Chapter One

Wreck Itall wasn't supposed to exist.

He dragged his gaze to the hunter-green tent that had been erected next to the single-wide trailer—the one he'd moved into a few weeks ago in Fastlander territory. He shouldn't even be here to see the woods peppered with campers.

This tent kept him up tonight. Willamena Barns and her mate, Matt, slept soundly inside. He could tell they were asleep from the cadence of their breathing. He couldn't stand how close everyone was here. Felt like people were right on top of other people. People, people, people, all too close for comfort.

He didn't want anyone to see him, or know him, and when Willa was awake and here during the day, she noticed too much and asked too many questions.

He could hear everything. Growing up, before his powers had presented, he'd thought being able to hear so well was a curse.

Then he started being able to feel the emotions of others in a room.

And that was worse.

And then the fire came when he turned sixteen.

Worst.

Hands down, the fire was the worst.

The Fastlander woods were filling with the defenders of Damon's Mountains because war was near.

At least, according to the up-and-coming seer of the mountains—Lucia Novak—war was coming.

Beaston had seen nothing of the Holland Pride exacting their revenge, so Wreck had questions about Lucia's visions.

Was she messing with the Fastlanders? Was she wrong? Were her powers messing with her as her baby grew in her belly?

Something didn't feel right.

"You should just kill them all." The voice of his father sent awful chills up his spine. He lifted his gaze to the ghost leaning against his truck. He looked just like he had the day he'd died.

"Fuck off," Wreck murmured.

"Come on, son. That's not how you talk to your old man."

Wreck opened his hand and conjured a flame there.

"You gonna kill me, boy?" his dad gritted out. "You'll never change."

"What are you doing?" Gunner asked.

Startled, Wreck dragged his gaze from the place the ghost had disappeared. He didn't like being surprised, and Gunner had been quiet.

"Whatever I want," Wreck assured him, closing his fist around the flame to extinguish it.

"You know, Hallie told me how nice you were to her and Corey the night you met them at the bar."

"Cool story," Wreck murmured as he kept his eyes locked on Gunner.

"You're meaner to them now that they're shifters. I've noticed it too."

Wreck sighed and took another drink of his coffee. "Piss off, Gunner. No one cares about your theories."

"You have a soft spot for humans." He'd said it quietly, but it felt deafening here in the dark. "Is it because your mom is human?"

Wreck shook his head slowly, denying him an answer. "You won't get to know me now or ever, Gunner. Go shit-talk me with the Crew. Make up a million stories about me in your heads. Believe them. What you think has nothing to do with me."

"Mmm," Gunner said, leaning against the railing of Wreck's porch. "I did some research."

"Yes, idiocy is genetic. Don't breed."

"Ha," he said softly. Gunner was quiet for a few moments while Wreck stared at the green tent and wondered what Gunner wanted from him. When he spoke again, it surprised Wreck. "Rumor is, your mother didn't name you Wreck. She doesn't call you Wreck now. She refuses. True or false?"

Rage burned through Wreck like a wildfire on dry grass. He flicked his fingers, dragging heat from the earth's core to lap at Gunner's legs.

The Alpha cursed and stumbled back, away from Wreck's trailer.

Wreck gritted his teeth and flashed him a warning look. His eyes would have flames flickering in the irises now. "Too close."

Gunner patted out the flames on the thick denim of his jeans, then flashed Wreck an angry glance. If Wreck felt fear, Gunner's too-sharp facial features and glowing, bi-colored silver-and-blue eyes would be intimidating. The heaviness and dominance that wafted from him would make him think twice. Fear wasn't a part of Wreck's life though. He could do unspeakable things. "I care."

Those two words from Gunner's furious countenance didn't make sense. Thinking he'd misheard, Wreck asked, "What did you say to me?"

"What happened with your dad—"

"Shut up !" Wreck demanded, standing. No, no, no, he couldn't do this.

"It wasn't your fault," Gunner said.

"Walk away or burn alive," Wreck growled. He meant it. Gunner knew he meant it. Gunner had a choice. Even Wreck could hear the promise and the truth in his own voice.

"I want you here." Gunner's admission was infused with honesty, and it drew Wreck up short. He'd been imagining the ways he would kill the Alpha for bringing up old memories he'd worked so hard to bury.

