by JL Madore
I nod, squeezing my purse in my lap. Riley died because she poked too deep into Sonny’s illegal businesses. It can’t be for nothing. I’ll take the address, find that property, and figure out everything else after that. “A truck stop will be perfect. Thanks.”
Hawk
I ride the upswell of the highway thermal, my mind and body roiling with a fury I rarely let myself feel. Our little phoenix is running—again. The fact that the other three didn’t see who she is doesn’t just baffle me—it pisses me off. The four of us are hitched to a runaway train, and they are too legend-struck or cock-dizzy to see our situation as the total derailed wreck it is about to become. Runners run. That’s a fact.
Was I surprised to find golden boy beaned and bleeding in the garden and our phoenix nowhere to be found? Nope.
I considered helping the brother out, but Calli is more important by far. Without her, we are screwed—or not—as the case may be. Still, I hope the whistle I let loose reached the ears of the others, and Jaxx is being tended to.
The damage looked extreme. The jaguar will come out of this with a concussion at best, likely brain trauma.
Sucks to be him. Trusting fool.
I, however, don’t share that weakness. The chief factors of my jet-setting success in business are keen instincts, being able to read people and situations, and not allowing myself to be infected with feelings. Emotion muddies the waters—in business and relationships—making things more complicated than they need to be.
Hard truth. In the end, everyone watches out for themselves. I choose me, first and foremost, and am not surprised when other people do the same.
After fifteen minutes of trailing the blue Tacoma toward the next town, it pulls over to a roadside truck stop. Calli hops down from the passenger’s seat, waves a friendly goodbye, and heads inside.
Landing on a light standard in the parking lot, I adjust my feathers and fold my wings. I’ve got a clear view through the diner window as Calli accepts a booth and settles in. I consider shifting back and calling the bear to tell him where we are. That would be the considerate ‘mate’ thing to do.
Fuck it. No one ever accused me of being considerate.
Calli is hell-bent on ditching us. Forcing her back into protective custody won’t solve anything. Maybe I can learn more about her by watching her out in the wild. I am, after all, an expert on assessing people’s motivations and figuring out what makes them tick.
A seagull hovers in front of me. It squawks and looks like it might land on the light housing next to me. Seriously, there are twenty other lights to land on, what the fuck makes it think it needs to share mine? I flip out a wing and snap the fucker in the breast feathers, knocking it flying.
I turn my attention back to the diner window. I’m not starting at square one with our mystery girl like the others. I had a preliminary report on her twelve hours after the golden boy showed me into Calli’s room, and my mating bond locked into place. So far, I know she’s:
- the only child of William and Brittany Tannis,
- orphaned at twelve when her parents died in a house fire
- sent to live with an aunt in Northern California,
- took off at fifteen and on her own ever since
- she’s lived in Yuma, Tucson, El Paso, and the list goes on
The survivor in me respects that she’s taken care of herself for a decade. The pragmatist in me is disappointed she hasn’t raised the bar to better her circumstance.
I did. Street smarts gave me a cutting edge in business.
What has it given Calli?
Kotah
The Feline Alpha’s library in the safehouse is a two-story sanctuary with floor to ceiling bookshelves, ladders on rails, and a collection of shifter history and ancient tomes that steals my breath. Books are my passion. My father—the Fae Prime—has a library almost twice this size, but when it became apparent that I was more interested in becoming a scholar than a soldier, he banned me from using it.
The loss hit me like the deprivation of the very oxygen that fueled my life’s blood.
Mother said that if I proved to Father that I could be the young male he wanted me to be, he might reverse his order. I trained from dawn until dusk every day after that. My weapons coach said I stood above the rest. My fighting master said he couldn’t be prouder.
My father said I’ll never measure up.
From outside the royal residence, the Prime sending his male heir away to be educated at the finest schools was perceived as forward-thinking and investing in a future beyond the strength and brutality of our species.
Mother knows the truth. As does my sister, Keyla.
