THE FIRE SAGA

FLAME 66 - TRANSFORMATION PT. 1

Brody shifts into his wolf-bear form, and there isn't a graceful way for that to happen without me landing like a ton of bricks on the hardwood floor. I probably should be frightened, but I'm far too dazed to emotionally react to the towering beast above me, his frothing jaws dripping down and splattering onto my heated cheeks. Gross. So freaking gross. Wolf-bear has a name now. Grody.

It's Derry's fear that grounds me. I can't make out the words he's shouting over the buzzing noise accosting my eardrums. Through the disorienting fog comes Grody's snarl as he whips his head around to Derry.

I begin to regret my decision. Perhaps the idea to force my assistance wasn't a good one. I expected an argument, which would be easy enough to win, but I didn't expect to plead my case to the beast inside my best friend. Can I even reason with it? Is Brody still Brody when he shifts, or is he something else entirely? What level of control does he honestly have? Most importantly, I didn't consider the danger of Brody turning into Grody, then turning on Derry. Hard, hard lesson learned here.

Don't move, I project.

Grody roars a warning, and Derry stops in the doorway, tensing every muscle in his quivering body. His expression says, where exactly can I go?

While Grody's hovering over me, my body pinned underneath his mass, I'm not scared the creature will have me for dinner. Derry's clearly the main course.

Back up, I advise him.

Derry's golden gaze meets mine. He blinks a few times, draws his brow together, and lets out a frustrated sigh. He doesn't like letting me lead, not when I'm fixing to guide myself right over the edge if it means Grody joins me.

Slowly, I add after he's conceded the only option is to obey.

What else can he do? He isn't strong enough to pull a two-ton creature off me, and I certainly can't budge him. Besides, if Grody decides to eject Derry from the situation, he may trample me in the process. One misstep will turn me into a wolf-bear paw pancake. Subjectively delicious. Not the right kind of cake.

Derry lifts his hands up in an attempt to placate Grody's need for dominance. I hope Grody understands the flag Derry's waving is obviously white. I'm concerned he's seeing only red and will take to charging any minute. Bet he'd give those Pamplona bulls a run like no other.

Grody's rumbling chest stills, but the growling persists. The noise hurts my ears. When he gnashes his teeth, his jaw power incites a pathetic squeak of a yelp from me. This serves to redirect his attention back to my compromising position. I'm not digging the scrutiny. At least it's aimed somewhere other than Derry.

He steals my breath by settling his weight on me. If it hadn't been impossible to slide out before, any opportunity to escape is methodically thwarted. "Squishing me," I wheeze, causing Derry to dart forward.

Grody's less than pleased by this advance, however small, and whips his head back around to roar another warning. Derry halts immediately, but his panic is on the brink of overwhelming common sense. He's going to play hero. My desire is zero for either of us to end the day as a discarded chew toy. With Grody's gleaming canines visible, it's difficult to remember my friend is the formidable creature.

Step back and shut the door behind you, I order, hoping his departure will calm the beast.

Derry's eyes lock onto mine again, and I swallow hard. I can't fight you both.

"No way," he mouths. "Together, remember?"

Grody growls louder, the rumble in his chest vibrating every bone in my body. I'm not discounting Derry's supportive role, but having him in the room is escalating the danger.

Please, trust me, I beg him, my utter desperation the only thing that could get him to shirk his conscience.

He takes an unsteady step back. Grody shifts slightly, and I visualize myself as a single, thin line. Does he even realize how close he is to crushing me?

As the door latches, I breathe a sigh of relief. Having Derry safely out of sight strengthens my resolve. Maybe I can talk sense into Grody without the unnecessary influx of testosterone.

Grody wants a display of deference, but I'm not letting the big, bad wolf-bear bully me into submission. I'd rather lose my head than bow it to him or anyone else.

The situation is delicate, requiring calculated control on my part. I have to cool him down. He needs to not feel threatened by me. More, he needs to see I'm not threatened by him. That's not pee in my pants. I swear.

My next words have to be perfectly constructed and flawlessly delivered. They should express what I'm thinking in a way he can appreciate. They should be firm, respectful, and, above all, spoken soon because if he doesn't get off me, I'll pass out from the restricted airflow.

"Get your big, stupid head out of my face, Furball."

His hot breath blows back my hair with the velocity of a giant hair dryer. Only it's not dry. Actually, it's disturbingly damp. So gross.

"Seriously?" I complain. "Back off before I experiment on what smells worse, your breath or singed fur! My fire is the independent variable."

He blows out another breath through his nose. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was scoffing at me. A wolf-bear can't scoff, right?

"You don't scare me." I use all my inner strength to keep my voice even, unwilling to admit he's successfully intimidated me.

Despite his upper hand, I'm not ignorant to the one thing I have in my favor—his directive. He can't hurt me. Not that he'd intentionally do so, but he's been given orders to protect me. He can't disobey those, even in a heated moment. Phelan's dictation rules him, in the vicinity or not.

He doesn't seem inclined to let me up in the near future. In fact, he drops down a notch, and even though it's a mere fraction of his weight, it's like my whole body is being steam pressed.

Grody's fur distracts me from my ineffectual swatting. I've seen him in creature form plenty, but it's fair to say I haven't been as up close and personal to his other half before. While I'd love to ruminate over the savage monster and satin pelt contrast, Derry's impatience won't allow for a full-out exploration. Hero delusions are tough to keep at bay. Plus, I'm really not hungry for a hot dog dinner.

Is there anything more to say? I can drone on and on trying to hit a nerve or put aside all my pride and do the logical thing. Logic wins. "Please," I beg.