Firestorm on E'Terra

Firestorm on E’Terra Ella Drake

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Firestorm on E’Terra

Firestorm on E'Terra by Ella Drake Smokejumper and former refugee Wilson Dex takes the latest in a long line of risks, a mission to quell the firestorm on planet E'terra. Equipment from his transport ship malfunctions, forcing by-the-book Commander Samantha Varde dirtside to help Dex though she suffers from landsickness. While fighting the ill-timed and against-code heat between them, they have hours to reprogram a torpedo, fly into a tornado, and chute into a firestorm, all to save the colony before the storm flames out of control.

Ella Drake

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Firestorm on E’Terra Ella Drake Second Electronic edition January 2012 First Published Electronically December 2009 in Hearts Afire: December by Liquid Silver Books First Print Edition March 2010 ISBN 1451527586, 978-1-45-152758-2 Published by Ella Drake. “Firestorm on E’Terra” Copyright © 2009 by Ella Drake. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Cover Copyright © 2012 Ella Drake This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Special thanks to

Original Electronic Edition Editor, Terri Schaefer

Chapter One Master Sergeant Wilson Dex checked the buckle on his chute, adjusted the fit of his pack strap, and twisted his hips to ensure the equipment on his back didn’t jangle. With a slight tap, he verified his rebreather sat on his chest, ready to fit over his face. All set. In the vast, multi-craft launch bay, he sat next to the hotshot team lining the benches and waited for the go. “Hey smokejumper, ever taken a helo down from a slapshot on the stratosphere? It’s a wild ride.” The punch on Dex’s shoulder would have told him if the laughter following the challenge had not. “Chief,” Dex rolled his shoulder to ease out the sting. “I’ve logged enough jump hours to make your entire team look like the babies they are.” Another punch, in the exact same spot, and a knot started to throb in Dex’s upper arm. Without a flinch, he resisted the urge to cup the forming bruise and didn’t move a muscle. “Hell, I know, son. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought a wild card to work with my team.” Assigned to the mission as a subject matter expert (SME), Dex didn’t point out Chief hadn’t brought him on board. Before the banter could descend into the usual barbs between the loner smokejumper and the cohesive hotshot team of twenty men, the crackle of the speaker reverberated through the open space of the dock bay. “Jump is on hold until turbulent electrical storm passes the landing site.” The Chief clicked on the comm attached on his shoulder chute strap. “Chief Klein to Captain Varde.” Dex stilled and tried not to eavesdrop on the civilian fire chief who’d muscled his way onto the bench next to Dex, shifting the team, grunting and grumbling, further down. When Dex noticed he held his breath, waiting on the response over the comm, he pushed the air from his lungs with a long sigh. While Chief’s hail went unanswered, the burly man raised his brows and grinned at Dex. “Eager for the jump, eh? Can’t control the weather. Well, not on this new terraform, anyway. When the startup colony makes the money, I’m sure they’ll bring in a weather control expert to get them going.” The leader of this band of firefighters was winding up for another long-winded lecture when his comm clicked. “Chief,” came the precise, even tone of Captain Varde. Though the voice was nearly asexual, and the woman herself controlled and put-together, Dex’s groin tightened, and to his chagrin, his cock hardened. He shifted on the bench and brought his helmet from hanging on a knee to his lap. “Ma’am, do we have an estimate on how long we’re delayed?”

Ella Drake Despite trying not to do so, Dex leaned toward the comm on Chief’s shoulder. The Chief raised his brows again, and Dex sat back. “At least a day, Chief. Disperse your team to regroup again in twenty-four.” “Aye, aye, skipper.” The off-click took away her voice, as warm and inviting as the synthesized AI unit that ran this ship’s enviro and café systems. Yet, he’d hardened even more, picturing her still face, neat blonde hair with every strand in place, and perfect lipstick he wanted to muss and smear all along his cock. Dex shifted on the seat again, bumping the hotshot jumper next to him and elbowing Chief. His temporary superior stood and addressed the group of men. “Well, you heard the boss. Same drill, same time tomorrow. Get your gear stowed and put in a regular day. Blow off the steam you all built up waiting for word. Dismissed.” The heat-resistant chromoter strapped to Dex’s wrist showed ten minutes before his reserved zap-ball workout slot. When he’d boarded, he’d received an assigned daily exercise, based on preferences, which he’d not missed, not once, in the two-month intragalactic voyage to E’terra. With the usual routine disrupted when the StratGlider had achieved orbit and the pending mission aborted, Dex hustled out the door. He hoped his partner wouldn’t miss today’s match. **** Captain Samantha Varde flipped off the intercom and refused to look at the news feed that had gripped her attention for the past three hours. Still, no matter if the images flashed on the jumbo screen on the bridge of her ship, or played in the privacy of her captain’s quarters, they seemed burned to Samy’s corneas. The vid played in her mind from memory. Three firefighters, part of a hotshot team specifically trained to put out wildfires, stood around a virtual storylogger to update the public back home on United One. A funnel cloud from the raging firestorm dropped from the sky and vaporized them in a bloody geyser of steam in front of billions of live viewers. The team on board her ship, sent to relieve those three men and the rest of their crew, still hadn’t been informed of those deaths. They were aware of the dozen deaths over the past six months since the violent beginning of the firestorm, continually fueled by a natural reservoir of flammable gas. More than half the fatalities had occurred in the past two months while they’d been on route aboard the StratGlider. The United One Protectorate was considering implementing concern level tango. This esoteric term meant they had a crisis on their hands, and if the spin couldn’t get them out of the mess, then the entire project would be pulled. The Protectorate had lost enough troopers. One more blip of concern would cause the colonists to be evac’d to the nearest refugee station, already overcrowded, and planet E’Terra would be deemed a lost cause. The firestorm would progress undeterred until the planet was one massive ashswept desert.

Firestorm on E’Terra Samy hesitated in ordering the hotshot team to slapshot down to the surface during an electro storm. She’d even convinced herself she’d delayed the mission because one more accident would mean her ship would go from troop transport to refugee hauler before she could blink. It didn’t have a thing to do with concern for a certain smokejumper along for the ride. Nor for one more zap-ball game since she’d failed to voice her goodbye yesterday when her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth. No, she’d postponed the mission for entirely platonic reasons tied with adding a humanitarian mission to her record and one more shot at the Admiral’s stripe. This had everything to do with her professional career and not her policy-regimented exercise routine. Nothing to do with her AI-assigned workout partner. Nothing to do with the tiny zap-ball outfit that exposed so much of a certain well-cut Master Sergeant’s creamy caramel skin. “Lieutenant Commander Shields, you have the bridge.” Samy gave an abbreviated salute to the older man, straight-backed and silver-haired, who didn’t hold it against his much younger CO that he flew second in command. “Aye, Captain.” Shields returned a snappy salute and moved to the central bank to oversee the weather watch. At Samy’s back as the lift door closed behind her, she heard his call, “Captain off the bridge.” The efficient sounds of her crew gave her confidence as the door slid shut. If she hurried, she’d have time to whip up her latest changes to the health shake she’d been satisfied with only two months ago. She shook her head. For years, after every workout, she’d gulped back the nasty tasting concoction and appreciated the energy it gave her. Now, she toyed with it every day before heading to work out. Samy glanced at the time display in the lift’s console. No time. She had to go straight to the locker room. “Locker Room Delta, please.” “Yes, Captain,” the ship AI responded. Though not necessary, Samy replied with her usual politeness to the intelligence that had no emotional feelings programmed into it. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” To Samy’s knowledge, she was the only crewman to ever get that particular response from the ship’s sterile personality. Perhaps she felt a certain kinship with the monotonous voice. Her feet spread wide, Samy rode the lift as it zipped down then sideways, before a swift backward push. Without a stagger or a hand on the rail, she didn’t flinch with the fast, succinct maneuvers. “Destination, Captain.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Samy stepped into the locker room, like every locker room on every planet under every governmental system. Metal lockers lined the walls, seats in front of them for changing. A stack of clean towels sat next to the shower stalls, while the barrels for soiled linen overflowed. At least on her ship, she made sure the room smelled of cleaners

Ella Drake instead of mildew, or worse, body odor. Only minutes before her scheduled game, she pulled open her locker, keyed to her biometrics, and quickly exchanged her uniform for one of the seven neatly folded outfits she replaced once a week. Last, she slipped on ankle socks and specially designed sneakers for the zap-ball courts. As usual, she kept her heart rate normal, her anticipation subdued, and her smile buried beneath her rank—until she reached the hallway door. When her fingers touched the cool metal to open court six, her flesh heated, her mouth watered, and her heart pounded in her ears. It was like a sickness. Never in her life had she been so utterly out of control of her body. To her mortification, she couldn’t stop herself from the daily torture. Nor could she make herself act upon it. Had they been dirtside—and who was she kidding? She hadn’t been dirtside since she’d left home at eighteen, twenty years ago—or perhaps on a multi-use station, she might have had a fling with him as a civilian. But he wasn’t a civvie. Wilson Dex was an enlisted man. Under her command. Couldn’t be more off limits than that. Not to mention, he was too good-looking, too young, and too risky. Master Sergeant Dex stood with his back to her on the court. She let out the breath and threw back her shoulders to thrust out her breasts. She caught herself and relaxed the rigid pose. Deep down, she’d worried he wouldn’t come today, but even further down, deep enough she barely recognized it, she knew he felt the attraction as much as she did. With his back to her, she allowed herself to drink her fill of the dusky planes of his muscles, the skimpy, skin-tight shorts that cupped his ass like a glove, and the tight T-shirt that occasionally rode up to show peeks of his flat stomach. The sleeveless zap-ball shirt exposed his tattoos, a rarity in the military since most troopers kept a regimental mentality and look. Smokejumpers weren’t regimental. They were enlisted, not the aristocratic inherited positions of the officers. On one shoulder, a cross encircled in a wheel, filled with Celtic knots like the ones she’d seen on the other firefighter’s uniforms. The other tattoo, a dragon circling his bicep, hugged his cut, wiry arm, and exuded pure strength. With an abrupt turn, he faced her, the lines of his stomach flexing with the movement. The grin on his full but sharply defined lips brought her nipples to attention. Thankfully, from long, torturous experience, she knew her sports bra kept most of her excitement contained, at least from visual proof. “Captain.” The rich, chocolate-smooth voice sent shivers down her spine. Breathless, as usual, she nodded and replied—way too huskily. “Master Sergeant.” The clock started. They had thirty minutes of play, and Samy didn’t want to skimp on a single minute. She reached inside a sliding compartment near the door and pulled out the racquets. Once the storage compartment slid shut, the AI echoed through the chamber barely wider than her bed, probably the length of her bed twice over, and really, she should stop thinking of beds. The game voice intoned, “Zap-ball ready.” Dex took center court position and bent into a crouch, his mouth-watering ass completely distracting her. Never had she noticed a man to such an extent.

