Fated for the Phoenix: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 5)

by Isadora Montrose

  On the other hand, Sully had sent a doctor out to see him. He rather liked Dr. Peterson. She was a middle-aged sorceress with serious talent. As the only doctor on West Haven, she was used to treating shifters and other sensitives. She had done a complete physical examination and then asked to see his meds. She disapproved of them even more than Frankie had.

  “Too many kinds, at way, way too high a dose for any sensitive’s system. I don’t like to prescribe psychotropics or pain meds for people with psi talents, and never in combination. Too risky. This lot is enough to put your psi entirely out of commission. You feel like you’re getting better? Like your psi senses are back online?”

  “About the same.”

  “As when?”

  “As when I was discharged from the hospital.” And his psi talents were MIA. A fraction of what they had been. His new fricking normal. He did not want to discuss that, even with a sympathetic doctor with her own share of psi talent.

  “Which was three years ago.” Paper rustled as Peterson checked her notes. “Your aura should be almost back to normal by now.”

  “Three and a half.”

  “Hmm. Even more reason you should be showing some improvement by now. Adjusting to your losses.” Another pause while she scribbled. “I’m not in a rush to adjust your meds. But they need adjusting. You really need painkillers four times a day?”

  “I get these headaches,” he admitted sullenly.

  “Sure. Especially if you don’t take the pills. Am I right?”

  “Yeah. They wear off faster and faster.”

  “You’re a doctor. You must know that is a sign of addiction. Not of chronic pain.”

  “No. That wasn’t my specialty.” Surgeons prescribed short-term meds. GPs handled long-term prescribing. He swallowed hard. “Then why does my shrink keep refilling my prescriptions?”

  “Bless my soul, I don’t know. Probably what they taught him to do in medical school. Or it’s easier than arguing.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’re going to get you off the pain medication. You can wean yourself off them, but honestly it is probably better for a shifter to go cold turkey. Or cold phoenix.” There was a warmth in Dr. Peterson’s voice that wasn’t quite amusement.

  “All my meds are pre-packed,” he said. He winced at the whine in his own voice.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to decide which are the pain pills by touch. I can take them out of the packages for the next few days. And send you someone to overhaul your drugs, when I’ve worked out a schedule for the pschotrophicsI’d hate to open all these blister packs without someplace safe and obvious to put the pills. I’ll send you some plastic boxes to transfer the pills to.” She scribbled some more. “That work for you, Major?”

  “Just RD,” he said.

  “Ardee,” she repeated. “That work for you?”

  “Sure. About that helper, you think they could bring me some real food? I’m already tired of baked beans on bread.”

  “Will do. And in the meantime, you stay off the pain pills and get some exercise.”

  “I’ve been walking up and down the stairs.” Shame at his lack of stamina had driven him.

  “Good. As long as you don’t get dizzy. It’s never too late to strengthen an abused limb. You try to do some squats too. I want to see you off that cane.”

  “My doctor thinks this is as good as it’s going to get,” he said.

  “Does he know you’re a phoenix?” she asked.

  “Of course not!”

  “What about dizziness?”

  “None. Just fatigue.”

  “Probably part of the depression,” she said. “How are you sleeping?”

  “Longer.” His smile felt stiff. “It’s like there’s something in the air.”

  “There is. The air on West Haven is particularly wholesome. That’s one of the reasons I’m not advising you to go back to Portland, even though this cabin is a deathtrap. Ever thought of getting a seeing-eye dog?”

  “No.” He didn’t explain that he had learned to echolocate. That by whistling or clicking his tongue he could get sound reflections that allowed him to build up a picture in his mind. And with his phoenix ability to map a location, he seldom made mistakes once he knew a territory. Still didn’t make him willing to use that gas stove with its open flame.

  She made a note. “A dog would be company,” she said mildly.

  “Hmm.” Time to find out if she knew his kid. “By the way, are there any other phoenixes on the island?”

  “No. But one of my favorite patients is a dragon. If I can’t find anyone else, I’ll ask Alister to drop in on you. He’s also a veteran.”

