When he looked back, Chris had Hunter pinned in the surf. The waves had turned more aggressive, crashing into them both. It wasn’t quite deep enough to hold Hunter’s face underwater, but close.
“Come on,” said Michael. “Both of you.” His voice hadn’t lost the rough edge, and he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Using abilities out in the open is reckless.” The Guides didn’t need much evidence to justify killing a full Elemental.
Chris was breathing hard. “I let him up once already.”
Michael smacked him on the side of the head. “Well, let him up again! Jesus, it’s three o’clock in the morning and we’re half a mile from home! Knock it off and start walking or you can both spend the night stuck in the sand.”
Chris didn’t move. His jaw was set.
Hunter snorted and shook water off his face. “Whatever.”
Michael dropped to a knee in the sand and leaned down close. “Try me.”
Hunter glared back, but Michael didn’t look away. He had a limit. They’d found it.
Chris broke first. He let Hunter go with a shove and a curse, turning his back on them both to head for the house.
Michael straightened and put out a hand to pull Hunter to his feet.
After a moment, Hunter took it. When he was on his feet, he pushed wet hair out of his eyes and turned to follow Chris. Somewhere in the distance, a siren kicked up, and Michael hoped a well-meaning neighbor hadn’t called the cops about all the crashing around in the woods.
He caught Hunter’s arm. “What’s up with you two?”
The response was clipped. “Ask Chris. He’s the one running around in the woods when we’re all waiting for a war to start.”
“I’m asking you.”
Hunter jerked free. “What, he gets a free pass for being shady, and you’re going to come down on me?”
Michael didn’t have an answer for that.
Hunter scoffed and stormed into the woods, his dog by his side. Another siren joined the first. Then a third. They sounded closer.
“Christ,” Michael muttered. This was all he needed. He had no idea how he’d explain what they’d been doing out in the water. Another gust of wind pulled at his damp clothes, making him shiver.
Then he caught the glow of something red, far ahead between the trees.
A lot of red. Michael stopped short.
Chris reappeared, crashing through the underbrush. His eyes were wide and panicked. “Mike,” he gasped. “Fire. There’s a fire—the houses—”
Michael stopped listening.
And started running.
Hannah rocked with the motion of the fire truck and rubbed her forehead, trying to scrape off a layer of sweat or soot or whatever was caked under the edge of the helmet.
Three calls back to back, and she was ready to return to the firehouse so she could lose the gear, take a shower, and go home. Her twelve-hour shift had ended at midnight, yet here she was, still riding the truck at 3 AM.
But they’d gotten yet another call while packing up from the MVC on Solley Road, and Chief Kidder had fired up the sirens without asking her opinion.
A week ago, an accidental all-night shift would’ve meant she could look forward to an early-morning cup of coffee with her boyfriend, Michael Merrick.
Then again, a week ago Michael hadn’t been giving her the cold shoulder. Lately, he was always too busy to do so much as talk on the phone.
Fine. Whatever. Like she had time in her life to deal with relationship drama. This was why she didn’t date. She had one male in her life who really mattered, and he was five years old and called her Mommy.
The sirens screamed overhead, and she wished they could ride without them for once. Her head was killing her.