Born of Embers: Phoenix Rising Book One

by Harper Wylde

  Copyright © 2018 by Quinn Arthurs and Harper Wylde.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or stores references in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Born of Embers

  Phoenix Rising Book One

  Quinn Arthurs

  Harper Wylde

  Wylde Side Publishing

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Warning

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Author’s Note

  The God Trials

  About Harper Wylde

  The Valkyrie’s Princes

  About Quinn Arthurs

  Acknowledgments

  We wish to thank everyone who helped make this book a possibility. First and foremost to our editor, Vicki Bennett, who put in countless hours helping us hone our book. Her insights and suggestions were invaluable and we are so grateful that she helped us to build this book into what it is today. We also want to give a huge thank you to our families for their love and encouragement and for putting up with long evenings and weekends full of writing and editing.

  Warning

  *** This book contains scenes and references of abuse that some readers may find triggering. This book also contains some m/m themes within the harem. ***

  Born of Embers is a reverse harem novel which means our heroine doesn’t have to choose between her love interests. Really, though, thats just more fun for everyone!

  Blurb

  I always knew I was different. I’d thought it had to be hidden—to stay a secret. I didn’t know my secret would become the key to my survival. Turning eighteen and getting accepted into college brings me everything I need to escape from the nightmares of my past but I never could have imagined my nightmares—and dreams—were just beginning. Finding myself thrown into a world of fantasy, politics, friendships, and rules that are nearly impossible to understand, I feel like I’m drowning in a world of shifters I never knew existed. As I struggle to find my place and prevent my nightmares from tearing me apart, I find myself surrounded by an unusual group of sexy men. With Hiro, Killian, Theo, Damien, and Ryder I’m trying to become the woman I’ve always wanted to be, if my past, and my future, will let me.

  Prologue

  Nix

  The first time he killed me it was an accident. As accidental as murder can be, anyway. I would never forget the sound my head made as he threw me against the wall—a sick, hollow echo that resounded hard in my ears. The next thing I knew a singeing heat had radiated throughout my body and then I was looking down, hovering above the dingy living room and watching my father scream at me. In his fit of rage he had taken his abuse to a new level and was yelling at my lifeless body, crumpled unceremoniously on the floor, ranting that I couldn’t die and how worthless I had turned out to be. Screaming that he wouldn’t go down for my death. Somehow he had turned his killing me into my fault.

  I had felt my spirit rip itself painfully from my body as death welcomed me and watched the scene below with sadness but also relief. The abuse was finally over. My father was a heavy drinker and over the years the beatings had grown worse. It had been this way as long as I could remember. Since he had taken things too far, my only hope had been that I would finally get to see my mother again.

  As I had waited for the infamous white light the heat had grown to unbearable levels and, with an agonized scream, I was pulled back into my body. That small, battered shell had miraculously healed and I was whole again, unharmed. It was my first time being reborn and I hadn’t even been able to process the miracle of it. My father had let out an anguished cry of shock before his twisted, slurred, alcoholic laughter rang around the room as he realized I was truly unbreakable, his new favorite toy.

  The rest of my childhood passed in much the same vein. I had started calling my father by his real name, Michael, after he had killed me that first time. Truthfully, he had lost the right to be called “father” long before that point. He spent each day beating me, careful to make sure any marks I was left with were hidden by clothing so that he wouldn’t be reported to the state. The few times he was too drunk to care were the times I ended up in the foster system. Some homes were better than my life with Michael, and others were far worse. It was extremely hard to make any charges stick, or sound convincing before a jury, when all Michael had to do to heal my extensive injuries was kill me. Modern science still hadn’t caught up with my abilities, nor could I explain them. All I knew was that Michael could beat me as bloody as he wished and I healed like the average teenager, however, should he deliver a killing blow, I went through what I deemed a “rebirth”. All of my injuries were healed when I awoke: my skin was clearer, my hair was thicker and shinier, and my muscle tone was better. While the changes were slight, almost unnoticeable in comparison to my prior body, the multitudinous rebirths had had a cumulative effect on my appearance. At eighteen my skin was a clear, glowing, golden brown that almost shimmered in the light. My hair hung down to my waist, a straight, inky sheet of solid black. Although my driver’s license said my eyes were brown, I personally thought of them as a deep chocolate.

  The rebirths didn’t come without a price, though. The pain I felt during those periods was excruciating, as though blood, bone, and muscle were being turned to ash and remade. The pain was enough to leave me dizzy and nauseated for days, even as I had begun to get used to pain being a part of my every waking moment. I was extremely weak for two to three days, leaving me even more vulnerable than usual to Michael’s attacks. If luck was on my side, he would be drunk enough after killing me and watching me regenerate that I was able to recover before he came at me again. If I wasn’t lucky… well, those were normally the times I ended up in temporary foster homes.

