Phoenyx in Flames

by Daisy St. James

  Phoenyx could feel the familiar hardening of her heart. She wanted to believe him, this wonderful man who took her from a loveless home, and the arms of her dead mother, to a place where she could be considered a hero. She wanted to believe she wasn’t a monster to be feared, but something told her she was going to prove him wrong, she was going to prove them all wrong, whether she wanted to or not.

  Releasing his hand, suddenly cooler, she knelt silently and helped Judas rise to his feet before guiding him back over to the bed. Easing him down onto the bed, she reached automatically for the silver chains. As she bowed to shackle one of his hands to the headboard, she found those steely, blue eyes staring wearily at her face. A hundred histories he couldn’t remember danced within their depths.

  “I understand,” he croaked, his lips chapped and cracking.

  Guilt washed over her as his free hand extended to softly brush his knuckles against her cheek. She caught it quickly, pressing it down onto the bed before the crackle and hum of electricity that passed between them could consume her. Their fingers were connected by a thin wave of blue electricity as she quickly, but efficiently made easy work of the next chain at his wrist.

  With her heart hammering in her chest, her eyes caught his briefly, and she felt a jump in her stomach, like it had done a somersault when they touched. He was a magnet, pulling her deeper and deeper into his eyes. Tearing her eyes away, a frown marred her skin before she stood and walked back the way she came. She couldn’t dare look back at him. Instead, she focused on what was before her and set her jaw firmly.

  “Cortez,” she snapped. “Call Kassandra. Get him something to eat.”

  Cortez fumbled for his cell phone and began to punch a series of letters onto the smartphone screen. Phoenyx turned to Hutton, her eyes cool stones. “Where does Ian Rutherford live?”

  A look of complete bemusement crossed Hutton’s features. “You don’t think––”

  “Wouldn’t it make all the sense in the world though?” She asked, taking the elastic from around her wrist and scooping up her hair to tie it up into a ponytail.

  Hutton held up a hand. “Now, listen here––we need to be smart about this.”

  “This has that snide fucker’s fingerprints all over it, H,” she snapped, eyes blazing and crackling. She blinked hard. “He has to be the informant. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Spider doesn’t have the smarts to pull something like this off on his own. I had my suspicions that it may have been an inside job, and Ian Rutherford is the only plausible suspect.”

  “I’ll contact John immediately,” Hutton said, reaching for his phone.

  Phoenyx stopped him. “No,” she shook her head slowly, eyes drawn to Judas, who lay watching them, exhausted. “Don’t tell John anything just yet. He’s a good man, and an integral part of The Order, but he’s not ready for that kind of betrayal.”

  Cortez stuffed his phone in his back pocket and moved forward slowly. “Kassandra will be by in a little bit with some of her blood bags. How can I help?”

  “I want a meeting with Morty,” she murmured, cutting through the meat and getting straight to the bones of it.

  With cognac colored eyes as wide as saucers, Cortez shook his head. “I told you, no, fresa. Morty won’t talk to you, babe.”

  “Then I’ll make him talk,” Phoenyx ground out, eyes unintentionally sparking.

  He flinched, reaching into his back pocket for his phone once more. It vexed her something awful to see him so jumpy around her, but this was now where they stood. Cortez groaned. “You owe me big for this, Phoenyx. Real big.”

  If it was the last thing she did, she was going to get to the bottom of this over-exaggerated, bizarre-o soap opera bullshit. She’d had about enough of the drama, and was ready for some clear answers.

  Once Cortez gave Morty the heads up, they left Hutton with Judas, and high-tailed it out of there. Cortez stopped short as they approached her car and gave a low, slow whistle.

  “Fresa, is this beast yours?” He asked in a gravelly voice, not bothering to hide the admiration there.

  Phoenyx slid into the car, like she was sliding on a glove, and beamed. “The Hellcat? Yeah, she’s mine.”

  “Nice wheels, G.” Cortez’s approval was clear, as he made his way over to the passenger side. Once he was in, he danced a little in his seat and gave a short laugh. “We going to be rolling up in style, baby.”