  Swell. Now he was the local charity case. Some great impression he was going to make on his mate, if mate she was.

  ***

  He was sitting in the old lady’s rocker, recovering from his daily trek up and down the staircase. His knee ached, but the painkillers were off limits. Thankfully it was a nice overcast day so the glare hadn’t been too bad on the exposed cliff face. And here on the porch it was positively dim. He couldn’t describe even to himself what he now experienced in daylight. But it wasn’t good.

  Light in the visible spectrum lacerated both his normal and paranormal senses. Made it hard to focus on hearing or smell. It was as if it cut him off from the world. As if that blow to the back of his skull had cost him more than his sight. This cool and shady forest air was healing in more than one way.

  He heard a gentle rustling as if some large and stealthy beast were approaching. No, not stealthy, merely quiet. The barely-there noise was replaced by a louder brushing of a body against the leaves. He waited. Sully had claimed no person could approach from the forest since there was no bridge over the rift in the forest. But this sure sounded like a person.

  “Hello,” called the sexiest, sweetest contralto in the world. Footsteps swished lightly through the mown grass and weeds.

  His heart rate picked up. In a good way. “Hello.” His voice sounded rusty.

  The footsteps stopped. The contralto’s breathing became uneven. Her footsteps began again. Slower. Warier. She mounted the steps. Waves of a delicious feminine fragrance came with her. His pecker, which had spent the last four years AWOL, returned to base, ready for duty. Locked and loaded. He suddenly recalled that his face was a mutilated mess.

  Her hand reached for his and he shook it automatically. Every sense in his body was on high alert. The hair on his neck prickled. Lightning zinged his heart. Now he was breathing erratically. He held her hand a little too long, reluctant to release her.

  “Rafael?” said the sexy voice. “Rafael D’Angelo?”

  “Yeah.”

  A fist struck his chin and knocked his head back against the rocker.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tidewater Inn,

  Mystic Bay

  Robin~

  “I had a nice chat with Ursula Reynolds today.” Robin Fairchild passed Gordon Sullivan a plate of cheese straws.

  Gordon accepted a handful and set them on his plate. “How is she?”

  They were sharing a drink in Robin’s sitting room. For once she had turned off the view into the dining room. She and Gordon deserved some down time. “Arthritic. She has had to move to a walker. She claims she only needs it on her worst days, but you know how that goes.”

  “Yeah. Old age is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Ursula is not fainthearted,” Robin assured him. “And she’s as sharp as she ever was. She had already been thinking about her land grant title. Particularly the requirement that the land be occupied a certain number of days per year. In fact she was able to tell me the exact moment her grace period would run out.”

  “Really?” Gordon smiled. His neat white goatee jutted. He had assumed the dapper persona he favored when he visited her. He reserved his smelly oilskins for the tourists.

  “That would be quite a fiddling calculation. The title allows for credit for time spent in the preceding decade. What
’s her figure?”

  “Her grace period runs out on Dec 31,” Robin told him. “This is the last year that cottage can be unoccupied by a Reynolds. I was surprised to discover that renting it out this summer doesn’t count because the occupant is a phoenix, not a bear. I guess I should have looked at the fine print. I started wondering how to persuade the council to extend it until her death, but as it turns out, I won’t have to.”

  “No? Knowing Ursula, she has a foolproof plan.” Gordon relaxed into his chair.

  Robin had created the blue tapestry armchair herself with a powerful spell. No antique could support the bulk of her muscular lover. Gordon’s chair supported his weight and height and blended seamlessly with the genuine Victorian antiques she had surrounded herself with.

  Robin sipped her wine. “Ursula has created a trust and deeded the land to one of her great-nephews. Only trouble is he’s deployed. Hence this summer’s rental. She is hoping that Mitchell will leave the Marines after this last tour. Assuming he does not get killed.”

