The Fireman Finds His Flame: Moonchuckle Bay Romantic Comedy #4 Read online

  And, astonishingly, a flame shot out from his hands.

  The flame reached the woman and began to spin slowly, encircling her, swirling, not touching her or seeming to burn her.

  A lick of flame touched a necklace around her throat.

  Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

  And then the flame jumped to the counter.

  “Fire!” someone shouted, and his firefighter friends raced toward the bar.

  He couldn’t move. He was still staring at the woman, who seemed unharmed by the flames that had surrounded her.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms. He could see goosebumps on them from where he stood.

  While all around them, firefighters were moving to put out the flames he’d created, Tyberius stood in place, stunned. “You’re human! How can you be my Flame?”

  She tipped her head. “Excuse me?”

  He felt his heart and lungs contract again — and realized he had to get out of here before he hurt someone. He turned and pushed through the crowd, bursting out of the bar just in time to have another burst of flame shoot from his hands — and start the contents of a nearby trash can on fire.

  He finally had flame — and absolutely no control over it.

  He still didn’t understand how he could have flame. The people who’d raised him had said he was the last dragon. They’d rescued his egg when the last of the dragons were killed nine hundred years before and raised him in secret. They’d been the ones to teach him the folklore of his people — about the HeartFire and that a dragon’s Flame was his true mate.

  But this woman wasn’t a dragon. She both appeared and felt human. How could she possibly be his Flame?

  His lungs contracted again and he swore. There were humans coming up the road. He hurried around the corner and leapt into the air, switching into his dragon form as he flew.

  And, for the first time in his very long life, he opened his mouth to roar — and flame spewed forth!

  He had truly found his flame!

  Below, tourists were pointing and exclaiming excitedly that they’d seen the steampunk dragon kite! He wasn’t, but he liked to give them a show, so he did several rolls and loops.

  Then he put on a burst of speed and took off toward the lake, rising higher.

  He had to learn how to control his flame, or his career as a firefighter would be over. He could start a new career as an arsonist, but that didn’t fit well with his personality.

  He had to find out why this had happened.

  He had to see this woman again. To see if, in addition to finding his flame, he’d also found his Flame.

  That was a closer call than I’ve had in a long time! Who knew the Swan would follow me to Moonchuckle Bay so quickly? I thought I had another month, given the normal pattern of her pursuit.

  Will she never give up? I mean, really. Why won’t she just go away? It’s been thirty years. Thirty. I’ve had it. I’m going to have to kill her unless that warlock can do what my new friends say he can. For a certain price. I have the money. I’ll do it.

  After all, I don’t really want to kill anyone. I just want to keep the coat. It keeps me young and I won’t give that up. I can’t. Not at my advanced age.

  I stroke the feather coat. I love the feel of it, so light and soft, melded with my beautiful young skin.

  I won’t give it up.

  Lucky for me, the warlock agreed to meet with me next week.

  If he can truly hide the coat from the Swan, I can stay in town. Star in a movie. Live happily, without forever looking over my shoulder. As it should be.

  If the warlock can’t help, then the Swan will have to die.

  Serves her right. If she’d just stayed along her beach, she wouldn’t have put herself into danger.

  Kevlar Gloves are Better

  THE BAR WAS A MESS of confusion for the next thirty minutes, with firefighters spraying the flames with fire extinguishers. The foam covering the bar and ten feet in front of and behind the bar had closed Fangs for the night, and all the customers were safely escorted out.

  A local witch had already been summoned to cast a spell that would dispel the smoky odor. Apparently she could do in a couple of hours what human clean-up crews would take weeks and tearing out portions of the bar to accomplish.

  Mara was still stunned by what happened.

  Not just the fire, though that had been upsetting enough. But how it had happened.

  The firefighters had asked how the fire had started, but how could she possibly say that a man had raised his hands and sent it shooting toward her? That it had surrounded her without burning her, had touched her feather and sent a tingle of magic through her that had warmed her and made her feel loved? That it had then lit the bar on fire?

  No. She was trying to stay beneath the radar as she searched for her coat. Speaking the truth would bring way too much spotlight on her. So she just said what the other employees were saying — she had no clue how the fire had started.

  And the man who’d started it had looked as shocked as she’d felt — right before he’d run from the bar and she’d seen the blast of more fire outside the bar. He’d obviously not wanted to hurt anyone.

  Or he’d run out laughing, as the old joke went, but she didn’t think so.

  She had no interest in men. She couldn’t think about them while she hunted for the coat that would make her whole again.

  But she suspected this man would haunt her dreams for many nights and probably her waking hours, too.

  He was the first man who’d touched her in forever, and he’d touched her with fire.

  She turned back to the mess and pitched in with the cleaning so they could open for business the following day.

  A little freaked out — no, actually a lot freaked out — Ty dropped toward the back yard of his friend’s house, which was on Unicorn Trail.

  When he was several feet above the ground, he changed into his human form and landed lightly in a crouch.

  He listened, but didn’t hear anything — not even normal nighttime noises. A dragon landing suddenly tended to quiet the wildlife.

