Page 2 of The Firefighter's Claim
"We're taking the stairs," he says, his voice somehow both gruff and gentle. "Keep your face against me."
I obey, turning into his chest as he navigates the burning hallway. The heat is unbearable, the noise deafening—wood cracking, glass shattering, the building itself seeming to groan in pain.
Yet in his arms, a strange calm washes over me. His breathing is steady and controlled, his movements confident. He isn't afraid, so maybe I don't need to be either.
We reach the stairwell, and he takes the steps two at a time, barely jostling me. I risk a glance up at his face as he navigates downward. He's removed his mask—probably to see better in the stairwell—and what I see steals what little breath I have left.
Beneath the soot and sweat is a face carved from stone—sharp jaw, straight nose, and eyes so intensely blue they cut through the haze around us. They're focused, determined, but when they flick down to meet mine, something changes in them. Something shifts.
For one suspended moment, the fire fades away. The danger recedes. There's just me, this stranger, and a connection that arcs between us like electricity finding the path of least resistance.
His arms tighten around me. I feel the expansion of his chest as he draws a sharp breath.
"I've got you," he says again, but something in his tone has changed. Like he's making a promise that extends beyond this rescue.
We burst through the exit door into the night air. Paramedics rush forward, but my rescuer doesn't immediately hand me over. Instead, he carries me to an ambulance, his gaze never leaving my face.
"What's your name?" he asks, voice rough with smoke and something else.
"Connie," I manage, still clutching the ridiculous teddy bear. "Connie Evans."
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but something equally powerful. "Dagger Wolfe."
Of course his name is something fierce and dangerous. It suits him perfectly.
He lowers me onto a gurney with surprising gentleness for hands so large. The paramedics swarm around me, but he doesn't step back. His presence remains solid beside me as an oxygen mask is placed over my face.
"You're safe now," he says, those blue eyes burning into mine with an intensity that makes me believe him completely.
I've never felt safer or more vulnerable in my entire life. And despite the chaos around us, despite the fact that my home is currently engulfed in flames, despite the fact that this man is a complete stranger—I don't want him to leave.
As if hearing my thoughts, his hand finds mine, engulfing it completely. "I'm staying right here," he says.
And somehow, I know that he’s going to take care of me.
two
. . .
Dagger
I kickdown doors for a living. Carry people to safety. It's the job. But the second I step into apartment 3C, something shifts inside me. She's huddled on the floor, this soft, curvy woman with a stuffed bear crushed to her chest, and my heart slams against my ribs with a force I've never felt before. Smoke swirls around her like she's the center of the universe. And just like that, she is.
Minutes earlier, I was just doing my job. The call came in at 3:08 AM—apartment fire, potential entrapments. Standard protocol. My team hit the ground running, adrenaline flowing but controlled. Clinical. I've pulled dozens of people from fires over my twelve years on the job. Young, old, fat, thin, hysterical, unconscious—they're all the same. Get in, get out, minimize risk, maximize survival.
"Wolfe, third floor, east side," my captain barks through the radio. "Reports of a tenant still inside."
I don't hesitate, taking the stairs with my gear feeling lighter than it should. The hallway's engulfed, flames licking up the walls, but fire doesn't scare me. Never has. I've walked through hell too many times to count.
I reach 3C. Door's locked. One solid kick and it splinters open.
That's when everything changes.
She's there, on her knees, this vision in an oversized t-shirt that does nothing to hide the generous curves beneath. Brown hair falls in waves around her face, and even through the smoke and tears, her eyes are huge, expressive pools I could drown in. She clutches a teddy bear like it's her lifeline, and the sight punches me in the gut.
This isn't just another rescue.
"I've got you," I call out, my voice rougher than intended. Something primal claws at my insides, demanding I reach her, claim her, protect her.