Father is embarrassed by me. Ashamed that I value keen wit more than the keening of swords. Out of sight, out of mind. With me immersed in classes across the country, he pretends the skinny kid who vomits facts when nervous isn’t heir to the entire fae world.
Life as a scholar suits me fine. Even with my degrees in ancient studies and anthropology, learning more about how and why people—human and fae—do what they do fascinates me. There is so much to learn from observation.
Now, everything is changing once again.
I am a Guardian of the Phoenix—my duty is to safeguard my mate in whatever challenges brought her into existence.
With my full attention on the wars of StoneHaven and the original closing of the portal gates, it is a wonder I hear the shrill whistle from the garden. The pitch demands my attention and startles me from my studies.
Like any true library, there are no windows near the books, so I leave what I am reading and go out to the balcony at the end of the hall. The moment I sniff the air, the tang of blood calls my wolf.
Launching over the rail, I land on the soft grass at a run. Brant meets me at the gate to the garden, and I don’t know what to make of the carnage. Jaxx is bleeding heavily from his head and shifting from jaguar to man and back again in rapid succession. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“What’s happening?”
Brant scowls. “He can’t hold his shift. Help me wrap the wound and get him into the house.”
“Moving a person with a head injury is ill-advised,” I say, assessing the distance from the garden to the house. “We need to look for signs of shock, concussion, or skull fracture.”
Brant looks up at me as he points. “Kid, his skull is hanging open. It’s very fractured.”
Right. “In that case, we need to immobilize the patient and call for help immediately. We’re in feline territory. Do you know who to call?”
“Yeah, actually, I do.” Brant pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and dials. “Doc, What’s your ETA? I’ve got an emergency patient. I need you here ASAP.”
“You have a doctor friend close enough to help?” Fortuitous. Brant and I spoke a fair bit while Calli remained unconscious. His ursine territory is up the Pacific coastline near Seattle. Not close enough for a Texas house call.
Brant rips his shirt into strips and wraps Jaxx’s head. “When Calli wasn’t awake by last night, I asked my doctor buddy to come check her out. He caught a flight this morning. He’s not far.”
Thank the Powers.
“Okay, I’ve secured his head and will be careful of his neck,” Brant says. “Now, will you help me get him into the house?”
I grab Jaxx’s legs as Brant wraps his burly arms around the jaguar’s chest. As I bend, I track the scent of blood to a long chunk of tree branch lying in the grass beside him. Calli’s scent is all over it. “She’s running again. Hawk said, she would, and he’s right.”
Brant growls. “Don’t remind me. That arrogant asshole thinks he’s got everything figured out. He might be the king in the boardroom, but he has a lot to learn about how to talk to a woman.”
The same could be said about me. “Brant, I have no experience in building a relationship. I know nothing beyond biology and social interaction with the females of my pack.”
Brant grunts. “Bah. You’re a quick
study and have that whole sweet and innocent appeal. What you don’t know, you’re willing to learn. That’s very different than an arrogant belief that you’ve got it all locked down.”
That makes me feel a bit better.
My hold dissolves as Jaxx shifts, and we’re suddenly carrying a jaguar instead of a man. He hits the ground and, thankfully, his cat is out cold. Wildling animals hate being vulnerable in front of others, and our animals aren’t accustomed to one another yet. The last thing we need is for Jaxx’s cat to go wild when he’s already hurt.
I’m about to ask what we should do, and then the jaguar shifts back to being Jaxx. Brant and I grapple him again and continue toward the house.
Though I want Jaxx to be well, I wonder how things work. If he dies, is another feline bonded and drawn into our mating, or do we lose one of the species representatives?
There is so much I haven’t gleaned yet. Too many questions. “How do you see me fitting in here, Bear?”
Brant looks up as if he’s not following.
“Since I realized what the magic call was about, I’ve wondered how I fit in. What do you think my purpose is as one of the legendary Guardians of the Phoenix?”