  Phoenyx revved the engine to life, pleased that she could bring a look of excitement to Cortez’s face, rather than one of fear. “What did Morty say when you told him we were coming?”

  White teeth gleamed in contrast to his tan skin as Cortez smiled. “You mean, when I told him I was coming?” He asked sarcastically. “He figured it was business as usual.”

  “Good.” Phoenyx smiled coolly, pulling out onto the street in one fluid motion. Shifting gears, she pressed her foot down hard on the gas pedal, feeling the car rumble beneath her ass and smiled. “Then he can’t hide.”

  TEN

  “The Pink Pussy?” Phoenyx’s face was impassive as she read the words off the bright, flashing, pink neon sign above the doorway in the back alley. “For real?”

  Cortez had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “I didn’t name the place, fresa.”

  She turned her head slowly and pursed her lips. “You’re right. If you had named it, you would’ve called it, The Cum & Go.”

  “At least that’s witty!” Cortez laughed. Caught off guard, he asked, “Did you just make a joke?”

  Phoenyx shrugged with nonchalance. “Maybe.”

  “It’s a brothel, babe,” he said with a sorrowful shake of his head. “This town thrives on sin. Ain’t no sleep when the wicked play. It is what it is.”

  Shaking her head, Phoenyx banged her fist roughly against the large oak door a few times before someone slid the peephole open to stare out hard into the night. His eyes were unearthly, a predatory sheen giving them that strange night-vision look. Cortez planted his face firmly in front of the square so the host could see him better.

  The host whispered. “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting…”

  And Cortez replied. “…dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

  The door opened with an ominous creek and the room spilled out into lush Victorian opulence. The brothel was dripping with crushed red velvet, worn leather and antique glass. It was a vampire’s wet dream.

  All eyes turned to Cortez as he entered the room with Phoenyx following.

  The sex workers were dressed to steampunk perfection. Every piece of lingerie detailed with aged leather straps, Victorian lace and enough bustles to give Edgar Allen Poe a hard-on in his grave.

  Phoenyx wasn’t surprised by the number of humans, and Sups alike, who were working the floor in their barely-there apparel. What did surprise her was the incredible poise they held, like nothing in the room could hurt them, when in fact, it was like someone dropped a steak in a lion cage.

  It didn’t take long for the vampires to pick up her scent. Like sharks, they were always keen on new blood, but it was the incredibly beautiful and seductive woman standing amidst them who seemed to be the center of all their attention––the one that trained her eyes on Phoenyx first.

  It was once rumored that Elizabeth Taylor had violet eyes, which she insured for millions of dollars. This woman, although Phoenyx was fairly certain she was a Supernatural, had eyes to rival Liz’s––and then some.

  Her body looked like it had been molded by Michelangelo himself, and her jet-black hair hung in large waves to her hips. Turning her attention to Cortez, she rolled those round hips in their direction.

  “Who is that?” Phoenyx hissed, feeling an odd pull in her direction.

  “That,” Cortez murmured as he made a face of unadulterated pleasure, “is Monroe.”

  Monroe’s eyes burned Phoenyx for a moment, a glimmer of something familiar peeking through their depths. As she extended he
r hand to Cortez, a seductive smile curved her burgundy lips. The tip of her tongue caught between her perfectly straight, white teeth for a moment before she pouted and winked flirtatiously.

  “Hello, darling,” Monroe whispered to Cortez, who seemed to be bemused by her beauty. She then focused intensely on Phoenyx, her eyes travelling from her toes, lingering on her hips and breasts before finally settling on her face. With those strange violet eyes flashing, she asked, “Who’s your stunning friend?”

  “We’re looking for Morty,” Phoenyx bit out, turning cool eyes in the direction of the vampires who were now ogling her openly, whispering amongst themselves. “Tell him Phoenyx is here, and that I don’t like to wait.”

  Just then, Cortez’s cell phone went off with a shrill ring in his pocket. He looked at it and cursed under his breath before bringing it to his ear. “Morty! How are you my friend?”

