Phoenix Freed Page 13

  The flames covering Daughtry crackled as they consumed the black magic and Elisabeth until only embers remained. Then they spread, tearing through the gardens, blasting forward and incinerating every Dalshie that still lived. Once complete, the blaze shut off abruptly.

  Daughtry glanced down at her skin. It was as pale as usual and unharmed.

  Almost like she hadn’t just killed her own mother with her bare hands.

  She fell to her knees.

  Twenty-Three

  A moment later, she struggled to her feet. She needed to focus, needed to move. Morgan was bleeding, near collapse, and Cody—

  The gardens had been razed by the Dalshie—both in their initial attack and the subsequent battle—nearly every tree, every bench and stool reduced to ash. Only a few trees remained near the edges of the space, where they’d been partially shielded by the walls of the Colony.

  The first thing she did was make sure that Cody was okay. He was, his mind a heavy link of emerald that was wound with her violet magic.

  "Are you all right?" he thought, having sensed her along the bond.

  "Fine." But Morgan—with pale gray skin and a white T-shirt almost stained completely crimson with blood—was not.

  Her legs were wobbly at first, from the massive amount of power she’d somehow just managed to use, but they steadied as she made her way over to Morgan. Magic poured back into the reservoir in her brain, relieving her fatigue, allowing her muscles to move more slowly. Still, between her mother and the strain of using the Bond Magic, she was nearly tapped out.

  Just a little longer, she promised herself.

  Morgan stood, wavering, his hazel eyes glassy with pain. “Did she hurt you?” he asked.

  “No.” Daughtry reached for his arm and peeled back the soaked cotton. A breath of air hissed through his teeth.

  What she saw there made her stomach clench. His wound was larger, and blood leaked like the proverbial broken dam.

  “Here,” she said. Her fingers grabbed the torn hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She left it inside out, hoping that even though it had been against her body, the interior might be slightly cleaner than the outside — which was covered in ash and dirt. “Sit.” She pressed the shirt to his wounds.

  It was soaked through in seconds.

  Damn. It was worse than she thought, deeper, more gaping. Maybe he’d nicked an artery or something.

  But short of putting pressure on the wound and trying to keep it clean, Daughtry was pretty much at the extent of her knowledge.

  "Cody?" she thought. He was nearby, trying to resist the urge to come and check up on her as they triaged the field.

  Though she wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms, to forget what had happened to her, to Elisabeth, Daughtry agreed with what he was doing. There were injuries to be dealt with, soldiers to be healed.

  Without Suz present, Cody was it.

  "Sweetheart?" he thought back. The endearment, the softness with which he spoke to her belied his knowledge of how near her breaking point she was.

  "I—" It took a moment for her to steady her emotions enough so that she could think clearly. "It’s Morgan. He’s bleeding pretty badly. I don’t know how to stop it."

  "Okay. I’ll be right there."

  Daughtry felt him draw on his magic. He used it to finish healing the soldier lying on the ground in front of him.

  First the vessels then the muscles, followed by the connective tissue and fat. Last Cody knitted the skin back together.

  In front of her, Morgan groaned as she continued to press on his wound. “Sorry,” she said, hating that she couldn’t do more for him, that he was basically helpless and writhing in pain because of her.

  First Tyler. Now Morgan.

  Apparently being her friend was hazardous to people’s health.

  “It’s fine, Dee,” Morgan said, his voice remarkably calm for as tight as his jaw was ground. “It’s not your fault.”

  She forced a smile but didn’t otherwise answer. Because it was something that she’d heard too many times over already.

  Less than a minute after she’d called him, Cody was there. His presence came in multiple forms, his mind close to hers, the soft graze of his lips against her cheek, the pressure of his thigh against hers as he knelt next to her.

  “Did you go and get yourself stabbed again?”

  Morgan grunted. “By a fucking flying toothpick, no less. Just bandage me up, save your magic for someone else.”

  Cody moved Daughtry’s fingers out of the way and inspected the wound. “It must have been a big ass toothpick,” he said. “This needs to be healed or it’ll bleed out.”

  “I’m—”

  If Morgan had been starting to say fine, the word was lost in a string of curse words as Cody’s magic crawled into the wound. More blood was flushed out, along with dirt and shards of wood that must have come from the branch that had impaled him.

  Daughtry watched both through her eyes and along the bond as Cody healed Morgan’s wound. An artery had been nicked, a tricky fix as Cody attempted to circulate the blood and heal it at the same time. He’d almost gotten it when a shout rang across the clearing.

  “Healer! We need a healer! Hurry!”

  Morgan’s eyes had been shut but at the yell they flashed open. He shoved Cody’s hands off of him. “That’s good enough. Go!”

  Cody looked as though he’d protest then shook his head and turned to her. “Stay with him,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  He was up and running before the word finished leaving her lips.

  She watched along the bond as he skittered to a stop.

  A gasp left her mouth.

  Because the man on the ground, with the grievous cut nearly splitting his torso in two was familiar.

  It was Dante.