Firestorm on E’Terra “Set.” Dex had such an authoritative way of speaking. Samy wondered if he’d sound sure of himself in bed. Dammit. No more beds. The iridescent zap-ball whizzed by her head so fast her hair stirred, a few strands coming loose from the clips she used to keep her short hair from distracting her game. “Point to Dex,” the AI nearly crooned. Samy might be polite to the AI, who in turn spoke to her like a friend—well, more an acquaintance—but the AI put on a soft female voice with a massive crush when it refereed these matches. The damn computer played favorites for the hunk who touched the small of Samy’s back as he slid past her to switch positions. At advantage, he moved to the back court and smirked at Samy as he passed. Samy crouched mid-court, ready for the AI serve, too distracted imagining Dex staring at her ass, much the same as she’d been doing to him. Her shorts chafed between her legs, the apex of her thighs growing hot and sensitive to every shift of fabric. Whoosh. The ball slammed onto the court. She slapped at the zap-ball, returning the serve against the wall and into the corner. The ball zipped past her. Dex grunted and the return hit sounded far to the left. Though she couldn’t see him, he’d had to stretch his glorious body to reach the ball, and she imagined his fit body straining, reaching, sweating. For a while, they exchanged hits, both of them diving and rolling to return the ball before it hit the court floor. Moisture rolled down Samy’s face and arms. “Nice point.” Dex panted at the end of the volley. “Your serve,” she returned. When he switched places with her, he slid his hand across the bend of her waist. Her thighs trembled. The next point went to Dex. The game progressed without surprises. They were evenly matched. Frequently they called a draw, neither able to pull ahead the required two points. Occasionally one of them was off-game enough to allow the other to win. Today was one of those days. Every time Dex moved past her to a new vantage, he touched her. Her hip. Her back. Her arm, close enough to brush the side of her breast. The lightest, barely-there pat on her ass. That one nearly had her reprimanding him, but she bit her lip to stop herself since she’d sound all breathy anyway. With her mind in her shorts, the seam rubbing her enticingly and keeping her hot and wet, she couldn’t think past her hard nipples as they rubbed against her abbreviated shirt. What would it be like for those long, strong fingers to reach for her bared stomach and stroke the moisture collecting there? Dex would spread his hand, push beneath her waistband, and dip deep inside her, past his knuckles. The ache pulsed between her legs and the need for release made her clumsy. After an entire game of sly touches, Samy nearly folded from dizziness when she missed her last shot. For a brief moment, she contemplated tackling him to the floor. “Thanks for the game, Captain. I didn’t know if your duties would keep you away

Ella Drake today.” His voice ripped her from her fantasies. Thankfully, the exertion of their match could explain her red face and panting. “Any time, Master Sergeant.” “What change did you make to the shake today?” His dark brown eyes twinkled, but he didn’t let the grin threatening the corners of his mouth slip free. “Oh. Didn’t have time to mix one. With the aborted mission, I only had time to come straight here.” Samy could have sworn his kissable lips sunk down momentarily into a frown. Did he actually look forward to her health shakes? She made a flash decision—one she’d have to mark down in her personal journal— one so out of character it’d likely need to be evaluated by the military psych unit. “Would you like to return to my cabin to try my latest recipe?” Holy stars. Did she just ask him that? Like a schoolgirl, she wanted to blush and stare at her feet. The absolute strongest of wills made her stand there, look him in the eye, and wait on her rejection. He ran a towel over his military short, nearly shaved head and scrubbed back and forth before he answered. Waiting on his reply, she stared at his lips and strong chin accentuated by a small soul patch. She’d never liked facial hair before, but she flashed on a recurring fantasy of that patch of hair rubbing the inside of her thighs. She blinked and crossed her arms over her chest. Her nipples had hardened until they hurt. “Sounds like a plan, ma’am.” Now what the hell would she do? She hadn’t made a new recipe. Well, she’d wing it. She was an accomplished wingman. She could do it. Of course, they’d never spoken outside the court and the cool-down room where they normally shared her shakes. For the past several days they’d stretched private time into nearly an hour of banter and the occasional serious discussion. Over the two months they’d known each other, they’d shared much in those short meetings. A deep connection had begun, and she feared today would be the last. Other than those times, she only saw him for a short nod at the mess hall in passing since he ate on the shift before her. Samy had never had a man in her cabin. Her knees shook, and she nearly stumbled through the door.

Firestorm on E’Terra

Chapter Two Thank the stars for his jock strap. Dex had never taken to wearing one until he’d shown up for the second day of zapball with Captain Varde. Now, anxious though he was to get dirtside and get the fires under control, he couldn’t stifle the victorious grin plastered on his face. He’d beaten her at her own game. Zap-ball. And he’d finally gotten an invite to her cabin. Dex tried, but he didn’t think his smile would fade anytime soon. He felt like he could move mountains. Do anything. Conquer the barbarian hordes of Talzig. Before she could disappear behind the women’s locker room door, Dex called, “See you in the cool-down room in five?” “In five.” She didn’t pause, and his stare naturally tracked down her long body and snagged on the back of her tight workout suit. That was the most delectable ass in the universe, and he wanted nothing more than to bounce a zap-ball off it. “Tight,” he hissed and adjusted his jock. This had to stop. Every day he sported a rock-hard erection by the time he hit the showers. He turned on the shower and heated it to his preferred temp while he shucked off his tight clothes. His cock bounced back and slapped his belly, and with a quick look around, he noted his solitude with thanks. He didn’t have much time. He slipped under the recyc’d water, gathered shower gel in his hand, and fisted his cock. In his mind, Samantha Varde’s clear blue eyes smiled at him as she dropped to her knees, her short blonde hair pushed behind her ear as she covered his dick with her mouth. He spread his legs and pushed into his hand, remembering her voice, which mellowed with him, unlike the public persona he’d seen outside their workouts. Ice Queen. Space Princess. Cold bitch. All those names were pinned on her by the crew, but he knew her better than that. He could smell her melt for him, and only him. He’d witnessed the softening of her mouth—for him and only him. She’d given him her star-pit, awful shakes. If she weren’t the captain of the ship, a political officer, his CO, he’d already be sharing her bed. He wanted to live in her bed. Her lips. Her honeyed hair with even lighter highlights. Those high, tight, well-rounded breasts. Her mouth, perfect for caressing his aching erection. Head thrown back, he gripped his cock with forceful friction, thrust his hips forward, and climaxed with one last jerk of his hand. The shower ran hot over his shoulders, down his chest, between his legs. The emptiness inside him yawned wide. The release took off the edge but didn’t satisfy. He’d never known true fulfillment in sex, with anyone, and these times in the shower during the long haul had been even less satisfying than ever. Outside the shower, he stood under the air dryer. A quick check of the time assured

Ella Drake him he’d not taken too long. He threw on his uniform, though he’d prefer to forget his rank, and hustled out to the cool-down room. “Hey.” She paced at the clear double panels out to the ship corridor. “Might as well go get that shake.” “I can’t wait.” She laughed, a sound he’d noted as fairly rare and non-existent when she was on duty. “You are such a good liar.” “Truly. Your shakes are the nectar of the gods.” He winked at her, and his grin loosened the discontent that had followed him from the shower. As she held the door open for him, she teased and waved him past her toward the lift. “You’ve had ambrosia, have you?” On the way out, he rubbed against her uniform arm, releasing the scent of her minty shower gel. Dex stilled, staring at her steady regard. “No, but I plan to. Soon.” She blushed, a sight he never tired of, and he grew hard all over again. Before she could notice, he moved to the lift. The AI gave a perfunctory greeting, unlike how the comp usually spoke to him in quarters or in the gym. “Captain.” “Quarters, please.” “Master Sergeant.” “Same,” he answered but couldn’t catch the Captain’s attention, who stared at the closing doors. Had she changed her mind? The AI questioned their commands in a decidedly sulky voice he’d never heard before. “Master Sergeant Dex to Captain Varde’s quarters?” “Yes,” Captain Varde replied with an exasperated sigh and a lift of her pale brows. The car’s lights blinked off and on briefly before a sharp tug sent the two occupants into the rear wall. “What the hell?” Dex shouted. Neither of them could speak as the AI took them on a wild ride, quick bursts up, a jerking long move to the side. Stutter, stutter up before a small dip. The abrupt halt of the car nearly sent Dex face first into the door. “Damn programmers. No emotions, my eye,” she bit out in stilted rush. “What just happened?” Dex asked as the elevator door jolted open in a loud swoosh. “I think the AI has a crush on you.” The AI spoke in a child’s sing-song voice. “Do not.” To Dex’s utter shock, the Captain replied, in her own sing-song, “Do too.” Dex followed his CO into a large cabin as the AI responded at their backs. “Do not.” At a loss for words, unsure what had happened, Dex stood in the front room of a suite that must double as the captain’s office. A laugh tried to bubble out of him, but it stifled—the solitude and sterility of the room weighing down on his chest. His captain spent much of her time here, but the photos on the walls all bore people in uniform in front of ships, in landing bays, or on the bridge of various ships. Sprinkled amid those were commendations and plaques. The small hints of personality eased the

Firestorm on E’Terra tightness in Dex’s chest. Zap-ball trophies lined a small recessed cabinet and on either side, native tribal weapons from a few of the more primitive planets under the United One Protectorate. “Nice office, Captain.” She smiled at him, straight white teeth gleaming between her red lips, and admonished him. “You’re about to enter my home, come into my pantry and pretend to like my health concoctions. It’s time you called me Samy.” The ship stuttered as if a torpedo rammed it. He locked his knees, but Samy didn’t look concerned. No, Samy kept smiling as if the universe hadn’t shifted an inch to the right. Samy. Samy. “Samy,” he said out loud. “I’d have taken you for a Samantha.” Her smile dimmed a little, and he wanted to kick his own ass if she’d hand it to him. “My father’s appellation for me. He was big Sam. General Varde of the Seventh Fleet.” “Oh.” Damn. The daughter of Old Ironfist himself. Vardes littered the political military. Hereditary positions notwithstanding, they all seemed to serve with dedication and valor. So like his Samy, he should have realized she had to have come from one of the best families. The conversation stalled, and Dex was desperate to get her smile back. What could he say? Her family scared the shit out of him, so what the hell was he doing in her cabin, much less in the same orbit? Well, really, after the shock of it, he couldn’t care less. She was his Samy. He smiled again. “Whatever you do, don’t call me Wilson. Everyone has always called me Dex.” “Where’d Wilson come from?” “The name or me, the person?” “The name.” She walked to the far side of the office where her state-of-the-art café pantry stood. “I already know you’re from Raft Fifty-Five.” Raft Fifty-Five, pit, refugee station, overcrowded, disease-ridden tenant housing. “Also inherited from a father.” He paused and added over the grounding screech of her blender. “My own father.” Somehow that seemed necessary, since he’d been taken care of, off and on, by other fathers, not his own. First his bio father, his mom’s boyfriends, then a mild, not uncaring stepfather, and finally the progression of military figures responsible for his training and upkeep. He understood the fear of the colonists fighting the fires beneath his feet, dirtside on E’Terra. Evac to a raft was no real choice. He’d been lucky. He thanked the stars every day. A cold thermos thrust into his hand and took his mind from that bleak path. “What do you think?” Samy’s vulnerability was clear in her blinking eyes, evidenced by the knot of worry between her brows, and the nip at the corner of her mouth as she chewed her lip. He braced himself. With a concerted effort, he didn’t grimace, but brought the thermos to his mouth and took a taste.

Ella Drake “Not bad.” He meant it. “You’ve added more sours and cut back on the greens.” Relief shone bright. “You really like it.” “I do.” A tangy orange zest covered the vitamin taste he still remembered from the daily rations he’d been given as a teen, handpicked by the military as eligible to join. In early adolescence he’d tested well, and in doing so, received the nutrition he needed to grow strong. Tall. A worthy smokejumper. But Samy still had two inches on him. She’d probably never known hunger, or stunted growth. Her curves gave testament. Abundant curves that begged for his hands. Dex put down the thermos. Desperation speared through him. This would be his last opportunity, and only the chance of a freak storm had given it to him. He had to seize the day, take the chances he was known to take. He reached out and took her thermos, put it on the pantry counter top, and tugged her into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do this for two months,” he whispered against her lips. “Do it,” she ordered. Commanded. A strong woman who wrapped her arms around him and yanked him into the ample chest her uniform couldn’t disguise. His lips devoured hers. The taste of oranges from the shake blended with her minty scent and made his head spin faster than when he nosedived off the Cerebus Canyon into wildfires that sent him reeling with toxic smoke. He’d managed to walk away from the dive. The taste of Samy, heady, intoxicating, threw him over a ledge he’d be lucky to survive, much less walk away from. He slanted his head for a better angle, his hands searching for entry into her uniform. She groaned and speared her fingers through his hair, though it was too short to grip. Her nails scored his head and held him still as her tongue delved into his mouth, tasting, exploring, demanding. His erection pressed against the front of his pants. The feel of her in his arms after wanting, dreaming, brought him to the edge so quickly he grew a little desperate. He yanked up her uniform tunic and spread his fingers over her back, the relief of the slide of her soft skin easing his turmoil while ratcheting up his desire tenfold. “I need to get you out of your clothes,” he said when he came up for air. “As long as I can get you out of yours.” She scanned a glance down his body and licked her lips. “I like the way you think, Captain.” Samy’s body went rigid before she repeated his words. “Captain.” The previously soft and seductive woman drew up straight and stepped out of his embrace. And took the heat with her. Through the fuzz in his head and the throbbing stick in the crotch of his uniform, he focused on the slide of her features from lust-drunk to embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Master Sergeant. I shouldn’t have stepped over the line. I won’t break protocol again, but if you feel a need to report my dereliction of duty, I will understand.” “What the fuck?” Dex blurted, the hurt cutting deeper than he thought possible. Samy flinched, stepped back even further, and the slightly abashed look hardened into pure anger. “Do not take that tone with me, Sergeant.”

