Phoenix Rising (Maggie Henning & The Realm Book 1)

by Lisa Morgan

  The house was quiet. Michel hadn’t returned yet, assuming he’d have come to find me if he was here. That kiss replayed over and over in my mind, and I found I was having difficulty eating my sandwich with the grin on my face.

  “Delicious,” I heard Luc say, scaring me, and the recently half chewed mouthful of meat flopped out onto my puffs.

  “Never mind,” he snickered, a frown on his lips as I wiped my own with a napkin.

  “Don’t you ever make noise?”

  “Rarely,” he answered, pulling out the chair Liam sat in and kicking his boots onto the table.

  “Charming,” I went on, observing the mud that fell on the tabletop, my appetite suddenly quashed.

  Luc smiled without apologizing. “Thank you. It’s about time you realized that about me.”

  I replied, standing with my plate and heading back to the kitchen to care for my garbage, “I’ll never believe that about you.”

  Luc stood, not wiping away the mud, and followed me to the sink as I ran the water to wash my plate and utensils. He leaned against the island, folding his arms over his chest and turning his head to observe me. I could feel his eyes watching my movements. It left me feeling uneasy.

  “Thank you,” I managed softly, wishing to break the tension filling the room, “for earlier with my little problem.”

  Turning to face Luc, I heard the soapy water run down the drain. He nodded, but didn’t speak, his eyes studying me again.

  “What?” I asked him as he stood there brooding behind those emerald eyes.

  The vampire took a measured step toward me. “I am trying to discover what has Michel so enraptured with you,” he answered softly.

  “Okay,” I struggled to say, more than a little hurt.

  He raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear like his brother had earlier. Luc’s hands were as cold as Michel’s, but his touch wasn’t nearly as pleasing as his brother’s had been. His touch felt more personal, almost as if somewhere inside myself, I craved it. The sensation left me feeling unnerved.

  “You can stop that now,” I requested nervously, my voice quivering.

  He canted his head, still looking me over.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” Luc remarked. He leaned closer to me, and I closed my eyes while he inhaled deeply next to my right ear. Gooseflesh crawled up my arms. “And if you omit the provolone, your scent is not displeasing.”

  I felt a slight panic that maybe I wasn’t wearing deodorant. Luc pulled back with a fiendish chuckle and smile on his lips.

  “Right,” I remembered, abashed, “hearing my thoughts. Glad I amuse you.” I took a few steps to pass, eager to get away from him and his infuriating attitude, but before I could, his hand shot out and took a hold of my arm.

  Luc dragged me back, trapping my body between the counter and his own. Dread ran up my spine and robbed me of my voice as I tried to tell him to release me. Malice, and something like pain, crossed his countenance, and I watched his eyes form those slitted pupils I’d seen earlier.

  “Amuse?” Luc spoke coldly. “No, Maggie. There is nothing about you that amuses me.”

  I shuddered at his words and tried to pull away from him. “You’re hurting me.”

  Luc tipped his head closer; his coal-colored bangs tickling my cheek as his eyes thinned more. My breaths were coming to me in quick, labored intensity.

  “You’ll need to get past that,” Luc ordered, quickly releasing me and stepping away. “Your fear. It’s as palpable as your heartbeat. Even with the ability to control fire, you’re weak and powerless. And Maggie, make no mistake or take comfort in my brother’s words. You’ll be the death of us all.”

  Luc strode from the kitchen, leaving me to hold my throbbing arm and shake with unease. There was something about Luc, something so base and primal, that even without the exchange we’d just had, I felt like one cross look from him would leave me dead.

  The sound of the front door closing and heavy foot falls in the marble entranceway jarred me from my thoughts. Goose bumps were still on my skin as I followed the sound to the library. The furnishings had been replaced and a fire was roaring in the hearth, burning timbers crackling and the occasional ember popping from within. Liam sat, his hands clenched in tight fists. Luc had his back to me, peering out one of the windows with a goblet in hand. Michel turned his head, watching as I entered the room.

