”

She smiled. Today, for the first time since they’d hooked
up, she wore red lipstick—all the better to leave a memorable ring around his
cock that would have him remembering her the next time he showered. She’d been
around the block enough to have used that lipstick on purpose.

“Why Smokie, I didn’t know you cared.”

He didn’t want to care, didn’t want a relationship with an
older woman. Twenty-four was too young for anything serious, and she wasn’t
clan, was old enough that she might be looking for permanent again. But, things
seemed to be progressing inexorably and he didn’t know why.

She squeezed between his legs, so gently that his balls felt
comforted instead of at risk.

“I care,” he said, sounding strangled nonetheless. “I know
you were a lifeguard back in the day, but that was a while back.”

“I’m slowly getting a small business underway,” she told
him. “Now that I’m living here full-time again.”

“And what brings you by?” he asked.

“The ride of your life.” Her nimble fingers undid his belt
buckle and his pants then pulled the fabric down his legs. She made an
approving noise when she found his cock poking out of the waistband of his
boxer-briefs then pulled those down too.

Now, he was naked from the waist to his socks. His skin
stuck to the leather sofa, squeaking as she tugged his knees apart.

Olivia didn’t go straight for his cock. No, the woman was
too devious for that. She wriggled between his legs, until they were spread far
apart, and began to stroke the insides of his thighs. First with fingers, then
tongue—always careful not to smear her lipstick on his skin.

No, she was saving that, just as he’d expected. But, instead
of intensifying her games, she backed off, leaned back. She pulled clips from
her hair until it cascaded down, lemon-coconut fragrance filling his nose.
Leaning forward again, she let the tips of her hair brush his legs until his
skin prickled with awareness.

She rested her cheek on his knee. That soft, soft skin of
her face trailed up one leg and down the other. He wanted to tell her to stop
torturing him, to grab that gorgeous thick hair and slam his cock down her
willing throat, but she was so beautiful to watch, he couldn’t stop her.

His leg jerked when he felt her tongue in the fold of skin
between his groin and leg. She moved past his throbbing cock and licked along
the fold on the other side.

“You’re killing me!”

“Mmmm.” Her tongue licked across his stomach, under his
bellybutton, over his pubic hair.

He couldn’t stand it anymore and pushed his fingers through
her hair, making a ponytail of it. She raised her face. Her lips were swollen
from teasing along his hair-roughened legs.

“Suck me,” he ordered. “Or I’m going to blow all over your
pretty face.”

Her red lips curved, a siren’s taunt. “Maybe I’ll let you do
that anyway.”

“Don’t make me beg.” He scarcely recognized his own hoarse
voice.

She lifted her arms and disentangled his hands from her hair
then clipped it back again. “I’m going to have to teach you some manners.”

She turned to her purse and opened it then pulled out a
silk-wrapped bundle of cards. Tarot, he recognized, though the pictures were a
little different than he was used to seeing Nana, a clan elder, use.

What the hell? He wanted her on his cock!

“A sexual tarot,” Olivia confirmed, seeing the question in
his expression and ignoring the demand. “Hand drawn.” She spread a few cards so
he could see the swords were all erect cocks, the cups pussies. “Pick one for
yourself.”

He chose at random, wanting this over with so she could get
back to the real cock.

“Ah, the ace of cocks,” she said, grinning openly. “It’s
time to focus on you.”

He groaned. “Could have told you that.”

She used the card to stroke his leg. The muscles jerked
under the abrasion as the card moved up.

“Pick one for yourself,” he rasped.

She chose one at random and turned over the card. He saw a
woman and rabbits.

“Traditionally pentacles. This is the queen of rabbits for
this deck. Now, she’s a lady I like. Classy, self-assured, yet doting.”

“Sexual?”

She laughed. “Ever heard of fucking like bunnies?”

“And yet you aren’t even touching my cock.”

She stroked the card down her chest, between her breasts.
Smokie ached to put his head between them, to bite her pretty nipples.

“Come here,” he ordered. “If you won’t suck me, I’ll take on
your damp little clit. Get you in the mood for more.”

She dropped the card and hitched up her skirt to mount him,
the heat in her gaze unmistakable.

From behind him the sound of the alarm went off. The light
above the door flashed and his pager vibrated.

“Fire,” he groaned. “Sorry, rain check.” With deep regret,
he lifted her from him and set her on the couch, then grabbed for his clothes.

“Be safe,” she said. “Come by my house when you’re off
shift.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, already focused on
the mission ahead.

* * * * *

“Reported structure fire,” Shamsky said as Smokie arrived at
his turnout gear.

He pushed his pants legs over his boots and climbed into
them then pulled up his gear. Four of the firefighters were assigned to the
first-due engine and within two minutes they were racing toward the fire.

When they arrived, Smokie saw a two-story frame house with
dark smoke billowing from all the street-facing upper windows.

