Page 22 of Playing with Fire

I never needed to come out of the fireplace, right? At least not until I reversed back to human.

Naked, in Chief Samuel Quinn’s house, on a rug, sprawled in front of his fireplace. Naked. The naked part was really important. Unless the magic gave me some warning, which it usually didn’t, I’d end up giving him quite the show. With my abysmal luck, not only would he get an eyeful, it would happen in the most embarrassing place possible, like on a busy street in downtown Manhattan. No matter what, I was screwed.

Or not.

Damn.

“So, there’s a small problem. The station just called, and they need me to come in. There’s a situation. While I’d love to leave you to your enjoyment of my fireplace, you need to come with me.”

But I had just gotten comfortable. The fire was perfect, roaring around my head and keeping me so nice and warm. I had found a slice of heaven, and I had to move already? “No,” I wailed. “My fire. Mine!”

“I’m really sorry. I’ll have to douse it.”

Quinn wanted to douse my fire? Fury at the thought of so much wasted wood and flame burst through me, but I squished it back so I wouldn’t do something stupid like yell at him. How dare he want to douse my fire? I’d show him the error of his ways. I snorted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and reined in my temper. “Why sor-ree? Not your fault.”

Those words cost me, especially since he wanted to take my fire away from me. Still, he was a cop, and he had to go in when called. It really wasn’t his fault. “Must work.”

I understood work. I had to do too much of it to barely get by.

Quinn sighed. “And then there’s the other small problem. I have no idea how I’m getting you to the station. They’re supposed to send a truck for scheduled shifts, but I can’t wait that long.”

“Wait. Mo-ment.” I rolled my body so I could get my hooves under me, restrained the instinct to hook my claws into his floor for better balance, and wiggled my head and horn free of the comforting confines of the fireplace. To keep from setting his home on fire extracting myself from the flames, I devoured every last scrap of wood in the hearth, crushing the charred bits between my teeth and ripping the fire-hardened chunks apart with the help of a hoof. I choked and coughed several times in my hurry to swallow. Within minutes, I reduced the fire to nothing more than a few piles of ash and embers.

Bleh, ash. I licked it up anyway to be safe.

“And that would be another thing Yale neglected to mention. I guess I won’t have to douse it after all. That just leaves the issue of getting you to the station.”

Did Quinn not realize I was a unicorn, thus my own form of transportation? “I can run. Have hooves.”

“I was hoping for something a bit faster.”

I flattened my ears, tossed my head, and whinnied at the insult. “Out-run you, Chee-fuh Queen.”

He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Out-run you, pesky human Chee-fuh Queeny!”

“That was even worse. You really think you can outrun me in my cruiser.”

Shaking out my mane, I snorted, blowing just enough flame to warn him I meant business. “Yes. Take you. Fass-tur.”

During the certification process and evaluation of my species after transformation, I’d carried a few riders. I’d taken another student from Manhattan to the Hamptons and back. In a less-than-legal favor to one of the instructors, I had run her across the bridge to New Jersey so she could speak at a convention after her car broke down.

We had wisely never told Professor Yale about that stunt, as we both valued our lives—and she’d given me extra credit for the favor.

Quinn was heavier than all my past riders, and I blamed his extra inches and his beautiful, beautiful muscles for the extra weight. Still, I could handle him—I hoped.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

“You know how to ride, yes?”

“Well, of course. I do mounted patrols sometimes in a pinch, and I teach riding lessons to new recruits when the regular instructors are unavailable.”

“You ride. I run. Fass-tur.”

Quinn ran his hands through his hair before giving his scalp a good scratching. “You’re seriously telling me you think you can beat my cruiser to the station.”

“Yes. Stop complain-ing. Bri-dle?”