  “Hey,” I said softly, still rubbing my arm.

  “Are you hurt?” my grandfather asked, seeing my motion.

  “No,” I lied. Compared to Seatha, it was true. “Just a little cold.” I glanced toward him when I heard Luc snicker at my fib.

  Michel heard it, too. His eyes traveled from his brother to my arm. I knew he saw the beginnings of the bruise when the low growl began stirring in his throat. Luc turned to face him as I made my way to stand by the fire, and casually, Luc shrugged his shoulders.

  “If you touch her again,” Michel warned, “I will make you regret it.”

  Luc took a few steps toward his brother, his fangs bared, but stopped as Liam stood, putting his hands between the two vampire siblings.

  “Enough,” he ordered. Luc smiled, satisfied, while Michel bared his own set of sharp teeth. “This is not the time for in-fighting. We are on the precipice of war, and you both choose now to strut your feathers like peacocks in heat? Save it for another time when the fate of the world doesn’t hang in the balance of our actions.”

  Peacocks in heat? If that was Luc’s idea of courtship, I decided he needed a Dr. Phil intervention.

  Michel stood motionless, seemingly ready to wallop his brother for grabbing me, while Luc continued smiling wickedly. Deciding to send an unspoken message, I walked to Michel and took his hand in mine.

  “Don’t worry,” I offered, looking at him and drawing his attention. “I’m fine.” I spared a glance to Luc, seeing that my words had wiped the smug smile from his face, and grew one of my own. Michel draped his arm over my shoulders and walked with me back to the fire.

  “How is Seatha?” Michel asked while Liam whispered something to Luc.

  “She lost a wing, but the healer that chased me from her room says it’ll grow back in a few days,” I told him, hanging my head.

  “The Elvish healers are the best,” Michel reassured me. “If they say it will heal, you can be confident that it will.”

  Nodding, I found myself pulled into his embrace. Michel wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me against him. I tucked my head to his chest, momentarily alarmed by the lack of a heartbeat in his cooled body. He was hard as stone, and I could feel the cords of muscle in his arms hidden beneath his shirt as he tightened his grip around me. He placed his head atop mine, his ebony hair hanging loose, and it drifted down to curtain my face. I felt safe, standing there in his arms.

  Liam began, calling our attention to him, “The revenants are planning a full assault.”

  I pulled from Michel to give my grandfather my full concentration, feeling a little embarrassed that he’d played witness to that brief tenderness, but something about Michel drew me in from the first time I heard him playing that guitar in the music store.

  “Do we know when?” Luc asked sternly, apparently ignoring his brother and me. “Or know where they plan to launch this attack?”

  Liam shook his head. “We do not; not at this time anyway.”

  “What kind of help is that?” I urged with aggravation in my voice. “We already knew that.”

  “Eager for an ass-whooping, little girl?” Luc chided. Michel growled again, his body tensing as if ready to attack. Liam raised his hand to stop them.

  “Luc is right,” Liam agreed. “Are you ready to face off with these creatures, granddaughter? Did you learn the arts of war while I was speaking to informants today? Have you mastered that fae sword? Honed your fires?” I stared at my grandfather for a few seconds before hanging my head.

  “No, I didn’t think so. In any event, from what I’ve learned, Ossa will
be appearing before the end of the week,” he continued.

  Ossa. The name shuddered through my body like acid in my veins.

  “He will lead the battle, or so I’ve been led to believe,” Liam replied.

  Luc stepped forward, determination and wrath on his face, the smug vampire replaced by a soldier. “And your information is good? The source can be trusted?”

  Liam nodded. “We should have confirmation within the next forty-eight hours, should the incubus be worth what they are paid.”

  “Incubus,” Michel spat out with disgust. “Who would trust an Incubus’ information? What fool would risk all for a non-allied creature such as that?”