  By the time I was a teenager, I had lost track of how many times I had died, only to be reborn back into the hell that was my life. Anytime I tried to question Michael about how such a thing was possible, he would beat me again in lieu of answers, and it didn’t take long for me to stop asking. Instead, I relied on any research I could do on my own, spending as many days as I could in the library. T
hat place, filled with books, was my sanctuary. It had quickly become a safe place where I could hide away from my life, spend my days searching for any information I could find on regeneration, and stay out of the house.

  Over the years I had tried to do odd jobs to earn a little money. I had mowed yards, cleaned for neighbors, walked dogs, and basically did everything in my power to start saving money. With the jobs I had been able to work this past year, I had managed to accumulate a decent savings and that money had allowed me to fulfill the dream I had let stew in my mind for years. I had been accepted to the University of Alaska, Anchorage to begin my studies. The few people who were aware of my plans were shocked and horrified. Why would I want to move from Orlando, Florida—the happiest place on Earth—to a city where I would have no sun at all for over five months of the year? What I couldn't and didn't want to voice to them was that, other than leaving the country, moving to Anchorage was as far as I could get from the demons that haunted me. While I had considered moving overseas—the idea of having an entire ocean and multiple continents between myself and my past was quite an attractive draw—I knew I didn’t have the funds to get that far.

  After years of research and more application fees than I would have thought possible, receiving my acceptance letter from UAA had felt like a miracle. A part of me would miss the heat of Florida, but being 4,729 miles away from my past—yes, I had actually googled it—was enough of a benefit for me that I would quite happily take all of the dark and snow that Alaska could throw my way and bow my head in thanks. Michael had barely enough energy or willpower to drag his butt off the couch to grab another beer—I couldn’t see him tracking me almost 5,000 miles into the freezing cold Alaskan terrain, and wasting all of the money that travel would require, no matter how much he liked having me around to satisfy his bloodlust.

  After all of my suffering and all of my planning, I was only steps away from starting the rest of my life. I was ready to leave the nightmare of my past behind and finally find a fresh start.

  Chapter One

  Nix

  You’d think by now I’d be used to death, but the exact opposite was true. Even when I saw it coming, knew it was inevitable, I tried to stop it. I wanted to fight, everything in me was screaming to, but I knew his sadistic rage wouldn’t be quelled until I stopped breathing. I was hours from freedom, mere hours. I needed to just let it happen.

  A loud slap resonated through the room from the backhand that had connected with my flesh, and pain shot through my face. I felt my cheekbone crack from the force of the hit as my body went sideways, crashing into the old white refrigerator and rattling the bottles of beer chilling within. I felt warm blood smear across my cheek from the impact of his hit. A loud growl ripped from the monster’s throat as he hauled me up by my arm, bruising it. It wouldn’t matter. The marks would be gone when I awoke from death’s grip.

  I tried to control my agony, reminding myself over and over that this would be the last time. I would never have to see the madness in this man’s eyes again. I shoved at his chest, trying to dislodge his hold on me to no avail. He simply tossed me across the room and into the ugly, cracked, dingy yellow laminate that adorned the countertops. I couldn’t keep from crying out, which only fueled his evil hysteria. Warm blood dripped down my face from where my head had made contact with the countertop, and I tried to stave off the vertiginous feeling descending over me. It took him two long strides to reach me and I saw his black combat boots standing in front of me, through the tears and blood obstructing my vision, right before his hand reached down and wrapped around my throat. He hauled me up with little effort. His strength was one more of the many unexplained things in my life. How was he so strong and fit when he simply lazed on the damn couch all day long? My air was cut off as he lifted me straight off of the floor. I clawed at his hand, leaving bloody marks across his skin as I fought to find purchase with my hands and feet.

  “Michael,” I tried to get out through dry lips, begging him to let me breathe. Using his free hand he grabbed his opened beer off of the counter, took long gulps to finish it and threw it into the wall behind me. Shattered pieces rained down and skittered across the floor, then crunched into tiny shards as he stomped forward, pressed me into the wall and watched my lips turn blue.

  Gasping for any sliver of air, I tried to pry his fingers free from my neck, my vision going gray at the edges as my chest burned.

  “I love to see you beg.” The leer he gave me turned my stomach sour and if I wasn’t so focused on trying to live I would have thrown up my meager dinner. I lifted my dangling legs and tried to kick into his stomach, desperate to dislodge him, but the action only angered him more. His eyes, so pale they were almost white, flared with anger as his lips pulled back into a snarl, washing me in his alcohol scented breath.

