Page 4 of The Firefighter's Claim
"I'll be back," I growl, squeezing her hand once before releasing it. It's not a suggestion or a possibility. It's a promise carved in stone.
She nods, those eyes never leaving mine until I turn away.
I force myself back into professional mode, returning to the burning building, helping evacuate two more residents. But the entire time, my awareness remains split—part of me doing the job, the larger part locked onto the ambulance where they're treating Connie.
MyConnie.
The thought should shock me. It doesn't. From the moment I saw her, huddled on the floor with that ridiculous teddy bear clutched to her chest, something clicked into place. I've been a firefighter for twelve years, and I've never felt this—this overwhelming certainty, this primal need to possess and protect.
Through each evacuation, each check of a vacant apartment, my eyes track back to her. The paramedics have her sitting up now, the oxygen mask still in place. Her hair falls around her face in messy waves. Even from here, I can see the curves that her oversized shirt can't hide. Soft. Perfect. Made for my hands.
The fire's under control now. Three apartments destroyed, several more with smoke and water damage. The residents huddle in groups, shocked and teary-eyed, clutching whatever possessions they managed to save.
Connie has nothing but that teddy bear.
She'll have me.
I strip off my gear, leaving my captain to handle the paperwork. Nothing matters but getting back to her. My boots crunch across broken glass and debris as I make my way to the ambulance.
The paramedic tries to intercept me. "Sir, we need to transport her?—"
"I'm going with her," I cut him off, my voice leaving no room for argument.
Connie's eyes find mine over the paramedic's shoulder, and there it is again—that recognition, that pull. She needs me as much as I need her. I don't know how I know this, but I do.
I climb into the ambulance, taking the seat beside her gurney. She reaches for my hand immediately, and the simple gesture of trust nearly breaks me. How long has it been since anyone reached for me like that? Not out of duty or obligation but out of genuine want?
"Thank you," she whispers behind the mask.
I shake my head. "Don't thank me for doing what I was born to do."
And it's true. In this moment, I know with bone-deep certainty that I was born to find her, to save her, to keep her.
The ambulance doors close, sealing us together in this small, sterile space. Her fingers tighten around mine as the vehicle starts moving.
"You're going to be okay," I tell her, my thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I'll make sure of it."
It's more than a comfort. It's a declaration. A binding contract.
She was mine the moment I saw her. She just doesn't know it yet.
three
. . .
Connie
The emergency roombuzzes around me, a blur of scrubs and beeping machines. My lungs still burn with each breath, but the oxygen mask is gone now, replaced by a nasal cannula that tickles my nostrils. I'm alive, which seems miraculous considering the inferno I just escaped. But what's even more unbelievable is that he's still here—the mountain of a man who carried me from the flames. Dagger. He stands like a sentinel at the foot of my bed, arms crossed over his massive chest, those blue eyes never leaving my face.
"You don't have to stay," I say for the third time, my voice still raspy from smoke inhalation. "I'm sure you have other... firefighter things to do."
Firefighter things? God, I sound like an idiot. But his intensity scrambles my thoughts, makes forming coherent sentences nearly impossible.
"I'm where I need to be," he answers, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with shock or exposure.
He's changed out of his gear into FDNY sweats and a t-shirt that strains across his shoulders. Despite the casual clothes, he looks no less imposing. No less like a force of nature contained in human form.
A nurse bustles in, checking my vitals with practiced efficiency. "Blood oxygen is improving," she says cheerfully. "Doctor will be in soon to discuss discharge."
