by Claire Luana
Phoenix Team One: Selected
Claire Luana
Contents
Blurb
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
Sneak Peek of Phoenix Team Two
Prologue
From the Author
About the Author
Other Books by Claire Luana
Phoenix Team One: Protected
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Luana
Published by Live Edge Publishing
eBook ISBN: 978-1-948947-03-9
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: MoorBooks Design
Editing: Amy McNulty
Agents of Shield meets Ilona Andrews in this urban fantasy tale filled with fierce heroines, non-stop adventure, and irresistible romance!
My name is Zariya Chanji, and I'm convinced my father was murdered. I'll stop at nothing to uncover the truth—even if I have to break into the headquarters of one of the most powerful organizations in the world. MASC, the Mythical Alliance of Supernatural Creatures, governs the lives of supes like me, and I know they had a hand in covering up my father's murder. What I don't understand is why.
When my investigation draws the unwanted attention of a MASC vampire who is as handsome as he is powerful, I know I'm close to the truth. But the deeper I get, the more dangers lurk in the shadows, and the harder it becomes to tell friend from foe. The truth will change everything—if I can stay alive long enough to find it.
Phoenix Team One: Selected is the first episode of a SERIALIZED urban fantasy tale told in novella format. Approximately 30,000 words or 120 print pages.
1
The guy at the bar wasn’t my type. He was human, for one.
He threw back a shot as he and his buddy ogled the ass of a passing blonde. Strike two. He was stocky and thickly muscled on top—whereas I preferred a man lean and strong. Proportioned as nature intended. Strike three. Sad little goatee and too-tight Ed Hardy T-shirt. Strikes four and five.
It didn’t matter. I was still going to go over there and pick him up tonight.
Because this ass-hat had something I needed.
I sucked in a breath, swallowed the rest of my bourbon, and stood, fluffing my dark curls up and tugging the neckline of my fitted dress down to show a bit more of my generous cleavage. Too obvious maybe. But was there such a thing as too obvious with guys like this?
I sauntered over to the bar, closing my sensitive glands to the overwhelming power of the man’s Axe body spray.
I sidled in next to him and he turned to regard me.
“Buy me a drink?” I smiled widely at him.
He blinked twice as he took me in but only recoiled slightly. I had to give it to him. Most people stuttered or downright stared when they caught sight of my green slitted pupils and curved fangs. I supposed a man who worked security for MASC, the Mythical Alliance of Supernatural Creatures, the UN division governing all things supe, would have gotten used to a strange face every now and then.
His gleaming eyes drank me in. “Those scales go all the way down, honey?”
His skinny friend choked on his beer.
I let my hand drift to my neck, where a pattern of golden scales curved up to my temple. “Buy me that drink and maybe you’ll find out.” They did, in fact, go all the way down. And he would not, in fact, be finding out.
He grinned and I fought the urge to punch him in his tiny little teeth. “What are you drinking?”
“Martini?” I simpered. I lowered my voice half an octave. “Dirty.”
His smile widened and he flagged down the bartender to order me my drink.
The friend stood, grabbing his beer. His eyes hadn’t left me, and even with my glands closed, I could smell his fear. “I’m going to grab a round of pool, bro.”
I waggled my fingers at him as he left before sliding onto the stool he had just vacated. Fine by me. I didn’t need that one screwing up my plans.
A dirty martini was deposited in front of me and I picked it up. “What are we drinking to?” I asked.
He’d ordered himself another shot. The cinnamon tickled my glands. Fireball. The official drink of ass-hats. Or was that Jägermeister? He held up his glass. “To scales that go all the way down.”
I giggled and took a sip, nearly gagging. I hated olive juice. But a dirty martini seemed like the type of drink a seductress version of myself would order.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Veronica,” I lied. This jackass deserved nothing real from me. “You?”
“Martin.” We shook hands. “Your hands are as cold as ice.”
I smiled. “Cold-blooded.”
Martin’s dark eyebrows shot up like two bushy caterpillars. “What are you?”
Rude. Didn’t this guy know anything? You didn’t ask a supe what kind of creature they were.
“Naga,” I answered. “Well, half anyway.” All right, I supposed I’d give him one true thing. Many mythical creatures—supes, as they’re called these days—share kinship or at least a passing resemblance with animals. Nagas are snake supes. In ancient times, they were thought to be gods, and that suited them just fine. Nagas are capable of shifting between the form of a human and the form of a huge snake—or somewhere in the middle—human torso, snake lower half. Full-bloods have incredible power—they’re strong, fast and agile. All their senses are heightened, and they have an extra one too: nagas can use their infrared glands to sense the heat of a nearby body one hundred yards away. Then there’s the poisonous venom, and the fact that nagas can swallow someone whole. Though it isn’t a particularly pleasant experience, from what I’ve heard. You’re bloated as hell for days afterwards.
