Page 192 of Roulette Rodeo
The farmhouse... is on fire.
INTO THE FLAMES
~RED~
"FASTER!" I scream into Luna's ear, pressing myself flat against her neck as she stretches into a full gallop. Her hooves thunder against the packed earth, each stride covering impossible ground, but it's not fast enough. The smoke billows thicker with each second, black fingers reaching toward the darkening sky like they're trying to pull the stars down with them.
My mind races faster than Luna's feet. Are they inside? The construction workers—was it really them? Three hours, Duke said. Three hours is enough time for anything to happen. Enough time for a fire to start, to spread, to consume everything.
The image of my pack trapped inside, unconscious from smoke inhalation, makes bile rise in my throat. I lean forward more, urging Luna faster even though she's already giving everything she has.
A familiar bark cuts through the sound of hooves and my own ragged breathing.
"Duke!" I call out, spotting the German Shepherd racing toward us at full speed, his dark fur almost invisible against the smoke-hazed landscape. "DUKE!"
He barks again, louder, more frantic, keeping pace with Luna despite her speed. His eyes are wild with panic, and I realize he must have been at the ranch when the fire started. But if Duke is here, running toward us...
My brain kicks into overdrive. Town is too far. By the time Duke could run there and back with help, even if he could somehow communicate what's happening, it might be too late. But Duke knows the other Duke—the restaurant owner. They've met dozens of times when we've eaten there, when we've tied the horses outside. Duke the dog is smart enough to find Duke the human.
"Duke!" I shout, pulling slightly on Luna's reins to slow her just enough that I can make eye contact with the dog. "Go to town! To older Duke! GET HELP!"
For a second, he keeps running alongside us, and I think he doesn't understand. Then he barks once, sharp and decisive, and veers off in a tight turn, racing back the way I came. His form disappears into the distance, and I pray he understands, that he'll find help, that someone will come.
But I can't wait for maybes.
Luna needs no encouragement to resume her breakneck pace. She can smell the smoke too, feel the wrongness in the air. Horses have an instinctive fear of fire, and the fact that she's still running toward it instead of away speaks to her training and trust.
The farmhouse comes into clearer view, and my worst fears are confirmed. The entire structure is engulfed, flames licking from every window, the roof already partially collapsed. The heat hits us like a physical wall even from a hundred yards away, and Luna starts to fight me, her terror finally overriding her training.
"I know, girl, I know," I murmur, scanning desperately for any sign of movement, any indication of where my pack mightbe. The main house is dark but intact—if they're there, they're safe from the flames at least. But something in my gut says they're not there. Says this is connected to those construction workers, to Marnay's threat, to everything we've been running from.
I slide off Luna's back before she's fully stopped, hitting the ground hard enough that my knees buckle. The heat is already unbearable, like standing too close to a massive bonfire, and I'm still fifty feet from the structure.
"Luna, go!" I shout, slapping her flank. "To the north pasture, where the other horses are!"
She tosses her head, whinnying in distress, clearly not wanting to leave me.
"GO!" I scream, and something in my voice must convince her because she wheels around and gallops toward safety, toward the secondary stables we'd moved the horses to just yesterday in preparation for the renovation.
The renovation that was clearly never going to happen.
My brain catalogues what I know about the ranch layout. Every building has a fire extinguisher—Corwin insisted on it, said his time as a combat medic taught him that fires kill more people than bullets in most situations. The farmhouse should have one near the entrance, another in what used to be the kitchen area.
I spot it—the red cylinder mounted on a post about twenty feet from the burning structure. My fingers fumble with the pin, hands shaking from adrenaline more than fear. There's also rope coiled nearby, probably left from some ranch work. Without thinking too hard about what I'm about to do, I wrap it around my torso and shoulder, creating a makeshift harness.
The heat intensifies exponentially as I approach the farmhouse. The front door is gone, consumed or collapsed,leaving a gaping maw of flame and smoke. But through it, in what remains of the main room, I see them.
Four figures, slumped in chairs, arranged in a circle like some sick dinner party.
"No, no, no!" The words tear from my throat as I pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth and plunge into the inferno.
The heat is beyond description. It's like being inside an oven, every breath searing my lungs, every exposed inch of skin screaming. The smoke is thick enough to chew, and my eyes stream tears that evaporate almost instantly.
But I can see them clearly now. All four of my alphas, tied to chairs with professional-looking knots, heads lolled forward or to the side. Unconscious. Or worse.
I reach Rafe first, partly because he's closest, partly because some instinct drives me to him. My fingers find his pulse point—steady, strong. Alive. Thank God, alive.
"Rafe!" I shake his shoulders, probably harder than necessary. "Wake up! RAFE!"
