Page 13 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter twelve

Ashes & Echoes

NOAH

T he sun hasn't even crested the ridge when I’m already barking orders.

"Let’s go, boots up! Fire waits for no one. Move it!"

My voice slices through the morning fog like an axe. The crew jolts into action, scrambling for gear and lining up on the blacktop outside Firehouse 333.

It was a tough night for everyone. But today isn’t just about drills. It’s about proving to myself that I can keep them all alive.

Especially her.

Sera.

She’s standing in line with the rest of the probies, her jaw set, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared like she’s ready to go ten rounds with the mountain. She probably could. But I’m not taking chances.

Today’s agenda is fire shelter deployment under duress, containment strategies, and basic med evac protocols. Tori leads the medical drills. I handle the infernos.

“Containment scenario, full gear, five minutes to deploy. You screw this up, you could end up roasted marshmallows. Got it?”

They nod. Some mutter. Jamie asks, “Will we be covering how to protect ourselves from the wild animals?”

Everyone stops what they are doing.

She catches me off guard, but she raises a good question. Right now it certainly doesn’t feel like the fire is our greatest danger. “That’s a great question, Jamie. Let me figure something out. Maybe we can get everyone tasers or flare guns. Let me get back to you on that.”

The team nods their heads, temporarily appeased by being heard.

Sera just watches me. Calm. Collected. But her energy—it’s different. Not just focused. Charged. Like a match waiting to spark.

We run through live-burn simulations. Controlled flames. Smoke grenades. Heat lamps cranked to max. Sera maneuvers through it like she’s done this a hundred times before. Fluid. Smart. Too smart.

I dial up the pressure.

“Knowles! You’re lagging.”

“I’m not,” she snaps back, not missing a beat.

I step closer, forcing her to adjust her path through the maze of debris and firelines.

Her eyes flash. Defiant. Fire meets fire.

Good. I need to see her burn.

But not break.

Not here.

Not ever.

One hour later, the fire shelter drill morphs into an ember line containment exercise. Sera’s on point, flanking left while two others drag the hose line around the dummy fire. Tori’s voice buzzes through the comms, calmly walking them through emergency trauma wrap protocol.

That’s when I see it.

A faint shimmer curling in her wake, like a heat mirage that shouldn’t be there.

Then—flame.

Barely a wisp. A delicate lick of fire trailing off the heel of her boot. Just long enough to raise every hair on my arms.

No one else notices. Not yet.

I move fast, stomping the trail out with the heel of my boot, grinding it into the dirt until only scorched earth remains. My heart hammers as I straighten.

She didn’t mean to do that. I know she didn’t. But the fire… it wants out of her.

She turns back just as I lift my head. Her eyes narrow.

“Problem, trainer?” she calls, sarcasm masking something deeper.

“None you need to worry about,” I say, cool and clipped. I gesture to the hose line. “Get it moving, Knowles.”

She goes, but her eyes stay on me a heartbeat too long.

Yeah. She felt it too.

And if I noticed… how long before someone else does?

I glance sideways and catch Marcus watching me from across the line, his brow furrowed like he just saw something unusual. His gaze flicks from the scorched patch on the ground to my boot, then to Sera.

He smirks—subtle, knowing—and then turns back to his crew.

Damn it. I’ll have to keep an eye on him too.

The call comes just after noon.

I’m in the garage, hands deep in an engine rebuild I’ve been using to stay grounded, when my phone buzzes. The number’s local but unfamiliar. I wipe the grease from my palms and answer.

“Benson.”

A beat. Then, “It’s Deputy Tolan from Missoula County. We got the call for any missing persons matches?”

My spine straightens. “Yeah. Anything?”

“We ran dental and prints on your latest recovery. It’s a match—female, 24. Name’s Leah Marris. Reported missing three weeks ago by her roommate in Hamilton.”

Hamilton. Nearly two counties over.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“There’s more,” Tolan says. “We started cross-checking the other fire scene remains. Two more positive IDs came in this morning. One from Ravalli County, another from Clearwater.”

That makes three.

All missing persons from different towns. None reported in Lolo.

Which means…

“They weren’t killed here,” I say aloud, mostly to myself.

Tolan grunts. “Looks that way. They were moved. Dumped. Burned after death, probably. If we’re lucky, the fire didn’t destroy everything—Forensics might be able to confirm timeline.”

“Any connection between the victims?”

“Not yet. All female, all between twenty and thirty. That’s the only consistent thread.”

It’s enough of a thread.

“You find anything…or see anything, you let us know, huh?”

“Of course.” I hang up and stare at the garage wall, the old calendar curling at the edges from heat. A muscle jumps in my jaw. My wolf is pacing again, agitated by the scent of manipulation, of deliberate planning.

This isn’t a rogue attack. It’s not even a crime of passion.

This is organized.

Someone is killing women, transporting their bodies, and using fire to erase the evidence. But why drag them here—to the Bitterroot, to my town? Unless the fire sites themselves matter.

Ritual.

Or maybe...message.

I scrub a hand down my face, heart thudding with dread.

The killer’s not an arsonist playing with fire.

They’re trying to destroy evidence.

