Phoenix Fallen (26 page)

"But it
wasn't
. What
would
be is denying that love. Living your life in misery is no way to honor someone's memory. Scott reminded me of that." Jules sighed again and had to close his eyes for a moment before he could go on.

"You can't waste what you're given, even if you don't understand why you get it and others don't. My family is gone, your sister is gone, Fannie…," Jules swallowed hard, "is gone, too. But I know damn well she'd want us all to grab every second of joy we can, just like she did."

He kissed her again so softly and tenderly this time Rissa was overwhelmed. Trembling she sat back, his outline blurred by her tears.

"
I love you.
And I'm never going to stop loving you, Rissa. Count on that. I started falling for you the first night I heard your voice coming out of that lounge, like a damn siren's call. Then when I saw you…well, that sure didn't hurt." He tweaked one of her nipples lightly and grinned up at her.

"But it was when you kept trying to help me that I really lost it. So many people were trying to help me, and I couldn't even see them, but I saw
you.
You were pushy and
obvious.
" She swatted at him and Jules shifted abruptly, making her gasp as he rolled them both over. He pinned her to the bed with that huge body, while his eyes twinkled. "And you just wouldn't
quit
and I am so fucking glad that you didn't.

His eyes were softer and darker and more sure than she had ever seen them. Joy settled deep inside her at the look. Joy and a wonderful certainty that they were going to be just fine.

"Rissa, you're going to pack up and come
home
with me. And we are never, ever going to leave each other again. Got that?"

"Absolutely."

His gaze narrowed as if he hadn't expected such easy acceptance, even now.

"Really?"

Rissa just gave Jules a lazy smile as she wrapped her arms around him. "Of course. I know my destiny now. And it's you.
It's always been you.
I love you, Mr. Destiny.

"Now…are you just going to lie there all night or fuck me silly again before the damn sun comes up?"

"Are you always going to be this pushy, woman?"

"Let me think…," Rissa tapped his chin with one finger as she looked up into his smiling face. "Yes…that would be a
yes."

The very winds whispered in soothing accents,

and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.

            
 
~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Paris at night was stunning, but it dimmed in comparison to Kelsey’s smile after Miles kissed her for the first time as his wife.

Hundreds of candles flickered in the breeze scented with cabbage roses that Scott had forced into bloom at Miles' request. The heavy blooms nodded over the stone walls, incongruous for early November. Scattered scarlet and gold leaves dusted the meandering walkways. The small crowd was silent, until the couple pulled apart and then laughter and cheers rang out from all sides. Far below the quiet splendor of the estate's backyard gardens, the lights of the city leant their sparkle to the scene.

Kelsey was breath-taking, her lovely figure wrapped in cream-colored silk that hugged her body to the waist, then fell away in fanciful flamenco ruffles that caught the candlelight and glowed. Miles looked at her like he'd happily drown in her eyes.

The couple smiled and the cameras that were in attendance flashed. Miles had been very particular about who had been allowed on the grounds. He'd invited only three representatives of the press at the wedding, and of the three, one had traveled all the way from Chicago with Jules and Rissa. Cullum O'Leary looked a bit stunned to find himself here, but pleased, too. Not as pleased as his editor perhaps, but pleased just the same.

Miles had chosen his guests with care. No one uninvited had tried to get in, even the craziest member of the paparazzi would think twice before crashing a vampire party.

Hand in hand, the Lord and new Lady Saintonge turned, looking too beautiful and happy to be allowed.

Standing behind them, Rissa watched Jules out of the corner of her eye.  His face was impassive, though she could see the emotion in his dark eyes. Jules was at Kelsey's right arm, having been her man of honor, and only a few steps in front of Rissa herself. 

She had been overjoyed and touched when Kelsey had asked her to be a bridesmaid along with Mags and a couple other women from Phoenix.

Not in the least because it kept her close to Jules during the ceremony she knew would be bittersweet for him. Fannie had been looking forward to this night so much. Scott had flatly refused to come to Paris at first, but had finally relented when the doctors had advised Toby could fly in the private jet Miles outfitted to accommodate his every need. The stubborn little boy was doing far better than anyone could have guessed and was expected to make a full recovery.

Not without scars, though.

They all had their scars from the events in Chicago.

Rissa reached out a hand, touching Jules lightly. He didn’t look away from Miles and Kelsey, but tangled his big fingers with hers and squeezed, his lips curving at last.

The next hour passed in a blur. Miles and Kelsey had forsaken the grand to-do they had planned in favor of this smaller, more intimate reception at Miles’s house in Paris. It seemed only fitting to tone things down since less than three months ago they had all been gathered at Fannie’s funeral.

But it was still quite the shindig. Just over a hundred people milled through the ballroom, drinking, dancing and celebrating what in many circles was being called the wedding of the year.

Rissa leaned one shoulder against the leaded glass doors that stood open to the night. Taking a long swallow from the wineglass she held in one hand, Rissa stared out over the sparkling Parisian skyline. Like jewels tossed on black velvet, the city glittered beneath her. The Eiffel Tower a slim golden sword above it all.