As a half-blood, I can’t do most of that cool shit. My form is permanently stuck somewhere between a snake and a human. I have the slivered pupils and forked tongue of a naga, together with a pattern of golden scales that stretch up my neck to my temples as Martin so classily observed. I have much of my race’s heightened senses: strength, speed, and venom. But compared to many supes, I’m weak.
His face went thoughtful. “I knew another naga once. At the office.”
My gut tightened with anger as tears pricked my eyes. Impotent fury and soul-sucking grief, my two ever-present companions these past six weeks. I took a gulp of martini to hide my reaction, focusing on the disgusting tang of the olive juice. “You don’t say,” I managed.
Martin sipped his Fireball. “Well, he’s dead now. Too bad. I liked the guy.”
Me too, Martin. Me too. I wanted to slide off the stool into a puddle of myself. I wanted to rip his head off for even mentioning my dad, for thinking he knew anything about him when this useless human didn’t even deserve to live in the same universe. But I’d tried rage, and I’d tried grief. Today, I was trying something new.
Action.
I set my drink down and dropped my hand to his hairy forearm. “Do you want to get out of here?” I could feel the clock ticking down, my ability to hold it together slipping through my fingers like sand through an hourglass. Tonight was the longest I’d been out of the house in weeks. The longest I’d carried on a conversation. The first time I’d showered in…well…it was probably best not to think about that.
“Fuck yeah,” Martin replied, throwing back the rest of his shot and standing up.
“Great.”
He dropped some cash on the bar and slung a beefy arm around my shoulders. The feel of him made my skin crawl, but I wouldn’t have to stand it much longer.
We stumbled out of the bar into the warm night. I was taller than him, so there was an awkward angle to his arm and our stride. We started down the sidewalk and I caught sight of an alley.
Perfect.
“I don’t want to wait,” I said as breathily as I could, shoving him into the alley.
“Me, either, baby,” he said, and pinned me against the wall, his hands cupping my ass. His liquor-breath was heavy as he crushed his lips against mine.
Oh, Martin, you are so predictable.
I had my first kiss—a human boy named Ryan—when I was thirteen. That was when I learned that it was pretty hard to kiss a human without my fangs getting into the mix. And the deadly poison they excreted. Ryan had ended up in the emergency room and I’d ended up with the tongue-lashing of the century from Dad. Needless to say, Ryan and I did not become boyfriend and girlfriend.
But right now, that was exactly what I was looking for. I surged against Martin’s mouth and felt my fangs tangle in his tongue, pricking him. His body tensed and he froze, his eyes going wide, his pupils dilating.
“What—” His hands slid off me and flew to his chest. The venom was coursing into his bloodstream now. It would immobilize him, and if left untreated for more than fifteen minutes, would send him into cardiac arrest. “Don’t worry, Martin,” I sneered as I fished into his back pocket for his wallet. “It’s not personal. Oh, wait. Yes, it is.” I kneed him in the balls and he fell to the damp pavement with a wheezing groan.
I flipped through his wallet, desperately searching.
Please be here, please be here, please say this wasn’t all for nothing…Yes!
His United Nations keycard, which provided access to all the secure levels of the MASC building. My ticket to the answers I needed. I pulled a card duplicator I’d bought on eBay out of my clutch and quickly scanned the card, duplicating it on one I’d made up with my own picture and fake identity.
I put the card back in the wallet and pulled his cash out, shoving it in my purse, before dropping it on his chest. Best if it looked like a simple mugging gone wrong.
I knelt over him, fisting his ridiculous T-shirt in one of my hands to pull him closer. “That naga who died, Martin? The one men like you were supposed to keep safe? He was my father. And he was worth a hundred of you, you stupid piece of shit.” I didn’t know why I was talking to him; he was totally out of it from the venom.
I stood, looking down at him. His color was leeching away as his vital organs shut down. I had a syringe of anti-venom in my purse, ready to bring him back. But I was stalling. Why? I wasn’t a killer. I valued human life. I’d been going to med school, for God’s sake, before I’d washed out two months from graduation. But I just couldn’t bring myself to care. Why did this worthless douchebag get to live when Dad was dead?
Tears blurred my vision and I felt the despair closing in around me, cloying and suffocating. I didn’t fight it. My hourglass had run dry.
The tears came unbidden now.
I was so tired.
So tired and heavy. I eyed the cobblestones beneath my heeled shoes, overcome by the urge to lie down and curl into myself in this filthy alley.
Some distant part of me spoke. Move.
Give him the anti-venom. Walk out of here and call an Uber.
One shot. Ten steps. Three taps of my finger.
I could do that.