“This is going to be a bad one,” Barkley said, shaking his
head.

“I’m going to do a walk around,” Owen Hotchkiss, the chief
officer, also Olivia’s cousin, said. “Smokie, go next door to the left and see
if they know if anyone’s at home. Shamsky, to the right. Barkley, get the
engine on the fire hydrant.”

Smokie ran to the house he was assigned and banged on the
door then rang the doorbell, but no answer came and no cars were parked in the
driveway. When he returned, Shamsky was telling Owen, “The owner is pretty deaf
and has no idea if anyone is in the house.”

“We’ve got a motorcycle to the side here, but no cars.”

“Maybe in the garage,” Smokie suggested. The door was
closed.

“Let’s get going,” Owen said.

They formed their attack line and after no response came
from the front doorbell, Owen broke it open easily with his boot. “No fire visible
here,” he said.

They walked single file into a hallway that led to a living
room, also clear, then peered into the kitchen to see no sign of fire all the
way to the glass door leading out to the backyard. “Let’s get upstairs and see
what we’re dealing with,” Owen said.

Smokie could hear a siren outside, indicating the second-due
engine was on its way from Ladder Company Two.

As they moved up the stairs leading to the second story from
the entryway, the smoke became thicker until there was zero visibility.

“Let’s try to get some ventilation,” Owen said. “Shamsky,
take south.”

Shamsky left the hoseline and edged along the wall, looking
for windows, while Owen and Smokie moved forward. Smokie thought they were in a
long hallway. He felt a closed door to one side.

“Hear anyone?” Owen asked. Though not a shapeshifter
himself, he knew his team had heightened abilities, though he never asked
questions.

“No,” Smokie reported.

Owen attempted to scan with a thermal imaging camera but
didn’t produce any useful results. “I think we’re at the end of the hall.”

“Got a door?”

“Yeah.”

Smokie heard the CO open it and they edged forward.

“Hello?” Owen called, but there was no response.

“Should be windows ahead?” Smokie asked.

“Yeah, saw them outside.”

They edged along until they met a wall.

“Can’t find a latch.” Owen swore.

Smokie heard breaking glass as Owen shattered the window.

“Got one window open,” Shamsky reported. “Barkley’s up the
stairs, we’re checking bedrooms.”

Through his com unit, Smokie heard Barkley call out in
obvious distress. “The hose is going flat!”

“Oh fuck,” Shamsky swore.

Before anyone else could speak, Smokie backed into the
hallway, ready to aid them. He felt a blast of heat unlike anything he’d ever
experienced.

“Evacuate!” Owen screamed. “Now!”

Chapter Three

“I’m going down the stairwell,” Barkley gasped.

“Don’t do it!” Shamsky yelled.

Smokie felt a body against him and they both toppled over.
Thankfully, the sensation of actively melting slacked off a bit down on the
floor.

“Let’s go back toward the master,” he urged Shamsky. “We can
bail out the window. It’s only two stories up.”

“What about Owen?”

Smokie called his name, but no answer. “He’s already at the
window. Hopefully he’s bailed.” He called for Barkley next. Nothing.

He and Shamsky reached out, crawled forward, but didn’t feel
anything, didn’t hear anything more from Barkley. Hopefully the seer had made
it down the stairs.

They crawled back toward the master and as Smokie reached
the window and the welcome sight of blue sky polluted with smoke overhead, he
saw Ladder Company Two had gotten a ladder up to the window Owen had broken.
Their CO held out a hand to wave them closer and Smokie gestured him forward.
The CO half climbed, half fell down it.

“Shouldn’t have waited for us, man,” Shamsky said.

When Owen was clear, Smokie pushed Shamsky out. As he was
about to put his leg over, he heard something behind him.

He swore then dropped back to his knees and started
searching for the hoseline. Crawling through what sounded like an inferno, he
slowly made his way out of the bedroom, feeling like he was dying by inches.
When would his oxygen run out? But he had to try to save whoever had called.

He bumped up against a solid shape and felt around it,
discovering a fire hat. Barkley, most likely, or one of the other firefighters
from the second-due engine. When he called, Barkley didn’t answer. He grabbed
the man around the chest and started pulling. Within seconds he realized
another small body had collapsed there, clasped against the firefighter’s chest.

Agonizingly, they moved down the hall one inch at a time.
Smokie pushed them through the door to the master bedroom and separated the
bodies. Barkley had been holding a dog, he realized. Cradling the tiny form in
one arm, he rolled Barkley to the far wall then reached for the window.

It wasn’t there. No blue sky. The thick smoke obscured
everything, and he couldn’t breathe well enough to think. He went into a crouch
and felt for the windowsill. There it was. He stood, reached for the ladder,
and released the dog, hoping someone unseen below would catch it. Then he fell
back to his knees for Barkley, who was completely unresponsive.