Jules had disappeared again. He’d done that often since they’d arrived three nights ago. Despite the strides he’d made in accepting his new ‘life’, being here, in the city where it had all started, was not easy for him. Rissa understood that. And she understood his increased need for space had nothing to do with her. That didn’t make it easy for her to watch him suffer. He’d been through so much already.

Fannie’s funeral had been very hard on him. Hard on them all. Beautiful, yes. Very beautiful and incredibly sad. Scott had come out of the bitter, quiet rage engulfing him for that one day only.

He’d filled the funeral home with masses of Fannie's favorite flowers, using his power to force incredible blooms both in and out of season. Gardenias, lilies, roses, lilacs and even masses of sunflowers. A wild blaze of living color to drive out the spectre of death. Rissa had sang the song Scott had chosen for her at the service.

Pharrell William's
Happy.

Scott had insisted despite her protests. He told her Fannie had always said it was the perfect funeral song, because it celebrated life.

'You've got to help me remember her the way she'd want to be remembered, Rissa. Please.'

She hadn't been able to refuse him. Rissa knew her bluesy voice wasn’t really suited to the bright, cheery song, but she'd given it her all. At first she'd struggled to get the words out, but then little Tish had left her seat, pulling on her grandmother's hands.

"It's Mama's song, Memaw, why isn't anyone dancing? She'd be real sad if no one danced."

So, Fannie's mother got up and danced with her granddaughter. One by one, the other mourners joined them, some laughing with tears in their eyes as they twirled and dipped and bobbed, others sobbing openly, but all dancing just the same. Jules had left his seat as well, to wrap Rissa in his arms and sway with her until she finished the last note.

He’d told her later she had never sounded more beautiful, that the smoky soul she lent the song had been the perfect touch and that Fannie would have given her a standing O. Scott had hugged her after everyone left until her ribs threatened to crack, then his darkness had come down again.

Scott was wrapped in it. They all knew it, but no one had really been able to get through to him. Rissa turned her head and found him easily by his wild golden mop. Right next to the bar. Scott had a whiskey in one hand, but he wasn't in any danger of drowning his sorrows with alcohol. They were too deep for that. No, what kept Scott going these days was simple, his kids…and pure, unadulterated rage.

Cross was gone. Deep underground from what little intelligence Miles had been able to gather. Rissa almost hoped he stayed that way, but she knew better.

One day Jules or Scott would find him, or Cross would find them. It was only a matter of time. But facing that monster could wait. Here and now, she was going to enjoy this interlude full of love and laughter with all she had and let the future mind itself.

A warm, familiar weight pressed into her back and Rissa sighed as everything inside her curled up and purred. Jules. She let her head fall back against his chest. He didn't say a word, he just wrapped his big arms around her.

Together they stared out over the City of Love, the City of Lights and held tight to each other. Not knowing what was coming, and for this night at least, not caring.

Because that was all you could do in the end, wasn't it? Just hope for the best, grab what you love in both hands and
hold on tight.

Yes, it's me again, your friendly neighborhood author!

Hope you are enjoying the Phoenix Inc. series as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I know Jules' story was quite the unexpected ride and we are certainly not done yet. Much more is on the way for the gang in the upcoming books. You'll met more of the unusual paras that work at Phoenix Inc., dig deeper into Miles' history and watch as things escalate with Cross and the Iron Hand Society. New players will enter the game and up the stakes. If you are craving more stories about Phoenix Inc., stay tuned:

PHOENIX BROKEN (expected release) Summer 2015

PHOENIX UNCHAINED (expected release) Early 2016

And if you missed the novella that started it all (Miles & Kelsey's story), get it on Amazon now!

PHOENIX RISING

And while you are there, check out my Celtic Elementals series, set in Ireland. I'm actually traveling to Ireland and the Isle of Man this spring to do research on the final book in this PNR series, titled
Lightning In Sea.

Smoke in Moonlight

Blood In Fire

You can always find me online at the usual suspects~

Facebook~
https://www.facebook.com/heatherrblair

Twitter~
https://twitter.com/lovelyshivers

Goodreads~
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8180487.Heather_R_Blair

Gmail~ [email protected]

"One…and two. One…and two." Up and down. Down and up.

His arms and lungs were burning. Eyes front and center. His muscles just starting to get the shakes, warning him he should stop now.

Fuck that.

"One…and two. One…and two." A pair of dark expensive men's shoes entered the corner of his vision. He ignored them.

Up. Down. The shoes and the owner attached to them moved to a spot directly in front of him. Very expensive shoes. Alligator, maybe? No, that was illegal. Crocodile. Yeah. Martin Dingman or some such shit. A goddamn grand for a pair of shoes. Nuts.

"One…and two. One—"

"Davidson."

"— and two."

"For fuck's sake, Scott!"

Scott Davidson raised his head, elbows locked. His dark green eyes looked up, way up. Jules Gentry was a tall man at 6'5 and Scott resented the crick in his neck. Not to mention the interruption.

"I'm working out here."

"Yeah, I see that. That's all the fuck you do anymore. Take five, would ya?"