I turned to find someone standing in the mouth of the alley. Three women, all clad in sparkly dresses and platform heels. Looking at the unmoving body on the ground behind me.
“Oh my god! Is he okay?”
2
Fuck.
Adrenaline burned through the fog of my grief, leaving the bright sun of panic. There weren’t supposed to be witnesses. It didn’t look good if I was found robbing and shooting up some guy in an alley…
The morose, self-destructive part of me pushed back. What the hell did it matter if I ended up in prison? My life had already gone to shit. Dad was gone, my medical career was over, I’d been living on cold DiGiorno pizza and boxed wine since Dad’s funeral. That was no kind of life. But…a single thought shot through me, blazing bright. If I went to prison, I’d never find out who’d killed Dad. I’d never be able to avenge his death. It was enough to keep me going. That one shining purpose. After that, it was anyone’s guess.
Damn it, I needed to save Martin.
“My date’s gone into some sort of anaphylactic shock!” I cried. “I think he ate something he’s allergic to! Call 911!”
One of the women, a brunette in a tight red dress, fished into her sequined clutch. “I have an EpiPen!”
Seriously? Those were some fucking odds. Well, hitting him with a jolt of epinephrine likely wouldn’t hurt. “Help him!” I motioned her into the alley, crouching down next to Martin and quickly hiding his wallet beneath him. His skin had gone pale and waxy and his lips were tinged blue.
“This has never happened before.” I played the helpless waif. “Where do we put it in?”
The brunette knelt down in her stilettos and jammed it into the side of his thigh like a meat thermometer in a turkey. I couldn’t help but be impressed by her bedside manner. Cool in an emergency.
Martin’s eyes went wide as he took a deep breath, one hand clutching his chest.
“I called 911,” one of the other girls said, waving her phone. “An ambulance is on the way.”
“Great.” I tried to muster some enthusiasm. I needed this girl out of the alley so I could give him the anti-venom. This was going south faster than a sorority girl on spring break.
We helped Martin into a sitting position and I looked at her sideways. “Will you go see if the ambulance is coming yet?” I guessed I looked pathetic enough because she put a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. “He’ll be okay.”
She hurried back to her gaggle of friends, her heels clicking on the pavement.
I quickly pulled the syringe of anti-venom out of my purse and shoved the sleeve of his T-shirt up, injecting him. His color started returning instantly, his eyes clearing.
“What happened?” he groaned.
“Not all guys can handle their supes,” I replied, praying that he didn’t remember what I’d said about my dad. Naga venom had mind-altering effects, and he’d already been sinking when I’d spoken to him. I should be okay.
Flickers of red lights along the alley wall joined the whoop-whoop of a siren. “Ambulance is here!” the brunette announced.
The paramedics swarmed the alley and I stepped back, letting them go to work. An ache filled me as I watched their efficient motions. I was supposed to do that. Save lives. I’d wanted to be a doctor since I’d been ten years old. And I’d fucked it up.
They got Martin on a stretcher and into the ambulance. I followed them to the sidewalk, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.
“You coming with?” the paramedic asked. “Let’s go.”
I held up a hand to protest, but the EpiPen woman motioned me forward. “Go with him!”
“Yeah, go! He’ll want you there.” The other women joined in the guilt trip and I found my feet moving towards the back doors of the ambulance.
I stepped up into the vehicle, unable to believe that I was being bullied by a pack of party girls. What the hell had become of me?
The space in the back of the ambulan
ce was suffocating. The two paramedics focused on Martin, checking his vitals, talking to him in low tones. They ignored me, which was just fine. As soon as we reached the hospital, I was fucking out of there.
The trip wasn’t long, and I stepped out first to let them get the stretcher down. I trailed them into the emergency room as they whisked his stretcher away.
I let out a sigh.
He was gone.
It was over.
I reached for my purse to grab my phone and froze. It was still in the ambulance. I hurried back outside, but the vehicle was gone.
“Shit!”
I spun on my heel and ran back in, up to the front counter. “The ambulance. Where did it go? I left my purse in there. It has all my things…”
The portly middle-aged lady behind the counter pursed her lips, making it clear she had more pressing concerns than my lost handbag. “Which company was it?”
“What?”
“What did it say on the side of the ambulance? We contract with half a dozen providers in addition to EMS.”
My mouth opened and closed as I tried to remember, to bring up the ambulance in my mind’s eye. Nothing. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Then you’re going to have to try each of the companies separately. They’re independent from the hospital. We should get a bill within two days and could narrow it down for you then.”
“Two days?” I sagged against the counter as I realized how much I had completely fucked up. In addition to my phone, keys, and wallet, my purse contained a used vial of anti-venom, the illegal card reader and the fake UN keycard with my face on it. Fuck. If anyone fished around in it…
