Phoenix
Flames & Ashes Book One
Carolyn Anthony
Phoenix
Copyright © 2018 Carolyn Anthony
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
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Contents
Description
1. Valentina
2. Valentina
3. Jaxxon
4. Jaxxon
5. Valentina
6. Valentina
7. Jaxxon
8. Valentina
9. Jaxxon
10. Jaxxon
11. Valentina
12. Jaxxon
13. Valentina
14. Jaxxon
15. Valentina
16. Jaxxon
17. Valentina
18. Valentina
19. Valentina
20. Jaxxon
21. Valentina
22. Valentina
23. Jaxxon
24. Valentina
25. Jaxxon
26. Valentina
27. Jaxxon
28. Valentina
29. Valentina
30. Valentina
31. Valentina
32. Jaxxon
33. Valentina
34. Valentina
35. Jaxxon
36. Valentina
37. Valentina
38. Jaxxon
39. Jaxxon
40. Valentina
41. Valentina
42. Jaxxon
43. Valentina
44. Jaxxon
45. Valentina
46. Valentina
47. Valentina
48. Valentina
49. Jaxxon
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Phoenix Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Carolyn Anthony
TRILOGY DEDICATION
For
“Superman”
I thought all hope was dead, and then I met you.
“You’re a miracle. I still believe that. You just happened to someone else.”
—Beau Taplin, Worlds of You, “Divine Intervention.”
Description
Valentina
When Jaxxon Reginhardt walks into my gym, my rigidly structured existence begins to crumble. He’s a beast of a man, the personification of power, and more beautiful than any man has a right to be. He’s everything I avoid. Everything I fear. Yet, the second I see him, something deep within me roars to life. He makes me want. He sets my body aflame with just a look, and makes me wish I wasn’t a damaged shell no one will ever love.
I don’t have time for men when my whole world is built around self-preservation. But Jaxxon breaks down all of my strategically constructed boundaries like no one ever has.
How can I give into these new cravings, when there is a half-remembered demon from my past waiting for me to fall asleep, preying on my vulnerability?
If he ever knew the truth, he would run, and it would destroy me . . .
Jaxxon
The last thing I need in my complicated life is a snarky, frustrating, spitfire of a woman like Valentina Durare. As if that isn’t bad enough, there’s something haunted about her. My head says stay the hell away, but I can’t seem to get on board with that logic.
Something about me scares her. I can feel it. She’s a beautiful enigma I ache to understand.
The closer we get, the more she responds and draws me in. It can’t be me she fears. There must be something else . . . Something tied to the scars she refuses to show me.
But I’m stubborn son-of-a-bitch. I want all of her—not half. Because when we touch, nothing less will do but her complete surrender.
I need her to trust me, before her fear destroys us.
1
Valentina
Fourteen years old.
Late February 1992, Washington
No weakness—all power. No excuses.
My quad muscles stretch like rubber bands about to snap. I push faster, harder, to catch up to the group at the top of the hill where the trail levels off. The cluster of oak trees draped over the mammoth boulder at the bend up ahead marks “make out” rock. I’m halfway there. Thank Christ!
Oops. Sorry, God.
The invisible vise cinching my lungs tightens. I know better—should have set the second alarm clock. Olympic trials are in a week! If I want to place, I have to force myself every day to work harder than the day before. There are no days off. Today, my life changes.
“Toni, come on!”
“Meg! If I wanted to be a damn runner—I’d have joined track! God made water for people like me!”
Wet prickly branches and leaves bite my face as I pump my achy feet over the familiar, muddy path through the woods.
Crunch. Crack. The slosh of soggy leaves and snap of twigs under my feet grows louder. Pungent moss and the sharp sting of pine are like flames scalding my nostrils as my breathing labors in the icy air.
On a down stride, the ground gives way like quicksand. My foot disappears to the top of my ankle, torqueing my leg to the left, and all my weight practically crushes it.
As I face-plant into a pile of wet pine needles and dewy foliage, small, unforgiving rocks and pointy thorns cut into my knee. White-hot pain sears my ankle, bolting up my calf to settle in my quad. Inching to the side, I slowly extract my mud-covered foot from the hole. “Linda!”
The sides of my foot pulse against the strangling material of my running shoe and I fumble with the laces.
“Toni!” Linda yells as she and Megan jog back to me. “Your foot. Jeez! And your knee’s bleeding. What the hell happened?”
“I stepped on something not solid, obviously.” I gently guide the shoe and sock off.