Firestorm on E’Terra Like a slap in the face, she put him down with a superior look and a sneering Drill Instructor tone. It could have gone differently, he thought, if he’d placated her, eased what was clearly a problem for her, going against her ingrained dedication to military codes and a passion that made them both punch drunk. At that moment, he steeled his arm, about to reach out for her and promise her the world, the galaxy, the stars. A buzz flickered through the room, the lights blinked, and the smell of fried circuitry filled his nose. Trouble. Dex ran for the door. Behind him, Samy slapped on her comm to hail the bridge. Klaxon alarms blared through the ship, nearly drowning out the announcement. “Direct electrical storm hit. Emergency stations. Lockdown in five, four, three, two, one. Lockdown in effect.” **** Samy ordered the Klaxons silenced, and the excitement died down as the emergency systems battened down the ship. Hours after the electrical storm hit, the StratGlider proved mostly undamaged, but the mess in the launch bay gave Samy a sinking feeling she couldn’t shake. Atmospheric turbulence over E’Terra had gotten worse with the firestorm sweeping the surface. Stray thunderbolts and roving electrical clouds had already thrown another transport out of orbit. In that case, no harm done. The transport ship had throttled back, lifted out of the atmosphere, and waited out the storm. The report of the incident sat on Samy’s desk. She should have read it more thoroughly. As for the StratGlider, a strike of lightning had compromised the bay doors, and though the wiring was singed, the doors could be hand cranked. That wasn’t the problem. One—of two—helos lay damaged on its sidewing across the floor instead of upright on its feet. The current had jumped along the wires of the bay where the helo had been plugged in to keep systems charged. The systems had fried, but even that wasn’t the big problem. They could work with one helo. The big problem? Two of the four chemical-laden torpedoes had triggered aboard the helo. The detonation took out the craft and sent propellant foam everywhere at fantastic speeds, which ignited a chain reaction with the other torpedoes stacked in a rack for loading. The bay was covered in white foam. Crews mopped up the mess and cleaned off the remarkably undamaged remaining helo. The rack full of E’Terra-saving torpedoes had deployed, jettisoning their payload of chemical foam. The hotshot team had to launch within the hour with only two torpedoes. Beside her surveying the damage, Chief Klein remained as unruffled as ever. Samy, on the other hand, had never felt so out of uniform, even standing nude in the shower. Her short hair rumpled, uniform covered in white goo, boots squishing when she walked, she couldn’t remember a single time when she’d been off her game like this. Unprepared, without a single protocol to fall back upon. Klein grunted. “Looks like they’ve pushed most of it into a pile at the forward bay.”

Ella Drake “Yes. I’ve ordered the flyby you recommended. We’ll dump the material over the hottest firestorm location.” “We can only hope it doesn’t dissipate into steam before it does any good.” Chief rocked back on his heels, hands behind his back, his bright orange civilian fire retardant gear unbelievably clean. “I’ve conferred with the smokejumper,” called Shields from behind as he approached from his walk-through of the mess. His uniform was unbelievably clean as well. Samy puffed a piece of hair out of her face, a sticky, coated-with-goop piece of hair. She needed a haircut as soon as she got away from E’Terra. She couldn’t wait. Thoughts of the smokejumper seeing her like this made her try to pat her hair into place. “I need a long hot shower.” Shields had been talking while Samy was off in misery-land. Something about the weight of the material and the heat of the fire. “Master Sergeant Dex suggested we dump the chemical foam over the origination point. The temps aren’t as high and the foam will have a higher likelihood of hitting target. The chemicals were designed to neutralize the gas causing the formation of the firestorms. So, though the fires don’t cover that area, it should stop future ones,” Shields finished his report. “You’re suggesting a thrill-seeking jumper young enough to be my son knows more about fighting fires than I do? I’ve been putting out fires since before he was born. Dump it at the coordinates I gave you, and we won’t miss having those torpedoes.” Chief scowled at each of them in turn. Shields—a career, hereditary military officer who’d never met a fire outside a contained engine bleed off—stared at her, awaiting her decision. Not a wrinkle in his uniform, the Chief looked convinced, sure of his recommendation. To her back, as if he radiated enough intensity to draw a heat-seeking missile, Dex worked with the hotshot team to remove gear from the irreparable helo. Having him in the same room made her prickly beneath the collar, her military issued tank, and her undershorts. “Have you run simulations, Chief?” Samy asked, to delay the decision that should have already been made. If they had to correct course, they needed to do so. And now. Another grunt. “Don’t need to.” Hell. If she decided to go with Dex’s recommendation, would they see the silly crush she tried to stifle? She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but she trusted Dex. They’d spoken of his past missions, and while daring, risky, and she thought suicidal, he came across as intelligent and as a man who knew his job. He also came highly recommended and was on this mission as the Subject Matter Expert, SME. Hotshot crews fought wildfires on the ground as a team. They knew fire. Smokejumpers knew how to fight fires from the air. “Our SME gave a different recommendation, Chief.” “He’s a risk taker,” the hotshot crew chief returned. If she argued, they’d start to wonder. Captain Varde didn’t argue. She went by protocol. Seniority and rank weighed higher in decision making while on mission. She had to rely on her crew to make fast decisions, and she always followed procedure. In this

Firestorm on E’Terra case, procedure had been made clear, all the way from the Protectorate, that the Chief had the lead on how to fight this fire. “Continue to the coordinates the Chief approved, Shields,” Samy ordered. He nodded, but beneath the hooded expression she saw something new. Doubt. She felt betrayal stabbing between her shoulder blades from the direction she estimated had to be the location of one bronze-skinned, sexy Master Sergeant. After a quick shower where the water became so contaminated, the AI deemed the runoff unfit for recyc, Samy emerged in a clean uniform, dried hair that still seemed sticky, and took the bridge before the estimated time to dump the foam debris. Unusual though it was, Samy wasn’t surprised to see Dex speaking softly with Shields, who hadn’t gone off bridge when relieved. Her second nodded. “With permission, I’ll stay to watch, ma’am.” She’d allow him to stay, though he should be getting some sleep for the next rotation. From the bay, the comm held open for the bridge to monitor unfolding events, Samy listened as she watched the vid screen displaying the funnel cloud of steam and ash over a raging firestorm below. Samy shuddered. If this planet didn’t hold so much potential and the colonist population wouldn’t overload the nearest refugee raft, she’d have recommended aborting the mission. The bay doors screeched, and Samy imagined midshipmen cranking the wheels by hand, inching the heavy doors open. “Bay open,” called the Chief through the wind noise. Samy snuck a peek where Dex gripped the side rail and leaned over the navigation and weather officer. The woman smiled at Dex, and Samy blinked at the surge of irritation that nearly had her bark at the ensign. “Everything bolted down, Chief?” Samy asked, instead of ordering the young, pretty weather officer off the bridge. Dex jerked his head toward her, his brow lifted in question. Samy didn’t know what she’d done, but his confused expression told her she must have done something. Perhaps the unusual snarl to her speech had done the trick. Samy sighed. The sooner Dex jumped out of that helo and out of her life, the better.

Ella Drake

Chapter Three The planet’s surface temperature rose, adding to Dex’s conviction that this plan didn’t have a chance in hell of working. Why hadn’t Samy taken his suggestion instead? Maybe it was because she knew he was just another refugee, like those poor colonists would be in a matter of days if the firestorm wasn’t brought under control. If it was the last thing he did, he’d save these people’s homes. Nobody deserved a life on the rafts. Nobody should grow up there, watching illnesses sweep through and take friends and family. Refugees knew the universe worked differently off-raft. Better education, better medical, a better life. But they couldn’t escape the pit. The specially designed chemical material pushed out of the bay with a puff. The cleaning blast, usually a sweep of air for ejecting refuse into a space corral, sent the foam into the atmosphere. It fell in a big, white, cloudy lump. Falling, falling. Hope filled him, desperate hope, but hope nonetheless. Close now. The mass seemed to approach the tops of the barren trees, burnt match sticks rising in the air. Then, like so much vapor, the cloud fell apart. In a blink, the material turned to steam, and was simply gone. The fiery tornado continued its destruction as if nothing had happened. “Damn,” he muttered. Without a word, he stalked off the bridge and didn’t dare glance at Samy. But her presence reached out to him as he passed, and his feet stuttered for a brief second as he leaned a little toward her. He didn’t understand the pull of this woman, but it was as real as the anger threatening his composure. Chief needed to trust his SME. That was part of being a good leader. His CO should have trusted her SME. She should have trusted him. The ache in his gut was unlike anything he’d ever known before. Nothing to do now but wait on the jump. Samy didn’t say a word as he put the bridge behind him. **** The whoop-whoop-whoop of the siren accompanied the shimmying that rattled Dex’s teeth. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose, but used to the heat, Dex almost didn’t notice the spike in temperature. With the storm past and atmosphere calm, the helo had dropped from the StratGlider with ease. At several clicks from the coordinates for the most effective torpedo drop, the helo captain had nosed into a fiery arm of the storm and been rewarded with stutters and shakes through the entire craft. “Temperature protection systems malfunction,” the pilot reported. “Can’t get any

Firestorm on E’Terra closer without a hull breach. We’ll have to abort both the chemical drop and the jump.” Chief nodded, as if this news had been expected. “Report to the StratGlider and put down at field HQ.” Dex leaned toward the cockpit to hear Captain Varde’s repeated hails, which had blasted through the cockpit once the sirens started. Realizing what he was doing, Dex sat up straight. “The foam probably damaged the underplating,” she hypothesized from the bridge of her ship while the helo continued to shake and whine. “Get that helo out of the air and those firefighters on the ground, pilot.” “Yes, ma’am.” The pilot flicked off the radio with a grumble. “Ice Queen.” Dex wanted to plant a fist in the soldier’s mouth, but then he smiled to himself. He didn’t mind if she came across as cold to other men, as long as she melted for him. “You look like the cat that got the cream, Dex,” said Blitz. Dex didn’t know a single hotshot’s name, only their call signs. Blitz was the only one who’d made an effort to be friendly, so ended up being the one stuck next to Dex more often than not. “Thinking of getting a little RandR when we’re done here.” “No question. I can do with a little Randy Riding when we get these fires put out.” Dex laughed. “I suppose Rest and Rehabilitation has an entirely different meaning in that context.” “Well, I won’t be resting.” Blitz wiggled his brows, a patently ridiculous look on the big and tall, beefy redhead who had to be at least six-seven. “I might need a little rehabilitating.” The usual nonsense eased Blitz as much as Dex. Blitz relaxed his grip on the hold bars over their heads. The corded muscles had bunched under the strain, his veins so noticeable Dex could see his rapid heartbeat. “Think we should’ve launched yesterday, before the storm?” Blitz asked, but didn’t wait for the answer. “We could’ve gotten around the leading edge instead of ending up in the middle of it with fried equipment. Wonder why the mission was delayed?” A flash of heat thrilled through Dex, a ghost of their shared kiss bringing a shiver down his spine. Other images crowded through him, her determined look when she’d brushed him off, and her cold look when she ignored his recommendation and went with Chief’s instead. Maybe the Captain had made some incorrect decisions, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit there and not defend her. “We didn’t see the weather report. Storm could’ve been worse toward the ground.” “Guess so.” If the Captain hadn’t made the right decision, she could have put them all in danger at any point during the mission. Good thing he was off her ship. He tried that logic, but it wasn’t sticking. He’d thought she’d made a mistake when she denied their passion, but he couldn’t change that now, no matter how much he wanted her in his bed. He had the damndest sense he was missing something important, but he didn’t have time for it. Not now. Not when duty called. “Doesn’t matter now. We’re out of her command, and we have a firestorm to put out.” ****

Ella Drake “Well, smokejumper, looks like we didn’t need your expertise on this mission with the way things shook out.” The Chief punched him in the same bruised spot. This was getting old. The bruise throbbed, and it was all Dex could do not to hit Chief back. “I don’t know. We still have the gas reservoir feeding the storm and the wildfires to the east and south. Every set of hands and heads count.” “This was a clusterfuck from the get go. Not sure it’s worth risking the lives of my team.” The Chief stared down at the map set up on the temporary camp table. “We might be able to put out the existing wildfires. But we have no way to deliver enough of those chemicals to neutralize the gas in the reservoir. How the hell do they expect us to stop the firestorm from being fed?” “That’s what the torpedoes were for. We need to arrange for more, pronto. We get to the source, no more firestorms. The scout team found the origination. An earthquake opened up a fissure and released flammable gas. A lightning strike probably set it off and released the first storm. We neutralize the gas, no more towers of fire.” “I don’t know anything about that, but I do know there aren’t any more torpedoes coming.” “What do you mean?” Dex got a bad feeling. He didn’t like getting those feelings. Not ‘cause they meant something could happen. No, he didn’t like it ‘cause he was never wrong. It was kinda spooky. Made him wonder what was in all those vitamin packs the military had sent him as a kid. “The Protectorate called level tango. There’ve been more deaths, and they’re going to pull out. They won’t be sending more resources. We’re to keep the fire swells stable long enough for a full evac team to arrive and relocate the colonists.” “When’s that?” “Two days.” Dex had ignored the commotion around him, but now he could see it, smell it. The lean-tos and the military’s stabli-structures that formed the field HQ; everything covered in ash. Around him, tall evergreens reached for the sky, their tops shrouded by lowhanging smoke. The smell of burnt vegetation coated the inside of his nose and in the distance, he could hear the roar of crackling fire and the din of the equipment combating it. Beyond this forest, a deserted village—passed over by the helo on their drop—was in the line of fire. “Where are the people from that village?” Dex nodded his head down the dirt road behind him. “Refugee stations are set up near the touchdown pads. Guess that’s where they’d be.” Dex stood, momentarily at a loss, wondering about the empty cottages. Perhaps there’d be a boy, or a girl, like Dex, who had a high capacity for muscle mass, testing off the scales for quick reflexes, a sharp logical mind, able to memorize strategic maps after a minute of study, and a penchant for following orders. In Dex’s case, maybe they’d gotten the last one wrong. Or maybe he’d changed. Dex switched modes to recon. Without a qualm, he turned his back on the Chief, who’d kept talking. Puzzled stares followed him out of camp as he passed, focused on the

Firestorm on E’Terra direction and scent of the wind, and ignored the waves and greetings of the hotshot team. If he was going to save the colony, save those people from being lost on a raft with no hope of a future, he had to find a way to stop the firestorm. Stop the evac. And he had to convince the Ice Queen to trust him.