  He whispered, “I come in peace,” half-mockingly, but it usually worked. Tonight it didn’t. The creatures could, no doubt, sense his extreme agitation.

  He stood, went through the gate, and strode to the front door. The home belonged to his friend and one of his few true confidants, Walter Clemmons — a werewolf who’d been around for centuries. More importantly, he was the most highly respected paranormal historian in the world, with a PhD in PH. Along with several other PhDs, since he went back to school every few decades. These days he could just ace online courses. He’d collected a couple of MDs too, just for fun.

  Supernatural creatures all over the world called Dr. Clemmons for information and paid handsomely for it.

  Ty had earned several degrees of his own throughout the years, but he was more of a hands-on kind of dragon. He’d rather be doing something physical than something brainy.

  He knocked and realized, to his dismay, that he’d left knuckle imprints on the door. Great. As if his evening wasn’t messed up enough already.

  “Hold your horses,” he heard Walter call out in his Scottish lilt, fainter now after all these years in the States, and then the door swung open. When he caught sight of Ty, he grinned. “Come on in. I was just setting up a chess table, hoping for a partner.”

  In addition to being a werewolf, Walter also tended to have premonitions. Somewhat spotty ones.

  “You knew I was coming?”

  Walter shrugged. “I sensed someone was coming.”

  “Did you sense this?” Ty pointed to the door. “Sorry. I’ll pay to have it repaired.”

  Walter looked at the dents and then back at Ty. “Something’s troubling you.”

  “You think?” Ty felt his lungs contract again, and he swirled toward the street just in time so that when the jet of flame blasted off his h
ands, it blazed into the air, singeing the grass instead of burning his friend’s house down. He didn’t understand why his lungs would contract, other than as a dragon he would breathe out the fire.

  Ty turned back. Walter’s eyes widened in astonishment, and his mouth gaped.

  “Can we go inside?”

  Walter narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Will that happen again?”

  “How on earth should I know?” Ty demanded.

  Walter nodded. “I’ll just leave the study door unlocked in case you need to exit the house suddenly.”

  He followed Walter inside. The home looked like the inside of a hobbit’s house. Bookcases lined half the walls, overflowing with books. Walter loved knowledge. He’d finally accepted a Kindle from Ty as a Christmas gift — but claimed that he’d never give up his print books. As far as Ty knew, Walter had never even powered it up.

  Walter led him into his back study. He unlocked the French door, leaving it ajar so that the cool February air rushed in from the back deck.

  Walter pointed to a chair. “May I get you something to drink? A glass of halon 1301, perhaps?”

  Ty frowned. “Like in fire extinguishers?”

  “Yes, although the halons do damage the atmosphere, so they’re replacing them with less effective chemicals now.”

  The dry scientific facts had what Ty suspected was Walter’s desired effect. They made him stop pacing. “Why are we friends again?”

  “A glass of water it is, then. Definitely no alcohol on this flame. Take a seat.”

  Walter’s most recent PhD was in Biochemistry. If he hadn’t had such a good sense of humor, Ty couldn’t have hung out with him. Ty was more a fight-or-flight type of guy, usually choosing fight, though occasionally choosing fight-and-flight. Or fight-in-flight.

  Walter had, indeed, set up the chessboard. It was his priceless set of original Lewis chessmen which Walter had been given as a young pup in twelfth-century Scotland. Carved of walrus ivory, they were worn smooth from centuries of use. Walter had told him that only about a hundred known pieces remained between the British Museum in London and the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh, neither of which knew about Walter’s set.

  Ty regularly threatened to sell it on eBay.

  Walter returned a moment later with two glasses of water. This time, he pointed to one of the comfy armchairs. “Sit.”

  Ty dropped into the armchair and set the water on a coaster on the end table beside it.

  Walter sat across from him, the chessboard between them. He took a sip of water and set his glass down too. “Okay. What just happened?”

  “How should I know? But I set Fangs on fire.”

  “Saints in heaven! You set a vampire on fire?”

  “No, no. The bar, Fangs. I was there with the firefighters after our shift, and I saw her. Oh, Walter, she’s beautiful. And I felt my heart and lungs contract and then — fire came out of my hands.”

  “Like it did outside.”

  “Yes. Only first it encircled her, swirling around her, and touching this necklace or something at her throat, and then it started the bar on fire.” He managed a rueful laugh. “At least the other firefighters put it out quickly. Or at least I assume they did. I got out of there because I felt another one coming on.”

  “Wow. Did it burn her?”

  “No. She looked unharmed.” Ty scowled. “I thought you said this was impossible. That there were no other dragons left in the world and so I would never find my Flame.”

  “As far as I know, that is still correct. The last dragons were killed nine hundred years ago, and only your egg was spirited away and saved.”

  Ty raised his hands and studied them. “Then how is this possible?”

  “Who was the woman?”

  “I’ve never seen her before. She was bartending.”

  Walter leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Pretty?”

  “Gorgeous. Reddish-brown hair, a beautiful face. And totally human. I’d swear it.”

