Chapter Two
Forge
The alarm bells ring just as I’m finishing my shift paperwork. I follow my crew toward the engines, pulling on my bunker gear as we move.
“Electrical fire, apartment building on Cedar Street,” Chief Brokka calls out as we pile into the truck. “Probably faulty wiring. Should be contained, but they need ventilation.”
Three quick blocks through the Zone and we’re there. The fire’s already almost out—the swift action of a naga resident and a well-placed fire extinguisher did its job—but smoke damage means we need to clear the air and check for hot spots.
I set a fan at the front door to push the smoke out and then sweep the third-floor hallway with a thermal camera. Kam opens a small section of ceiling on the Chief’s nod while Thrall checks the kitchen to make sure nothing’s spread into the walls or cabinets—competence, not heroics.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re back at Station 32, and I’m questioning whether I want to be here for what’s about to happen. The guys have been giving me grief about tonight’s speed-dating mixer for weeks, ever since Kam somehow convinced Chief Brokka it would be good for “community relations.”
“Forge!” Thrall calls from across the apparatus bay, where he’s checking equipment. “You change your mind about tonight yet?”
“I’m still thinking about it,” I call back, and it’s true. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, but that doesn’t mean I’ve reached any useful conclusions.
“Come on, rookie,” Kam says, appearing at my elbow with a grin that usually means trouble. “What’s the worst that could happen? You meet a nice human female, have some conversation, maybe even smile once or twice.”
“I smile.”
“A facial contortion that scares children doesn’t count.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, too aware of the way humans stare the second I walk into a room. Tusks, green skin, pointed ears, six foot eight—I’m a walking billboard for Others, no matter how many lives I save or how cleanly I speak their language.
“That’s exactly why this is a bad idea,” I mutter, turning back to the hose and coiling it tight. “Human women take one look at me and… decide who I am before I open my mouth.”
“And what?” Chief Brokka’s voice cuts through the conversation as he approaches our group. “Realize you’re six and a half feet of solid muscle who runs into burning buildings for a living? Yeah, terrible first impression, Ironwood.”
The Chief’s been married to Marissa, a human nurse, for a while now. They’re expecting their first baby, and anyone can see how happy they are together. For some males, belonging looks easy. But I was raised to keep my head down and be useful, not seen.
“It’s different for you, sir,” I say carefully. “You’re the Chief. You’ve proven yourself.”
“And what exactly do you think you’ve been doing for the past six months?
” Brokka crosses his arms, giving me the look that means he’s about to make this a teaching moment.
“Every call we’ve been on, every life you’ve helped save, every time you’ve put someone else’s safety before your own—what do you call that? ”
“My job.”
“Wrong answer.” His voice gets an edge that reminds everyone why he’s in charge. “That’s proof, Forge. Proof that you’re exactly the kind of male any smart female would be lucky to have.”
Kam looks up from where he’s been cleaning his equipment. “Chief’s right. Besides, worst-case scenario, you spend a few hours making conversation and go home alone. Best case?” He grins. “You meet someone who sees past the tusks to the male underneath.”
“Easy for you to say,” I protest. “You’re already mated.”
“Wasn’t always,” Kam points out. “My mate, Emma, took one look at me and nearly ran the other direction. She says one more 2 AM joke in bed, and I’ll be playing the couch circuit.”
The other guys laugh, but I can hear the affection in Kam’s voice when he talks about his mate. It’s the same tone Chief Brokka uses when he mentions Marissa, the same way Thrall’s voice softens whenever Amelia’s name comes up.
Maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of. Not that no one will want me, but that I’ll find someone who might, and then she’ll realize I’m just a rookie who’s spent twenty-five years on Earth but only six months finding my place in this firehouse.
What if she discovers that for all my skill with wood and tools, I still feel like I’m playing catch-up with everyone else who seems to have figured out how to belong somewhere?
“Look,” Kam says, dropping the joking tone for once. “Nobody’s saying you have to find your soulmate tonight. But you’ve been on this crew six months, and the only humans you’ve talked to are the ones we’ve rescued. That’s not exactly a representative sample.”
“And,” Thrall adds, “we all made a deal. You get through tonight without running away, and the rookie hazing stops. Forever.”
That gets my attention. The hazing isn’t malicious, but it’s gotten old. Being the newest guy on the crew means I get the worst shifts, the messiest cleanups, and constant reminders that I haven’t quite earned my place yet.