  Liam stood and walked to the desk, pulling a rolled piece of parchment from a drawer. He walked to Luc and handed him the paper. Opening the parchment, the vampire studied it carefully. I could see a blob of pressed wax on the bottom edge, a symbol embossed into it.

  “Your father,” Luc responded to Michel as he continued reading.

  “What?” Michel asked in disbelief, leaving my side and crossing the distance to join his brother. He pulled the parchment from Luc’s hands and began to examine it himself.

  “The king has retained the services of the Incubus,” he confirmed aloud as he read.

  “I don’t get it … what does that mean?” I asked the three of them. “What’s the big deal with an incubus?”

  “Incubi are mercenaries in the Realm,” Liam explained as the two vampires continued reading the parchment. “They have no loyalty to any side, instead offering their services to the highest bidder. In this case, the king couldn’t refuse and agreed to pay the price.”

  “What will it …they do?” I asked, needing more information and not caring about the price. If this being could help, the price didn’t matter to me.

  “The Incubi have no feelings,” Luc offered, meeting my eyes. “No discernible emotions or attachments. Therefore, they will do anything. In the last Revenant War, they served as executioners for The Realm.”

  “So, they were on our side last time,” I spoke, hopeful. “That’s good, right?”

  The three looked at me. Judging by their similar, dower expressions, it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “Maggie,” Michel began, handing the notice back to Luc as he came closer, “horrible punishments were meted out. Fae, nymphs, all manner of beings, were slaughtered, their children slaughtered. Colonies of sprites were eliminated. The whole race of lycanthropes was eradicated during the last Revenant War.”

  “But, I thought you said that last time they were on our side?” I inquired.

  “They were,” Liam offered, sitting back down and crossing his leg over the other. “Those were the punishments to traitors of The Realm and its king.”

  I swallowed hard at the information. An entire race of beings wiped out for what? I didn’t understand what would be such a grave offense to constitute killing children and infants.

  “Selling secrets,” Michel offered in answer to my thoughts as he rolled the parchment up. “The Lycans spied on the court, reporting back to the revenants about troop locations and movements, provision locations, coven workings—”

  “That means they should’ve died?” I interrupted. “On whose order?”

  Luc glared, steadfast, staring at me. Liam let his hand wash over his face. I turned to Michel, whose eyes were now on the floor.

  “On who’s order, Michel?” I asked again. He looked at me, and the silver flecks in his eyes that normally shone so brightly were now frosted over.

  “It matters not,” Liam intervened, butting through the heavy silence as he stood. I turned away from Michel and looked at my grandfather. “It is history, Maggie, and history cannot be repeated. We will depart in the morning. You should rest tonight.”

  “Depart for where?”

  “Celine,” Luc answered for Liam. “It would appear that the whole Realm has heard there’s a Phoenix rising. The king has called for you to be brought as a guest of honor to The Realm.”

  “A guest for what?” I questioned apprehensively.

  “A formal celebration, and the introduction of you to the beings of the Realm,” Liam answered with a note of fear in his voice. I looked to Michel. His expression hinted at trepidation.

  Luc offered a grim smile; his words making me whirl round to face him. “It would seem that you, dear Maggie, will be the belle of the ball. I do hope you have a decent dress.”

  Twenty One

  Following the declaration by Luc, Michel left the room, mumbling something about needing air. When I tried to follow, Liam urged me to give him time alone. I didn’t want to, but I followed my grandfather’s advice. There was something wrong, I knew it. Michel’s face had hardened when the talk of the incubus had come up.

  And there was that pesky kiss this morning.

  Maybe, I started to think, Michel regretted it, both of us just caught up after his brother’s stupid comments and the fight? Maybe it was something that happened after my fire worked, like an aftershock of adrenaline, and Michel felt he should seize on it. Still, he’d held me in the library, in front of both Luc and my grandfather. That had to mean something, right?

