Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

“I’m sorry I’ve been so erratic these past few days,” he said, once they’d pulled apart.

  “It’s okay,” she replied. “I scared the crap out of you and almost died. You get to be irrational and emotional. The important thing is, you found me. You saved me.”

  Eli scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Technically, that big Pixie saved you.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at him calling Rothatin a Pixie. “Well, he might have helped, but you were the one who was smart enough to know he could heal me. And you stayed by my side the entire time. I can still hear your voice in my head telling me to fight for my life. I know it’s what gave me what I needed to push through. I don’t care what anyone else did, Eli. You are my hero, and you always will be.”

  “Well, I was with you as much as I could be,” he relented. “Rothatin would not let me come wherever you went when he healed you, the stubborn asshole.”

  Jocylene felt her throat seize, her smile frozen on her face until her cheeks began to hurt. She was torn between being amused that he had started using human insults, and shocked by his revelation. He hadn’t been with her when she was healed? Then, how was it that her memory became flooded by the feel of his arms around her, and his voice in her ear, at the same time the poison was being drained from her body? He’d held her and kissed her—she knew this. It hadn’t been a dream; it had been too vivid for her to have imagined it.

  “Joss?”

  Eli’s voice brought her back to the present. He sat in front of her, brow furrowed in concern as he searched her face.

  “Where did you go just now?” he prodded.

  She cleared her throat and shook her head, forcing herself to smile again. “Nowhere. I was just thinking about how much I’m going to miss you.”

  Pulling her against him, he chuckled, nuzzling the tip of her nose with his, a low purr sounding in his throat. “Don’t start missing me just yet. I’m still here, and we have a few hours left.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, giving him a kiss. “What do you say we kill some time?”

  Flipping her onto her back, he let his smirk grow into a full-fledged grin—the kind that made her melt into a puddle and forget about everything else.

  “I say, I like the way you think, my love.”

  Yet, as the minutes and hours passed her by, Jocylene found herself hard-pressed to forget. She wanted to lose herself in Eli, enjoy the last bit of time they had together before he would leave. Who knew when they might see each other again?

  But as she closed her eyes, in her mind’s eye she could see a green meadow, and feel the soft breeze. She could smell the fragrance of the earth that had healed her, and hear the insistent voice of a man telling her she couldn’t die, because he loved her. She could feel the pressure of his lips against hers.

  And she knew, that man had not been her mate.

  Rothatin stood at the open gates leading out of Goldun, watching as five hundred Faerie warriors flew away from the shining city on the backs of their birds. At the front of the formation, the Shapeshifters Malachi and Eli shared saddles with two of the warriors, leading the charge to Mollac. He wished that he was capable of being two places at once—the better to help thwart the enemy from all sides. Yet, as powerful as he was, there were some things that remained just outside the sphere of possibility. Some things simply could not be done.

  He would trust the people working alongside him to make the right decisions when the time came. Rothatin was fast realizing that he could not control everything, no matter how badly he might wish to.

  That fact became even more apparent as the scent of pine, winter air, and roses flooded his sense seconds before a woman’s slender finger tapped him on the shoulder.

  He still could not control his visceral reaction to her nearness.

  “Yes?” he asked, turning to face Jocylene.

  She glared up at him, her mouth pinched in a tight line. Her hand flew toward him swiftly, lashing against his face. He flinched on contact—not because it hurt, but because she’d caught him completely off guard.

  “You bastard,” she growled, her voice low.

  He blinked, schooling his face into a mask of indifference. “I am certain I am, but if you’d be so kind as to elaborate ...”

  She swung at him again, but this time he reached out and caught her by the wrist, halting the blow. Her eyes went wide when he gave her a yank, until she stood so close he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes.

  Gritting his teeth, he let her go, even though he didn’t want to. “I am willing to forgive the first blow, but I will not stand here and let you pummel me.”

  It struck him suddenly why she was angry with him. He had been away from Fallada for weeks, so there was only one thing that could have her fuming at him like this.

  “Ah,” he murmured. “You remember.”

  “You had no right!” she bellowed.

  Glancing around to make sure no one was around, he raised one eyebrow at her. “To heal you when you lay dying?”

  “To say those words to me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as if she’d been crying. “To kiss me and hold me and ... it’s not your place!”

  “You were suffering,” he said, keeping his voice flat as if they were discussing the weather. “Your life hung on by a thread, and you needed a reason to fight.”

  “So, you force yourself on me?”

  “Do not feign ignorance, Jocylene,” he murmured. “I did not force myself on you ... you practically begged me.”

  She looked like she wanted to hit him again, her hand balling into a fist at her side. However, Rothatin knew she wouldn’t, because he was right.

  Kiss me ... please.

  Her weak voice begging for a kiss taunted him at night, filling his mind with hope for possibilities that now lay beyond his reach. Whenever that hope sprang in his chest, he simply reminded himself that she hadn’t realized she was begging him.

  “I thought you were my mate,” she spat. “How could you?”