“You’re serious? One night of speed dating and you’ll all leave me alone?”
“Scout’s honor,” Kam says, holding up his hand like that’s supposed to reassure me. “Though I was never actually a scout.”
His expression turns almost wistful as he adds, “You never know. Your soulbound mate might walk through that door tonight.”
“Soulbonds are rare,” I counter. “The elders always said most orcs never meet theirs.”
“True. But Chief Brokka found Marissa. My Emma walked into my life when I least expected it. Thrall’s got his Amelia now.
Even Thornn, who thought he was too broken to live, let alone love, found Sarah.
Durga rescued Raisa. Hell, Grum, the ultimate Grinch of all time, now sings Christmas carols thanks to finding his Joy. ”
Kam’s grin returns. “That’s six of us, seven if you include Ashok who was the very first of all of us to find his soulbound. There’s something special about these Earth females. Maybe the Goddess has someone waiting for you, too.”
I don’t let myself believe in that kind of good fortune. Soulbonds—the deep, permanent connection between two people that the elders speak of in hushed, reverent tones—those are for males who deserve them. Males who’ve proven themselves. Not rookies who are still finding their place.
But I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I just shake my head. “I’d settle for getting through tonight without embarrassing myself.”
The truth is, my friends aren’t wrong about my social isolation. Six months on this crew, and I can count my meaningful conversations with humans on one hand.
But outside of those moments? I keep to myself. I go home to my small apartment filled with furniture I’ve made with my own hands, and I work on my latest project while trying not to think about how quiet it gets in the evenings. Wood I get. People… not so much.
“Besides,” Thrall adds, “Ryder’s going to be there. You won’t be the only one who’d rather be anywhere else.”
Ryder. Our quiet, competent colleague, who keeps to himself even more than I do. If he’s willing to show up tonight, maybe I can manage it too.
“Fine,” I hear myself saying. “But if this goes badly, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Fair enough,” Chief Brokka says. “Now go get cleaned up. The mixer starts in two hours, and you smell like smoke and engine grease.”
As I head toward the locker room, I can hear them making bets behind me about whether I’ll actually show up or find some excuse to bail at the last minute. The smart money seems to be on me developing a sudden case of food poisoning.
But I won’t run. Whatever happens tonight, I’ll see it through. Even if the thought of making small talk with human women makes my palms sweat more than they do before a fire call.
I strip out of my gear and head for the showers, trying to convince myself that this is just another kind of emergency call. Show up, do the job, go home.
The hot water helps wash away the smoke smell, but it doesn’t do much for my nerves. The faint scent of engine grease, wet turnout, and scorched drywall clings to my skin no matter how hard I scrub.
What do you even talk about with human women? My woodworking? My job? The fact that I can craft intricate furniture by hand but get tongue-tied trying to order coffee?
By the time I’m dressed in clean clothes—jeans and a button-down shirt that Thrall assures me makes me look “approachable”—I’ve talked myself into and out of going at least six times.
“Ready, rookie?” Kam appears in the doorway, all easy confidence and barely suppressed amusement.
“No.”
“Perfect. That’s the spirit we’re looking for.”
“I don’t understand why this is necessary,” I gripe, following him back toward the main area of the firehouse. “If it’s about community relations, wouldn’t Chief Brokka be better suited—”
“Chief Brokka is married and expecting a baby,” Kam interrupts. “Besides, this isn’t about official community relations. It’s about you learning that humans aren’t some alien species you can only interact with during emergencies.”
“They might as well be.”
“That’s exactly the attitude that’s going to make tonight so entertaining.”
I’m starting to seriously consider the food-poisoning excuse when Ryder appears, looking about as enthusiastic as I feel. At least I won’t be suffering alone.
“Gentlemen,” Chief Brokka calls out, gathering the group. “Remember, you’re representing Station 32 tonight. Be respectful, be yourselves, and try not to terrify anyone.”
“No promises,” I mutter, which earns me a punch in the arm from Thrall.
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “Just remember—they’re probably more nervous than you are.”
Somehow, I doubt that. But as we head toward the apparatus bay, where someone has already started setting up tables and decorations, I force myself to focus on the one thing that’s gotten me through every challenge in my life: taking it one step at a time.
Three hours. I can face fire. I can face this.
Just show up, survive, and get out in one piece.