Ella Drake

Chapter Four Samy itched. The silent zap-ball court had no life. The energy she’d gained here had left on a helo three hours ago, and Samy fought the tears clogging her throat. Absolutely maudlin over the loss of an exercise partner, Samy hadn’t been able to sleep after her shift. The tossing and turning had made a wreck of her bed, surprising considering the sheets she used were purported to be unbinding, wrinkle-free extendofibers, and guarantee a good night’s rest. Dark brown eyes, a wicked mouth, velvet voice, and hard body had filled her dreams and made her ache, made her wish to turn back the clock and jump Dex when he’d been in her quarters. Jump the smokejumper. Samy giggled, and the sound echoed around her. She covered her mouth as the burn of a blush climbed from beneath her uniform top to cover her face. Samy was certain she hadn’t giggled since she’d left home for Basic. Perhaps that was a sign. She’d kept to herself for too long, stayed by-the-book and hadn’t strayed from procedure. Ever. She’d finally cracked. No doubt, her journal would create quite the buzz during her next psych eval. She’d need an appointment when she got home. No, what she needed was a short, hot fling. The thought snuck up on Samy and shocked the blush from her skin, but now she’d considered the forbidden, she grew tempted. A few nights. Get her libido back under control. Nobody would know. “When I get home, that’s the first thing I’ll do.” She didn’t expect a response to that bold statement, but she got one. “What will you do, Captain Varde?” intoned the AI that had been decidedly unfriendly when she’d taken the lift down. “Never mind,” Samy whispered. The AI sounded more remote, like a synthesized voice of old when it announced. “Urgent request for private communiqué coming in over the ground link from Master Sergeant Dex.” Samy’s knees buckled, and she slapped a hand against the wall for support. No way could she have thought of him so hard, for so long, that he magically decided to call and tell her he missed her. She wasn’t a love-struck teen, and he certainly wasn’t either. Thankfully, her husky reply could only be heard by the sulking AI. “Request granted. Ask him to hold and transfer the communiqué channel to my quarters.” Samy stumbled before she got her legs to cooperate and left the court at a run. Without delay, the doors to the lift slid open, which was a good thing because she was ready to crawl out of her skin. The AI behaved itself and quickly transported Samy to her quarters without the recent zigs, zags, and jolts. In her office, she slid into her desk chair and commanded, “On screen.”

Firestorm on E’Terra The panel slid up from her desk. Her breath held. She bit her lip and squirmed in her seat. There he was. The burning in her lungs exhaled in a whoosh. He looked tired. Her fingers halted an inch from the screen when she realized she’d reached to wipe away the smudge of soot on his cheek. “Captain Varde.” Dex saluted, and though she couldn’t see below his straight, tense shoulders, she knew he stood tall and proud. Samy had made a mistake. For the first time in her life, she’d cared romantically for someone and rather than explore it, she’d run hot and cold. Shut him down rudely, without warning, and pulled rank. She couldn’t change that. Couldn’t turn back time, but in her own way, she could apologize; she could let him know he was more than his rank, even if difference in rank meant they had no future. “Dex,” she replied and for a split second, his brown eyes softened to that chocolate pool of intense desire. Then he was all business. “Chief informed me the mission has been scrubbed.” “Yes,” Samy blinked away her ill-placed lust and tried to wrestle herself back into her role of Captain. The interest building between her thighs didn’t help. The instinct to pull Dex close and kiss him senseless distracted her, but she managed to force her mind into the conversation. “My ship has been ordered to stand by for refugee pickup and the CastleTrail has been sent to evac the remaining colonists. We’re dispatching the transport shuttles right now. Everyone has to be off E’Terra in four days.” Dex nodded, a grim cast to his mouth, the lines hard and cutting deep, accented by a light coat of ash on his face. Where was he? Was he safe? A twinge of panic assailed her when she visualized him standing at attention, gorgeous and disheveled, and in the direct path of a firestorm tornado. “Where are you?” she blurted. “The deserted village outside HQ. Most of the huts are abandoned except for the personal belongings the people couldn’t carry.” Dex seemed to defocus. Whatever he saw, it wasn’t her. “They left behind ani-pics on the walls. Homemade quilts on the beds. Pots and pans and tools. A plow in the field. Little things. Toys.” Dex shook his head and focused back on her, and over the intensive definition of the vid, their stares caught, connected, sending a blaze of heat down Samy’s spine. “We have to save this planet, and I have a plan.” “Dex, it’s time to acknowledge the surveyors were wrong and this planet shouldn’t have been terraformed. The unknown minerals and compounds on the original rock should have been thoroughly tested and identified. The mineral gas causing the storm is volatile and dangerous. There are reservoirs of the stuff all over E’Terra.” “They thought they could save E’Terra with the torpedoes.” “Those are gone.” Guilt brought tears to Samy’s eyes, and she bit down on her tongue to keep herself under control. She’d really gone off the deep end. She’d never felt remorse for accidents out of her control. Through her burning nose, she continued, and didn’t cringe at the squeaky words that had to give her away. “Maybe it would be different if we still had all the torpedoes. Without enough to extinguish a direct line, it’s impossible to get the helos close enough to target the

Ella Drake epicenter. Time has run out. The Protectorate has deemed the planet too risky. Besides, the torpedoes were a gamble since the scientists weren’t sure if the chemicals would seep into the aquifers to poison the planet, anyway. The firestorms are worse, and soon the damage to the colonists’ lungs will put a strain on the medics in the field and the resources on the refugee rafts.” “I can keep those people from leaving their homes to go to the rafts. Trust me.” Samy flinched. Those last two words held clear accusation. She’d not followed his advice on dumping the foam. If she had, maybe they’d be in a better position now. She couldn’t second guess herself. She shook her head, and in the last moment when his head snapped back, realized how he’d interpret that. “Dex. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I have to make decisions based on the information I have from the experts as well as from the highly ranked decision makers on my team. Regardless, in this case, the UO Protectorate has made the decision. It’s out of my hands.” “If we drop the remaining torpedoes over the epicenter, there’s still a chance they’ll neutralize the gas. Just give the go and the helo can make the run.” “I can’t give the go. Those pilots are my responsibility. It’s too risky. The helo can’t handle the storm without repairs to the plating. That could take weeks.” Nothing she said seemed to influence him, and she had a sinking feeling she’d never change his mind. Samy could actually feel the blood leach from her face. Dex had to have noticed, but he leaned forward, more determined. “Samy,” he began, and Samy wanted to throttle him for using their connection to soften her. Because, dammit, it worked. “I am taking those torps. The pilots can take me close to the storm. If we change the weapons’ programming from impact detonation to timed, I can guide the drop myself, bring them further in to the storm and deliver them to target.” “That’s suicide.” Now Samy was downright pissed. If he was going to die, it would be from her strangling sense into him. Not from jumping into a weather system of firewinds, tornadoes, and pyroclastic material. Dex’s eyes lost determination and melted into the softness that did funny things to her chest. “It’s my duty, Samy.” “Your duty.” She stopped to clear her tight throat. With effort, she remained in her seat, her body antsy, ready to shoot out of the chair to pace. “Your duty is to follow orders, keep the fires from spreading until the planet is evac’d.” “My duty is to help save these people. Putting them on the rafts is no favor.” With a sad expression on his face, he reached toward the field vid-unit. “Goodbye, Samy.” “Wait,” she screamed. Dex hesitated. The AI barked into her quarters, “AI alert. Angry tones, elevated heartbeat, and high stress detected in Captain’s quarters.” “Hold, AI.” Samy sat back down, unaware she’d shot to her feet, her hand gripping the vid panel. “Dex. Don’t do anything rash.” “I’ve given this plan a lot of thought, run the stats, the risks and alternatives both through my own experience and through my comp, which is programmed for the latest in

Firestorm on E’Terra risk assessment.” Dex still stood there, talking to her through a channel of pixels and sound waves, and Samy wanted him on her ship. Not on the ground. Safe. Her hands on him. She’d gotten to know him well. She recognized the set of his jaw. The twin creases between his dark brows. The firmness of his decisive mouth. Samy was going to lose him if she didn’t do something. “I’ll help.” She didn’t know why she’d blurted the assertion. She couldn’t help. The thumping of her heart in her chest might set off the AI sensors again. She tried to calm with deep breaths, but her breathing hitched. Dex stood patiently, though he rolled a shoulder to ease the tenseness she could see in his posture. “I can’t give you the codes to change the torps. There’s not a secure enough channel. Even if I gave them to you, you couldn’t change the programming without my training.” “I know how to—” “No. These can only be modified by me. Alter your risk assessments and whatever else you need to do. I’ll be joining you on your mission.” “Not going to happen, Samy.” Now Dex looked pissed. Brows slanted and scowl pronounced, he exuded danger. Samy shivered. He looked hot. “I’ll take the helo down. It returned to the bay an hour ago. It has to be refueled and up to the return trip by now. I’ll bring the weapons down and we’ll prep them.” “You’re not setting foot on E’Terra, Samy. That’s an order.” “You can’t give me orders,” Samy returned without rancor. Once he’d become angry, she’d calmed down, though what she’d proposed was impossible. She should be at the very least, sweating. “I’ll see you in thirty.” Samy ended the transmission as Dex opened his mouth with what was clearly another denial. He’d been right, though. She couldn’t go dirtside. But he’d been right for all the wrong reasons. Crazy smokejumper willing to risk his own life, he’d not wanted to gamble hers, but she didn’t care about the peril. The thought of him in danger, without her at his back, unsettled her in ways she didn’t dare think about. Like a puzzle piece in the wrong place, it didn’t sit well with her new view of the universe. No, she couldn’t go, not for those reasons, but because she simply couldn’t be dirtside. Every time she set foot on a planet, she became atrociously ill, deathly pale, and completely useless. Not only would she not be able to help, she’d need help, cause him to slow down, be in the way, and puke all over his shiny boots. Not the Samy she’d like to present to Dex. Well, she’d take some meds, bring along some barf bags, and hope no one with either a grudge or a sense of duty to strict policy would see her. If anyone knew of her illness, she’d be kicked out of her command for lying on her physical. It was the only unethical thing in her past and still brought a burn of shame to her cheeks. Samy pulled out the field uniform she’d never worn since she’d never gone dirtside in the field. In haste, she changed, sent her instructions through the AI, and commanded the medic to meet her in the bay.

