Page 5 of Ashfall

“Copy,” Kade’s voice crackles through. Cool, efficient, reliable. “Already tracking them. We’ve got three hot spots showing acceleration beyond natural thresholds.”

Rafe breaks in a beat later. "That eastern ridge line's moving too fast. There's no natural source for the spread rate. You thinking arson again?"

"I'm thinking worse," I reply. "Keep your heads on a swivel. If you see anything out of place—glyphs, burned patterns, runes—I want it flagged and logged."

"Copy that," Rafe says, his tone suddenly sharper. "If this is like the last one, we might not be dealing with just fire."

"Exactly," I say. "And stay alert. We’ve got a fed on-site."

"Understood," Kade says. "What about her?"

"She’s with me," I say, voice low and final. "Eyes open. No mistakes."

Ember’s got a mouth on her, I’ll give her that. Intelligent with enough bite to draw blood if I let it. She talks like she’s fireproof. And gods help me, I want to believe she is. I shouldn’t find this amusing. My focus should be elsewhere. But my beast purrs at the challenge like he wants her beneath him and roaring.

I grit my teeth and lock down the urge to claim. Not yet. Not with her still trying to figure me out, still skeptical and human and beautifully defiant. My dragon roars inside me, snapping against my control like a beast denied a feast it's waited over a thousand years for. He doesn’t understand caution. He doesn’t care about consent or pacing. He just sees her—sees that she’s ours. I shove him down, jaw tight. The instinct to mark her, to press her to the ground and brand her with heat and power, is a razor under my skin. But I won't be that monster... not yet anyway.

Behind me, the rest of Blackstrike is dropping into the valley, one by one. Silent shadows in fire-resistant tactical gear—dragons in human form, each one a weapon tempered by centuries of control and pain. To the outside world, they’re just elite firefighters. Legends. Ghosts. But if the truth ever got out? Humanity wouldn’t thank us for saving them. They’d hunt us to extinction.

My men trust me to lead. To hold the line. To keep our secrets buried beneath smoke and ash, our enemies burning in the wake, and our beasts leashed just enough to walk among the humans without losing control.

But mine hasn’t been in check since the moment I saw her.

That fragile grip I’ve kept on my instincts, on my dragon, on the fire itself—it snapped the second I locked eyes with Ember. I’ve held the line through blood, battle, and betrayal. But the bond doesn’t care about discipline. The dragon doesn’t care about consequences. He only cares that she’s here—and that every second I don’t claim her feels like burning alive from the inside out.

I glance sideways. She’s studying me like I’m a lab sample she’s not sure won’t explode. Smart woman. She’s not wrong.

“The base camp commander indicated you don’t play well with others,” she says dryly, falling into step beside me without asking permission. Her stride is quick, confident. No flinch, no hesitation. “Should I be flattered I’m the exception, or worried I’m next on your hit list?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I don’t look at her. I can’t. The scent of her—smoke, adrenaline, and something clean and female underneath—crawls over my skin and makes my control slip another inch.

“Charming,” she mutters, but her tone has teeth. “Are you always this friendly, or am I just lucky enough to bring out your sunshine-and-rainbows side?” Her words are laced with sarcasm, but there’s curiosity beneath them too—like she’s poking at the surface to see what cracks open underneath.

“I don’t do friendly.” I stop walking, turn to face her fully. “I do results.”

She blinks once. Doesn’t back down. “You sound like a recruitment poster for an emotionally unavailable cult.”

That gets me. A snort slips free before I can stop it. Her mouth tips up at one corner—smirk, not smile. My dragon paces inside me like he’s decided she’s not just mate worthy—she’s our fated mate. And if I don’t keep a tight leash on him, he’ll make that very clear in very public ways.

"You poke hard enough, you might just find a soft spot," I say, voice low, rough. “Although you can probably expect to burn your fingers in the process.”

I break eye contact first, forcing my focus back to the wildfire. We’re standing near the edge of a ridgeline overlook. Below, the flames chew through old-growth pine with surgical intent—too direct, too focused. This isn’t a natural spread. It’s a fucking strategy.

“Smoke pattern’s wrong,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes as the fire creeps in unnatural lines.

The column rises too clean, too symmetrical, like it's obeying something. I've flown over enough hellscapes to know the difference between wildfire and warfare. This is something else. Someone is guiding this, designing it. The smoke curls like it's following orders—sharp edges where there should be chaos. And every instinct in me screams this wasn't just lit. Someone planned it.

“Yeah.” Ember steps closer, shielding her eyes with one hand as she scans the burn. “It’s moving in deliberate vectors. Controlled intensity. Like it’s skipping trees.”

“It is.” I gesture toward the map display being projected via my wrist device. “There. There. And there. Same acceleration curve. That’s not wind. That’s ignition zones spaced for maximum spread.”

“Which would mean… multiple ignition points,” she finishes, voice lower now. “Shit..”

I nod once. “We’ve seen similar signatures upstate and in Colorado, Oregon, and Montana as well. Whoever’s behind this is moving fast.”

“You think it’s one guy?”

“No. I think it’s one dragon.”

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