  “You needed to fight,” he said again, hoping that he could convince himself as much as he needed to convince her. “You thought I was Eli, and I was content to let you think I was if it comforted you in your time of sickness. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Furrowing her brow at him, she folded her arms over her chest. Her gaze said she didn’t quite believe him. But, damn it, he needed her to.

  “So, you only said those things because you thought Eli would say them,” she said.

  He nodded. “To me, they sounded like things he would say.”

  Letting her arms falling limp at her sides, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I just ... I thought ...”

  “That I was trying to claim something that isn’t mine?” he offered.

  She nodded, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. He hated himself for making her feel as if she was in the wrong here. But, the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn’t have her knowing that he’d meant every word.

  “Whatever might have passed between us is over,” he stated. “You are happily mated, and I hope to be wed soon as well.”

  Her gaze flew up to meet his, and something akin to shock seemed to flash through them. “Wed? When ... to who?”

  Folding his hands in front of him, he fought to keep his tone light. “It has not been made official just yet. I’d rather not say until it is. She is a Faerie, if that is what you’re asking.”

  Blinking rapidly, she seemed to wrestle with the news, one hand coming up to press against her stomach. Was she simply shocked, or was there another emotion causing her to look as if she might grow ill?

  No, it couldn’t be. He was seeing things that weren’t there, wanting her to be jealous.

  “Congratulations,” she said, with a smile.

  He knew her well enough to recognize that it was forced.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “I hope you’ll be happy,” she offered. “And I’m sorry about ...”

  He waved a dismissive hand and shook his
head. “Think nothing of it.”

  Clearing her throat, she glanced down at the ground, digging the toe of one of her boots into the dirt. “The sun is up. I guess that means you’ll be going back to Earth soon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Say hello to the girls for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Nodding again, she began to back away from him. Glancing up, she offered him one last glimpse into her eyes. Would he ever look into them and not feel as if he were drowning? Would he ever stop wishing that she would reach out and save him?

  “Good-bye, Rothatin,” she whispered, before turning her back and making her way back toward Osbel Tower.

  He stood there for a long while, watching her go until the foliage lining the winding path blocked her from view. Leaning against the gate, he closed his eyes and sighed, relief flooding him. Now he could leave Fallada and put her behind him again for a short time. Hopefully, by the time he returned, he would be betrothed.

  “Good-bye,” he whispered.

  Unknown Location, New York

  Broken glass and bits of debris crunched beneath her feet, as Queen Eranna Ravenmoore traversed the long, narrow room. Filthy windows allowed in very little sunlight, but the queen preferred the shadows. She could barely stand to look upon her own face—why should the sun grace her with its bright rays?

  This place was a hovel, a ramshackle building with broken windows and a crumbling façade. This room had been stripped of everything save ten cots, which lined the wall down one side. Each cot boasted a dirty mattress, many of which had long been stripped of their sheets. Above her, a hole in the roof allowed a beam of sunlight to shine down in front of her.

  Pausing, she reached one hand out toward the circle of light, trembling as she forced herself to confront what she’d become. The light illuminated her hand—revealing the gray pallor of her skin, with the ugly black veins showing beneath the surface. Long and gnarled, her fingers seemed to be made of nothing but skin and bone.

  She sucked in a sharp breath and snatched her hand back, hiding it within the folds of her black, hooded robe. The garment shrouded her from head to toe, hiding her hideousness from the world.

  The shuffle of footsteps alerted her to the presence of another in the room. Whirling around to face the intruder, she extended her hands, producing a flurry of snow and ice. The frigid bite of her power was missing, its strength nowhere near what it had been. Grunting in frustration, she lowered her arms, scowling when she recognized the person who had interrupted her solitude.

  “Ushma,” she spat, turning her back to the Witch. “What do you want?”

  “To ensure that the place is to my queen’s liking,” the Witch rasped, shuffling toward her.

  Eranna stiffened, but relaxed with a sigh of relief when she realized that Ushma intended to remain behind her. Where she wouldn’t have to look upon the ruin of Eranna’s face.

  Glancing at the cots arranged in a neat row, she nodded. “It will do to suit my purposes. Begin bringing them here immediately, and send word when they are all here. Ten in all, Ushma. No more, no less.”

  “As you wish,” Ushma replied.

  Her hand fell on Eranna’s shoulder, the gesture meant to be comforting. Yet, as she turned to look her most faithful Witch in the eye, Eranna recoiled to find pity in her gaze. Reaching out, Ushma presented her with a small chest.

  “Until your power and beauty are restored, my queen,” she murmured.

  Eranna accepted the box, opening it to reveal a pair of elbow-length gloves made of leather, and a polished silver mask. The piece was ornate, made to resemble her own face—her true face, not this abomination she’d been cursed with.

  “Very well,” she replied, waving the Witch away dismissively. “Leave me.”

  Retrieving the mask, she set the box aside on one of the cots. Studying the piece, she clenched her jaw so tight, pain began to radiate across her face. It was nothing compared to the agony boiling in her gut. To be pitied by a creature like Ushma caused her blood to grow hot with rage. She was Queen Eranna Ravenmoore—one of the most powerful royals in all of Fallada. The fairest of them all. The one to be revered, respected, and feared.