Ella Drake For the first time in two decades, Captain Samantha Varde was going dirtside. She only hoped she wouldn’t be there longer than it took to bundle Dex onto the helo and get off the ground again. **** Why the hell wasn’t she sick? Along with a nausea inhibitor, Samy had taken a shot to suppress inner ear imbalance. Still, those precautions hadn’t helped in the past. Of course, she’d been eighteen when she’d last touched down. Plenty of time for her body to have selfcorrected—if only she were that lucky. That little reminder didn’t help, as it pointed out the age difference between her and the object of her lust. Yes, on the way down on the helo, she’d had to acknowledge she was in lust with Dex. There could be no other reason she’d acted out of character and actually intended to defy orders. As Captain of the StratGlider, she was well aware of every detail of the records of the hotshot team, which wasn’t much since they were civvies. She’d also had full access to everything accumulated on the smokejumper, her SME. Dex had a file thicker than all of them put together, including the Chief’s, who had a respectable showing because of age and experience. Dex had experience, and plenty. He’d volunteered for many highrisk missions, all of the dangerous variety. Dex was a true hero. He was also a bad romantic risk. Lastly, he was seven years her junior and two inches shorter. Many men couldn’t handle that on top of her rank. At the field HQ, she got directions from Chief, who didn’t even lift a brow to see her on the ground. Nobody knew her secret, of course, other than the medic who she’d threatened with a dressing down and a demotion if he blabbed, but by orders and all common sense, she should be aboard the StratGlider, prepping the ship to haul hundreds of refugees. Shields was more than capable. Samy felt no guilt on that score. The Chief couldn’t have been too concerned since he greeted her on landing and set out to catch up with his hotshot team. The helo took off, sending dust and soot flying, clogging her nose as her short hair whipped about her head. The craft flew out for standard runs to spray retardant over the wildfires. They were scheduled to return in an hour, enough time for Samy to reprogram the torpedoes. “I’m Blitz,” said the tall redhead who approached her with a serious expression. “The rest of the team is already out, but Dex asked me to get some gear together for him. He also said you’d take it.” The man dropped a backpack stuffed full, a rugged green duffel, two tanks holding she didn’t know what, and an axe at her feet. “He’s set up in a quiet spot further from the fires for whatever plan he has cooked up. See ya.” With a wave, he walked off without a second glance, but called over his shoulder. “I gotta get to my team. The fire on the ridge is a little too close.” With that, she was alone with pounds of equipment and an empty campsite. Not quite empty, she revised in her head as she hefted the backpack onto her shoulders. Snores came from the stabli-structures. The off-duty smoke eaters were obviously in

Firestorm on E’Terra camp getting some rest. Samy patted her breast pocket to ensure her meds were tucked safely beneath the straps of the pack. She threw the duffel crosswise over her shoulders in front, picked up the tanks which were thankfully light, and tilted the axe against her leg, then began walking down the one road out. Heading into life-threatening danger, she should have been a bit anxious, maybe. Or dwell on the lecture she’d get from the Admiral. She should even slump under the weight of the equipment, but she didn’t. With the thought of Dex squarely in front of her, she trekked down the road with a bounce in her steps. Behind her, the crack of wood splitting sundered the air. Smoke filled her lungs with her sharp intake of breath. The crash of a tree echoed through the forest. Sharp yells and the buzz of equipment drowned the crackling of the approaching flames. Another funnel of smoke, ash, and pyrotechnic refuse whirled on the not-too-distant western edge of the forest. Her steps quickened and the fear finally came.

Ella Drake

Chapter Five Every turn strengthening his resolve, Dex paced from one side of the deserted village to the other. Small dura-wood, low-roofed cottages dotted the dirt road. Here and there, communal buildings of the same synthetic wood and clay-baked shingles were empty and dark. Nothing stirred but the dust beneath his boots. He’d packed the gear they’d need and studied the maps, but waiting at HQ with Chief and Blitz breathing down his neck had finally driven him a little crazy. He’d yelled at Blitz for folding the survival tent into the left outside pocket instead of the right. Not his finest moment. Dex returned to the village to ensure everyone was gone and set up the torps and equipment, ready for Samy to enter her command codes. A roll of thunder split the air. The clouds above glittered with lightning balls. Beneath his specially designed fatigues, the hair on his arms rose with static. In the center of the village, a gathering place with lightning grounding tech had caught his attention earlier. That’s where he’d set up. With the threat above him, he rotated on his heel and strode back to the quiet pavilion. In the large octagonal open structure, several stalls held evac provisional stores like meal tins, cots, blankets, and tanks of fire retardant. Bent over to check the gauges on the tanks—for the third time—he heard a creaking sound. Dex shot to his feet. Entering the pavilion at a near jog, Captain Varde headed toward him with her longlegged, confident stride. His mouth went dry. “I thought I saw you duck in here.” She appeared slightly winded, but stood straight with the backpack and gear he’d left for her to carry. With a clank, she deposited the now-redundant tanks of extinguisher she’d humped all the way from HQ on his request. When he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he nodded toward the tanks he’d found. “Looks like these are full. I don’t think we’ll need them, but I should bring them on the helo, in case.” In case of what? Not like the retardant would do any good on the helo. What evasive chatter. Dex had never had trouble with his side of the conversation with her before. “Maybe we should leave them here, in case any other evacuees have need of them.” Dex nodded, and thought it’d be best to keep his mouth shut, but of course he couldn’t. “Thank you for coming.” The lines of stress around her mouth tightened a little, or maybe that was a shadow from the smoke clouds hanging low in the air. “I didn’t think you wanted me here.” “I don’t.” Dex didn’t. He didn’t want Samy anywhere near danger, but if he could choose someone to cover his back, it would be her. “Here. Why don’t you take off your pack for a few minutes? We can get started with the torps.” Clasps fumbling in her hands, Samy turned her back to struggle out of the pack. Standing near, Dex couldn’t resist taking the last step to get that much closer to her. He

Firestorm on E’Terra helped her take off the pack, the duffel, and the axe she’d threaded through the duffel’s straps. “Let’s get this over with,” she said. “Where did you set up the torps?” **** Moisture rolled down Samy’s forehead, and a familiar strong hand, with a fast but gentle wipe, cleared away the sweat that threatened to blur her vision. Dex kneeled to her side, ever ready to help with the needed tool, water, or as now, a vigilant watch for anything that might distract her sight or her hands from the task. The open torpedo on the hoverlift in front of her was the last one. The first already waited for them to load onto the helo. Long minutes of painstaking care with the last torp —to remove the riveted casing hatch, port into the comp with her codes, and change the programming—had put a crick in her neck. Dex’s callused hand rubbed at her shoulders and neck. His innate ability to read her through the process had been astounding. Eye opening, and despite the danger, flattering. Samy rolled her head, the action causing an audible pop. Dex squeezed her shoulders and let go. She kept her attention fully on the exposed comp. “I’m about to set the last timer. Do you have a reading on the first one?” “Yes. We need this to coordinate down to the millisecond. We have three hours, fifty-eight minutes, and zero seconds on my mark.” She input the time, nodded, and with a deep breath, stated a complete lie, “Ready.” “And, three, two, one, mark.” Samy started the timer and subdued the instinct to bolt. She shuddered, wanting to be away from these two modified weapons before the allotted time. She had no guarantees this would work and the odds were stacked against them. * Dex stood next to Samy, his hands sweating more than when he’d jumped into the outskirts of the Prolate Wars firebombing. He’d do anything to get her off this planet. The urge was so strong he didn’t have the extra brain capacity to worry over the jump he’d be taking in less than two hours. Once Samy’d reaffixed the covering and straightened her back after bending over her work for thirty minutes, she groaned a heart-felt sigh of relief. The sound went straight to his cock. With a will of their own, his hands landed on her shoulders, and he kneaded at the knots he found there. “Oh. That’s wonderful,” she moaned. Dex was lost. Lust had been his close companion for two months, and the soft woman under his gentle ministrations pushed him past rational thought. Whatever the reasons he hadn’t bedded her until now no longer mattered. Life was too short, and his wasn’t a good bet right now. Dex intended to have Samy beneath him within five minutes, tops. The husky voice laden with desire didn’t sound like him at all. “You needed that, didn’t you?” “Um.” Her head rolled back on her shoulders. The soft, short blonde hair rubbed against his hands. Her movement released a whiff of her minty shampoo, and his erection

Ella Drake hardened even more. He adjusted his stance and thought he should sit before he fell. “You finished early. We have a few minutes before the helo finishes its run. Sit on this cot, and I can get to you better.” Oh, yes. He’d get to her better, all right. What better way to pass the twenty minutes before he started a risky mission? Long strokes across her shoulders helped the tightness ease beneath his stroking fingers. Samy’s warmth sank into him. Her softness at odds with the rigid persona she usually presented, she seemed an enigma. Out of habit, he ran a hand up behind her right ear in a move he’d perfected to come across as a caress. In truth, he checked to ensure his safety and that of his partner. The small patch there extinguished his last reservation. She was protected against pregnancy and every virus known to the Protectorate. Her little moans egged him on, and knowing that he could do this to her, sure he was the only one, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on. “I can’t really help you as much as you need. Not like this. Let me help you take off your top so I can ready dig in.” Obvious, but really, he couldn’t hide the bulge in his pants if she faced him. Besides, she’d figure it out when he palmed those high and tight breasts, rolled her nipples, and licked them. Oh, yes. She’d figure it out when he spread her legs and sank his dick in her. Dex’s mouth watered, and he licked his dry lips. His fingers actually trembled when he reached around her to unseal her uniform tunic. Dex stood behind Samy as she sat on the cot. He had to lean over her to finish parting her top. The silky little bra holding her firm breasts surprised him with the delicate lace, the daintiness on a strong, tall, curvy woman. Dex grinned. He loved it. His dark hands covered the lemon-colored, thin material, and the softness spilled through his fingers. The hard points in his palms excited him, pulled at all his senses as if the world revolved around those two points in the universe. “You have big hands,” Samy said. Her breathing was as rough as his. Dex nuzzled her hair before answering, the soft fine strands releasing another hint of her minty shampoo that was quickly becoming an obsession. “My hands have a lot to hold.” He murmured into her hair and squeezed to emphasize his assertion. They both groaned. Samy’s head fell back on his shoulder, and he curved around her, resettling her back against his side. His arms still held her close, but he could see her face. Dex needed to see every expression. The world closed in around them, and Dex shut out everything except the small built-in radar that waited for the whop-whop-whop of the helo. Once he shelved this interlude, Dex prayed to the stars it wouldn’t be their last, but he couldn’t delude himself. This could be a one-way mission. If this was his last time making love, he was sure as hell glad it was Samy, the only woman he’d ever loved. Dex stilled, his hands clutching her closer. Yes, he loved her, dammit.

Firestorm on E’Terra The thought should have been a revelation, a thrill, a moment of profound greatness. It angered him. He’d found a family in her. A reason to come back from a mission, and the odds were he’d never make it home this time. Even if he got back, a more impossible mission faced him, to convince Samy they belonged together and their rank didn’t matter. Dex kissed her neck. The intensity between them made it difficult to breathe, but he licked and bit and lapped at her salty skin while promising, “I’ll make it worth it, Samy. Forget everything else for a few minutes. Forget what will happen when we leave this pavilion. Let me love you. Let me hold you before we go back out there. Let me. Please, Samy.” “Yes.” She laughed. The relieved trill seemed to lift her, make her sound like a girl with no worries. “Touch me, Dex. Those hands have been driving me crazy for months, watching you hold that racquet. Your hands are sexy. Forget rank. Forget age.” Samy turned in his arms and drew his face down to her heaving chest. He licked down a trail of moisture to the top of the lace barely covering her nipple. He mumbled against her smooth creamy skin, “Age?” “Never mind.” With shrug, she pushed down her bra to reveal rosy tips, tight and drawn up into an excited state he couldn’t misunderstand. Samy wanted him. She wanted Dex, survivor of a refuge camp and bootstrap military grunt. His mouth covered her breast and pulled in the flesh he’d been eager to devour. Now that the moment was here, he couldn’t go slow and relish. A ferocious need to claim, stamp her as his own, rose up and nearly choked him. Dex pulled back. Samy whimpered and grabbed at his arms. “What’s wrong?” She shifted on the bunk, and glazed blue eyes stared up at him. He couldn’t answer without sounding like a controlling psychotic freak. How could he say, I want to fuck you ‘til you can’t move, brand you all over as mine, and then fuck you again? Instead, he hastily flung off his fatigue shirt, which quieted her frustrated pulls on his arms. She stroked across his abs and scratched across his ribs. He shuddered. Her eager exploration hampered his frantic struggles to get his pants off and his cock free. Once she saw his hands at his crotch, Samy took over and hastily grabbed at his uniform pants and yanked them open. He hadn’t blinked before she licked the purple head of his cock. His legs went limp as a flash of heat ran up his spine. “Damn, Samy. Nothing’s as beautiful as your sweet lips on my cock.” Eyes squeezed shut, she groaned and slid the sultry, wet heaven further down his shaft while she wiggled her own pants down around her thighs. His entire body shook, but when she clamped down and sucked hard, the back of her throat hitting the head of his cock, he went rigid. He couldn’t see straight to get a good look at the curves she’d exposed. Damn, if he had her again, he’d take his time and lick every inch of creamy skin. Right now, her mouth was doing wonders and bringing him to the point of no return. “Stop,” he yelped, and pulled her hair, a little harder than he’d meant, and her head snapped back. Her cheeks flushed, and the sexy curve to her lips eased a small doubt he’d been too rough. Hell, he could do rough. And fast. He had to do fast.