And they’re getting help—maybe even from someone inside this firehouse.

The weight of the day settles into my shoulders like the smoke in my lungs. I gather the crew in the main bay and go over the plans for Nicole's funeral service. There’s a weariness that hangs over everyone, a silent heaviness none of us can shake and that no one wants to talk about.

"Full dress uniforms. We’ll honor her right. She was one of us," I say, scanning their faces. Some look down. Others nod. Even Marcus doesn’t crack a joke, mired as he is in a melancholy that is rare for him.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.” He nods without looking up.

“I’d like you to deliver the eulogy for Nicole. You were closer to her than anyone,” I add.

Marcus barely responds, stripped naked without his playboy armor.

I look the rest of the crew dead in the eye. "Until this arsonist is caught, I don’t want anyone in the woods alone. Pairs only. No exceptions. Understood?"

They murmur their assent, some more enthusiastic than others. Doesn’t matter. They’ll follow the order.

Except for her.

I’m not leaving anything to chance.

I call Sera into my office.

She stands in the doorway, wary, arms crossed like she’s bracing for impact.

“I trust your staying put won’t be a problem,” I say evenly.

She lifts a brow. “It won’t.”

I move in closer, enough to feel her breath on my chest. “I mean it.”

“I heard you the first time.”

I’m trying to stay calm, but the heat between us is impossible to ignore.

“I know you can handle yourself against humans,” I murmur, “but this… this isn’t that. And in case you haven’t noticed, they’re accelerating. This time they didn’t even bother to burn the evidence.”

Lightning cracks outside, illuminating her eyes in a sudden flash.

That’s when it hits.

A ripple of power. Searing. Real.

I see us—by the lake. A glowing circle surrounding us. Blood on the rocks. Her hand in mine. A pull so fierce it aches in my chest.

The vision vanishes just as quickly, leaving us both rattled.

She blinks, stunned.

I pull back, pulse hammering in my ears. “What the hell?”

Neither of us speaks.

But the bond—whatever it is—is undeniable now.

And it's getting stronger with each passing day.

Three days later, the crew stands outside at the Lolo Cemetery.

The wind picks up, slicing through the pines that ring the cemetery like silent sentinels.

It smells faintly of snow and smoke. The mountains loom above us, and beyond them, an early fall storm brews.

The kind that passes through quickly and without warning.

Nicole’s casket sits at the front, draped in the station flag. A helmet rests on top, polished until it gleams. Flowers—white lilies and red carnations—surround the grave like offerings.

I stand at the back, arms crossed. This is not my show. I will let others take the lead for once. After all, what right have I to speak? She was slaughtered on my watch.

Sera stands nearby, stiff in her borrowed black dress, eyes fixed on the trees beyond the clearing. Tori, Rivas, Captain Greene—everyone is here. No one talks. We all have our suspicions.

Not an accident.

Not wildlife.

A personal attack for someone here.

A message.

But no one dares say it. The truth doesn’t belong here. Not yet. Today is for Nicole.

Marcus steps up to the podium. His usual swagger gone. He wears a tie that doesn’t quite fit, sleeves rolled once at the wrist like he couldn’t stand the formality. When he starts speaking, his voice is rough, broken.

“Nicole wasn’t supposed to be here long,” he says. “She told me her goal was six months. Just enough time to clock her hours and get back to Missoula. Big city girl. She hated the quiet. Said the trees made her feel like she was being watched.”

He swallows hard, looking down.

“But then she started laughing louder. Showing up early. Staying after shifts. Said the town was growing on her. Said maybe she’d stick around. Start a garden. Try hiking—God help her.”

A soft ripple of chuckles escapes, like air being released from a balloon.

“She was kind. She was clever. And she could call me on my bullshit faster than anyone I’ve ever met. I told myself she was just another flame. But she wasn’t. Not even close.”

His voice cracks. He doesn’t apologize for it.

“I should’ve told her.”

He steps back, blinking hard, and Jamie rises, sniffling into her sleeve. She’s holding a paper folded three times.

“Nicole was my best friend,” Jamie begins. “And the best partner I ever pulled hose with. She used to sing old ‘80s rock under her breath when we cleaned the gear. Called herself the Firehouse Diva.”

A watery smile.

“She believed in people. Even the broken ones. Especially the broken ones.”

She folds the paper and sits again, unable to go on.

Silence falls. No one stirs.

At last, Sera steps forward.

Noah shoots her a glance of concern, but says nothing.

She doesn’t go to the podium. Just stands beside the casket and places a single matchbook on top.

“Nicole’s spirit is still with us,” Sera says, as if she's staring at her ghost. Her voice is clear, almost too calm, as if she sees something that the rest of us don’t. “Her spark is still alive. It’s hiding. Waiting. And it will burn again when the time is right.”

The hairs on my arms rise.

“Nicole, we will find who did this to you,” Sera adds. “And they’ll learn what happens when they play with fire.”

There’s a hum in the air. Subtle, electric.

Even the trees seem to lean closer.

The pastor clears his throat, gently redirecting the service. But the damage is done.

The firehouse crew shuffles into the night, unsettled.

And the forest listens.