Page 54 of Watch Me Burn

On the third day of this nonsense, I bumped into Mayor Lou. The fact that I didn’t even notice his stink—blueberry today on top ofskunk—is proof about how much the wolf has messed with my head, and before I think better of it, I asked the mayor if he borrowed Conall for something.

Conall told me that, whenever the village needed something from Skagway or one of the other local towns, he was the one who went on the trips; mainly because he’s the predator shifter, and the other shifters are too skittish to leave the town. That would make sense if he was busy doing his other duties—especially since I’ve been monopolizing most of his time for weeks now—but Mayor Lou just gave a quick glance toward the darkening sky, then apologized to me before admitting that Conall’s home sick.

Can shifters even get sick?

The mayor seems to think so. And though he tells me that Conall should be better by morning, that I should keep mydistance until then, I’ve never been the type of chick to do what I’m told.

Which is why I’m standing outside of Conall’s house right now, holding some kind of mystery meat sandwich I bought at the canteen, waiting for him to answer me.

I don’t care how sick he is. The Conall I know would crawl to the door if only to find out what I’m doing on his territory.

He’s in there. I don’t know why I know for sure that he is, but I do, and I knock on the door again.

This is me making an effort, Mr. Grump. This is showing you that I can be a good mate, too.

Damn it. Open the door.

I rap my knuckles again, grateful that I don’t singe the wood by accidentally losing my control on my fire.

“Conall? It’s me.” Those butterflies in my belly make a giddy return as I call out his nickname for me. “It’s Red.”

Still no answer.

I really thought there would be. If just because he seems to get his kicks whenever I’d bristle a little about being ‘Red’ instead of ‘Bridget’ in the beginning, I figured that would get him to open the door.

Beyond it, I swear I hear something. Or maybe I’m just imagining it because two minutes after I showed up at his house, he’s still pretending not to be home.

The butterflies are instantly replaced by dueling emotions: embarrassment and hurt. I’ve never taken rejection well, and if there was one thing I really dug about the idea of being a shifter’s one true mate, it’s that I wouldn’t have to worry about being rejected by Conall. I’m it for him. Why would he push me away when I’m supposed to be the mate he’s waited so long for?

I don’t know, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

I’m hurt—and I’mpissed.

Fine. Is that how he wants play it?Fine. I’ll feel terrible if it turns out he has, like, severe diarrhea going on in there, but even if he is so sick he can’t answer the door, how does that explain the way he’s been avoiding me for days now?

I can take a hint.

Leaving the sandwich on the ledge, I storm down his porch steps.

And I think to myself: what do I want?

I thought it was getting rid of my magic. That was back when I had no idea how to use it. How to control it. How to make it work for me. I was so afraid it would consume me that the only alternative seemed to be finding the crystal and hoping it was enough to siphon my magic out of me.

I’ve gotten much better at wielding my fire. But I’ve come this far in my search for the opal, and if Conall doesn’t want to help me anymore, that’s fine.

I can do it on my own.

I’m takinga break in one of the larger caves when the air erupts in an explosive sound that has me using my free hand to cover my head instinctively.

The first time you have a loose rock drop on your head in a gloomy cave because you don’t have protection, the last time you have a loose rock drop on your head without protection. And while Conall teasingly offered to mold me some kind of hardhat with his two paws, I refused. If he wasn’t using one, I wouldn’t either, but I got real good at covering my head with my hands.

Luckily, the cave I’m in now is one of the larger ones. It’s cool, but not as damp as some of the others since I’m farther in, and I found a cove to sit down and angrily snack on theoverpriced granola bar I picked up at the commissary. Nothing falls on my head, but when the sound continues to echo its way through the system, I increase the glow on my firelight, looking away in panic—and a teeny, tiny bit of hope.

Because I know what that sound was. That was ahowl.

Wolf. It’s a wolf.

Conall.

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