Ella Drake “I’m gonna fuck you good,” he said, hoping the crude talk excited her. “Yes. Do me, Dex. Hard.” Oh yeah, it excited her. Dex shoved her back on the cot and ripped her pants over her boots. In that brief second he cataloged the beauty of her rounded hips and the trim blonde hair between her thighs. Dex slammed his body down on hers. The slap of skin echoed in the pavilion, reminding him of their location where anyone could see. The place was deserted, and he was too far gone to care if someone happened upon them. He reached under her knees and lifted, parting her wide. His cock slid in her cream, and that was the last invitation he needed. If he’d not had evidence of her arousal, he might have hurt her, because he wasn’t sure he could stop. He could never stop when she was willing beneath him. He’d never felt like this before, hot and randy on top of protective and sheltering. “If you need me to stop…” Dex couldn’t finish his sentence, and he couldn’t wait. The pressure in his balls was building and driving him to the edge. She only grunted. He took that as “yes”. He fisted his cock, aimed, and slid all the way in one stroke. The glide was exquisite and hot. The tenderness towards Samy, who melted around him, added to the pressure building at the base of his spine. “Shit,” he groaned. “Oh, that’s good,” she whimpered and clutched him to her moist skin. “Better than good.” Dex pressed against her full breasts and welcoming hips, full body-to-body contact, and willed the climax back for a few seconds. It was as if the appetizer had lasted two solid months and now that the full course was here, he was going to choke on it and end it too soon. “Ssst.” Dex hissed. “Can’t take it slow, Samy.” He pulled back in a jerk of his hips and slammed home, eager to bury himself inside, under her skin, in her mind, in her heart. With the ease of their zap-ball partnership, he sensed her tension and stoked it. Like the rhythm of a perfect volley, he rocked with her, back, forward. Back, forward. Dex hadn’t removed all his clothes, his shirt flapped against her, and his pants kept the smoothness of her thighs from brushing against his, but he couldn’t stop. His cock surged, and he couldn’t pause long enough to get naked skin to naked skin. The end rushed at him in such force he fought to hold it back. He hefted her leg on his shoulder and reached between them to stroke her with his fingers. Her thighs shook and her body contracted around him, holding him tight. He found her clit and in a race to the finish, he couldn’t find a lick of finesse. He stroked her mercilessly. “Here, Samy?” He grunted with the effort to speak when his body worked with such abandon, heart pounding, lungs grasping for air, pulling in her scent, musk blended with mint. “There.” Her moist lips parted, her lids closed, and the flush on her face spread down. Her chest pinkened, mesmerizing him with the jostle of those perfect breasts, rocking with his thrusts, nipples tight.

Firestorm on E’Terra Her fingernails dug into his arms as her head rocked back and forth. She murmured and held on tighter. “I’m almost there.” Those words were sweet, scalding, and pushed him off the ledge. The white wave rushed up his spine to grip his balls and down his cock. “I’m there, baby.” Dex surged against her. “Oh, yes.” Samy’s hips bucked. Her thighs tightened, and she shook all over while her back arched. He’d never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. One last thrust and he ground his hips hard against hers, riding the waves of a blinding climax as white spots danced in front of his eyes. He collapsed onto her and her arms fell limply to the side. Another surge of tenderness overcame him, made his eyes sting, and brought the most ridiculous urge that he gave into immediately. Dex tucked his mouth into Samy’s neck and held her head still, hands threaded through her silky hair, body open and soft beneath him. He nipped, pulled, tugged, and laved at her neck until a passion bruise rose. He’d marked her. His chest swelled, and he grinned. A sudden shyness attacked him, but she’d closed her eyes and hadn’t seen his foolish reaction. No matter what happened, she was his, as long as he could keep her out of uniform. * “You’re mine,” Dex mumbled into her neck. Samy shook her head, a jumble of reactions clogging her throat. Another lifetime, another career, maybe a decade younger, she might have relished his claim. She would have to put him in his place. Let him understand they couldn’t have anything beyond this little fling, a flash of fantasy they must put behind them. Yes, she’d set him back on his heels immediately. But he might not be here tomorrow, not if he made that suicidal jump. She clutched at him. “Hmm. I outrank you. You’re mine, smokejumper.” His husky laugh sent gooseflesh dancing over her, and he rubbed her arms as if he chased away a chill, but she was boiling, ever-so-hot when he was near. The beep from his waiting comp brought reality back in a painful rush as if she’d collided head-on with a freighter shuttle. Not only did her subordinate lie on top of her, his spent sex slipping from between her thighs as he moved toward his backpack, but she was mostly nude, in semi-public—even if the village had been deserted. She hadn’t been nude with a man in, well, she didn’t dare think how long. Dex might have been in Basic, it was that long ago. On top of it all, she’d never been horizontal with a man while on duty. Samy hid the cringe and kept her gaze averted. She scrambled to right her clothes and find her uniform pants. “The satellite sweep results are in. Here.” Clothes already back in place as if they hadn’t had hot, rough sex, Dex proffered his comp. “These are coordinates for the jump, as close as the helo can get without the temps causing damage. Send them to the pilots.” Standing close again, his loose-limbed, satisfied body calling to her, he pointed to the line of numbers. He slid an arm around her shoulders before he mumbled into her hair, the air warm and soothing as it brushed along her sensitive ear and neck. The words,

Ella Drake like a caress, as if he spoke love secrets and endearments, took a moment to seep in. “Let’s scramble. We need to get in the air before the winds shift.” Samy nodded, her insides still mushy, and used the comp to communicate the coordinates before she rushed to right herself and the equipment for the helo. Out on the dirt road, the pavilion and its interlude at her back, equipment slung over her chest and shoulders, she stopped short. Master Sergeant Dex had given his Captain an order, and she’d melted at his feet and done it. Samy shook her head. She’d have to show him who outranked who. Later. She ran to catch up with the rugged soldier already heading to the nearest landing site, eager to head straight into the heart of the firestorm.

Firestorm on E’Terra

Chapter Six Samy caught up with Dex as the thump of the helo came from overhead. Dex crouched, checking the chute’s packing with methodical precision while he had the audacity to give orders again. “That’s it for you, Samy. You’ve done your part of the job. I’ll get these torpedoes into position. You get back to the StratGlider and keep an eye on the firestorm. If this doesn’t work, you’ll need to get the evac underway.” “Don’t waste your breath. I’m going with you.” “Like hell you are.” “I give the orders here. I outrank you. I’m your elder, too, for stars’ sake.” “You are?” Ready to read him the riot act, Samy rounded to face him, but his confusion, his earnest expression amid the smudges of soot, tousled short hair, and the beginnings of a beard, snapped her mouth shut. Well, if he didn’t know their age difference, she wasn’t going to point it out to him. “Both those pilots have families on the StratGlider waiting for them to come home. I can’t send them to do something I’m not willing to do myself. The helo will not lift off the ground with them aboard. If you’re making this jump, I’m flying you in.” And she’d push the helo to get close enough for the damn drop instead of letting him kill himself. “Fine,” Dex complied. Without a glance at her, he finished testing the straps on his chute, stood back, hands on hips, to survey the small motorized cart loaded with the two rigged torpedoes. Even though he was covered nearly head to toe in fatigues, Samy could see the power of his body, the determination of his stance. The air around them stirred as the helo began its descent. A scowl covered Dex’s features and the tenderness he’d shown her in the pavilion had disappeared, even the thoughtfulness while she’d re-programmed the torps had retreated. Samy stared at his lips, remembering their hunger. She shivered. “You forgot these. I found them on the cot and meant to give them back to you.” From a side pocket Dex withdrew her packet of meds. He seemed angry. Actually downright pissed off. “Why do you have these? You shouldn’t be dirtside. You belong back on the ship.” “I’m fine.” “You’re sure? You’d be better off away from here. I don’t want to add worrying about you on top of it all.” He worried about her. She kind of liked knowing he cared, but she didn’t want to be a distraction, unless that meant distracting him from his plan. “I haven’t had a problem since I got here.” Dex slipped the meds back in his pocket, tucked her head into his shoulder and planted a sweet kiss to her hair.

Ella Drake Samy leaned into him. His scent, earthy with a slight hint of the ash coating the air, filled her with a possessiveness she’d never felt in her life, and she wanted him again. Her arms tightened around him. “Damn, woman,” Dex growled low in her ear and shifted, nudging her crotch with his unmistakable erection. “I can’t get near you without wanting to tear your uniform off.” A throat cleared behind them. “Shit,” Samy whispered. She’d completely forgotten the helo crew. Whatever was between her and Dex had to wait until they survived this mess, and she certainly had to find a way to deal with regulations forbidding the affair. Her gut went cold. Dex may not turn her in, but would her crewmen report her breach of protocol? She didn’t want to turn, but she had to face the helo crew. If she was still alive in twenty-four hours, she may not have her captaincy after all. Somehow, that rank didn’t matter so much in the face of riding a helo into a hellish vortex. “Captain, we need to get in the air before the temps rise any further.” Samy had taken too long to turn around, and Dex’s arms flexed around her briefly. She stepped back and faced the two wingmen from the StratGlider. “Return to the ship and remain on standby. Thank you for your service, Ensign.” The two men, in the bright blue flight suit of the StratGlider, both saluted. No questions from them; their young faces shed some of the lines of stress. “See you on board, Captain.” The higher ranking of the two nodded. The pilots walked toward field HQ without a single knowing glance, a frown, or any sneering comments. No reaction at all to seeing their Captain in a compromising embrace with a much younger, lower-ranking enlisted man. No reaction to her intent to pilot the helo. “Let’s go. No time to waste.” Dex didn’t wait on her answer. The cart kicked on, the small engine humming, and pushed up from the ground with a small burst of air across her heated face. Instead of loading the modified weapons into the appropriate bays, they loaded them into the belly of the craft. Dex had wrapped a net around them. He fully intended to attach that net to his chute. Samy thought she might be ill. Maybe the landsickness was finally kicking in. How in the hell could he jump out of an aircraft, direct all the weight to the ground, and possibly get out alive? Tension crackled between them, and they didn’t speak as they climbed aboard and buckled in. The small craft had a small bay, open on each side with sliding doors, and a twoperson cockpit that smelled acrid, of mingled sweat and grease. Samy’s jaw tightened as she checked the controls, logged into the comp systems with her command codes, started the antigrav lift, and guided the craft from the ground. They cleared the trees. Bringing humid heat and the taste of ash, the wind whipped through the open bay doors. In the distance, a funnel cloud of smoke streaked with lightning and spread fire and destruction.

Firestorm on E’Terra Samy swallowed and loosened the grip that had nearly pulled back on the directional stick. She pointed the helo straight toward the coordinates, somewhere in the vicinity of that tornado. There was no way in hell she was letting Dex jump out of the helo. **** There was no way in hell Dex was letting Samy anywhere near those hurricaneforce crosswinds, never mind the conflagration he intended to take head-on. “This wind is brutal.” Short hair nearly standing on end, twirling and snapping in the wind, Samy kept her concentration on the readouts in front of her, strain evident in her rigid posture and the furrowed brow he longed to kiss. “Can’t close the doors, though.” No, they were better off letting the gales pass through rather than pushing against the craft and blowing them off course. The stack effect of the fire drew in the pounding, whistling air currents, sucking the oxygen and moisture away and creating a vortex, a weather system that spread more destruction as it spun away from the origin. “How’s it holding together?” Dex asked. The helo vibrated and gathered heat like a flue. Combustion would be a problem soon, with the temp deflection plating damaged. “A minute out from the coordinates you gave me.” Samy didn’t turn from her vigil over the screen flashing rapid updates faster than he could read. She was a pro, though, and understood the gobblety-gook. “Standing ready.” Dex made a last visual scan. Flame-proof, full-body, silver-flash suit, check. Coolant system, on and functional. Rebreather, ready. Chute pack with fire-resistant cabling, fully adjusted. Small jetpack, attached to torpedo net. The jetpack was a risk. Dex had no idea if it’d hold up in the heat, but any assist to direct the torps was a good thing. Dex stood at the lip of the helo door. As usual, before a jump, he didn’t feel a pinch of anxiety. His eyes defocused, his internal systems slowed—his heartbeat stabilized, his mind cleared, his breathing went even. Long ago, he’d mastered the art of meditation and relaxation before the jump. Waves of heat rolled upward, brushing through his hair. After tugging up the hood of his suit and fitting the rebreather over his face, he gripped the grab bar above him and pushed his toes over the edge with nothing but gray clouds of smoke beneath. No reason to wait. “Ready.” The echo of his tinny voice sounded inside his rebreather. Over the comm in his ear, Samy responded, the edge in her voice loud and clear through the link. “I’m not. I can get us close enough that you don’t have to dive. Stand back.”

