“Typical man,” she groused. “When you need his help, he’s a dumb animal.”
Bruce growled in response—dark and ugly, and mostly directed at himself. What the fuck? He was a man.
“Don’t growl at me,” she snapped. “Either get it together or get out of my way.”
How many times had he said the exact same thing to a new firefighter? Either help or get out of the way. He was trying!
“Don’t bother” came a voice from behind him.
Josh. Bruce whipped around to see his little brother dropping a backpack onto the floor so he could lace up his boots. He was wearing a field uniform, and damn if that didn’t look good on him. But it had obviously never been worn before, which told Bruce that Josh was new to the first responder game, and that was terrifying. Because his brother didn’t have that kind of skill. He thought things through too well. Fieldwork was all about gut reaction, and his brother lived in his head.
But though Bruce took a step toward the guy, Josh was already dismissing him.
“Bruce won’t help unless there’s some glory in it.” Then he glanced up at Cara. “Or he’s trying to get laid.”
That wasn’t true! He hadn’t been about the glory or the sex in years—if ever. Even firefighter groupies got old when the tragedies became real. He was a fireman because he was good at it. He saved lives. But none of those words made it to his mouth.
Meanwhile Cara snorted. “One of those, huh?”
No!
“Yeah,” Josh said as he looked him dead in the eye. “And obviously useless as a werewolf.”
She chuckled as she looked back at Bruce with pitying eyes. “Don’t sweat it, puppy. Some of us aren’t cut out for this kind of work.”
The dismissive look cut deep. He’d said those words before to kids who’d never made it as a firefighter. Don’t worry, kid. It happens. Not everyone is cut out to be a firefighter. Go find something that you’re good at, because you sure as hell aren’t one of us.
But hewascut out for it. He’d been on the front lines for years—far longer than his brother, who was right then offering Cara an earpiece. He had another for Nero, who grabbed it out of the backpack and popped it in like a pro. Because they were pros.
“What the hell is that stink?” Nero asked as he looked around. “It smells like rancid dog.”
“Fairy cheese,” Laddin said. “Pixies.”
Nero cursed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t there be pixies that smell like rotten cheese?”
Cara grabbed a heavy mace from the corner and dropped it on her shoulder. She handled it like it was a designer purse, but it looked like it weighed a ton. “All the magical whatsits are showing up. We think they’re drawn to the dead zone.”
“Are the fairies an imminent threat?” Nero asked Laddin.
Tell him about your promise. Tell him you made a deal with them.
“I’m handling them.”
No! No, you’re not!
“Good. Look, I know it’s not your job, but we need someone here to coordinate with the home office, to keep them up to date on Wulfric’s progress and a few other things, at least until Bing and Yordan are back up. Do you mind helping out?”
“Of course not,” said Laddin.
Nero nodded his thanks and handed over a small tablet. “Wulfric and his mother are there and there.” He pointed to two bedrooms. “Bing and Yordan.” He pointed at two more. “Stratos and Wiz are going to stay by the lake because we’ve got other wounded wolves taking their rooms. That means you’ll have to bunk in the barn.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you stink, and they’re sick.”
Josh looked up from a tablet he’d pulled from his backpack. “It’s really bad, Laddin. The stench is—”
“I know.” Laddin sighed. “It’s in his fur.”