Swollen. Shit! From the looks of it, I have a little tree stump growing between my calf and my foot—perfect!
My friends put both their arms under mine.
I wiggle out of their grasps. “No. No. I’m fine. You guys go. I need to sit for a second and we’re on a clock. I just need to walk it off, I think.”
“We’re not leaving you here, nerd. You’re a bloody mess. Come on.”
They stand and offer their hands to me.
I bat away their thoughtful attempts to help me up. “Really, guys, I’m okay. It looks worse than it is. No need for all of us to get screamed at. It’ll probably be fine once I get in the pool.”
“You sure?” Linda jogs in place. “Looks kind of bad.”
“I’m good. I’ll shortcut across Old Man Tucker’s road.”
Megan cocks her head at me, checking her watch. “You might actually catch his morning trip. Tell him to drop you at the school.”
“Ughhh.” I work my way up
using a tree stump. “See, I’m fine. Now get out of here.” I nod ahead.
“You sure you’re okay?” Meg grips my shoulder. “I don’t like leaving you.”
“Please. Like I’m gonna get lost? I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Meg narrows her eyes at me. “See you at the pool. We’ll tell Coach what happened.”
They run off down the shady path.
I hobble through the small clearing to Old Man Tucker’s road. I don’t even know the name of the little road. We nicknamed it for the sweet old man who makes his grocery store haul every Saturday like clockwork and cheers us on while we run. What I wouldn’t give to see his rusty pick-up right now.
I put gradual pressure on my foot, trying to get a feel for what kind of trouble I’m in. The shooting pain in my calf gets worse the more pressure I put on it, but I can walk, which means I can definitely swim. Thank God, because I already know there’s no mercy waiting for me on the pool deck.
I step onto the small road, glancing up at the patch of woods that leads to the school’s pool. Not far. Concrete pebbles on the narrow road stab into the bottom of my foot. I squeeze my eyes with each slow step. The pain is constant, but a little more bearable the more I walk on it.
“Coach is gonna kick my ass—”
A blood-curdling cry breaks the silence and I spin around. An ice-cold shiver crawls up my spine. Freezing in the middle of the road, I drop the shoe and sock I just took off.
Again it comes, louder this time. I slam my hands over my ears and turn in the direction of the agonized howl. My heart jack-hammers against my chest. I jerk my head left and right, looking for somebody, anybody, but nobody else is around. The sharp cries hit me like an electric current, jolting my body. I’m fevered and chilled to the bone all at once. I stand immobile, having never heard something so . . . tortured. I hesitantly wrap my arms around my quivering stomach, willing my heartbeat to slow.
The harrowing cries escalate, continual now, like an animal stuck in a trap or something. I fist my shirt on both sides and swallow against my dry throat. The sound seems to be coming from a dilapidated truck, tilted on blocks about twenty feet away from the road in the empty field.
“Hello?” I call out.
Nothing but the sound of suffering answers me.
Squinting, I can just make out a fuzzy . . . something sticking out behind the junker.
Shit! With a hand at my throat and balancing on my good foot, I bend at the waist trying to get a better view. The poor creature’s anguish gets more deafening with each second.
With shaky breaths, I hobble off the road into the field toward the eerie, high-pitched wails. “Please be okay. Please be okay.”
I creep toward the truck, fighting through the stabbing in my ankle, the heat in my calf, and the dread slithering across my skin. How am I going to help whatever is under there when I can barely walk?
A small, brown-and-white-spotted dog with matted fur and a bloody nose comes into focus the closer I get. Gas fumes and burnt grease envelope me with each step. I slowly approach the animal, not wanting to scare it further.
Standing almost above the dog now, I can’t miss her broken leg.
“Oh, God. Oh, my God!” I frantically look around once more, hoping for somebody, anybody.
I peek down at her. “Shhh. Baby puppy. It’s—it’s okay.” The pain in my leg becomes secondary to my fear and concern for the dog.
“God, please help me!” Her contorted leg seems held together by only a thin layer of skin. My stomach lurches. Breakfast burns its way up my esophagus. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I jerk my head to the side and force the disgusting bile back down.
Using the side of the truck, I inch my way closer to her.
“No way I’m leaving you, baby dog. I promise.”
Hovering my hand right above her back, I lightly touch the top of her matted fur to see if she’ll turn on me. When I get no response, I scoot closer. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, lean my butt against the wheel well, and steadily anchor my feet on either side of her.
“I gotta lift you, puppy, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. Just don’t bite me. Please, please don’t bite me,” I soothe, carefully working my hands under her emaciated body. Pained whimpers and sharp yelps come with each inch I work my hands under her.
