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The heat of the spices was immediate, but the man managed to hold it together pretty well. That was until the full strength of the Carolina Reaper pepper hit him a few seconds later. The man’s face turned bright red, and he covertly swiped at his eyes before any tears could fully form.
“Sweet Jesus,” he gasped, waving his hand in front of his face.
The rest of the men burst out in laughter, and a few slapped the poor guy on the back as he tried desperately not to inhale the spicy steam coming off his bowl.
One of them chided, “What’s wrong, Baptiste? Can’t handle a little Tabasco?”
Baptiste shot him a look, mumbling, “You take a bite, then. This ain’t just Tabasco, buddy.” When nobody moved, he sent a challenging look to all of them, until, one by one, they each tried a timid bite. It wasn’t long before the entire group of burly men turned into sniffling messes.
“Yeah,” Baptiste said, managing one more spoonful, though not without new tears welling up in his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
As one of the men recovered, he said in a conspiratorial tone, “Hey, do you think this might be the dish to finally make the captain cry? Should I call him over?”
I froze, wide-eyed, unaware there was a final boss for my gumbo to face. And here I thought I had scored an easy victory.
Baptiste scoffed, wiping at his nose before shaking his head. “The captain? Not a chance. Nothing has ever made him so much as bat an eye. And the day that changes will be the day Hell freezes over.”
One guy barked out a laugh as if Baptiste had made some hilarious pun that I wasn’t getting. Then they all huddled together, mumbling among themselves before Baptiste sent me a sly glance, saying with a grin, “Well, then. Got one more bowl of that good stuff?”
Worried I was about to meet my match, I nodded and turned to go scoop out a final bowl of the Firestorm Gumbo, knowing I couldn’t lose this challenge. Sure, the firefighters were tough guys, but I was carrying the mantle of Miss Gumbo. I couldn’t let them get the better of me.
I heard Baptiste calling out a name as I added the finishing touches. “Lucian!” he hollered, loud enough to be heard from the cannery across the street. “C’mere, you gotta try this!”
Then another voice boomed, deep and powerful. “Baptiste, I’m right in the middle of—”
“Just get over here!” Baptiste interrupted.
There was a brief pause, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps heading our way.
Baptiste grinned, leaning into the truck’s window and saying quietly, “Oh, and whatever he might say, don’t take it personally, all right? He’s a hellhound, so he’s got a bit of a bite.”
I frowned, having never heard of a “hellhound” before. Must’ve been a rare monster—or hopefully just a turn of phrase. Either way, I held my breath as I set the bowl down on the order counter and watched the final firefighter make his way over.
When he stepped into view, my eyes widened in surprise.
Baptiste was big, sure, but this man was a freaking mountain.
The firefighter’s shoulders were easily twice as wide as my own, and his muscular chest seemed to swell with every breath he took. His jacket was unbuttoned, and the t-shirt beneath was pulled so tight against his pecs that the fabric was barely holding together.
His skin was the rich tan of dark sandstone, and his eyes were the same amber as a burning flame, his face framed by a short dark beard that was perfectly trimmed and groomed.
I wondered if his appearance was just a glamour, or if he was one of the rarer monsters who had a human form.
Either way, he definitely wasn’t just a hellhound in a metaphorical sense. No human man looked this majestic.
He cocked his head at me, a devilish look in his eyes as he asked, “What? Do I have ash on my face?”
I realized then that I had been staring at him for a solid thirty seconds without saying anything.
Oh God.
My face heated in embarrassment, and I shook my head, unable to find my voice.
He smiled slightly, his lips parting to reveal a pair of canines that were decidedly not human.
Yup, he was definitely some kind of monster, and I was acting like a complete doofus about it. “Nope, no ash,” I said with a nervous laugh. “You’re all good.”
“So what’s going on here, then?” Lucian asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at the bowl.