  “Mitchell,” mused Gordon. “I don’t recall a Mitchell Reynolds. Of course my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “There is nothing wrong with your memory, my love.” Robin permitted herself a smile. “Mitchell’s branch of the family were never regular visitors to West Haven. Mitchell has never been on the island. But Ursula says he always has time for his old aunt. Apparently, he was taken with the idea of inheriting the ancestral acreage – such as it is. Of course, like all the Reynolds, he has a trust fund to fall back on. He ought to be able to afford to winterize that place.”

  Gordon forgot his elegant persona and snorted like a pirate. “Electrifying it would be more to the point. I insisted that Ursula’s renter call me every day. He’s doing okay. But it certainly is no picnic to live in that cabin without power. Place should have a generator or solar panels, or something.”

  “Our forebears managed,” Robin said serenely. “More importantly, have you confirmed that Ursula’s tenant is Carmody’s father?”

  Gordon shrugged. Under his tailored navy blazer, heavy muscled shoulders moved temptingly. “He could be. I’d need to see all three of them together to be certain. Aura reading isn’t like a DNA test. There’s plenty of room for error. Particularly if the parties are not in the same room.”

  “Fair enough,” Robin conceded. “I have been working on the problem too. I persuaded Virginia to send Samantha out there. If that phoenix is her mate, it’s past time that they reconciled.”

  Gordon helped himself to more cheese straws. “I don’t think they were exactly estranged, Robin. Samantha has always said Carmody’s father died. You know that unicorns are utterly truthful. I don’t think she told us a lie. Not knowingly anyway. Question is, why did she believe he was dead? And why didn’t he come after her once he had recovered from his accident.”

  “I’m ahead of you there,” Robin said. “Maj. Ardee has partial amnesia. He had a head injury in whatever incident caused his facial scarring. Virginia assures me that losing six to twelve months of memories is not an uncommon result of concussion. Earlier memories can also be affected. But it’s the ones formed just prior to the concussion that seem to be hardest to recover. Perhaps that phoenix simply forgot his unicorn?” she suggested.

  “And suddenly remembered her?” Gordon asked skeptically. He thought for a bit. “That boy didn’t present like a liar. Not a literal truth teller like a unicorn, but not a habitual liar either. He has secrets – but who doesn’t? I’ve got some. You’ve got more.”

  “This is true. We aren’t exactly broadcasting our relationship to all of Mystic Bay,” Robin conceded. “Although yesterday Margery Starkman asked me point blank in the Bean if I had an announcement to make.”

  Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “What did you tell her?”

  “That Ursula Reynolds had finally rented her cottage for the summer. That sent Margery scurrying off to cross-examine Melissa.” Melissa Babcock was Margery’s daughter.

  “I’m willing to go public, anytime you are,” Gordon said. “If you want to make an honest man of me, darling, we can get married tomorrow.”

  Robin shook her head at him. “We’ve discussed this many times, Gordon. The minute we marry, one of us has to give up their seat on the council. Mystic Bay needs us both. I’m not ready to step down as mayor. And even if you gave up the deputy mayorship, your presence on the council is needed to balance some of those fossils and their antiquated ideas.”

  Gordon drained his glass and stood up, squaring his broad shoulders. Her heart fluttered. “And yet, we’re getting too old for all this sneaking around, Robin.”

  She rose to her feet. Put her hands on his chest, his heart was steady as a rock. “Sneaking around?” She accepted his kiss. “You stay the night here. I redecorated your house. I often spend the night there. What’s sneaky about that?”

  When he visited her home, Skipper Gordon (Sully) Sullivan transformed himself from a stinking old fisher with wild hair and a bushy beard into an elegant gentleman. But he didn’t look elegant now.

  Despite his neat beard and closely cropped hair and tailored clothes, he looked fierce and dominant. Every inch the powerful weather lord he was. Determined to have his way. This was part and parcel of loving an alpha male.

  “The fact that my ring isn’t on your finger,” he growled.

  “Ah.” She considered. “If you get Samantha and her phoenix mated and married, I’ll wear your ring.”

  “A quest!” Gordon barked. “At my age?”