  Morgan pushed an elbow underneath him and levered himself up. “What is it—?” he started to ask then went pale.

  Blood spurted from his shoulder. His eyes went glassy.

  Daughtry dove for him. Scrambled to put pressure on the wound. The patch Cody had placed on his artery had given way.

  He’d bleed out in seconds.

  Her mouth opened, ready to shout to Cody, but no words came out.

  Because Cody could only save one man.

  Would it be Dante or Morgan?

  Twenty-Four

  The answer to the question of who would die was clear.

  No.

  A piece of her, a part buried deep in her rebelled.

  It was violent, so brutal that her eyes watered with pain as something burst in her mind. A ward, a block, a shield—she wasn’t sure.

  Power poured out of her brain and into her limbs.

  She could sense the blood within Morgan’s body. See the tear in his artery in her mind.

  Violet threads of magic slid out of her palms, delicate and as thin as spider’s silk. They crawled into Morgan’s wound and began plugging up the holes in his vessels. Like platelets to a cut, they stoppered the artery and the veins.

  Cody’s brain touched hers, his shock mirroring what was most certainly the same emotion in her mind.

  "How are you—?" he asked.

  "I don’t know," she thought. But then she finally saw what was happening, what had been in front of her the entire time.

  Bond Magic didn’t just destroy. It could heal.

  There weren’t only violet strands of magic knitting together Morgan’s wound. No, her purple was laced with green.

  Those mixed tendrils closed the skin on Morgan’s shoulder before spreading out across the rest of his body, searching for anything else that might put her friend’s life at risk.

  He was still unconscious, but his heart was steady, his brain uninjured.

  No doubt his shoulder would hurt like hell when he woke up, but at least he would be alive.

  Whole.

  The Bond Magic cut off, the threads breaking apart into sparkling glitters of violet and emerald tha
t flashed away to nothing.

  Just like magic normally did. As if nothing unusual had happened.

  As if the entire course of her life hadn’t just been altered.

  She stared down at Morgan and saw that his chest rose and fell steadily. The wound on his shoulder was sealed, a large red scar angrily marking the spot that had almost taken his life.

  No doubt Cody or Suz could have done a prettier job, left him without a scar—

  “He’s alive.” Turning, she glanced up at Cody. His expression was filled with wonder and he shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  A bubble of hope made her lips curl up. “Me neither.”

  The book about Bond Magic hadn’t mentioned anything about being able to use a bondmate’s abilities.

  “You saved him.”

  She shrugged. “I did what I had to do.” It was a nonchalant statement and one that Cody could have easily called her on. He didn’t. Her struggle all along had been because of the intrinsic cruelty of her powers. Death always came for a person, one way or another. Her visions couldn’t alter that.

  The best she could do was delay the end that eventually came.

  Cody, the other half of her soul, could heal. He was life; she was death.

  Now she had a chance to make that different.

  “Dante?”

  His lips pressed flat. “Critical, but stable until I can get Suz here.”

  Morgan’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked and shifted his head marginally to the side. When he caught a glimpse of her, his mouth fell open. “I’m alive?”

  Daughtry smiled. “You’re alive.”

  “Do I have a scar?”

  Her laughter rang through the clearing, loud, cheerful, and completely without fear.

  Somehow, even in the darkest of moments, laughter still managed to find a way.

  Twenty-Five

  Later that night, when the nightmares came, when Daughtry could easily recall the feel of her mother’s skin melting away like ice cream on a hot day, Cody was there.

  “Shh,” he said, holding her tight.

  They were in their quarters, the sheets cool and clean, the Colony silent around them. Tomorrow the triplets would begin teleporting everyone back.

  After the battle, after the Dalshie had been destroyed, she and Cody had been able to erect another shield over the Colony. It was a woven net of violet and emerald, a film of Bond Magic that surrounded them, protected them. Time would tell if it would truly keep the Dalshie out, but considering how well it had cut through their enemy, it was a risk they were willing to take.

  And if what Cody had told her several months before was true—that combining two magics increased the strength of each power by a factor of ten—then her and Cody’s powers, drawn together because they were a perfect fit, were magnified almost exponentially.

  She clung to his shoulders and allowed him to kiss her, to hold her tight then make love to her with the intense focus of a man who’d almost lost the woman he loved.

  He pressed his mouth to every part of her, made her fly more times than she could count. And when he finally slid into her, the care her took with her body made her love him even more.

  Cody coaxed her to another orgasm before allowing himself to follow her. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before gently slanting his lips across hers.

  Their panting breaths puffed into the other’s lungs, an exchange almost as intimate as the love and trust that went both ways across the bond.

  He rolled to the side, tucking her against his chest. Slightly rough fingers wound into her hair, rubbed against her scalp, her nape.

  Daughtry felt whole, cherished. Safe.

  “I didn’t think we would live through today,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered back. “But I had enough faith for both of us.”

  The day’s growth of his beard scraped her cheek as he smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “Don’t doubt the power of a determined woman,” she said and pulled back to stare into his eyes. “I meant what I said earlier. I want a future with you. If I’m not letting my fear get in the way of that, I won’t let the Dalshie steal it either.”

