Fanfiction Chicago Fire Novels & Stories

“You’re dating, in general. You used to teach us how to slit throats in three seconds and now you’re cuddling on a couch.” Ilana snorted. “If you don’t stop discussing my love life,” Vincent began slowly, leaning forward. “I will hurt you, Charlie.” Charlie shuddered, looked at Ilana, then Calix with wide eyes that clearly said ‘this is what I’m talking about.’ Then he leaned towards Ilana and dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s like watching your father date.” Ilana nodded solemnly. “I know. As I said, gross.” “Can we go back to the man who burned bodies?” Calix asked wearily.

Nicholas' witch was muttering spells under her breath trying to stop Ruby from whatever it was she was doing but that just seemed to make the fire to grow higher and spread wilder, scaring Ruby more than she already was. "What's happening to me?! Somebody help!" That was when Clara and Van Langston finally came in. The fire that the brunette created was already weakening Nicholas, so all Clara had to do was push him a little farther towards the brink of death and Emmett came in to finish the job. Van, noticing the situation Ruby was in, vamp-sped towards her, trying to avoid getting burned to death before he finally was by her side. He held her close before vamp-speeding back to their so-cal

Another thing that slipped past my grip. I haven’t eaten. Can’t. The reports in front of me blur, the black ink melting into the white paper like shadows bleeding into snow. I read and reread the same line over and over, but nothing sticks. My brain refuses to process it. The numbers, the projections, the incident breakdowns—they’re all just noise. My mind keeps drifting. Backward. To her. To Leah. The fire was here. In New York. Not overseas. Not one of our satellite facilities in developing regions where corruption, corner-cutting, and poor infrastructure might make for a believable excuse. No. This wasn’t negligence. It wasn’t nature. It was deliberate. Calculated. And personal.

As my brother and I risked our lives in the flames, she didn't lift a finger. That fire nearly killed Salvatore and me. His left arm was badly burned, the muscle damaged. And that fire left me with a ghost in my lungs: phantosmia. Whenever I'm under extreme stress, I smell smoke that isn't there. Only I knew the agony of waking up in the middle of the night, choking for air. But Chiara, with that faint scar on her cheek, had stolen the credit we'd paid for in blood. I never dreamed Raphael would condemn us to hell over a debt that was a lie.

Soon after, he was reported for dereliction of duty that resulted in my death. Devastated, Daniel offered no defense. Then the investigation team came to him with new information. "The rental where the fire started is owned by Laura Knapp's brother." Daniel froze. Jerking his head up, he asked in disbelief, "Are you saying this fire has something to do with Laura?" The investigator replied, "Before the fire, witnesses saw Laura acting suspiciously around the building." Daniel became as white as a sheet. He remembered the day of the fire. Back then, he had rushed off without a second thought the moment Laura called and claimed she'd fallen.

Her words seemed full of care and concern for me, but the hair on my arms stood on end. In my first life, after drinking the chicken soup Jessica made for me, I blacked out. I didn't hear the station alarm going off. In the end, I was labeled the one responsible for the fire, while Stanley Porter became the hero who put it out. The second time around, to avoid repeating the same mistake, I not only gave up on the fire captain position but also deliberately left work early to go home. Yet, after drinking the chicken soup Jessica had made, I fell into a deep sleep again.

The deal was sealed. As I shook hands with Damien and the others, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it at first, focusing on wrapping up the final pleasantries. But when the vibrations came again, this time accompanied by a notification chime, I fished it out and glanced at the screen. It was a news alert from the Chicago Tribune. Usually, I would have swiped left to get rid of the notification, but the headline urged me to open it. BREAKING NEWS: FIRE BREAKS OUT AT CHICAGO PENITENTIARY – MULTIPLE INMATES ESCAPE

The damage done to my wolves couldn’t be done by a human. I climbed out of bed and grabbed the extra gasoline we kept in the storage room. Water would have worked fine, but if I was going to destroy a scent, then there was no better way than fire. My wolf questioned me about destroying an entire crime scene for a girl. Gabbie isn’t any girl. She’s my mate. I emptied the gasoline bottle on both scenes and pulled out my lighter. The fire would spread far before it died out. My lighter hit the ground, and soon a flame was born.

ADRIAN TWO YEARS LATER It's been two years since that night, and after the fire incident that splashed across the news the next day. A warehouse had been burned down during a raid, resulting from an FBI operation targeting one of the most dangerous gangs in New York City. The raid had killed most of the FBI agents and gang members. I still couldn't believe it was the same warehouse we had all been to that night. Would I have died if Kisra hadn't rescued us? Would Giovanni...? No, I didn't want to think about that possibility.