Page 35

Emilio lay back on the cold slate of the rooftop and threw his arm over his face to block out the romantic view of the stars above him.

Maybe he should sit up so he could look out at the semi-industrial cityscape surrounding the clubhouse instead.

How had he come to this? Waiting in MC territory for his husband to come home and fuck him like he really was the puppy Rocco called him. A lovesick one.

He’d gone to help Silas when they returned from the Silverlake Pack’s territory to try and get his head on straight.

As his hands tied the familiar repetitive knots in that basement, and his mind had a chance to rest, he’d finally let himself admit there was no going back from this thing with Rocco.

The realisation had already been there, unacknowledged.

He’d known it since that conversation where Rocco had revealed what the potential bond felt like to him.

Emilio’s wolf was never letting go. He was never letting go.

And he wasn’t going to let his mate wander around vulnerable without the healing benefits of a bond for much longer.

It was probably just as well Rocco had been called away, though.

Aria would be insufferable if another of her packmates mated on a rooftop.

Around him, the night was quiet except for the distant noise of traffic and the soft breeze.

The shielding on the building he was lying on top of was too good for any noise from its occupants to bother him, but he was pretty sure the party had wound up a while back, anyway.

For as rowdy as they were, the club was a lot like the pack.

Family was important, and they hadn’t partied the night away right before Christmas.

While none of the supernatural community ascribed to the humans’ religions, they still had fun drawing out the magic of certain holidays to entertain their children.

Flying magical reindeer made a lot more sense when you grew up around air witches who could levitate objects around them and shifters of all species.

Witches liked any excuse for a party, and shifters loved any excuse for gifts.

It was part of providing for your pack. Like mate-feeding, only a little less intimate. Or maybe intimate in a different way.

As much as he’d been resisting the mating bond with Rocco, he’d known what he would give him for Christmas as soon as Rocco had revealed he knew about his artwork.

The only question was how far his mate was willing to go.

Checking his phone, Emilio saw it was long after midnight and into the early hours of Christmas Eve morning.

How far his gift to Rocco would take them was tomorrow’s problem. He could freak out about it later.

Searching for the equilibrium that had escaped him since Rocco spun into his life like a tornado, Emilio drew in a deep breath and immediately shot to his feet, his wolf surging inside him as his fangs and talons emerged in a partial shift.

Smoke. Acrid and wrong.

It was coming from somewhere inside the building below him, drifting out through the window they’d left open.

Swinging himself down into Rocco’s room, Emilio grabbed a stray T-shirt, wrapping it around his face to protect his sensitive nose.

His mate’s scent on the fabric was a reassuring presence that had him reaching for his phone as he ran across the room.

Pausing with his hand on the door, he sent off a quick message to his mate. It didn’t even occur to him not to help Rocco’s club—his pack.

Emilio:

Fire at the clubhouse. I’ll get everyone out.

It was lucky he’d stopped to message his mate because the heat coming from the wood beneath his hand spoke to a gathering inferno on the other side. He wasn’t stupid enough to open the door. If he succumbed to a backblast even briefly, he wouldn’t be able to wake everyone.

Emilio’s breathing wheezed, and his eyes streamed with pain as he spun around and threw himself back out the window, rolling onto the concrete below unharmed as he sprinted back toward the main entrance of the clubhouse.

There was something not right about this fire.

Smoke affected shifters as much as anyone else until their body healed the damage, but Emilio was still struggling to breathe even outside in the cold, fresh air.

His movements drew the attention of the gate guard, and Emilio shouted over his shoulder as he went. “Fire! Sound an alarm!”

He heard the witch swear and grab out his phone, presumably to alert the club.

Slamming open the door, he drew in a deep breath and ran forward, shouting as loud as he could.

The smoke hadn’t reached the downstairs space yet, but that ominous acridity burned down his throat with every cry, regardless.

Blaze and Silas came running out of the ground-floor office as he reached the stairwell up to the living quarters .

“What’s going on?” the President asked as Emilio felt his magic flooding the space.

“I smelled smoke from the roof,” Emilio said, not pausing as he continued his way up the stairs.