I want you here . Truth.

Wreck glared at the Alpha, ears hot from his anger. A truth for a truth sounded fair to Wreck. "I don't want to be here."

Gunner's glowing eyes were full of something Wreck didn't understand as he nodded slowly and looked at Wreck, looked straight to his soul. After a few seconds, he murmured, "I understand."

How could he?

And then Gunner Walker—the Fury, the Alpha of the Fastlanders, the hope for the expansion of Damon's Mountains—did an about-face and walked away. "Whatever you are planning, it won't work," he called over his shoulder. "Lucia was the one who told me you would be leaving tonight. She sees blood and broken glass."

Wreck narrowed his eyes at the Alpha's back. "Then order me to stay."

Gunner turned and stopped his escape. "Hallie is pregnant."

Chills rippled up Wreck's spine. Lucia had seen this coming. She'd said the war would happen when Hallie was with child and unable to Change to help the Fastlanders.

"It's close then."

Gunner nodded once. "I could order you to stay, or I could let you try to stop it."

Oooooh, Gunner knew. He knew exactly why Wreck was out here taking a last look at the tents containing the people he had grown up respecting. He knew why he was drinking coffee…preparing for a long drive at midnight.

Fuck Lucia for all of her interference.

"I'll be back in three days." Wreck's voice wavered on the oath, and he hated it. Uncertainty hadn't been a word in his vocabulary until he'd joined the Fastlanders.

"You'll be back sooner," Gunner uttered. Truth.

Gah, he hated this place.

Wreck forced his glare away from the Alpha and made his way to his truck. He ignored the sound of the zipper of Willa's tent opening, and ignored the heavy attention he could feel from the trio of monsters taking low around the firepit.

They could thank him later.

Everyone could get back to their lives if he burned the Holland Pride to the ground.

His truck was making a noise as he headed out of the trailer park. The belt, maybe?

He turned down the rock music and listened carefully to try and identify the grinding, screeching noise.

He'd just gotten this damn thing back from the shop. The noise sounded louder as he came to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

It was late, and dark, and there weren't any streetlights way out here. Light wasn't necessary for a fire monster though.

Wreck shoved his door open and popped the hood of his old F-250. He had always liked classic trucks, but they were a pain to upkeep. He stood on the front bumper and poked around the area the abrasive sound was coming from. Definitely the belt. Shit. He could replace it himself, but he was going to have to get some parts.

Wreck hopped off the truck and slammed the hood down, hooked his hands on his hips, and searched the woods for inspiration. Think.

He gritted his teeth and considered borrowing Gunner's truck, but he would die before he asked for a favor from anyone. The belt would hold until morning, it would just be an annoyingly loud drive.

"Screw the vision," he ground out as he hopped back into his truck and threw it into gear.

Wreck floored it out of the drive to 1010 Winding Creek Way, where the Fastlanders lived, and gunned it onto the main road that would lead him to the highway he needed to get through Laramie and headed in the right direction.

The screeching belt was annoying, but it didn't affect the smooth ride. Wreck took a long sip of his coffee and turned the music back up. This part, he was good at. He could drive alone for days. His mother had always said he should've been a trucker. He was built for the solitude and he slept like shit anyway, so he could make the long drives with fewer stops. Driving had never made him tired. On the contrary, the scenery woke up the curiosity in him.

His phone rang, and he frowned when it wasn't in the cupholder where he'd left it. He must've knocked it out when he'd stopped to check the belt. He searched for it, and saw the phone's light shining between the center console and the seat. Great.

He tried to shove his fingers into the small gap to grab it, but was only able to touch the cover of the phone before the phone stopped ringing.

Very few people on this earth knew his number, and one of those people was extremely important to him. His mom would absolutely be calling him right now. She got "bad feelings" and often called him at odd hours for reassurance.

There were headlights up ahead on the straightaway, but they were far in the distance. He tried to reach the phone again, and slid it halfway up the side of the console before he lost his grip. Damn his big hands.

The phone rang again. He gripped the wheel and leaned as far as he could to get a better angle. He…could…almost…reach…

He carefully slid it up as he approached a bridge, both sides of which were lined with guardrails. The two-lane road narrowed here, so he focused on keeping his truck straight as he slid the phone up the console centimeter by centimeter.

