“That’s Nelly.” The hand holding the phone shook like an aspen in a high wind. “He never was the world’s most handsome guy, and now he looks worse than I do, but his kids don’t seem to mind.”
The color that had come into Cam’s face had drained away, leaving it white rather than gray. She stole a look at his aura. Panic warred with hope in the erratic currents. Parts were flaring. Other parts rippled unsteadily. Maybe in his condition the emotional relief had been overwhelming.
Had she done him harm or helped? She felt so helpless and ignorant. She wished she knew if she should be trying to adjust his brain waves and heal his aura. Best to pretend she knew what she was doing.
“Nap time,” she announced. “Want to race me to the house?”
* * *
Cameron~
He had been dreaming. Not about the ambush. Not about Onesalt. About something soft and soothing, followed by hot, sweaty sex. He opened his eyes cautiously, but the living room blinds were tightly drawn. He could hear a distant humming that seemed to be part of his fading dream. Frankie. He had dreamed about Frankie.
Probably a sign of his moral decline. A fellow had no business having red-hot wet dreams about a woman like her. Not unless he had honorable intentions. Trouble was, he was so used to thinking of her as his fated mate, it was hard not to fantasize about her. But if he wasn’t a bear, he didn’t have a destined bride. And Warrior Woman was never going to be his wife.
Maybe if his mind ever got less mushy, he would be able to feel bad about his dreams. Right now he just felt buzzed by the fact that she was in the house humming. The dream he had come out of was fading away. But he seemed to recall that she had ridden him hard and fast. It wasn’t as vivid a memory as the dream he had had on the night of the wedding. Now that had been a dream worth reliving.
He got cautiously up from the couch, looked around for his walker. It had vanished. His cane was leaning against the coffee table. He had to use it to hobble down the hall to the john. It was probably his imagination that he looked less drawn. Being around Frankie buzzed all his senses, but it wasn’t likely that her presence was actually lifting the gray veil between him and the world.
The guy in the mirror still needed a haircut and a shave. Had he really put on his dress uniform and his medals without a visit to the barber? Gone to church looking like the wrath of God? He supposed he must have, since he remembered sitting beside Tasha while Frankie sang.
She was still singing. A song without words that made his blood move and his head stop pounding. They said that phoenixes could heal. Apparently so. Was she in the house or just in his head? He had hallucinated her so often that he couldn’t be sure.
He rubbed his stubble. He could at least remove a layer of bristle in case she was hanging around. He began to whistle as he lathered up and kept going through stroking the razor over his face. He rinsed off and combed his hair. Wondered why the colonel had not ordered him to clean up.
Onesalt was alive. Harrison had said so. Frankie had shown him pictures with Zoe and the kids. Son of a bitch. He ought to call. That was the bare minimum he owed his teammate. He patted his pockets. Where had he put his cell? Without the walker, the bedroom was a lot further down the hall, but he made it.
He was tempted to lie down on the freshly made bed to rest, but he forced himself to look for his phone. He found it in the bureau drawer. Dead as a doornail. Then he had to hunt for the charger. That turned up in the outside pouch of his duffel. Why hadn’t he ever unpacked it?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
North Shore, Jamaica
Grant~
“This is absolutely amazing,” Genevieve breathed. “I can see absolutely forever.” She gazed out over the shallow Caribbean Sea to the sinking sun.
Grant saw what Genevieve meant. The evening air was warm and sweetly scented by the tropical flowers that grew all around their villa in colorful profusion. It was a beautiful spot and a glorious sunset.
From the cliff where he stood with his bride, the blue-green sea flowed out past a coral reef to a distant horizon where the sun had turned the water purple and the sky pink. Fifty feet below them, surf pounded on a ragged pile of rocks. In a moment darkness would fall like a curtain, as night did this close to the equator. Soon the first night of their mated life would begin. He couldn’t wait.
“It’s time,” he said. “Are you ready to fly, beloved?”
Gen grimaced. “I have to swallow the Egg of Immortality now? I was enjoying the sunset. And my romantic honeymoon. Can’t we wait?”
“Not another hour longer.” He grinned at her. Despite the face she was making, she was beautiful. And his.
“I don’t feel brave tonight.”
“Remember what Tasha said? How the phoenix bond is intimate and transcendent?” he asked tenderly. “Come share the joy with me.”
“Hmm. I wonder if Cam and Frankie are figuring themselves out,” she said.
He sighed. His mate was being evasive, but she was no coward. “Probably. I don’t know about bear shifters, but phoenixes can’t fight fate. You and I, my darling, are fated. Let’s get naked and turn into phoenixes.”
“We need to get naked first?” she squeaked. “The ritual involves sex?” Her voice turned hopeful.
They had been lovers only two months, and with his international professional schedule, and her Frankfurt posting, long-distance lovers. The novelty of lovemaking had not yet worn off. After this ritual, it never would.
He grinned at her. Gazed into her eyes with his heart in his. “Nope. Not exactly. But if we don’t take off our clothes, they’ll be ruined when we shift.”
“Oh.” She looked around nervously, her big green eyes quartered the area, searching for people.