Whatever flames had been growing had been immediately stopped by Blaze’s magic, but scorch marks spread across the carpet and up the wall where they’d been until a minute ago. It had done nothing to dissipate the smoke, though. Cloying smoke that had Emilio staggering like he’d been physically hit.

“Fuck, this smoke is deadly and the air witches are all elsewhere. We need to evacuate,” Storm said.

Holding his breath with aching lungs so he didn’t let any more of whatever the substance was into his body, Emilio used his superior speed to run from door to door, smashing each one down.

The sound-dampening spells the witches used to keep their privacy might’ve stopped them from noticing his cries, but they were soon running for the exit to Blaze and Storm’s curt commands once they’d been woken.

Emilio’s vision was darkening from his refusal to breathe as he made it to the last door he hadn’t opened.

The one just across the hall from Rocco’s, where the scorch marks were most pronounced.

Pushing his way inside, he found a silver-haired woman collapsed on the floor, one hand reaching for the door.

She’d been tough as nails when he’d met her briefly earlier in the night.

Now, she looked pale and strange lines of silvery black streaked from her lips up her cheek.

Bending down, he scooped her up into his arms before heading straight for the window.

They both needed to get away from the smoke or they wouldn’t last much longer.

As he yanked the window wide open, a torrent of air tingling with familiar power blew through the woman’s bedroom .

Oh, good. Rocco’s back , he thought, his mind growing slow and sluggish.

The wind lulled him into a false sense of security, and he drew in a gasping breath too soon.

The smoke streaming around them flew down his throat to sear through his lungs like acid.

Yanking the window wide open, Emilio cradled his body around the woman’s before easing them both over the sill and dropping down to the ground below.

Distantly, he heard a sickening crack, followed by his nerves misfiring. What had happened? Everything was dark around him and the night was cold. The only reassuring thing was the warm weight pinning him to the hard ground. At least the woman was still alive.

“Emmy!” a voice screamed.

The weight was pulled off him as familiar air magic wrapped around him, encasing him in his mate’s presence.

The pain in his lungs grew even worse and his mouth opened in an aborted gasp as every drop of oxygen was sucked from him in an instant.

The tainted air he’d breathed in swirled out of his mouth like an evil spirit being exorcised as Rocco’s magic flooded through him.

“Don’t you dare die on me, puppy,” Rocco’s voice whispered, rasping.

Just as he was certain his lungs had been suctioned into non-existence, pure life-giving air was forced back into them as his mate used his power as some sort of magical ventilator.

The air continued being forced in and out of his lungs until Emilio finally started coughing and hacking and could gasp in a breath under his own control.

“Help him,” Rocco’s voice snapped, still sounding distant despite his blurred form leaning so close.

A hand was placed on his chest, and the sensation of cool water spread through his veins. Blinking hard, he forced himself to focus, taking in Storm’s concerned face hovering next to his mate’s.

“What?” Emilio gasped, the words like sandpaper on his abused throat.

“Hush. I got it out of your lungs. Let Storm clear it out of your bloodstream,” Rocco said, rearranging him so his head was pillowed on Rocco’s legs and his mate’s fingers could stroke through his hair.

“Hurts,” Emilio croaked.

“That would be because you just breathed in smoke laced with silver and then jumped out a window and broke both your legs,” a concerned voice said—Blaze’s.

“Rest, puppy. I’ve got you,” Rocco murmured.

So he did.

Emilio woke to bright lights and raised voices.

“I’m telling you, I saw Andy here,” Rocco snapped.

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Brand shouted.

“And if that’s the case, he was here for you ,” Storm added, voice as chilly as his namesake. “The scorch marks are right under your door.”

“And how is that my fault?”

“We never should’ve taken Rocco in. He put his family at risk with his stalking before he came, and now he’s putting us at risk. He needs to be dealt with,” Brand said.

Adrenaline flooded away some of the haziness he was struggling under as the treasurer’s words dragged him back to some semblance of consciousness. Shoving himself up into a sitting position, Emilio swayed where he sat.

“Careful, puppy,” Rocco murmured, turning to come sit beside him on the couch he’d been reclining on so Emilio could use his body as a support.