  “You are the perfect age, lover.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reynolds’ cabin

  Rafael~

  The scent of her was in his nostrils. A sort of aphrodisiac incense that clouded his brain. In a good way. It was as if Samantha Belfast had brought sunshine and wildflowers with her. With just a hint of damp, tangled sheets and pleasant exhaustion. As if she was surrounded by a cloud of good energy that billowed around her and affected all she came near.

  He checked his jaw. She had packed quite a wallop. It throbbed and his teeth felt shaken. His soul felt shaken. But he couldn’t help breathing in more deeply. As his lungs filled with her fragrance, memory welled from someplace deep inside. He was plunged in an instant into the past.

  He braced against the shock. His flashbacks were never pleasant. Often painful. Samantha was speaking, but her voice faded, as voices tended to do when he was in the throes of a flashback. The scent of flowers intensified. Tropical flowers. The roar of water covered all other sounds. He was standing naked under a waterfall watching the approach of a pure white beast.

  She glowed with some internal light. Paranormal light. She shook her head and her purple mane rippled like a wave on its arched neck. Her great purple tail caressed the stones beneath her purple hoofs.

  The unicorn marched daintily toward him, picking her way up the rocks. Splashing water made her long spiral horn gleam a brighter purple. The water darkened her purple mane and tail almost to black and her hide to gray.

  He listened but he could hear no crack of hoof against rock. The rocks were slippery, but the beast was infinitely surefooted. And quiet. He could only watch in mingled amazement and joy. This beautiful, mysterious, magical creature belonged to him. She blinked huge purple eyes at him and two-inch-long lashes veiled their secrets and revealed them to him.

  And then the unicorn became the loveliest female on the planet. The most beautiful naked woman. Her waist swelled above and below into lavish curves that made his palms tingle with anticipation.

  Her breasts were tipped with mauve nipples that puckered as his eyes feasted on them. They bobbed deliciously as she approached him. She reached up to knot her wet hair into a casual bun. Her movement lifted her bosom like an offering to the gods.

  And he was the god. Rafael was present, salivating, hungering. Aware this was a vision. A hallucination. And yet also removed from the scene. A paralyzed observer. Waiting for her. Or waiting for disappointment. His he
art clenched. Her rosy lips opened. She held out round and flushed arms to him.

  “Aren’t you going to help me up?” she cooed.

  He reached for her hands. Clasped them. Felt the shock of contact with her electric aura. He tugged her up the last slick, mossy steps to stand with him under the cascade of water, safe in the circle of his arms. She leaned into his chest. A perfect peace radiated through his body. A calm clarity that was in no way diminished by his raging arousal. She wiggled her bush against his erection.

  It was a subtle invitation. It was a blatant come-on. It was carnal, innocent, lustful, loving. All at once. He lifted her to kiss the laughter from her lips. Those soft and pillowy breasts pressed into his chest, the hard tips poked him like buds of fire. Exhilaration raced through his blood.

  His cock, which had already been hard and ready, stiffened and grew incandescent. He felt powerful. Purified. Happy. United.

  The glide of her tongue against his was sensual delight. Soft, slow, delicious. Not just because she tasted as sexy as she smelled. Not just because her gentle exploration ramped up his excitement. But because it was her kissing him. Her kiss promised love, a meeting of minds, a happiness that would last unto death.

  She lifted her mouth from his. Nibbled his bottom lip. His cock twitched. “Are you ready?” she asked. Her voice was low, sultry, enticing, offering unconditional love.

  “Always.” Phoenixes had musical voices. But compared to hers, his came out a gruff rumble.

  Suddenly her legs were clasped tightly around his waist. His cock was buried deep inside her. Her heels pressed into the hollows above his buttocks. She pressed and released in a rhythm that was a slow counterpoint to the squeezing and releasing of her passage on his cock. Every muscle tightened and relaxed to match the blood surging in his veins.

  He was cupping the finest ass in the known universe. His hands were on fire with delight. He matched the rhythm of her heels. Kneading her to ever greater heights. Her head fell back. She keened like a wild woman. Like an angel. Her bun came lose and flowed wetly over his fingers. She fell apart into a million flashes of lightning and bore him aloft with her to share the splendor of her release.