As if he would ever expose his mate to the gaze of the curious. “The nearest house is behind that big stand of bamboo. It forms a perfect natural screen. The land has collapsed in front of this villa and covered the beach with rocks a hundred yards in either direction. We’re alone in paradise.”
This newly-made cliff was why he had chosen this villa. He had wanted to transform Genevieve where there was a readymade place to launch her first flight.
The sun was a thin fingernail of orange on the horizon, the pink clouds were streaked with gold. And then the day was done. There was no twilight. Just a brief flash of periwinkle sky, followed by the emergence of a great bowl of stars twinkling against soft blackness. A full moon shone down as if he had ordered it specially for their pleasure.
He had the egg in the chamois bag, slung around his neck. Grant unbuttoned his shirt and began to undress. Again he met Genevieve’s eyes and held them with his as he disrobed.
She was still worried about being seen. But she tugged her sundress over her head and stood before him in her gorgeous peachy skin. Surely, she was the most beautiful woman who had ever lived? No Hollywood celebrity was lovelier. He kicked off his sandals and yanked off his pants. Held out his arms to his nude beauty. Brought her close to his heart and kissed her.
“I love you,” he vowed. “Always and forever.” Her soft, plump body quivered temptingly against his hard one. You can be strong, D’Angelo.
“I love you too, Grant. But I still do not want to swallow living lava.”
He showed her the chip of lava that was the egg. It had cooled slightly since he had harvested it from Vesuvius, but it was still hot. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Not as bad as childbirth.”
“Amputation is not as bad as childbirth!”
“True.”
“It looks rough,” she said. “Sharp. I’m really not sure about this.”
“Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” He pricked his finger with the needle he had brought along just for this. A single drop of his blood landed on the lava. It smoked and boiled and a perfect pill-sized ovoid appeared on his palm. “Take it,” he entreated. He handed her a canteen.
Genevieve squared her shoulders. Her delicious breasts bobbled gently. But this was no time to grope
his wife. This ritual was serious business. She put the egg in her mouth, gasped, and emptied the canteen.
He felt the searing pain in his own gullet as she swallowed. His body experienced the fiery passage of the egg into her belly and the paranormal heat that spread like wildfire through her entire body, permanently altering every cell.
If childbirth hurt more than this, why were there any second children?
There in the tall grass, on the edge of the cliff, Genevieve’s luscious womanly body changed and transformed. He completed his own transformation while her plumage manifested itself in all its paranormal splendor. When her shift was complete, she was six-foot of enormous, muscular, blazing, predatory bird. Gorgeous and his.
He knew he looked very little different than she did. Phoenixes were not sexually dimorphic. Now that they had shifted, mortal eyes would have the utmost difficulty in seeing them. Their dazzling feathers glittered with a paranormal radiance that began in the ultraviolet range. Birds could see them reasonably clearly, but mammals could not detect much beyond a fiery blur. That included humans and their companion animals.
Genevieve was magnificent. Her forked tail feathers streamed out behind her like an undulating train of gold. Her breast gleamed brightly. Her towering crest was stiffly erect and perfect. Her gold eyes shone like jewels and so did her feet and talons.
She opened her beak and a ravishing song poured out. He had heard it so often in his dreams. His heart contracted. Genevieve was finally completely his. As he was hers. After ten years she was at last his phoenix bride. And well worth the wait.
There was just one more step in the ritual that would bind them forever. He plucked a single plume from his breast and laid it at the terrible bronze feet of his mate. It was only a small glowing speck beside her great curved scimitars. She understood his gesture and placed a similar downy feather before him.
He ate hers. She ate his. He began to sing to her of his love.
Effortlessly Genevieve matched him note for note, embroidering his tune with exquisite harmonies of her own. She ended with a flourish of high notes. He danced for her, strutting and posturing. Letting her admire his great wings and strong legs. Displaying his muscular flight muscles.
She imitated him. Matching his steps as if they had practiced together for a lifetime. As one frolicsome bird, they pranced and whirled in a frenzy of love and desire. When his heart told him it was time, he leapt off the cliff, spread his wings and swept out over the sea.
He felt her follow him boldly into the warm trade winds.
I’m flying!
Wingtip to wingtip they flew out past the coral reef to where leaping sailfish sent showers of phosphorescence into the air. He allowed the breeze to lift him and send him soaring over the sparkling droplets.
Beside him, Genevieve flapped hard to keep pace.
Let the wind do the work, my love.
Genevieve angled her wings as he was angling his. Like this?
Got in in one. You’re a natural!
Oh my God. We’re in each other’s heads!
Yes. This is the gift of the phoenix, my darling. A transcendental bond like no other. It is our fate to fly together until we die.
Let’s not think of death. There are tons of other things I would rather do on my honeymoon.
I want those things too. I want to share my body and my life with you, beloved.
Race you to the reef and back, D’Angelo.
Sure. Last one there gets to be on top.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frankie~
She heard Cam as soon as he transitioned to lighter sleep and his body began to wake up. She had also felt him earlier as his sleep waves changed and he roused. She had sent him back to sleep then. Now it was time for him to be up.