Ella Drake “This is where your part ends, Samy.” Dex glanced down at his chromoter. “You’ve gone past the safety zone, Captain.” The vibrating helo shuddered and bucked beneath his heavy, FlamoTech booted heel. The side of the helo door, made of synthmetal, radiated waves of heat. With his coolant system, the temps didn’t reach him, but the helo couldn’t take it any more than Samy. “Turn this aircraft around, Captain. You’re entering the outer area of the storm. The combustible temp of this craft is higher than yours, and it’s already smoking.” A pop thundered in his ear, but Samy didn’t respond. Dex gripped the grab bar. His meditative state cracked. “Samy,” he roared. His anguish ricocheted in his rebreather faster than a zap-ball volley. She didn’t answer. His world stopped. His vision blurred, his boot going in and out of focus with the fires raging below. “Samy?” he whispered. Fear like he’d never known made him turn. Samy had to be all right. She sat in the pilot’s seat, perspiration dripping down her face, her hands tight on the directional stick. Her lips drawn in a grimace and her jaw tight, she held the craft steady while her gaze continued to follow the updates blipping by on the screen. Dex sagged, his posture slipping a bit, before he shook off his momentary slip and stood straight again. “Samy.” He called to her again. When she still didn’t respond, he lifted his rebreather. Cloying humidity coated his nose and a burnt flavor filmed inside his mouth. “Captain.” She flicked a glance at him. “Dex?” “Are the comms out?” She shrugged, adjusted her earpiece, and tapped on it. “Test. One, two.” Samy sighed. “Comms out.” “You passed the drop,” Dex yelled above the din of the howling air. “I think I can get us to the original drop area. You don’t have to jump.” That was her game. He had to go. Every instinct propelled him to save this colony. Keep these people off the rafts. Samy couldn’t fly the helo through a firestorm. Nothing was worth that. Not him, that’s for sure. “No. The helo won’t make it.” He yelled. You won’t make it. “Almost there.” Her jaw was set. She wouldn’t budge. The furrow in her brow deepened, and her hands visibly shook as she gripped the stick. She reached up and tugged at her uniform closure. It ripped open to reveal the yellow scrap of lace he’d cupped and kissed less than two hours ago. Drops of moisture slid over her flushed skin. She couldn’t take the heat now, and it would only get worse.

Firestorm on E’Terra A lot worse. Dex shook his head. “No. Samy. I’m jumping now. Turn the craft around.” “Don’t you dare jump out of this helo. That’s an order.” Dex tore his gaze away from Samy, the panic all over her face doing funny things to his gut. If he didn’t get off of this helo, now, she’d push until the temperatures killed her. The horror of a future devoid of Samy sent a spike of terror through him. Already half out of the helo, he looked down into the hellish maw of a conflagration raging as far as he could see. Miles and miles of smoke, fire, and destruction. Only one thing left to say. “I love you.” Dex yelled to be heard over the caterwauling wind. He didn’t wait on an answer. He slapped his mask back over his face and grabbed the jetpack. With a flick of a switch, he turned on the jet assist, the hum transmitting through his gloves, and pushed the toe of his boot over the ledge. The scream in his ears could have been the wind, or it could have been Samy. He didn’t hesitate. He jumped.

Ella Drake

Chapter Seven Samy thought she might lose her mind. Dex dropped out of sight. She searched frantically, but her vision blanked. Off and on. Flashing scenes of a gray cloud of smoke and fire beneath her. She blinked, but it didn’t help. There. A snatch of orange fabric disappeared into the thick miasma of ash, soot, and burning debris. An opened chute. Dex. Nausea gripped her in its fist as her body shook, her feet and hands shaking in icy cold while her collar and chest burned with a prickling rash. She had to get out of here. Now. She had to get Dex back. Now. Deep breaths helped to calm her chest palpitations. She couldn’t waste any more time. Every second she let herself fall into panic, the closer Dex got to the carpet of flames decimating this planet. Why did he think these colonists would want to stay here, with the wasteland left behind? It was all wasted space. All of it. With a forced push, she angled the directional stick toward the area where she’d seen the splash of orange. In an incongruous move, she wanted company and opened a channel to the StratGlider, requesting her ship’s AI to accompany her. “Come in, AI.” “Here, Captain. Appropriating controls of helo and commencing atmospheric and planetary scans. Hold please.” Easy for the AI to say, holding was nearly impossible. The helo shook. The inferno seemed to reach for Samy, tried to drag her down. Her wet palms slipped in the grip. She fisted both hands around the drive shaft. It pushed back. The craft hesitated in midair. Hung in a current. The console blared at her. Yellow flashing lights of warning. The AI announced, “Combustion levels approach critical.” Her seat jumped beneath her. With a great whoosh, the helo tipped to the side. The air pressure pressed her against the seat. “Tornado winds,” the AI blared a warning. “Hell.” Samy tried to direct the craft, but the currents buffeted the helo through the air. Like a shot from an old-time cannon, the helo vaulted hard to the side, the speed fast enough to clank Samy’s teeth together. She wanted the smoke to clear, but when it did, she couldn’t help the low roll of her

Firestorm on E’Terra stomach. Blue sky. The craft had careened away from the epicenter of the firestorm. “Dex,” she whispered. She wiped at the crawling sensation on her face and her hands came away wet, muddy with tears and soot. **** So far so good. Though he’d strapped it to his equipment belt, Dex held tight to the jetpack when his chute auto-deployed. He lurched upward when the air caught his fall. The net of torpedoes, the only hope of saving the homes of the colonists, dangled below. His instinctive hold on the jetpack wasn’t necessary, so he eased his fingers from their death grip. With a close watch on his chromoter, he directed the chute through the currents, his drop point slightly off course from Samy’s stubborn delay. Samy. With a momentary worry over whether she’d escaped before she fried the helo, Dex’s concentration broke. He muscled the distraction into the back of his mind. With tugs on his directional leads, he quickly found an updraft to bring him closer to goal. A small tree limb, on fire, zinged past his head. The gale picked up. Sparks and small chunks of burning debris whipped around him. His suit could hold up to extreme temperatures, even as high as a magma flow, but the equipment he carried might not make it. As if he begged for trouble, the jetpack coughed against his waist, where he’d attached the small personal device the shape of a cycle handlebar. The small engine, the size of his fist, spewed black from the exhaust area. Dex bucked, the weight of the torps pulling him down. “Well, damn,” he muttered. His rate of descent intensified. He plummeted toward the ground. This just got harder. Nothing he couldn’t handle. The funnel cloud roaring at him might be a problem, though. * Samy steered the helo into a U-turn. She slammed a fist into the comm console. “Where is he?” she yelled. The whirling air around her picked up in pitch. Unable to take it a moment longer, she released the drive shaft. The craft immediately shuddered, and she shrugged out of her uniform top. “Hotter than a prosti on synth-passion.” Where was Dex to hear her, see her out of uniform? The damn man was in the middle of a firestorm, that’s where. Control back in her hands and craft somewhat level, she sat up straight when the comm beeped at her. “There he is.” Her mouth went dry, the taste of burnt wood—or how she imagined it tasted—

Ella Drake coating her tongue. She didn’t think she could get near him, the little spot on the nav screen indicated he descended, too fast, right toward the reservoir of gas. Willing to risk her life for his, she would’ve charged right after him, but the craft didn’t have an ice asteroid’s chance in hell. No, she didn’t like her chances, but she had to save his fine ass anyway. “Have to die someday.” She pinged on his position and headed straight for him. * Dex tugged hard on his right lead. The chute dragged in the swirl above him. The jump equipment was latest tech. Nanofibers designed to adjust to the wind’s direction. Indestructible cabling. Small cells continually collected energy to power the stabilization net, cross-matted like webbing in the fabric. The tech didn’t rely on catching air as much as parachutes of old, but Dex had previous experience with the pitfalls. The stabilization net could meet a hurricane force wind it couldn’t handle. It could also get a few too many burns in the mesh from falling embers. Dex held his breath when the twirling funnel cloud bore down on him. His suit kept out the heat, but the pings from debris still slammed into him. His chromoter held up in the melee and gave his position. Almost there. His pulse pounded, rushing in his ears. He tugged hard on the lead again, willing himself to go to the right, through the flying mess of objects carried in the storm. A little more. A few degrees off. More, more. Through his gloves, the rope seemed insubstantial, but it directed him, inch by inch, toward the drop zone. He flew down, dropping, dropping. Almost out of time. The ground rushed up. Dex couldn’t see it, but the chromoter told him he was out of time. If he didn’t drop the torps, he’d run out of sky. Not quite there. Dex tugged, hard, on the leader. He lurched, bobbed in the air. He had to risk releasing the rope. With a practiced maneuver, he let go and unbuckled the jetpack in a flash. The wind pushed at him. With a hope he hadn’t drifted too far in the seconds to unattach the torps, he relinquished the pack. With a silent, anti-climactic, whip in the air, the jetpack plummeted and took the net of modified weapons with it. With the drag gone, Dex jerked away, rebounding up several feet. Wind rushed around him, pulling at his uniform and slapping him with burning rubble. Smoke filled his vision. He couldn’t see the ground. Even if he could, all he’d see would be a valley full of smog, a crater burned out, and a crack in the ground where invisible gasses leaked from a fissure and combusted with the fire around it.

Firestorm on E’Terra The foam in the torpedoes should neutralize the gas. He hoped like hell, anyway. Dex blinked. He pulled on the leaders again, aiming to find the nearest current draft and get out. By his count, the torps were set to blow in five. If the turbulence around him picked up, he’d have a big problem. The ripple effect of the gas extinguishing could cause a vacuum of air in the middle and another deadly vortex of wind and fire. From the corner of his eye, he spotted raging wildfires. The fires would spread outward in an ever expanding V-shape. He pressed down, adjusting his direction to miss the hot zone. Burned out tree tops rushed up at him as the smoke thinned. Too close to the ground. He jerked up. His boots brushed through the reaching branches. The skitter sound of them clambering against him reached through his rebreather. Dex could delay the inevitable only so long. Gravity and forward momentum would bring him down. And soon. He skimmed over the trees, bending his knees to keep from hitting the taller ones. No fires. His chromoter showed a barely tolerable amount of oxygen and temp level, in case his suit tore on the way down. He couldn’t keep himself in the air much longer. Like a tease, a gap in the trees ahead disappeared in the smoke before he could get a lock on it. He held his breath, gave one last tug, and positioned his body for landing, where he thought the gap had been. Dex descended. Limbs and branches broke against the sides of his boots with a loud cracking. Out of the smoke, a tree trunk appeared directly in his path. “Damn.” He yanked on the directional pulls, but he was too late. Dex slammed into the tree. The stars exploding in his vision for a split second preceded the blinding pain. Then, blackness. * The blip that represented Dex stopped moving. Samy’s eyes burned and her nose dripped. Her body slick with perspiration, she had to hold the pilot’s stick with a grasp so strong her shoulders and arms ached. The map on screen directed her, and she shoved the helo toward Dex’s position. It protested with a loud whine and a shudder before it moved. The landing bars on the bottom of the helo brushed through the burned sticks that used to be trees. Nothing but clinging black and gray fog billowed around her. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Samy hovered over the position where Dex should be. Nothing. She couldn’t see anything. The wind blew a break in the smoke and a flash of orange sent Samy’s chapped lips

