Page 17 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter sixteen

Burning Embers

NOAH

T he motel blaze is hotter than expected. Not in scale, but in how stubborn the fire clings to the structure, like it has no intention of dying quietly. Smoke bellows from the cracked windows in angry, coughing gusts, the air thick with melting plastic and scorched wood.

I drag the hose line forward, barking orders to the probies behind me. "Watch your step. That beam's about to go." They adjust, echoing my command with rookie urgency. I check my corners, clearing one room at a time. All clear.

But my thoughts aren’t here—not in this building, not even on this fire. They’re with her.

I sent Sera on the second truck on purpose. After what just happened in the woods, we need space. I need space.

Last night shook me, more than I’ll admit to anyone but myself. If she’s going to lie to me—if she’s still meeting with god-knows-who in dark SUVs and dodging every real question—I need some damn clarity before I let myself get swallowed whole by whatever bond is growing between us.

The second truck arrives in a plume of red and gold lights. I see her immediately. Even in full turnout gear, helmet on and soot-streaked, my wolf recognizes her in an instant. My body reacts like it’s been deprived of oxygen.

And then I see Marcus.

He reaches for her arm to help her down. Says something that makes her laugh. I can’t hear it from here, but her magical smile hits me in the chest anyway.

Too close, Marcus. Too damn close.

I don’t say it out loud, but my wolf growls the words like a warning drum in my ribcage. I force myself to look away, to keep working, keep leading. We’ve got three probies on this scene and an entire structure threatening collapse.

But then—movement. Subtle. Just at the edge of vision.

Two figures stand at the tree line.

Too tall to be hikers. Too still to be normal. Even from this distance, my senses prickle—sharp with fur and menace. Werewolves.

Are they watching? Waiting? Escaping? Were they the ones who started this fire?

I move to the edge of the scene for a better look, but a support beam groans above us, splitting with a crack like thunder. One of the probies stumbles, distracted by the sound. “Focus!” I shout, lunging back into motion. “Everyone out, now!”

The ceiling shudders, raining dust and sparks.

A high-pitched creak slices the air—then the beam drops with a shriek of warped metal and splintered wood. It’s coming down fast and heavy, right over Taylor’s head.

“Move!” I roar, barreling forward.

He freezes, wide-eyed and off balance, tangled in the hose line. I dive, grabbing the strap on his turnout coat and yanking him back with all I’ve got. We hit the floor just as the beam slams into the space he was standing, exploding into a mess of flame and debris.

The impact knocks the wind out of me. My shoulder screams in protest, but I drag Taylor to his feet anyway.

“You good?” I bark.

He nods, coughing, sweat streaking through soot.

“Go! Get out!” I shove him toward the exit as more creaks echo overhead.

The structure’s minutes from collapse now. I catch sight of Jamie herding a few stragglers out, bless her, and I stay low, heart pounding, adrenaline spiking.

It looks like it’s clear for the time being—But I can’t shake the feeling this fire is just another message.

By the time I glance back, the tree line is empty.

I’ll investigate later. Right now, I’ve got responsibilities—and one very disturbing feeling curling in my gut. Despite us being in town, within sight, this fire didn’t start on its own.

And that means the arsonist (arsonists) are getting more brazen.

The fire is finally out. Steam rises from the charred remains of the motel like ghosts trying to escape. I yank off my helmet, sweat pouring down my temples, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The smell of scorched drywall clings to everything.

As the trucks start packing up, I make my way across the rubble, eyes scanning the debris with a practiced hunter’s focus. I’m not just looking for flare-ups. I’m looking for something more—something off...evidence.

There. Tucked under a collapsed beam near the stairwell, blackened and half-buried in soot, is what I came for.

The parking lot video camera.

I crouch, wrap it in a clean cloth, and slide it into my jacket pocket. My fingers itch, remembering the last time I watched video footage. The wolf. The strike. The unnatural precision of it all. It didn’t just happen. It was intentional.

