by Harper Wylde
Copyright © 2019 by Harper Wylde and Quinn Arthurs.
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.
Blaze of Wrath
Phoenix Rising Book Five
Quinn Arthurs
Harper Wylde
Contents
Acknowledgments
Authors’ Note
Warning
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
Authors’ Note
Also By Harper Wylde
About Harper Wylde
Also by Quinn Arthurs
About Quinn Arthurs
Acknowledgments
We have to start by saying a huge, gigantic thank you to all our incredible readers for all the love, support, encouragement, and enthusiasm you’ve shown us over this past year and a half since Nix, Theo, Damien, Ryder, Hiro, and Killian made their debut. We are so blessed that you love these characters as much as we do and we hope you enjoy this next part of their journey! Thank you for reading and being a part of our book world family.
To our editing team, we’re sending all the best tackle hugs your way! Thank you for the extra eyes on our manuscript, the long hours, the fast turn around times, and the wonderful edits! You helped make Blaze of Wrath the book it is today and we are beyond grateful!
Quinn’s Dedication
For Thais: As much as I know you wanted to kill me for this one, just know I couldn't have done it without you. Thanks for always being around to talk me out of my writers block, listen to my insane (and very unfunny) jokes, or assure me I don't need to assume a new identity far, far away. I would have been selling palm fronds on a desert island somewhere if it weren't for you, so this one is definitely all yours.
Harper’s Dedication
For Brandon. This book would have been impossible to write without you. Thank you for sticking by me always and forever. I love you more than I can express with words.
Authors’ Note
As Harper and I were getting things finalized for Blaze of Wrath and getting feedback in, an issue arose that we thought needed to be addressed.
It's been hinted at before in our books, but some of our characters are into BDSM. Now, this book isn't classified as dark, so you don't have to worry there.
But something we've gotten feedback for (including hate mail and negative reviews) is that Nix shouldn't be enjoying vanilla sex, let alone BDSM and group sex.
As an abuse survivor, this is incredibly derogatory and I wanted to address it.
Being a survivor of abuse means MANY different things, and everyone's experience is going to be different. Nix is the brainchild of both Harper and I, and as such, some of what she handles is based on our experiences. As a survivor of sexual abuse, many of Nix’s reactions are based on my personal experience with sex and how I react, so it is drawn from real life. It has always been our goal to keep this series as realistic as possible, but we would like to remind our readers that everyone’s experiences are going to differ greatly. There is no right way to cope or deal with abuse.
Again, I highlight that it is different for everyone, but, to clarify that, please remember:
Being a survivor does not always mean you hate all sex.
Being a survivor does not always mean that you have panic attacks or flashbacks at every single encounter.
Being a survivor does not always mean that things that have caused panic attacks in the past will continue to cause them in the present or in the future.
Being a survivor does not always mean that you can't enjoy rough sex or even BDSM - for some survivors they prefer BDSM because it is different from their experience. Sometimes it is "normal" sex that can be a problem because it most closely resembles what they lived through.
Being a survivor does not always mean that your triggers make sense; some things you expect to be sensitive to, you aren’t; some things you don't realize bother you pop up at the worst, most unexpected times.
For some, it may mean all of these things. For some, it may mean none of these things. And all of that is okay.
Nix, in particular, has a problem with weight directly on top of her impeding her breathing. She has other triggers as well that you may pick up on and see crop up now and again. BDSM, and other kinks, are not in and of themselves triggers for Nix, nor for many others.
Nix is a character, but she's still a person. Survivors need to do whatever it takes to make them happy and whole.
More of Nix's back story will come to light as she is comfortable revealing it to her mates. She will enjoy many different kinks with her mates. She'll grow as a person and find things that she likes and dislikes. She'll communicate with them and develop a healthy, fulfilling sex life.
And we hope that you enjoy her journey along the way.
To all my survivors out there, I'm so sorry for what you've been through, and I'm so proud of where you are today. You're not alone, and support is always here if you need it. Be happy. You've earned it. I hope Nix has helped to ease your burden just a little, as she has helped mine.
Love,
Quinn
(and Harper)
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. ***
Blaze of Wrath is a reverse harem novel which means our heroine doesn’t have to choose between her love interests. Really, though, that’s just more fun for everyone!