“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far. If Calli ends up claiming us and accepts her place as our queen, we’ll be her lovers and protectors and help her with whatever it is that the future holds.”
I know the legend.
What I don’t know is who I am within the coupling.
Brant is her protector. Jaxx is a strong and steady supporter. Hawk is the shrewd, titan provider. What do I add to the mix? Why did the Fates bestow the canine guardian honor on me? Being the heir to the highest post in the fae hierarchy might be advantageous but it isn’t me and I don’t want anything to do with it.
Intelligence is what I’m hoping.
It isn’t conceited to say I possess a higher than average IQ and attain and retain knowledge quickly and with a great deal of accuracy. Maybe that is my contribution.
“Put him on the floor there.” Brant indicates a spot in the living room with the tilt of his head, and I follow his lead. “Shit. Blood is seeping through the wrap. See if you can find some towels we can cut into strips.”
“Prop a pillow under his head,” I say, chucking a velvety square at him. “And turn his face to the side.”
I hustle through the main floor of the feline vacation house, sniffing out the scents of terry and cotton. I find a well-stocked linen closet in the guest bedroom hall. Grabbing a stack, I return and drop to my knees. Holding one of the towels by the end, I pull it taut and hold it out. “Slice this.”
Brant releases a wickedly sharp claw from its nailbed and slices the towel down its length. We are almost done rewrapping Jaxx’s head wound when he groans. “… Calli?”
“In the wind,” Brant says. “Let’s worry about you first.”
Jaxx tries to push Brant off but gets nowhere. “Find her.”
“We will. First, let’s get your gray matter back inside your skull. Sound good?”
Brant pulls out his cell and makes a call. “Where the fuck are you? Good. Let yourself in. We’re in the living room right of the entrance.”
A few moments later, a door swings open with a near-silent swish near the front of the house. I rise to greet the stocky, dark-featured figure in the hall, and sense the ursine in him immediately. I sniff the air. He’s a beta, not as big as Brant—no one is—and carries a large medical kit. He also looks intent on reaching his patient.
That’s all that matters.
“In here.” I gesture the way into the open-concept great room. “He got hit in the head by a heavy branch. He’s flipping from cat to man and back again every couple of minutes.”
“How long ago was he injured?”
I calculate the time taken from the sound of the whistle to his arrival and take into account how long before that we left Calli in the garden with Jaxx… “I’d say somewhere between twenty-seven and thirty-four minutes.”
Doc casts me a look I’m familiar with but doesn’t waste time pointing out my oddities. He drops to the hardwood and gets to work.
Once it’s obvious Jaxx is in good hands, my priority shifts. “Hawk passed through the garden not long after Jaxx was attacked. My guess is that he’s gone after her.” The her is apparent, and Brant seems to agree with my observation. “We need to join the hunt.”
“I’m coming,” Jaxx says, rolling to his side.
“No. You need to sit this one out, my man,” Brant says.
When Jaxx moves to protest, Brant’s doctor friend injects something into Jaxx’s neck and the jaguar slumps into unconsciousness. “Go find your mate. I’ve got him.”
“Yeah?” Brant says. “You sure?”
The black bear nods, and we are up and out of the house before I even realize my feet are moving. My mate is upset and out in the world unprotected. We need to find her.
I need to find her.
Brant sniffs the bloody branch back out in the garden. The scent of his anger and frustration wafts on the humid air. “Why did she do this? Why couldn’t she believe we want to help her and trust us?”
“Life lessons,” I say, following her trail to a point at the fence at the edge of the property. “People who never experience kindness and aid don’t trust it when it’s offered. Why would they help me? What’s in it for them? That sort of thing. With our pheromones sexually heightened, she probably worried about what we wanted in return for our support.”
Brant growls. “No one will pressure her into anything as long as I’m around.”
“That won’t be an issue. From what I’ve learned about fated mates, and the phoenix guardians in particular, protecting Calli’s wants will supersede any of ours. She is our priority. It’s woven into the magic of the mating bond.”