  Pity? No, she would not abide it. She might have met a temporary setback when those insipid girls had set out to destroy her, but it would take more than a few bolts of lightning to bring her down.

  The princesses of Fallada thought they had stopped her for good, but all they’d done was make her more determined to ensure their demise.

  Slipping the mask on over her face, she hid her sunken cheeks and black, death-kissed lips. She took the gloves from the box and slipped them on over her gnarled hands. Her beauty and strength would be restored, and once she had accomplished that goal, she would take great pleasure in hunting down and destroying each of Fallada’s royal daughters one by one. If they were dead, no one could oppose her. The prophecy could not come true, and Fallada would be hers.

  With a swish of her long robes, she strode to the exit, a smile curving her lips. She’d seen defeat and heartbreak many times throughout her life. This was nothing to her. Like everyone or everything else that had ever gotten in her way, she would crush this new obstacle with all the strength she possessed.

  Queen Eranna Ravenmoore could not be so easily broken.

  Chapter Five

  BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  Phaedra Jones took a slow sip of her hot coffee and sighed, staring out at the endless stretch of buildings making up the bustling city. New York was a different world from her small, coastal hometown of Duck, North Carolina—a place where the influx of summer tourists proved to the be the most exciting thing that ever happened during the year. Sandy beaches, quaint homes and shops, a boardwalk ... this had been her life before discovering she was a princess of Fallada. While she’d always wanted to visit New York, she found herself missing Fallada.

  Homesickness for her hometown had been what urged her to join the others on the trip to Earth, where they’d followed Eranna to prevent her from taking over the minds of humans and adding them to her personal army. She’d been home, and realized that nothing remained in North Carolina for her. Fallada was home.

  She missed the beauty and serenity of Goldun, and the sense of rightness she felt by being there. She missed her little sister, Sonia. Most of all, she missed the way things had been before she’d agreed to come here—a decision that had caused her to lose Arrian.

  Taking another drink from her mug, she did her best to focus her thoughts somewhere else. Yet, it became hard to do when the man was everywhere she was, all the time, his presence too hard to ignore. She’d begun to think it was time for her to ask Rothatin if she could go back to Fallada to escape him. With Gretchen now added to their ranks, it wasn’t like her absence would be a big deal. There were also Selena, Titus, and many Warrior Fae who had accompanied them to the world of man.

  When the trials of life cause you to feel cornered, that is the time to stand and fight.

  She smiled at the remembered line from one of her father’s sermons. A preacher, Canton Jones had instilled faith and strength into his daughters ... something Phaedra would be forever grateful for. He might not have given her life biologically, but she did not know where she’d be now without him.

  “Okay, Daddy,” she whispered. “I hear you.”

  Her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was still a young girl, but Phaedra liked to think her dad could hear her. In times like these, she wished he could talk back. His wisdom would have come in handy at a time like this.

  One thing she did know, turning tail and running back to Fallada wasn’t an option. Now that Eranna had been taken down, she had a duty to stay and make sure Adrah’s next instructions were carried out. Queen Eranna might be gone, but the Dark Fae were still a problem. Their presence here couldn’t be ignored, and something needed to be done.

  The sound of the glass door sliding open behind her drew her attention. She’d come out on the littl
e balcony for a moment alone, but apparently, it was going to be cut short. Arrian stood in the opening, staring at her with a solemn expression. His blue eyes pierced her with a perception she couldn’t escape. Part of her wanted to look away, but the other part didn’t want to back down. He had been the one to break things off with her; she shouldn’t try to shield him from the pain it had caused her.

  Not that she could blame him for the decision. Her lingering feelings for her ex had come between them, and Phaedra had allowed them to. The person in the wrong here had been her, and the time had come for her to accept that. She was heartbroken, but he’d been hurt first by her mistakes.

  “Yes?” she asked, standing to face him, coffee forgotten.

  He tucked his silky, mahogany brown hair behind his ear, revealing the curved and pointed ear of an Elf. “Rothatin is back. Everyone’s gathering in the living room to hear what he has to say.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving the door open for her. Abandoning her coffee, she stepped back inside and slid the door closed behind her. Several pairs of eyes fell on her as she entered the living room to join the meeting. Rothatin stood in the open space where the living room met the kitchen, the long, gleaming bar top and stools looming behind him. As always, he looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders—which, Phaedra supposed he did. Both the fate of Fallada, and that of the human world, rested on all their backs.

  Selena gave her a smile from where she sat stretched out on part of the oversized sectional, her back against Titus’ chest. Her Werewolf mate rested his chin on top of her head, one hand laid on her swollen, pregnant belly. Beside them sat Gretchen, Selena’s little sister. She found Arrian on the other side of the room, lowering himself into an armchair. Staying on her side of the room to maintain distance between them, she found a chair that matched his, and sat quickly.

  Silence fell over the room while everyone looked to Rothatin, waiting for him to deliver the news they’d been waiting for.

  “Before we begin, I’m happy to inform everyone that Princess Jocylene survived. She recovered nicely from the Werewolf bite and is resting in Goldun.”