Andre pulled out his phone with one hand, keeping his other arm around her. "Fire at Timber Bear Ranch. Send trucks now."
His voice sounded distant, muffled by the roar in Joy's ears. A full year's worth of income, sixty pounds per hive on a good year. Liquid gold her bees had worked all summer to create.
Gone.
Her knees buckled. Andre caught her, lowering them both to the grass a safe distance from the inferno. Joy pressed her face against his chest, but she couldn't escape the smell. Burninghoney. The death of twenty thousand tiny souls who'd trusted her to keep them safe.
The tears came hard and fast. Not pretty crying but ugly, body-shaking sobs that tore from somewhere deep in her chest. Her mountain lion keened inside her, recognizing the destruction of their partners. These weren't just insects. They were her girls. Her workers. Her dancers who told stories with their movements, who brought her gifts of pollen and nectar.
"I'm so sorry," Andre murmured against her hair. His arms tightened around her as another hive collapsed in a shower of sparks. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Joy's hands throbbed where she'd touched the burning wood. Blisters were already forming on her palms, but the physical pain felt distant compared to the grief crushing her chest.
"My girls," she whispered. "Andre, they were in there. Thousands of them. They couldn't escape."
Something changed in Andre's body. The muscles against her went rigid, his chest expanding with a deep breath. When she pulled back to look at him, his eyes had gone golden in the firelight. His bear pushed at the surface, claws extending from his fingertips where they pressed against her back.
"I will find who did this." His voice came out more growl than words, rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. "I will end them."
The promise vibrated through her bones. This wasn't his everyday overprotectiveness, the suffocating need to control every variable around her. This was primal. A predator's oath to avenge his mate's pain.
For once, Joy didn't push back against his protective rage. She wanted blood too. Wanted to find whoever had done this and make them pay for every tiny life lost.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Dawn was breaking properly now, gray light revealing the full devastation. Dead bees carpeted the ground around the hives, their bodies forming drifts like horrible snow. Some still twitched, wings burnt away, dying slowly.
Above them, the saved bees circled in confused clouds. Hundreds of them, maybe a few thousand, flying aimlessly where their homes once stood. They landed on the scorched ground, crawled over the ruins searching for their queen, for their sisters, for the familiar scent of home that no longer existed. Some clustered on Joy's shoulders and arms, recognizing her scent, seeking comfort she couldn't give them.
Chapter
Eighteen
Joy’s handsthrobbed where blisters had already risen on her palms. She'd tried to save them. Beaten at the flames with her jacket until the fabric caught fire. Reached into the inferno with bare hands, desperate to create an escape route for even a few of her girls. The pain felt distant now, muffled by shock and grief.
The fire truck's red lights spun in endless circles, painting the scene in hellish flashes. Firefighters moved between the destroyed hives, their hoses sending streams of water onto frames that still glowed with embers.
A warm hand found her shoulder. Her mother's touch anchored her to the present moment, pulling her back from the edge of complete despair. Maria didn't speak. She didn't need to. The gentle pressure of her fingers said everything.
Tires crunched on gravel. Heath's SUV came fast up the drive, not quite sliding to a stop. Gabriel stepped out, already scanning the scene with detective's eyes. Her uncle's cop face hardened as he took in the destruction, then softened when his gaze found her.
"Joy." Just her name, but it carried the weight of family love and professional fury.
The EMTs approached with their kits, gentle hands reaching for hers. Joy had forgotten they were there, forgotten everything except the destruction.
"Let me see your hands, honey." The female EMT's voice was kind but firm.
Joy lifted her palms, surprised to see how bad they looked. Angry red burns covered both hands, blisters already formed and weeping. The pain registered then, sharp and throbbing, breaking through the protective fog of shock.
"Second degree burns," the EMT murmured. "We need to clean and wrap these."
They worked quickly, cleaning the burns with solution that made Joy hiss through her teeth. The gauze came next, white bandages wrapping her palms and fingers until her hands looked like boxing gloves. This was the second time in so many weeks her hands had been scarred. The hands she used to practice her craft, to love, to care, to tend.
Her mountain lion paced inside her chest, making a sound Joy had never heard before. Not the cry of hunting or mating or even fear. This was grief, raw and primal, mixed with desperate concern for the confused survivors circling overhead.
Gabriel moved carefully through the scene, camera in hand. Each click documented another angle of destruction. Tire tracks in the dirt. Boot prints preserved in ash. Everything her home had become was now evidence of a crime.
"May I download the security footage for analysis?" Andre's formal tone made her look up. He stood a few feet away, jaw tight with barely controlled rage.
Joy nodded. The words wouldn't come, but he understood. He moved toward her workshop with careful steps, avoiding the worst of the debris.