  His gaze was both proud and intense, his grin wide. Then he sobered. “Thank you for fighting for us.”

  “Anytime.”

  Daughtry laid her head back onto his chest, allowing his steady heartbeat to lull her, the comfortable silence of the room to surround them.

  This respite was just that—a break in the fight. There were more Dalshie that needed to be hunted down, more innocents that needed protection.

  The LexTals would pick up the fight.

  And she would be right there with them.

  Sleep was just about to take her when Cody spoke again.

  “So, where’s the real Orb?”

  Part Two

  The Rengalla

  Darkness is simply the absence of light.

  Or is it?

  The dark can be nefarious. It can fill one’s heart with terror. It can infect the mind.

  Light doesn’t always make the dark disappear… sometimes it makes the shadows even more evident.

  But is the dark always bad?

  The Rengalla think so.

  And after being hunted by their former comrades, the Dalshie, for nearly a hundred years, they may be right.

  Black magic corrupted the Dalshie’s souls, turned them into violent monsters who no longer feel. Who no longer love.

  So perhaps the better question would be: how is the darkness destroyed?

  The answer to that is twofold. Love can lessen a black heart, but day can’t exist without night.

  Light cannot exist without shadow.

  Good cannot exist without evil.

  Twenty-Six

  The casserole hit the floor with a heart-wrenching crash.

  Perfect half moons of potatoes, exactly one-quarter-inch slices of carrots, and pieces of delicately shredded chicken splattered across the floor.

  Not to mention the peas she’d spent ages hand-shelling—

  Daughtry gave a long-suffering breath and swallowed the knot at the back of her throat. Cody didn’t care about the casserole.

  She—on the other hand—wanted to make their anniversary perfect and had worked herself into quite a state over it.

  It didn’t matter that Cody was the man she loved . . . a man she was certain didn’t care about innocuous things like casseroles. He was her partner, the person she was bonded with on a soul-deep, magical level, and he was always doing romantic things for her.

  Picnics, surprising her with a movie she really wanted to see—action, not the sappy romcoms he was addicted to—and flowers.

  Daughtry couldn’t forget the flowers.

  Irises to match her eyes. Orchids because they were both fragile and strong. Roses, daisies, more—

  She’d just wanted to do something special for him in return.

  And now the freaking peas were stuck everywhere.

  Coated in a cream sauce that she’d worked her biceps into a sobbing, blithering mess for, those peas dotted the bottom of her kitchen cabinets in cheery green disorder, gathered around her freshly shaved ankles, and a few even stuck to the bodice of her dress.

  She was wearing a dress and it was covered in peas.

  This was her life.

  That thought more than anything else from the disaster of the last two hours made Daughtry laugh. Her life had gotten so peaceful and boring that she was upset because she’d dropped a stupid casserole.

  Now that was a change.

  Heart lighter, she soothed her stinging fingers with a burst of healing magic—the potholder sucked!—and bent to pick up the dish.

  “Pizza?”

  Cody’s voice in her head didn’t make her jump. Their bond had always felt natural, right, and his mind brushing against hers was no exception.

  “No,” she told him. “I can do this.”

  She would cook dinner, and for once, it wo
uldn’t be a catastrophe.

  “I know you can, but I’d rather be peeling that slinky dress off you than wasting time eating, cowgirl.”

  Her breath caught. “How do you know about my dress?” she thought. “You promised not to peek.”

  She put the casserole dish in the kitchen sink.

  “I lied.”

  Her laugh was punctuated by a sigh as Cody wrapped his arms around her from behind. She’d sensed he was near, but there was nothing like being cocooned in his pine-and-ocean scented embrace.

  It was a settling in her consciousness, a pitter-patter in her heart. Even after a full year together.

  “I love you,” he said with a kiss to her nape. Her jaw. Her cheek.

  “Yes, you do,” she said.

  He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “But I’ve also been on shift for twelve hours. So first I’m going to shower and then I’ll pick up a pizza from the cafeteria.”

  Daughtry knew when to give into defeat. “Okay.” She turned off the oven and started stacking the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink. “I’ll call in an order.”

  The grin Cody gave her was equal parts sexy and chagrined. “I stopped on the way in. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Seriously?” Her hands plunked onto her hips, but the corners of her mouth were twitching.

  “Shower,” he repeated, retreating a step, hands raised in mock surrender. “I really need to shower.”

  “You really know me too well,” she murmured. There was a beat of silence, and she decided to let his presumption slide. “So was the perimeter quiet?”

  “As a mouse.”

  Eight months had passed since the Dalshie’s attack on the Colony. Eight months during which she and every other Rengalla had been waiting for another appearance of their mortal enemy.

  The Dalshie who killed without compunction. Used magic to maim and torture.

  And . . . they’d disappeared.

  Mostly. A few sightings of rogue Dalshie had trickled in over the last months, but there had been no more attacks on their home, no more barbs of black magic bombarding their shields.