Ella Drake into a painful grin. Her throat burned. With her pilot’s instincts, a trust in the position of the little blinking light, and the location of the disappearing orange chute, Samy sent the helo plummeting through the trees to the ground. A thump and a deafening crash later, and Samy threw off the buckle of her lap belt. The open doors revealed scorched surroundings, the blackened moss—the peculiar, usually purple, carpet covered E’Terra—denuded black and gray trees, and the everpresent smoke. Her feet touched the ground, and she fell. Landsickness gripped her, brought her to her knees as she clutched her spinning head. Oh, hell. She slumped toward the ground. Now how would she find Dex? She couldn’t walk straight. Couldn’t see straight. If she moved, she might get sick all over the moss crackling beneath her hands and knees. Fingers trembling, she groped inside the pocket for her meds. A sinking sensation joined the pounding in her head, nearly taking her face-first into the burnt moss. Dex had her meds. She couldn’t find him without them. She had to find him to get the meds. Around and around, her thoughts spun. She gritted her teeth and tapped the comm unit in her ear. “AI, help me find Dex.” “Yes, Captain.” The StratGlider AI intoned in her ear. Samy hissed. “Quieter please.” With a lower tone, the voice now distinctly female and definitely worried, gave hurried instructions, almost too rapid for Samy to follow. “Go forward ten feet. To the stand of Polyander trees. They’re unusually high in oil and combust in a big explosion when the fires get hot. Then five trees in…” “Slow down.” Samy clutched her head. The dull throbbing had turned to spikes when she’d tried to think through each step of the directions. “One thing at a time.” Unable to stand without the nausea sending her back to her knees, Samy crawled. The moss sent up puffs of burnt air. Her hands and knees were blessedly cushioned, even though the moss had been decimated. Meter by painstaking meter, Samy hauled herself toward Dex. Samy stopped when the tree trunks grew thick in front of her. Must be the Polyander trees. Dex had to be near. She felt it deep in her bones. Everything around her seemed to still. A crack split through the air, and the ground shook. The torps had detonated. A buzzing started in the distance and built up momentum at an alarming pace. Samy covered her mouth with one hand, willed her landsickness to stand down, and scrambled to her feet. The trees in front of her grew close together. Legs shaky, she threaded through the trunks and squinted her eyes to scan for a flash of color. Orange. Her aching throat kept her quiet, but Samy wanted to shout, call out Dex’s name.

Firestorm on E’Terra Samy stumbled toward the chute tangled on a limb and cables caught in branches. Prone on the ground, Dex didn’t move, and the sickness she’d kept at bay by will alone nearly overtook her. His chest moved. Samy fell to her knees and leaned over Dex’s head. Beneath his mask, his eyes were closed and his face screwed into a grimace. Before she could help him, she had to have those meds. Hands trembling, she reached into his side pocket and managed to get the medicine to her mouth. The buzzing roared as a wave of heat washed over them. Samy fell to cover Dex. “Taking advantage of a guy while he’s down?” Samy froze, lifted up and peered into Dex’s mask before she let it slide back into place. Eyes still closed, his face had cleared and his lips quirked into a small smile. “Dex. How do you feel? Are you alright? Never do that again. If you disobey orders, I’ll see you in the brig.” She paused for a wheezy, fume-laden breath. “Can you move?” His lips turned down and his brows furrowed. “Where do you hurt?” Samy squeezed his arm but wanted desperately to take off his mask and kiss him senseless. A hiss and pop in her ear gave her a lurch, sending her vision spinning again. “Scan complete. His heartrate is elevated. His left arm is broken, and he has a concussion,” intoned the AI in Samy’s comm. “The torpedo detonation has pushed the firestorm to the west. I’ve taken the liberty of calling for a med-evac.” “Thank you.” Samy had never meant those two words more, and to the AI no less. “Thanks for what?” Dex croaked, the rebreather making the word tinny and crackly. Even with glazed eyes and a flushed face, he’d never looked so good in her eyes. “Evac’s on the way.” “I ache everywhere.” He shut his eyes briefly. “Take off my mask.” Her fingers refusing to cooperate, Samy clutched at him. Several tries later, she unlatched the mask from his hood and with a gentle tug, moved the rebreather down to his chest. A puff of the stale coolant washed over her face. She shivered. “Your face is red and puffy. You’re going to go to the medic when we get back.” Dex’s perfect lips, strong, defined, yet soft, pursed while he glared at her. “You shouldn’t be here.” “Who else would come pull your ass out of the fire?” “Lean over and kiss me.” He still looked pissed off, even with such an evocative statement. She obeyed that order with alacrity. Samy ignored the sting of her chapped lips and the rough burn in her throat and pressed against Dex. The heady relief made her dizzier, and the sheer pleasure of slipping her tongue against Dex’s urged her to prolong the connection. But the kiss was short. She was afraid she’d injure him. “Don’t cry, love.” Dex still hadn’t moved. “These are tears of joy that I get to be on top. This time.”

Ella Drake Dex coughed. “Don’t make me laugh.” He groaned and Samy mentally kicked herself. What timing to try to find her flirtatious side. She bit her lip and waited for the creases between his brows to soften. “I’ll let you be on top, to the side, upside down. Whatever way I can take you, Samy.” No matter the situation, a thrill tingled through her. A throat cleared behind them and sent her vision blurry and her nausea at full bore again. “Captain.” “Shields.” Samy’s stomach pitched. Her second had caught her in the height of a compromising situation. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter all that much.

Firestorm on E’Terra

Chapter Eight Dex had been in the bone regenerator unit on the StratGlider for three days. Today he had the release seal on his med record. The AI had been chatty, keeping him up to date with the status of E’Terra, the thirty hours it took to put out the worst of the wildfires, and the percentages of the colonists who decided to stay versus the ones who chose to leave. The Protectorate footed the bill for passage to a raft. After everything, the majority took the UO creds and chose to leave. Dex didn’t let that get to him. He’d given the colonists a choice, something he hadn’t gotten as a child. The AI had named herself Brenda. Lieutenant Commander Shields had visited daily. Nobody would tell him about Samy. He nearly climbed the walls. Had they put him in the small, single-bed room with slick white walls and no space hatch on purpose? The medic had left not five minutes ago, and here he sat, still in the clinic scrubs. Dex folded back the covers, got to his feet, took the three steps to the closet at the foot of his bed, and grabbed his clothes. His uniform seemed a little loose. He’d need to work out and eat well for a few days to get back to optimum weight. One of Samy’s shakes would do wonders. She needed to stop hiding from him. Where the hell was she? Well, he’d go find her himself and order up one of those shakes. **** “Master Sergeant Dex awaiting entry outside your quarters, Captain,” the AI, now Brenda, repeated for the second time in the last minute. Frozen in place, Samy stood in the middle of the floor and stared at the door. Spaceflies tumbled in her stomach, and she couldn’t seem to make her legs work. “Let him in,” she croaked. The panel slid open and there he stood, gorgeous as ever. Samy knew most hereditary military women, her peers, wouldn’t find him attractive. The muscular, irreverent man who dared give his CO orders, had darker skin than most spacers. His lips, though masculine and defined, held a softness that curled her toes, but weren’t the kind to inspire fear and reverence from his direct reports. A refugee, slightly shorter than her because of the malnutrition rampant on the rafts, shouldn’t have caught her eye, or tempted her to break regulations forbidding affairs between career officers and enlisted. But…he drank her shakes. He played her as an equal at zap-ball. His workout outfits made her mouth water. And he cared. His heart was so big she didn’t know how

Ella Drake he kept it in his chest. He took risks, but he did so for others. He’d helped save the homes of many of E’Terra’s colonists, and he’d not asked for a thing in return. She loved him. “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to give me more of your ambrosia?” Samy blinked. Her mind scattered in several directions at once, images of Dex tasting her, where she melted for him even now. Dex laughed, the rich sound rolled through her and broke her stillness. “Come in, Dex. I trust you’re feeling better.” “I’d feel better knowing why the woman I love didn’t come visit me in Clinic.” Her heart sped and those spaceflies started nose diving and committing aerial assaults and tricks. “I couldn’t. If people…” “Samy…” “No, wait.” She held up a hand. “If people questioned my relationship with you before we had this discussion, it could have hurt one or both of our careers. You weren’t in danger, so I had to wait. Had to talk to you without eavesdroppers.” Back against the door, he still stood across the room. He folded his strong arms across his chest and waited. She took a deep breath and made her feet move. She’d go to him. That’s all there was to it. He’d done enough. It was her turn. She stopped in front of him and though she wanted to reach for him, he stayed as he was, closed off, his expression bland. “I didn’t want to ruin your chances at a promotion, or whatever career path you’d like to take, but I love you, and want this to work.” Dex stared at her for several moments of her near panic before he grinned. “How about one of your shakes?” “Shakes?” Samy couldn’t believe it. She’d told him she loved him, and he asked for one of those awful health shakes. “Yes, I’ve been craving a drink of your sweet, sweet ambrosia.” He pushed off the door and dropped his arms from their stance at his chest. He stepped toward her, crowding into her space. “Besides, I’m going to need a boost for my stamina.” “Stamina,” Samy squeaked. She walked backwards as Dex moved her toward her pantry. Her traitorous nipples came to attention beneath her uniform, the friction of movement heightening the arousal sending a blush along her skin. She fisted her hands to keep from grabbing him, enjoying the game he played. Dex played games so, so well. “Yes, I’ll need energy for all I’m going to do to you.” “Right.” Her back bumped into the counter with the shake machine bolted to the top. “About the future, though…” “Your future is to put your fine ass in that bed.” He pointed over his shoulder

Firestorm on E’Terra toward her bedroom. “I mean, dating between enlisted and career is forbidden.” “Are we dating?” Dex quirked an eyebrow and leaned over her. His clean, earthy scent sent her system into overdrive. She gripped the counter behind her and willed herself to finish the thought before she gave in to the passion making her breasts heavy, her lips full and the heat rise in her undershorts. “I looked through the regulations and protocols.” She sighed long and wistfully as Dex lowered his head. After a long lick on her neck, he sucked on the passion bruise that hadn’t quite gone away. As he nibbled and bit and pulled on her skin, Samy continued. “If we marry, you’d attain status of hereditary military. I can request a transfer to the StratGlider for you. Dex froze and whispered, his breath skittering across her skin and sending gooseflesh down her body. “Are you asking me…” Samy took a deep breath and rushed the question out, almost too fast for the words to come untwisted from her tongue. “Dex, will you marry me? Will you transfer to my ship? Will you be my life partner?” Dex chuckled as he left a light kiss on the passion bruise. He pulled back. His dark brown eyes sparkled. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Captain. Leave it to you to ask me before I could.” “You were…” she started. “Yes, I was, but I’ll follow your lead.” Samy threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.” “Where else could I go? You’re my home now. I go where you go.” His deep brown eyes softened, the compassion she’d come to know speaking to her as clearly as words. Samy’s heart pinched. She understood him oh-so well. He’d never had a home. Well, they had more in common than he thought, and now that she’d found him, she’d never let go. She nodded, tears burning her eyes, but couldn’t call forth a response. “Now, let’s order the legal papers right away. I have an appointment for zap-ball in a few hours.” Dex spun her around, pressing her rear into an erection that hardened as he nudged her. “I need one of your shakes. In bed. I’m going to lick it out of your navel.” “Oh.” Samy’s hand shook as she started the blender and dumped in the supplies she grabbed from the storage cabinet. Images of orange-scented liquid splashed over her with Dex using his tongue to drive her wild flashed through her mind. She almost forgot the one last, important item to get settled. Breathy, she rushed the question out before her mind melted down. “What about your job. Smokejumping.” “I’ll always do what I can to help, no matter the risk, but I’ll do my duty here, whatever the next job entails. Whatever my captain commands.” “Really?” she breathed. “You’ll follow my orders?” “Yes.” Dex reached around, gripped her breasts, and squeezed. Samy’s knees buckled, but she kept herself from dropping to the floor with a grip on the counter and the

Ella Drake strong chest pressed to her back. She groaned. “Here’s an order, Sergeant. Get in my bed. Naked.” Dex backed off so fast Samy nearly pitched to the floor. “You’re on top.” Dex called as he walked to her room, pants snug over his backside, his uniform top flying in the air. Damn him, he’d given her orders again. Samy grinned. She could follow that order. And she did. The End

Firestorm on E’Terra

About the Author: As a child Ella read books under the covers with a flashlight. There she found a special love of elves, dragons, and knights. Now that she's found her own knight in shining armor and happily ever after, she loves to write tales of fantasy, hot enough to scorch the sheets. No flashlight needed. Visit Ella at her website (www.elladrake.com), on facebook (facebook.com/ella.drake) or on twitter (twitter.com/lori_ella).