But Red races over to her two bunnies who are scrambling in their pen. They continue to thump their feet and repeatedly jump out of her reach. Red grasps Bangs even as the female rabbit tries to wiggle out of her arms. As Red dives to pick up Bombs, I realize she’s about to lose hold on the first one.
“Red,” I bark. “Go,” I point to the open window.
The crackle of wood grows louder and the front door is engulfed in flames. Smoke scrapes against my eyes and throat, overwhelming my senses. I cough, unable to see more than the vague outline of Red.
She is even more frantic to pick up Bombs. Unable to wait any longer, I drag Red to the window.
“I can’t leave him!” she cries out in panic.
“I got him. Go.” I yell.
She wastes precious seconds to search my face, as if she is trying to find the lie. Red openly says she won’t trust me, but right now, she doesn’t have a choice. I shove her out the window onto the fire escape ladder.
We have to get out of here or we are all going to be bones and ash.
Only when she’s out, do I run to the pen and scoop the terrified rabbit into my arms. I tuck Bombs under my arm, securing him before I go through the open window.
A wolf shifter putting himself in danger to save a rabbit’s life. Ridiculous.
As soon as I’m clear, fire explodes into the living room and I duck on instinct as flames shoot out of the window. The rabbit struggles against my bare torso, but I clamp him fast while being careful of his delicate ribs.
“Steady,” I say to him in what I hope is a soothing tone.
One flight down, Red is holding Bangs tight to her chest. Black soot smears her sweating face. Her oversized, messy bun has even more tendrils falling out than normal. Even in her dirty, fear-stricken state, she’s devastatingly beautiful.
“I got him.” I assure her.
Red closes her eyes as if in relief. Then she makes her way slowly but steadily down the fire escape and I follow.
On the street, a number of people have gathered, having either exited the apartments or emerged from adjacent buildings to watch the blaze. The firefighters wasted no time unfurling their hoses and charging inside.
We watch the flurry of activity in awe of the flames and hustle of emergency services. They charge in and out, while others spray the building with a powerful hose. But the fire went up so powerful, so fast, it’s taking time to get under control.
Some of the saved residents sit on the back of the ambulances with blankets about their shoulders and oxygen masks on their faces. I even force Red to use the mask for a little while when a paramedic comes by to check on us. My lungs have already expelled all the nastiness.
Two bodies are now zipped up in bags on gurneys. People who didn’t get out in time.
Tears clean tracks down Red’s sooty face. Her eyes are riveted on the body bags before they scan back up to her apartment. She thinks this is somehow her fault.
I want to wrap my arms around her. Let those hot tears fall on my bare chest and tell her she can let go of what she’s holding inside. She can give it all to me. She could never be too much. If she is the storm, I am the immovable rock who will be there from start to finish.
A lump forms in my throat.
Instead, I say, “I mean, I did say you should burn that ugly bra.”
Red twists to face me, her jaw falls so hard it nearly scrapes the ground. A murderous rage sparks in her pupils, even as she clutches her rabbit. The only sign she hasn’t gone totally apoplectic is her twitching eyelid.
I ignore her gobsmacked reaction and tell her what I’ve deduced. “It was a mage who set the fire.”
“What? How do you know that?” Her voice is even rougher than usual because of the smoke.
“It started too big, too fast, and right outside your door. When I saw it, the fire was several feet high, and the paint had only just begun to char. If it started from a smaller source and grew, like an electrical fire, the paint would have already been yellowed, if not blackened or bubbled.” The more I say, the more I crane my neck to watch for anyone dangerous lurking around.
“Rap had the place warded,” she protests.
“Fire mages don’t need to be in the building to start the fire. Whoever they are, they started it from outside. They wanted to drive us out into the open.”
We are a conspicuous target. Me, barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans with a backpack on one shoulder and a rabbit under the other, next to the sad, gorgeous girl wearing barely anything and nuzzling a bunny to her tear-stained face.