The headlights had reached him, and they were going to pass each other on the bridge. Fuck, he didn't want to drop the phone. His mom was probably freaking out that he hadn't answered.

There! He flashed the phone screen at himself and saw a text.

Unknown Number said, Stay off the bridge!

Pop!

The other car came careening sideways toward him, like the car had lost control. The nose of the small car aimed for him, and Wreck dropped the phone and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as he hit the gas to try and avoid the car's trajectory.

The truck gave him what he needed and he took the hit on the back end, but was able to keep enough control. He hit the brakes as his truck fishtailed, and yelled, "No!" as he saw the other car disappear into the ditch just past the guardrail.

He shoved his foot down hard on the brake and barely let the truck come to a stop before he threw it into park. He didn't know how he did this part—morphing from one place to another. He was fast. Faster than a camera could catch, and so he was there when the car hit the tree.

He was there when the fireball went into the air, and he was there to draw the heat off the car and absorb it into himself to give the driver a shot at living.

Hand out, drawing the fire from the car, he ripped off the driver's side door and uttered a soft curse as he saw the woman. The airbag had deployed. Between that and the broken front windshield, her face was cut up. Her eyes were closed, and when he pulled on her arm, she was limp.

Gritting his teeth, he released her arm and moved to the front of the car. It was wrapped around a tree. He could smell gas, and he couldn't let the fire touch the back of the car. He roared at the burn as he drew the fire into himself in a burst of violent effort.

The night went dark, and the sound of flames died to nothing.

Full of power, skin on fire, anger roiling like it always did when he absorbed the power of fire, he strode around the car and stopped in his tracks when he saw the woman.

Her eyes were open and trained on him. Blood trickled down the side of her jaw, and her nose looked like it might be broken.

Blood and glass.

Fuckin' Lucia.

The woman had dirty-blonde waves of hair that were peppered with sparkling glass and specks of blood, and there was blood trickling down her face.

She parted her full lips, and her light eyebrows arched up delicately as she said something too low for him to understand over the roaring in his ears.

"What?" he demanded, kneeling beside her.

"Are you okay?"

He was shocked to his bones and froze, unsure how to answer. She swallowed hard and repeated it. "Are you okay?"

Wreck frowned. Was he okay? The only person who had ever asked him that was his mother, and not for many years. This woman had just seen him absorb a massive fire off her car and come back to her on two legs with flames in his eyes, and she was asking him, the Fastlander Phoenix, if he was okay?

"Of course I am," he lied.

The woman's eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over, leaning toward him, held in place by the seatbelt.

His body needed to get rid of the excess power right now. He needed to streak across the sky like a shooting star, burn a field. Maybe eat some ashes like Damon had taught him to do.

But this woman needed him. This was a dead road at night.

He leaned into the car and unbuckled her seatbelt. The front of the car had been destroyed, and it was pinning her right leg inside. The scent of blood was stronger inside the car.

Panic flared in his chest. He was too close to the human, and he needed to relieve himself of some of this power. He felt as if he would burn alive!

Smoke clogging his lungs, Wreck grabbed her arm and pulled her out, but the scent of burning flesh had him flinching back. Horrified, he released his grip and stared at the perfect handprint blistering the skin on her upper arm.

It was too dark out here. He ignited a flame that hovered two inches above his palm, but it didn't look right. The flame was bright green.

The flame shot from his palm into the sky in a glowing green stream, and he could feel the power drain. He huffed a breath at the relief, but something strange was happening. The woman was drawing off some of the aura of the flame. She gasped, and her back arched against the ground.

What the hell? What the hell! Stop, stop, stop! He tried to close his hand and cut the power to the flame, but the green aura covered the woman completely and a strangled sound wrenched from her throat.

He had to stop! He was going to kill her!

Wreck bunched his muscles and then shot into the sky, dragging the green fire with him.

He forced his Change so that he wouldn't have to land, extended his flaming wings, and put as much distance between him and the car accident below as he could, as fast as he could.

The woman would be dead now.

The woman would be gone, and it was his fault.

Again.

No, his mother hadn't named him Wreck Itall.

The fire had named him.