Behind me, footsteps crunch over glass and ash. I don’t need to turn. I can feel her.

Sera.

Her presence is like a flicker of warmth in a frozen cave. She falls in step beside me, just close enough that I can smell her skin through the smoke. She doesn’t say anything at first, just surveys the wreckage with tired eyes.

Then, voice low but steady, she says, “We could pool our resources.” Her eyes search mine, not just for agreement but for trust, for something more than this truce we’re dancing around.

I glance at her. She’s serious. Her face is grim but open. It’s a good first step.

I nod once. “Yeah. I could use the help.”

Her hand moves toward her jacket. For a second, I think she might reach for mine, but instead she pulls out a crumpled evidence bag and passes it to me without fanfare.

“Do you want to turn it in,” she asks, “or should I?”

I take it from her slowly, deliberately. “I’ll handle it.”

She just nods.

But inside, my instincts are howling.

Too close, too close, too close.

The pull between us is magnetic and primal and maddening. But I can’t afford to be distracted. Not now. Not with threats circling us in the woods like sharks drawn to blood.

I need space. Air. Anything but her scent clouding my head.

“Stay here,” I order as I head toward Captain Greene, who has just arrived on the scene.

“What’ve we got, Benson?” I hear as I approach.

“Motel fire. No obvious cause…yet. We do have some evidence though.” I hand him the bag I just got from Sera. I consider whether to turn over the video camera I picked up or view it by myself first.

The Captain is looking off, unfocused, impatient. He smells like he forgot where the showers were. He’s got me worried.

I know his history. We’ve talked about it. How he came back from Afghanistan a mess. No good for anyone. Not the crew he had just started with at Firehouse 333. Not his wife. Or himself. He was drinking a bottle of rum everyday just to keep the memories at bay.

After two years of that and an over-achieving increase to two bottles per day, he was thrown off the crew, his wife left him, and he ended up in the hospital. The doctor told him his liver would give out before his next birthday…unless he changed something.

It took six months, but he did it. Of course, it was too late for his marriage. She had moved on. But he was able to return to the firefight on a trial basis. That trial lasted over thirty years and three promotions, and I’ve never seen him take a drop since. That can’t be easy.

He keeps the firehouse—and himself—disciplined and razor-focused, because there is no other choice. There is simply too much at stake.

Too much at stake? I know that feeling. I look back at the remains of the motel fire. The crew runs its final checks and searches for clues. Sera is in the heart of it all, holding out her hands to sense what others may miss. For the crew, the stakes have never been higher.

“Get back to your crew,” he fires at me, grumpier than usual.

I don’t stop him.

He is exceeding his limits. I fear what I have may push him over the edge. One more unexplainable image could break his carefully-crafted world, and then what?

No. I need more time with this. I leave the camera in my pocket and head across the street to where I saw the wolves in the trees earlier.

But as soon as I get twenty feet in, I hear the crunch of leaves behind me.

Damn it.

I spin, and she’s there—too close, too tempting, too much.

“I said stay back.”

She just lifts a brow and pushes through a branch like it’s her birthright. “Yeah, that’s not really my thing.”

Of course it isn’t. I increase my strides, already well into the tree line.

Of course she has to follow, smelling like smoke and power, stirring up everything I’m trying to hold down.

I try to cut her off before it’s too late. “You don’t understand—”

A sharp tang of blood cuts through my sentence.

Shit. It’s already too late.

It hits me fast. No warning. No time. Just a wall of scent—sweat, earth, old magic—and the hair on the back of my neck rises.

Too close. They're already here.

I throw out an arm, forcing her behind me just as the first growl shatters the silence.

“Run,” I breathe, but there’s nowhere to go.

A snarl tears through the darkness to our left, and before I can shift or draw power, six wolves break through the brush—big, vicious, and clearly not from any pack I know.

Teeth bared. Eyes glowing amber.

We’re surrounded.

And I’m not sure we’re making it out of this one alive.