  He pulled me away from the wall slightly, only to slam me back into it. The motion allowed me to gulp in a breath of air that burned like jagged pieces of glass. The impact rocked my head and bruised my shoulder blades as spots swam in front of my eyes. This was it. I was dying. Again. It was masochistic of me but I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips as my lungs burned for sweet oxygen. Michael had been drinking for hours and I knew deep in my bones that he would pass out soon. My plans were already set and I was leaving. This would be the last time he killed me and I prayed to anyone listening that this would be the last time I would ever have to see his face.

  “What the fuck are you smiling about, bitch?” he slurred, slinging the derogatory word my way. It was his preferred insult. I watched through my dimming vision as his eyes went wild, realizing that my upturned lips had just pushed him to his breaking point. All the better. I was ready. Before I could register what was happening, his grip tightened on my throat and my oxygen-deprived body gave up, slipping into a dark oblivion. I felt the scalding heat followed by the painfully familiar rip as my spirit tore away from my body once again. Hovering above the scene, I gasped in a deep breath. Even though I knew it was of no benefit to me I couldn’t stop the instinct. My ghost self wasn’t corporeal. My vision was spotty but I heard Michael ranting in the background before he dropped my body onto the glass covered floor. I could see his blurry shape as he grabbed another beer, wandered into the living room, and flicked on the television.

  It had taken about fifteen minutes for my body to repair the damage before I was reborn, gasping and shaking as I jolted awake. I immediately started crawling my way to my small room, trying to keep quiet. I couldn’t have stood if I wanted to. After a rebirth there was always a recuperation period before strength would seep back into my body. I would be weak for a few days but I counted my blessings that I had hours of easy travel ahead of me. By the time I made my way to my room, my hands and knees were covered in small slices from the the glass still covering the floor.

  I reached up to lock my door—not that it would stop Michael if he truly wanted into my space—but I knew he was drinking himself into a stupor right now, his abusive nature sated for the evening. I wanted to leave now, but I needed to rest and gather as much strength as I could so I could make it out of this house and get to the airport. Crawling towards the mattress on the floor, I pulled back my purple sheets and collapsed into a heap on my pillow. Thank the universe I had spent the whole day preparing to leave. Pulling my new cellphone from under the corner of the mattress, I made sure the sound was muted and turned on the vibrate feature, setting my alarm to allow for two hours of sleep. Two hours wasn’t much, and I knew the first part of my journey would be agony. I had to allow for plenty of time for breaks or my shaking, newly reborn body would never make it to the freedom I’d worked so hard for.

  * * *

  Ever the light sleeper, the phone’s unfamiliar vibrations startled me awake, and I quickly silenced the rumbling sound. Pulling myself out of bed, I crept to my bedroom door and pressed my ear to the old wood. Not hearing any angry voices, an echo of boots, or the clink of alcohol bottles, I opened my door and slipped on silent feet
down the hallway to peer into the rest of the small house. The lights in the house were off, but there was a bluish glow from the television flickering through the living room. The blue cast bounced off the walls, giving me just enough illumination to see the shadowed form of Michael lying on the couch, his beer resting on the floor just under his dangling hand. A deep, stuttering snore sawed out of his throat, informing me that he was well and truly asleep, finally passed out from his overindulgence.

  I slinked as quietly as I could back to my small bedroom and shut the door softly, holding onto the handle to prevent the lock from clicking as it caught. I grabbed the blanket from my bed, stuffing it into the bottom of the door. I was taking no chances that he would wake up. Flicking on the lamp, the yellow illumination softened the shadows around my room, giving off enough light that I could look over my meager belongings to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. Two bags. That’s all I had in the world. I had packed most of my clothing, leaving behind items that were too threadbare or wouldn’t hold up against the harsher Alaskan weather. Some limited make-up, toiletries, a few books I couldn’t part with and the cash that I had on hand made up the rest of my luggage. I quickly changed out of my bloodied clothing and cleaned up the best I could. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, I placed the shoelaces of my sneakers between my teeth and let them dangle from my mouth. Socks would make less noise on the old hardwood flooring that covered most of the house and I needed my hands free the maneuver the doors and carry my things. I had wanted so badly to go out of the window so I wouldn’t have to pass the living room on the way out, but Michael had bolted all of the windows shut long ago. If I pried it open, it would be more noticeable than walking out of the front door—assuming that he didn’t wake up. I needed as long as possible before he realized I was gone. I shut off the light and tossed my blanket back on the bed before I quietly opened the door. I knew he wouldn’t be looking for me again until tomorrow night, and I locked my bedroom door behind me on my way out, praying that the small sound wouldn’t cause him to stir. In my weakened state, the muscles in my arms burned and shook as I lifted my bags and picked my way down the hallway, avoiding any of the weakened spots on the floor that squeaked. I had memorized their pattern long ago.