With a military snap that belied his perpetual exhaustion, Scott jumped to his feet. "Yes, sir."

"Don't pull that 'sir' shit with me. You're not back in the ranks, and I never was."

Scott's eyes narrowed. "What are we doing here, J? I'm busy."

"The hell you are. Goddamn, Scott, I'm done. I've tried looking the other way, letting you do whatever it is you have to do to get past this—"

"There is no 'past' this. Not for me. Not ever."

Jules sighed and dropped his dark gaze, twirling a ruby ring on his finger. Scott could almost see him drawing strength from that symbol. From the symbol of his wife, Rissa. Scott remembered that feeling, that wonderful feeling of being centered and whole.

But his wife was dead.

Jules said softly. "I loved her, too, man. You know that."

Scott closed his eyes.
Not like I did, goddamnit.

When Scott chose not to respond, Jules cleared his throat. "You never go out, you never take the kids anywhere, you never do shit but work out like a goddamn machine and take cases between looking for Cross. And you always take the number 5's. Always. That shit ain't good for your head."

Phoenix Incorporated used a number system to rank their case load. Number 1's were simple, no conflict requests. Number 2's might mean situation a little tense, but still no threat of real violence. Number 3's were violence possible, but certainly not fatal. Number 4's, violence likely, but mortal contact was not expected, though possible.

Number 5's were violence certain, fatal contact likely.

"Don't worry about my head. Don't worry about me, period. I'm not your fucking problem, J."

"Not my—?
Have you lost your fucking mind?
Jesus, Scott, it's like I don't even know you anymore." Jules waved a big beefy hand in frustration. "Fannie wouldn't recognize you, man."

It was true. The wild, curly hippie hair was gone. Ruthlessly buzzed close to his scalp. Always in good shape, Scott had dropped every ounce of fat in the last eighteen months and gained about twenty pounds of raw muscle. At 5'10, he wasn't really a big man, but he sure as fuck was a lethal one, every inch of him honed to a keen, fighting edge.

"We're family, goddamnit. You do remember what family is, right? My godchildren need their dad, Scott."

Scott opened his eyes. "Leave Toby and Tish out of your little lecture, okay? They're fine."

"The fuck they are!"

"Watch it, kemosabe." Scott's words were quiet, final but dull.

He didn't want to fight. He didn't care enough to fight. Not about this. There was only one thing he wanted. One man's head. Then maybe things would start to matter again. Or maybe not. Until he got that man, he really didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to be left alone.

Jules ran both hands over his head, his dark hair almost as short as Scott's. "Okay. Okay, man. I just don't know what the hell to do with you anymore. There's this thing tonight. This gig over at Centaries. I want you to take it. Put on some decent clothes, make yourself a little less scary and go check it out. Rumor has it one of Cross's old cronies has been seen there. That psycho bitch, Docie May."

Docie May? Yeah, he knew that name. He knew every name of every known acquaintance of Daimen Cross. But what was this about a club? Some kind of stupid trap, some sneaky shit of Jules to get him off his routine?

"Why me?" Scott didn't do recon, not club-type recon, anyway. He wasn't really a people person anymore and his forte was nature, not the urban jungle. Scott was an elemental para, with ability to control plants and nature. He was at home in the woods, city nightlife, not so much.

"It's a swing club, hard-core dancing and all that jazz. You can handle that crap with your eyes closed, the rest of the team has two left feet. You know that."

Scott's lips tightened and a muscle ticked in and out in his jaw. He and Fannie had first met swing dancing. They'd both loved it. Up until her murder they had managed at least a night or two a month.

"This better be legit, J."

"It is."

"Okay, I'll be there."

Without another word, Scott dropped back into his rhythm. He barely registered when the expensive loafers moved off a long while later. And he certainly didn't notice the frustrated hopelessness in Jules' dark brown eyes as the other man exited the gym.

"One…and two."

An hour later, Scott stripped in the locker room for his shower. Dumping his damp, sweaty clothes in his gym bag, he strode naked to the sink. He rinsed his mouth out and spit, then caught his reflection in the mirror. It startled him.

Scott grimaced at the man reflected back at him. Jules was right. He looked nothing like he had two years ago.

The stiff buzz cut was a light burnished gold that left his face looking hollow; cheeks and jaw razor sharp and shadowed with a darker gold. His eyes, moss green, blazed from that burned-out face, a stranger's eyes.

He'd seen eyes like that in Russia. Survivor eyes. Not glad to be alive, but fucking pissed about it. Full of a desperate black rage smelted in bombed-out shell of a soul. His son and daughter were both in therapy and he probably should be. But what did it all matter? The man he'd used to be was gone and he wasn't coming back.

That man, that absurdly happy, content man was just as dead as Fan. Bowing his head, Scott swallowed a sob. His hands clenched around the sink, which creaked as the body he'd honed to such deadly perfection shuddered once with the pain he so rarely let himself give into.

A second later Scott snapped his spine straight and turned his back to the mirror.

He had work to do.

And people to kill.

COMING SUMMER 2015