  Walter stood and crossed the room to one of the many bookcases that lined three walls in this large room. He pulled out a large tome from one wall, two from another, and came back to sit, balancing the books on his knees. He opened the first one and flipped through the pages, carefully, until he stopped and read. “The dragon population became extinct in the year 1117 after the Battle of Abdera, a city near Thrace in ancient Greece.”

  “How old is that book? It looks pretty ancient, itself.”

  “It was printed in the year 1518, not quite a hundred years after Gutenberg invented the printing press.”

  Ty took a sip of water. It actually helped. Maybe he was dehydrated now that he’d shot out the several bursts of flame. He drank the entire glass, set it down, and said, “I had no idea I was a fire-breather.”

  Walter stilled and looked up at Ty. “You breathed fire as a dragon?”

  Ty nodded.

  Walter shook his head, apparently trying to wrap his mind around it. Good luck with that. “You know what that means.”

  “It would mean I’ve found my Flame — except there are no female dragons remaining, as you’ve so pointedly reminded me time after time.”

  Walter sank back in the chair. “There can be no other explanation for the fire-breathing.”

  “And yet here I am, having breathed fire, with no Flame to my name.”

  Walter smiled at him gently. “I think you have found your Flame. You must have.”

  “You think this human woman could really be my mate? My Flame?” Ty didn’t believe it. Couldn’t allow himself to hope. “No female dragons, remember?”

  Walter nodded. “The stories are old, older than these books. We know that dragons cannot have human mates, but maybe there are special circumstances. Like if the last dragon on earth doesn’t find a flame, the species will entirely die out. Or maybe she’s some kind of supernatural that you can’t sense.”

  “I’ve always been able to sense supernaturals.”

  “Maybe your senses were so busy getting your flame on that you didn’t catch it.” Walter nodded. “I think she just might be your Flame.”

  While Ty tried to make sense of what was happening, Walter stood and put the books back on the shelves.

  There was a part of Ty that desperately wanted to believe he’d found his Flame, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the letdown if it wasn’t true. “But you don’t really know this, right? You’ve read about it in books, but maybe dragons come into their flame when they reach a certain age.”

  “You mean around nine hundred?”

  Ty groaned in frustration. “So what do I do now? I nearly set her on fire. I don’t think she’s going to look on me kindly.”

  “If she’s your Flame, she will.” Walter grinned. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Tomorrow you go back to the bar and talk to her. See if you can sense if she’s a paranormal creature. Ask her out.”

  “How do I keep from setting the bar on fire?”

  He grinned. “Wear asbestos gloves?”

  “Funny man.”

  “Right. Cancer risk. Kevlar gloves are better.”

  Ty raised his brows. “I’m serious.”

  “I am, too. Get a pair before you go in. Maybe it’ll help.”

  “You really think so?” Ty asked as he stood up.

  Walter shook his head. “No. I don’t. Want to play chess?” he asked, motioning to the antique set.

  Ty shook his head. “This is a really old set with special meaning for you. I’d hate to set it on fire.”

  “Aye, I’d hate that, too. I’ll see you tomorrow, when you report on what your Flame says.”

  Flirting Shamelessly is My Best Talent

  LUCKILY TY HAD A COUPLE of days off before his next shift at the station. He called Fangs to ask the huge werebear owner, Stanley MacGyver, when the new bartender would be there. He hoped the man hadn’t realized it was Ty who’d started the fire.

  After telling Ty that her shift started at 3:30
, Stanley gave a ribald laugh. “Got the hots for Mara, do you, dragon?”

  Dragonbumps rose at the sound, making Ty instantly angry enough that he didn’t care whether Stanley knew he’d caused the fire or not. “She’s pretty enough.”

  “She sure is.”

  Ty didn’t like the tone of lust in the other man’s voice. “Be sure not to touch her, bear.”

  “Or what? You’ll come in and punish me?”

  He just might, but all he did was repeat, “Do not touch her.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Indeed.” Since the word “sport” used to mean something sexual, he figured the bear had gotten his message. There were advantages to being a dragon. Most other weres — as well as vampires and other supernaturals — seemed to have a consensus that dragons were the biggest and baddest. They weren’t wrong.

  He showered and carefully chose what to wear. He wanted to look casual and yet handsome for this strange woman who may be — but probably wasn’t — his Flame.

  Hope crept into his heart, and he tried to tamp it down. Not yet. It might be nothing. It likely was nothing.

  But still the hint of hope lingered.

  With hours to go before her shift, Ty was full of nervous energy. He went out in his backyard to see if he could burn off some of his flame — literally. His home sat on a rise about a mile from the lake and was partially hidden from view by a stand of large trees. Which was good for him when he wanted to shift and fly over the lake and town. From his back porch, he had a great view of the surrounding area.

  So, hidden in among the trees, he tried to start a fire with his hands — but nothing happened. He couldn’t control when he did — or didn’t — flame.

  Going back inside, he paid bills and straightened up his house. Unlike Walter’s hobbit house, Ty’s home had large rooms and high ceilings. If he happened to change into a twelve-foot-tall dragon while inside, he wouldn’t break any walls.

  Finally, at three, he headed outside and climbed into his red Dodge Charger, a vehicle he’d chosen for its roominess. Even in his human form, he was six-four and weighed 240 pounds.