Once I get a solid grip, I hoist her into my arms. “Oh, God—okay, okay, okay. We’re good, honey.” We both cry out as I rest against the truck. Every muscle in my body strains, partly from the extra weight, but more out of fear for the dog’s life. Her broken foot dangles, thumping against my abdomen.
I take a step away from the truck. Shooting pain knifes through my ankle and calf, but I push forward.
“I—I’m gonna get you help.” The road up ahead blurs before me. I blink, trying to clear my vision. “Hang on, pup—puppy.” With each step, I gasp and she howls.
“Please, girl. Please—”
A huge, muscled forearm jerks around my throat and yanks me backwards off my feet. The jolt is so sudden, so hard, I lose my hold on the dog and scream until a sweaty forearm cuts off the air supply to my windpipe. The dog gives a shrill yelp, tumbling to the ground. A large hand quickly slaps a white cloth over my nose and mouth, caging me against a rock-solid chest.
Silence. I can no longer hear the little dog crying.
The varied greens of the forest, the cloudy blue sky, and the gray concrete on Old Man Tucker’s road all blur together in a dizzying kaleidoscope.
Then my world goes black.
2017, California
“God, no!” The words caught like a pill in my dry throat as my surroundings once again came into focus.
The wood under the fabric of the armrests stabbed under my nail beds, and I released my grip. I jerked my head toward the window, squinted at the speck of a sailboat floating far out at sea. Forcing my eyes open wide, I reminded myself I’m in a safe present—not the dark past.
Not even the nightmares had ever been so vivid. This was so—real, so detailed.
My lungs pumped rapidly, fragmenting my breath, and confirmed it was real. This was a memory. Not some confusing, hazy glimpse of darkness or horror like the others.
Stop!
Breathe.
Where are you?
Warmth on my arms. Sun on my face. The soft sounds of lapping waves crept through a crack in the window, carrying with them the salty sea breeze. Blaring horns in the chaotic city became my anchor. Quick gulps of air chilled the lining of my throat.
I pressed deeper into the cushions of my psychologist’s couch, letting them surround my body as I clutched the same faded yellow paisley pillow I did every week.
“Toni?” Dr. Rhodes’ called my name, but sounded far off.
I scanned the quaint cream and earth-toned office, trying to acclimate. Cinnamon apple incense filled the room with a comforting fragrance. Familiarity set in as I inhaled long and slow, trying to regulate my breathing.
My center had just flipped far left and backwards.
How the hell did I talk through this? Wide-the-fuck-awake flashbacks? No distraction or mental exercise could dim the HD experience of what I had just relived in a matter of seconds. Internal thoughts. Full conversations. Sense memory at its most vivid—the heady scent of moss from a recent rain, the overwhelming brown sugary smell of chloroform cutting off air to my lungs. Helplessness seeping out of every pore. The sudden and consuming blackness—
“Where’d you go?”
I jerked my head toward Dr. Rhodes.
She was sitting in her white chair, head tilted to the side with the smallest trace of a frown pushing at the corner of her mouth.
I clutched the pillow tighter, the beadwork making painful indentions in my skin. “They’re coming more often. Nightmares.” I glanced back out at the ocean. “Flashbacks.” I heard the word whisper through the room, but the barely-there voice sounded foreign. Not mine.
“Is that what you just experienced? A flashback?”
I wa
nted to run—to hide. I wanted to go back two years ago when all I had was a story.
“Yes, but that’s insane—I’m awake. Dr. Rhodes, I’m awake!” The hairs on my nape rose. “It’s been over two decades. I had almost nothing before two years ago and now . . . ”
Dr. Rhodes leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “And now?”
“Now, nightmares. Flashbacks? He . . . he was a monster.” The word blared through my head on rewind.
Monster.
The monster came back for me . . .
Only during the bad episodes did I get a glimpse of his darkened features. But it was his presence, which left me catatonic.
The blackened silhouette of his huge, imposing presence. The freakish size of him. His cruel strength. My powerlessness. I had been so weak, so small, and he had been colossal . . .
“He’s not back, Toni. He’s dead,” Dr. Rhodes said, in an intentionally calm voice.
But I wasn’t dealing with a dead man from the past. I was facing a ghost in the here and now, infecting my present life. Haunting me at night. And now during the daytime? “I know he’s dead! The flashback, the nightmares . . . They’re memories. I don’t know how I know, but I do.”
Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1) Page 1