One
Joshua
I had killed her. I had always wondered if that would be my future—a killer, the same way my father was. Part of me had always known I’d kill eventually. It was what I was bred for, after all. Yet, I had hoped it wouldn’t happen, that there wouldn’t be a need for my unique set of “skills.” It was altogether worse that I had killed Nix, a female who I already considered a friend, and had viewed as a potential mate. The first girl who intrigued me in longer than I cared to admit.
I kicked at a pile of snow in irritation, my alter hissing his own anger to me. He had enjoyed being free, playing with another shifter for the first time in years. I wasn’t sure why I had let my morose thoughts draw me back here as I studied the clearing Nix and I had visited together. My old haunt held little appeal for me now, the site of the waterfall turning my stomach as I remembered Nix’s hauntin
g cry, and the taste of her blood as it seeped into my mouth, lingering even after my fangs had retracted. My jaw ached sharply, and I rubbed at it with a growl, refusing to allow my fangs to slip down the way they longed to.
It was worse, though, that she had grown up in the human world. Although she claimed to have forgiven me, I was sure the human ideals remained, making my injuring her far more severe of an issue than it would have been between shifters. We were raised always knowing that death, or near death, experiences were a potential for us. Her human sensibilities were different, reminding her of how much of a threat I was, rather than reinforcing the idea that I could be a strong potential mate, a protector for her. Not that I felt like much of one as I stood at the base of the waterfall, my eyes continually returning to the sheet of frozen water cascading off the rocks above. I wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t move past the attack, but everything in me revolted at the idea of not mating with Nix.
My father assured me that Nix understood, that she didn’t blame me and was keeping me as a suitor, but I didn’t believe a word of it. A political game was dancing around me, I was sure. It wasn’t as though Gaspard would encourage her to outright dispose of me as a suitor, no matter what action I took against her. If I had chosen any other female, I would be mourning at her funeral now rather than standing alone, beating myself up, and remembering the sweet flavor of her blood on my tongue as my fangs had pierced her flesh. Maybe my father was right, a phoenix would be a blessing for a shifter like me.
While I had yet to develop the death glare my father had, my venom was strong. Luckily, if I managed to keep my fangs sheathed—in both forms—I shouldn’t need to worry.
That was only if I could reach her to apologize however. I had called her numerous times, but each time the phone went to voicemail like it was turned off or without power. Thus far, I hadn’t brought myself to leave a message because how the hell do you apologize for almost killing someone over voicemail? It was enough to drive me mad and to increase the guilt I felt tenfold. No. I needed to see her. To look into her eyes when I apologized, to see if she really forgave me, but I didn’t want to scare her more.
I knew the shifters she stayed with were all protective of her. Damien, Ryder, Killian, Theo, and Hiro all seemed to be close friends with Nix. Hell, Theo was a potential suitor just as I was. Already, my Basilisk hissed in my head, wanting to protect Nix and be close to her. The jealousy I felt was real and I tipped my head to the sky, closing my eyes and swallowing down the feelings that were raging within me. I needed to get a grip and clear my head before I made a decision on how to move forward.
Snowflakes clung to my hair, my shivering moving from uncomfortable to painful as I stood in the clearing, breathing in the icy air. Unaccustomed to the chill, my alter hissed at me to hurry up, not appreciating my wintertime walks nor the masochistic way I was berating and punishing myself.
“Isn’t your snake a little frozen?” an amused voice asked behind me. I whirled so fast the flurries around me became a blur. My fangs dropped down and a flood of venom surged as I hissed at the man standing across the clearing. I wondered briefly how he had managed to approach without my hearing him—even in this form my senses were heightened—but I knew I’d been distracted. Still, I narrowed my eyes on his lithe form and studied him from afar. The snow didn’t seem to bother him, his red hair only carrying a few flakes, and a wicked grin played over his lips as he studied me in return with his head cocked to the side. He was flicking a small stone between his fingers, playing with it like a coin, maybe to defuse the tension building in the open space we occupied. Alert and coiled at the ready, my alter pushed me to strike, to bite.
“I didn’t hear you approaching me,” I stated, the words more a reproach than a comment. “You’re Ciarán, right?” I inquired, recalling the amused face of the man before me. I recognized him from the meeting with Nix at the Gala. Although I had only seen him in passing, his red hair, odd demeanor, and connection with Nix were a little hard to forget. “Were you searching for me for some reason? There are not many of us who venture out here.” My stomach tightened, and I refused to let my hands ball into fists, maintaining an air of calm I had been taught from the cradle. Maybe Nix had broken her vow and informed others of my terrible mistake. It wouldn’t surprise me to see her other suitors after my blood, especially ones as odd as this guy. I doubted he would have thought about the chances of me hurting him before he could harm me.