  While Cortez continued his lackadaisical conversation with the only man, who quite possibly had any of their answers, Phoenyx found her eyes dragging to Monroe. She was tall––Amazonian tall, with legs that went on for days and skin the color of alabaster. Phoenyx could sense a volcano coursing beneath her chill exterior, contained carefully by sheer willpower alone. She felt drawn to her, a kind of familiarity that tugged at the far reaches of her mind. Phoenyx found her eyes sliding to those shockingly purple orbs and her breath caught.

  “So, you’re quite the talk of the town, aren’t you?” Monroe murmured, sipping gingerly on a green liquid out of a crystal and pewter stemmed glass. She licked her lips and Phoenyx felt a swirling in the pit of her stomach. “I’m no stranger to being the talk of the town, or any town for that matter.”

  “Funny,” Phoenyx murmured, the corner of her mouth tipping up only slightly. “I’ve never heard of you.”

  Monroe’s laughter bubbled like champagne as she tossed that glorious mane of black hair over her shoulder and jutted out her hip. “Is that right? You’re something else, aren’t you?”

  The violet of Monroe’s eyes began to brighten and radiate a mind-numbing heat. Phoenyx felt it in every nerve of her body, even as she attempted to shake it off, the empath in her fighting the sensations with everything it had. That was when it dawned on her. The raw sexual energy, the intensity in her eyes––Monroe was a Succubus.

  Phoenyx forced her eyes to remain level, instead of rolling back into her head from sheer exasperation. Could it get any more cliché than a Succubus working in a fucking brothel? Phoenyx thought to herself.

  Phoenyx’s lips pulled into a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m something else.”

  “No,” Monroe whispered, leaning in enough so that only Phoenyx could hear her. “I mean, you’re really something else. What exactly are you, beautiful?”

  Currents of rage began to pump through Phoenyx’s body, and a look of awe passed over Monroe’s face. If she didn’t calm herself soon, Phoenyx was going to lose control. Clenching her fists tightly, fighting the urge to put this Succubus through a wall, Phoenyx clenched her teeth and swallowed with difficulty. “I know exactly what I am. I kill your kind.”

  “My kind?” Monroe’s voice slithered elegantly across Phoenyx’s skin before she leaned in to a press a soft, moist kiss to her burning cheek. “Honey, you don’t even know what your kind is, but when you’re ready, come and see me. We’ll talk, you and I.”

  “I think we’ve done enough talking,” Phoenyx barked, pushing past her until she was standing impatiently next to Cortez. She didn’t bother to look back at the stunning creature, who didn’t seem phased in the least by her bravado.

  Now wasn’t the time to be losing her touch. Her fingertips sparked, and she silently cursed, pushing them deeply into her jacket pockets.

  It also wasn’t the time to show all her cards to the other players.

  “Right, right…” Cortez said with a laugh. “Sure, yeah, I hear ya, man, but she still really needs to talk to you, Morty.”

  “Where is he?” She demanded, becoming increasingly impatient, and the electrical currents that were beginning to tickle her nerves had her on edge. The last thing she needed was a repeat performance of what happened at her apartment. “Tell him to get his skinny little ass out here now, or I will find him myself and squeeze the answers out of him.”

  A petite redhead, wearing little more than scraps of lace over her nipples and hoohaa, and an enormous, white bustle sitting pretty over her round ass, padded barefoot over to them. She took Cortez and Phoenyx by the hand and led them to the dimly lit back room of the brothel, away from prying eyes. As humans do, she blushed demurely and gestured to a large metal door with bolts running down the front, as if she were a gameshow hostess showing them the brand-new car they’d just won.

  Frowning, Phoenyx used the enormous lions head knocker to call to whoever was beyond its threshold.

  “You may enter,” the voice on the other side replied.

  She closed her eyes tightly, inwardly searching for a hold on her patience, as she slowly pushed the heavy door open.

  The room beyond was extraordinary. The décor was very similar to the brothel itself in color and texture, with the only difference being the elegant and enormous soldered iron skylight with an intricate design overhead.