  I hated doubt, but it reigned supreme in my thoughts regardless. I was plain enough. Red curls that were always a tangled, frizzy mess and a smattering of freckles on my face; nothing to write home about unless his taste in females trended more toward Strawberry Shortcake and less Angelina Jolie like most guys. Should I be surprised that Michel was caught up in a moment that I now found myself analyzing? How would I really know if he was interested in me or not? My vast experience with guys being nonexistent, I realized I should probably take the hint.

  Whatever I’d thought was there between the vampire prince and myself was nothing more than a fantasy I concocted. He needed me; all of his father’s subjects needed me. A whole world hoped I would deliver some kind of salvation …

  And here I was, fawning over a guy.

  Liam had encouraged me to read some of the texts in the library to acquaint myself with, as he put it, the “arts of war” before we’d journey to Celine, the seat of The Realm and home to both princes and their father. He’d rubbed my shoulders gently and gave me a smile, setting me a little more at ease.

  When he left and I had the room to myself, I searched the shelves for a few minutes before I selected a book titled Dance of the Cutlass, assuming I’d kill two birds with one stone. I couldn’t dance and I had to learn to fight, why not consolidate and learn them at the same time? With luck, which I’d been lacking entirely for the last few days, there’d be pictures…

  There were pictures. I saw them briefly as I skimmed through the pages and was thankful for small miracles. I browsed the book for a half hour before deciding it was time to put what I read into practice. Making my way to the back of the room, I found the fae sword Michel had me attempting to use with earlier in the day.

  I lay the book open on the floor at my feet and studied how the figures in the drawings were holding their weapons. The pictures were drawn in boxes and numbered in order. I held the sword in my right hand just as the picture showed.

  Imagine the weapon as an extension of your arm, the text told me.

  Yeah, okay. Longer arm—got it.

  Thrust your arm outward straight and with a large amount of thrust. I bent my elbow, and with a wary movement, pushed my arm forward. Okay, done that. I looked back to the book.

  When you meet resistance against your weapon, do not be fearful of twisting the blade.

  The picture following the caption was disturbing. A fairy held a sword in its hand, the weapon buried to its hilt inside its victim. I assumed that she’d twisted it, as in red ink the author drawn small crimson spots flying from the target. The figure with the sword embedded in their gut wore a grimace on their face. My stomach knotted.

  No way was I going to be able to kill something.

  “What if they’re coming at you, arms raised, weapon in their hands,
and screaming?” a voice questioned from behind.

  “Michel,” I startled when I turned to find the vampire watching me. I lowered the sword from my invisible foe’s belly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Michel walked to me, standing several feet away, and with his eyes hardened as he stared.

  “That’s what I intended,” he answered without emotion.

  “Are you okay?” I took a step closer, but he raised his hand to ask me to pause.

  “This morning,” Michel began, glancing to the floor for a second before facing me again. I swallowed hard, worried about what he was going to say.

  “Luc was right.”

  “Luc was right?” I replied, my voice wrought with sarcasm. “Right about what? Right to throw me across a room or right to chuck you like a pair of old shoes?” I laughed as Michel stalked closer, slowly drawing his sword from the sheath that hung off his waistband.

  “Strike me down,” he ordered icily.

  I laughed again, feeling brave. “If you want a kiss, you can just ask. We don’t need to—”

  “Strike me down!” Michel yelled, putting an abrupt end to my laughter. I raised my sword and made a little effort to hit him with it. With a sweep, Michel had the sword not only away from him, but his own pressed to my throat.

  “Michel,” I swallowed against the tip of his blade.

  “Again!” he commanded angrily.

  I took a step backward to ready myself, but Michel didn’t wait for me to get comfortable. He shot his broadsword out, and I had just enough time to twist away. My back was turned to him for a split second, but it was all the time he’d needed. Moving behind me as fast as lightning, his pressed his sword across my throat, its steel digging into me hard enough to feel its weight against my pulse.

  “Michel,” I whimpered, now feeling as scared of him as I’d been of Luc in the kitchen. Michel lowered his weapon and shoved me hard. I fell to my knees.