Wildfire Hellhound (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew Book 5) by Zoe Chant

Author:Zoe Chant [Chant, Zoe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

The last syringe lay on the table between them, serum glimmering.

“Ready?” Wystan said.

“Yes.” Fenrir managed to get out, the words already slurring into growls. “Will try.”

He’d taken a sweater from Darcy’s cabin while she was busy working in Buck’s office. He clenched his hands in the soft wool, trying to ignore the claws itching to burst from his fingertips, concentrating.

Darcy.

He had a hoard of precious memories now, gathered over the past week. Tiny, stolen moments that he’d taken and treasured without her knowledge, just like the sweater in his hands.

Her face, flushed and laughing, chasing Joe with a snowball in retaliation.

The little frown that she got when she was following a lead, chasing her quarry through a trail of data.

The brush of her hip against his leg as they worked together, side by side in companionable silence; her washing plates, him drying, neither of them needing to say anything.

Sunset, caught in her eyes.

The taste of her lips.

Darcy.

He tried to fill his head with her, leaving no room for the wolf. But as the last of the serum faded from his blood, blazing eyes opened in his soul. Teeth sank deep into his bones, trying to wrest away his humanity.

No, he begged the other half of his soul. He groped for common ground between himself and his animal, a way to make his own feral instincts understand. Stop fighting me. She wants a man, not a beast. We must be what she needs.

His plea only made his animal grow stronger. It pressed against his mind, wrestling him for their body. He felt himself slipping, losing his grip on himself, losing control.

Please! he cried out to his animal, as his muscles spasmed and stretched. We have to be human, for her! She is our mate!

Yes, his animal growled. It was huge now, filling his body, blotting out the world. Must protect her. From everything.

With the last of his strength, Fenrir clenched his fist. He managed to bang it on the table, once, before he fell off his chair.

He curled in agony, limbs contorting, fur ripping from his skin—and then sweet numbness spread through his veins. With a despairing howl, his hellhound tumbled back into darkness. The serum closed over it, locking it away once more.

Wystan withdrew the needle. “All right?”

Fenrir nodded, spasms still passing through clenched muscles. He sat up, wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

Wystan disposed of the empty syringe. “It’s not getting any easier, is it.”

“No,” Fenrir said heavily. He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers, still half-afraid that they might blur into pads and fur. “Tried concentrating on Darcy, like you suggested. Tried to think only of what she needs. But it only made my animal stronger.”

Wystan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. There were bloodshot, with deep shadows under them. Fenrir knew that the paramedic had spent long, sleepless nights researching his problem, scouring medical journals and records for any hint of a solution.

“I’m sorry,” Wystan said. “I truly thought that would work.

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