  The nearly full moon shone through, casting an eerie glow throughout the room, and Phoenyx relaxed a little, finally having an answer for her erratic behavior. She blamed her out of character emotionality on the moon. After all, her mother had always said people did irrational things around this time of the month. Hutton always made sure she knew that Weres and Shifters weren’t the only creatures that could be affected by the moons magnetic pull. It ruled more than just the ocean. A person’s mood certainly wasn’t off limits either.

  In the middle of the room was a huge oak desk, which Hutton would have probably salivated over, and behind that desk––well…

  “Greetings companions,” the man greeted.

  She winced, his voice instantly grating on her nerves. Phoenyx was barely able to conceal her annoyance. “Morty,” she muttered.

  “To what do I owe this immense honor of having The Phoenyx in my establishment?” He leered at her, his beady grey eyes sliding over her body like sticky fingers. “You’re much more beautiful than the rumors said you were, m’lady.”

  Cortez cleared his throat apologetically, sending a sideways glance at Phoenyx. She glowered back at him.

  Morty's was a cautionary tale. Most newly turned vampires were told his story to give them some hope on their afterlife. You see, Morty was just a regular Joe, working as an accountant at Weinstein & Paulson back in the 80's. He was thirty-years-old, and still living at home with his mother, enjoying live RPG’s on the weekends––when he wasn’t reading Tolkien, or studying his D&D manual. However, he had a very unhealthy obsession with the works of Anne Rice. So much so, that when he was approached by the undead, namely Spider, one dreary Saturday night, he flung his carotid arteries at him like a common hussy, begging to be turned. Luckily, Morty had more drive in him than most, and did good for himself in the afterlife, opening the brothel they currently stood in, to become quite the wealthy entrepreneur. While most vampires were content with conning, thieving and murdering for their fortunes, Morty had used the only weapon he believed mattered to get to the top––his brilliance. And of course, Spider.

  And here they were.

  “Last night you gave me a tip, which I very graciously passed on to Phoenyx,” Cortez’s voice was clear as he pinned Morty with his eyes. “It was a hit.”

  “You don’t say!” Morty gasped, splaying his fingers over his chest and feigning shock. “Well, I must apologize for the error.”

  “Cut the shit, Morty,” Phoenyx snapped, hanging by her very last thread of patience. She marched over to his desk, lifted her boot up onto the edge, and flaunted her silver stake. The threat unmistakable. “Now's the time to tell me what you know, or I’ll burn this entire fucking building to the ground and dance on your ashes.”

 
; Morty let out a hearty chuckle and began to clap slowly. “My, my! Aren’t you the feisty one! Let me tell you something––you’re not going to burn anything to the ground. There will be no ash dancing, my lovely, and do you know why? Because I know what you don’t, and you need me. It’s not the other way around. Now why don’t you have a seat, like a good little bird, and we'll all have a nice chat. All right?”

  Her blood temperature was rising to uncomfortable levels in her body. Her heart began to pound erratically, out of control. Every instinct in her body was telling her to tear out the bastard’s throat––with her teeth. She blinked hard, trying to get the visual of her jaw working against his neck out of her mind. She swallowed around the dryness in her mouth, but could only imagine how it would feel to have his blood coating the inside of it, with its sticky sweetness.

  What is happening to me? She closed her eyes for a moment to bring herself back to reality. Though to her shock, it wasn’t any better than the dark place her mind had become.

  When had the fucking tides turned like this? Was there no one in town who feared me anymore? If only they could all see into my thoughts. First, the slutty Succubus outside, and now this sniveling piece of shit who only got a leg up in this town because his sire lead one of the largest MC’s in Crystal Haven. And Ash. How could I forget that piece of work?

  Glancing over at Cortez, who was looking at her like she was losing her mind, she dropped her boot back to the ground and stepped back.

  “So, let’s talk,” she hissed. “But you better make it good, because if I don’t like what you have to say, I don’t give a shit what, or who you know. I will kill you.”

  Smiling coldly, Morty gestured to a plush leather seat in front of the desk, motioning for Phoenyx and Cortez to sit down. He walked over to a liquor cabinet and took the lid out of a decanter, pouring himself some of the green liquid within. After pouring another two glasses, he held them out to Phoenyx and Cortez.