The more she sang to him, the more attuned they seemed to become. General Custer. Eleanor had not warned her that deploying her phoenix healing songs would bond her more tightly to her lover.
Yet she could hardly stop when Cam was finally showing improvement. Not that she wanted to. Her common sense told her to run. Her foolish heart wanted to be close to her bear in every way possible. She was going to wind up one sorry, broken-hearted phoenix.
Cam went tottering down the hall to the bathroom on his cane. It was probably a little cruel to have deprived him of the walker. But Eleanor had insisted that six weeks after surgery he should be entirely on the cane. And that he should be taking longer and longer walks. He wasn’t healing slowly for a shifter. He was just healing slowly period.
Could she speed up his recovery enough that she could keep her heart intact? Not if this melting sensation in her midsection was any indication. Even as she wondered if she could spare herself grief, she was changing her melody so that it resonated better with Cam’s waking brain. At this rate her love-softened heart was about to become a sacrifice on the altar of his obstinacy.
She would have to defer any decision. It was time for Cam’s next dose of meds and something to eat. She wasn’t a fabulous cook, but she had cobbled together a casserole out of what was in the cupboards and fridge. Cameron had never been a fussy eater. She had never met a serviceman who was. He had learned to eat and enjoy eating field rations. This tuna casserole might not be much, but it was better than that.
There would be no more meals on the couch. He was probably still too tired from their outing to make it to the main house for dinner. But he could sit at the kitchen table and eat with her like a civilized person. She laid the table and took the casserole out of the oven, before she went to the living room to supervise his meds.
He was sitting upright on the couch, his cane resting between his legs. The first time she had seen him willingly stay erect.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
He shrugged. But he didn’t wince. Definitely an improvement – even if he couldn’t feel it for himself. He would make even more progress if she could just get him to take bear. Tapping into his animal strength and vigor should almost instantly give him a sense of well-being and restore his aura. It might even have a positive effect on his depression. But first, the pills, and some dinner.
“It’s nearly suppertime,” she said.
He sniffed. “Something smells good.”
“Tuna casserole.”
“My favorite.”
Despite her worry, she grinned. “Tuna casserole is nobody’s favorite.”
“If you made it for me, it’s my favorite.” The silver-tongued devil.
She handed him his pills and a glass of water. He didn’t just throw them into his mouth, he looked at them. “Where are the blue ones?”
“You don’t get those at supper.” Or indeed at all. She, Eleanor, and the pharmacist had conferred. Given that those particular antidepressants interacted poorly with almost everything else he was prescribed, he shouldn’t be taking them. Frankie had made the unilateral decision to withhold them. So far he was not exhibiting any withdrawal symptoms.
He shrugged and swallowed the handful. Drank the water and held out the glass again. She filled it and he drank that too. All this water was making his skin look less stretched and pasty. But he was still a long way from handsome.
“Let’s go. Supper’s ready.”
“It’s a long way to the kitchen. Where’s my walker?”
The cottage was small. The living room couch was less than twenty steps away from the kitchen table. “Not in the house. You’ll never get your strength back unless you get your legs used to bearing your weight.” She tapped the cane. “From now on, you use your third leg. Your walker is only for outdoors.”
“Huh.”
* * *
Cameron~
He was a pathetic fool to be enjoying this meal so much. Frankie had cleared away the rubble he had left making himself that half-assed breakfast. His feet hadn’t stuck to the floor even when he passed in front of the fridge, so she had mopped up the residue from the orange juice he had spilled. Hard to believe Warrior Woman was waiting on hi
m hand and foot without a single smart remark. But she was.
The tuna casserole and green beans were good. Hot. Filling. Satisfying. He felt no need to make conversation. He concentrated on getting his food into his mouth without leaving any on his chin. Frankie passed him the dish of beans. Shift. Coordinating holding the bowl and transferring the vegetables to his plate took forever. His pleasure in the meal vanished.
Frankie made no comment. His impatient phoenix just held the bowl as if his turning helping himself to green beans into an all-day event was normal. He noticed that she was humming. The melody hovered in the air like the scent of the casserole. A background phenomenon just on the edge of awareness.
“Stop it,” he ground out.
“What?”
“You’re singing at me – again.”
She set the bowl of beans carefully on the table and laid the tongs across the top with equal care. She nodded. “I am. What of it?”
“You’re manipulating me.”
Her face stiffened, but the humming continued. “I wouldn’t call it manipulating. I am trying to stabilize your brain, so it sends the right messages to your body.” She picked up her fork.
“Without so much as asking me if I cared to be hypnotized?”
“As far as I can tell, there’s nobody home to ask,” she shot back. “And it’s not hypnosis. I’ve explained that to you before.”
She had. He hadn’t believed it three years ago. He didn’t believe it now. Now that he was focusing on it, he could feel the humming vibrating in every part of his body. “You know what your problem is, D’Angelo? You always think you know best.”
“Probably because I usually do. I suppose you’d rather spend the rest of your life languishing on the couch like some fragile, Victorian maiden?”
He saw red. “Don’t try to justify your invasion of my privacy, D’Angelo.”
Phoenix Alight (Alpha Phoenix Book 4) Page 10