“I was surprised to hear about your little encounter with Nix,” he commented, continuing to annoyingly flip that stone between lithe fingers. I shifted slightly, the only sign of my agitation at his knowledge of the encounter. “A snake and a bird, it’s like an old children’s tale, don’t you think?” Ciarán mused, then continued, “I wonder if it has a happy ending?” He looked up and off to his left, pursing his lips as if in thought. “Hmm,” he hummed, like it was the first time he’d ever really thought about his question, which I knew couldn’t be true. His rambling comments may fool other people, but I knew them for what they were—calculated. I debated where he was going with the point he was obviously trying to make. “Not that she told me about what happened,” he added with a wink. “Minds are such wonderful things, the things we replay in them.” He wore a goofy grin, but underneath his jovial facade was a man with sharp eyes that rarely missed a thing.
I froze, considering his words more carefully. There was something underneath that ridiculous smirk he wore. My Basilisk hissed the idea to me, watching our companion intently—no longer prey, but a threat. It was as though he wore another skin over his own, and I could see flashes of the creature shifting underneath. “I didn’t catch the reason you were here.” I waved a hand at the empty clearing and the gathering snow, trying to cut through his riddles and get to the point.
“You’re very good at keeping your mind closed, did you know that?” he noted conversationally, as though the comment was completely normal. He didn’t wait for my answer, instead beginning to roll a ball of snow. “It’s very admirable for someone who’s never had any true training. Though I would assume growing up feared by everyone around you led to the natural development of skills used to hide yourself. You all are so slow on the uptake on certain things, it can get a little frustrating for those of us who are more in the know.” The ball was growing rapidly in size, and if I had to guess, I’d say he was creating a snowman—although I couldn’t fathom why. Twigs and leaves caught in the snow, muddying his hands as he worked, humming a song to himself. It sounded like he was singing the theme song to “The Love Boat.”
My Basilisk thrashed his tail, wanting to lash out at this stranger who hovered in our territory. I could feel scales beginning to slowly work their way up and down my arms, but luckily the chill of the area helped keep my snake at bay. He hated the cold with a passion, all of us did. It slowed us down, our alters preferring to stay curled deep inside us, unwilling to face the icy air that could mean death for a cold-blooded creature. His desire to move forward, to fight and protect, was odd at the moment, as was the ease of this shift. I had never tried to partially shift before, so I hadn’t been aware I possessed the talent. “Why are you making a snowman?” Of all the questions that could have fallen from my lips as he began to roll a second ball, I wasn’t sure why that was the one I managed to ask.
“Why aren’t you?” He patted and rolled, seeming not to care that his back was facing me—something very few shifters ever did. “It’s easiest to have important talks while our hands are busy, don’t you think?” I was sure his hands were completely frozen at this point, as he wasn’t wearing gloves, but I wasn’t about to join him and find out. I wasn’t going to be responsible for another attack, and apparently my Basilisk already saw him as a threat toward his interests in the intriguing Phoenix girl.
“If you want to talk about something important, then talk. I’m not staying out here forever.” That last part was probably a lie. I was curious now, more than I was willing to let on.
I didn’t move a muscle as I processed what he’d said. Nix hadn’t yet laid claim to me as hers, unless Ciarán knew something I didn’t, which was unlikely given that this particular topic pertained to me. The other option was too risky to voice out loud. I chose to keep my cards close until I had a better read on the strange shifter before me. “What?” I uttered, and though the word was barely above a whisper, he nodded.
“Oh, yes. You’re aware of mate marks, I assume?”
The icy shudder that ran through me had nothing to do with the cold. My Basilisk begged me to strike, to end this threat. My father had spoken of true mates, swearing me to secrecy even as a young child, teaching me to build a shield around my mind to protect myself against intrusion. Most of the high-ranking shifters believed mates to be a myth, but my father swore otherwise. He said he wasn’t lucky enough to meet his own mate, but that his father had been. He told me tales of my grandparents, of the matching intertwined triangles that had decorated the heads of their alters, of the way they had moved together like one, always anticipating each other, caring for each other in a way that was rare amongst not only our kind, but other shifters as well. When my grandmother had passed away, my grandfather hadn’t lasted long. He was buried next to her, my father had told me, in a spot full of sunshine on a tiny island where their remains would never be disturbed.