I lean close to the wood of the fence and inhale. Our phoenix has a very distinct scent, one that is ingrained into my soul. “Go secure us a vehicle,” I say, allowing my wolf to prowl forward. “I’ll follow her trail and meet you at the road.”
As Brant jogs back toward the house, I hop the fence and let each nuance of Calli’s scent feed my cells. Emotions hold varied smells: fear, anger, joy, jealousy, love.
Her scent is an enticing mixture of determination, anxiety, the natural pungency of her feminine perfume, and the faint hint of char. It makes sense that her phoenix side is there, but still, I find it intriguing that it’s present before she’s even shifted form for the first time.
I mull that over in my mind for a bit as I track her path. By the time I kneel on the opposite side of the road, Brant arrives with—“Isn’t this Hawk’s vehicle?”
Brant laughs, hanging out the open window of a fully loaded, black beast of a sport utility vehicle. He pulls onto the shoulder, slips it into park, and revs the engine. “This beast seats seven. My truck seats three. I made an executive decision to ensure everyone has a seatbelt on the way home.”
Of course. Now it was my turn to laugh. “You’re stirring up trouble. Plain and simple.”
Brant’s brow arches in feigned shock. “Hey, building the foundation of a relationship sets a precedent for what’s to come. We can’t let Mr. Hotshot Hawk get away with his bullshit, or we’ll never regain the lost ground. He might be a king of the FCO world, but here he’s one-fifth of this mating. No better than any other, despite what he thinks.”
“I give you that.” Straightening, I round the truck and lean into the passenger window. “Her scent ends on that side. There’s nothing over here. Whatever vehicle she got into was traveling west. Unless it crossed lanes to pick her up… No. The likely odds land on her traveling west.”
I hop into the truck, and Brant swings us around and hits the gas. “How far behind her do you think we are?”
“By the strength of the scent, I’d say no more than half an hour—perhaps forty-five minutes.”
Brant nods, and the engine roars as he guns it. “Well done, kid. Let’s go find ou
r mate.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Calli
I finish my cheeseburger and swirl a fat beefeater fry in the last of the gelatinous gravy pooling against the inside lip of my plate. Man, starving didn’t scratch the surface. Unconscious for three days—that’s what Jaxx said. Jaxx. I drop the fry and curl my fingers into my palm. As much as I enjoy a heart attack lunch, the food sits heavy in the pit of my stomach. Jaxx… I’m sorry.
No. I was right to break free of that destiny craziness. I’m not bound to fae political history like I am to my bestie. Still, part of me longs to see Jaxx’s handsome face and ensure he’s all right.
He’s not. I feel it.
But how can I possibly feel it? Despite trying to explain it away, something ties me to those four. It isn’t drugs or a head injury. It’s something significant that I don’t understand.
I wish things went down differently, but don’t have the luxury of being sentimental. Sovereign Sons are not the folks to mess with if you haven’t got your head on straight. I need to focus, find that property, and figure out how to bring Sonny and his men down.
Pulling my cellphone out of my purse, I turn it on and call up the last address searched. When the map fills my screen my sense of purpose returns. Cool. My car chase and resurrection relocation only took me two hours off course.
I finish the last of my Coke and signal my server over. Brena is a ponytail-pretty brunette who makes jeans and a frilly apron look like they go together. “What can I get you, sugar? Do you want a refill? How about a peek at the dessert menu? We’ve got fresh pecan pie.”
I shake my head. “Working here, you know the regular truckers, right?”
She glances across a sea of heavy-set, ball-capped, rough-cut men. “We have lots of regulars. Why do you ask?”
“I need a ride to Las Cruces. Do you know anyone who makes a run that I can trust to take me for the ride?”
She scans the crowd and purses her lips. “I do—I’d have no problem putting you in the cab with Big Tom or Willie—but neither are here. The boys with regular runs pass through when the roosters are still crowin’. Middle of the day, like this, they’re out on the road or on their way back.”
