Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
A guttural roar of primal rage thundered off the stone walls, dragging me from the darkness, a hook embedded in my chest. A glaze of confusion covered my thoughts, but clarity came with a rise of heat that licked me from the inside out. My eyes popped open.
I was in the cell. And I was naked. Alone. Lying on cold concrete.
The scent of him clung to the smoke. A perfect blend of heavenly cedar now mixed with wild spice, storm-soaked earth, and scorched leather. It wrapped around me like a cloak, laced with wrath sharp enough to slice through bone. And oh, wow, it crackled in the air with the same intensity as fireworks.
Where was he? I scanned for clues. One wall of the cell had been obliterated, reduced to rubble; the tapestry continued to smolder. The cot was gone, devoured by flame, its remains nothing but dust and embers. I inhaled again. Still him, still here… and yet not.
My ears twitched. Sounds pierced the castle prison, an impossible feat unless the chaos above had breached the deepest levels, or I’d developed super-sensitive hearing. Either way, I heard war. Clashing steel. The thrum of wings. The brutal crack of impact. Screams, some defiant, others agonized. Taunts hurled over howls of fury. And somewhere, unmistakably, my father’s laughter, low and lethal.
Understanding slammed into me. I surged upright in a single, fluid motion, far faster and more graceful than I’d ever moved before. Sweet magma, what was this? Energy pulsed through me, a living current, thick and molten. Such power. Radiant, untamed, and rising. A glorious elixir pumping through my veins. Was I the phoenix? I was alive after dying, so I must be. Except, I felt no foreign presence. No winged fire-breather demanding snacks or battle or better décor, either. Just… me.
I blinked. Waited, hoping, searching. Nope. Nothing stirred in the farthest caverns of my mind.
And I hadn’t changed. Same freckle on my inner wrist. Same scar along my knee. Same everything. Except for the way the world vibrated around me, as if I wasn’t just stronger but… more. A storm in tranquility. A blade waiting to strike.
“I’m so getting a teacup for this,” I muttered.
Another roar split the air. One I recognized. Taron! And this time, it wasn’t born of pain. I heard a promise. Destruction comes…
Heart pounding, I surged forward with a half-formed plan. Get to my room. Gear up. Join the fray—
My stomach lurched, as if the world had folded instead of me. Suddenly, I was there. One blink. One thought. Poof. I stood in my bedroom. I staggered to a halt before I slammed into my dresser, a hand catching the wood. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of the impossible leap. Teleportation? Not a skill the phoenix were known to possess. Was I something more?
A mystery for later. I dressed in record speed: tunic, leathers, combat boots. Strapped on blades until I felt like a walking armory. A dragonless queen needed every edge. Out of habit, I raced to the balcony, intending to jump, forgetting I had no dragon or wings. The sight that greeted me stopped me dead. The sky was smoke and flame. Below me, my kingdom bled, courtesy of my enemy.
My chest clenched, my ribs compressing my lungs. Warriors I’d trained and stood beside were currently locked in a brutal battle with Lorik’s massive horde. Berserkers pitted against shifters, and the shifters were winning. The bodies and limbs of my comrades littered the ground. Crimson soaked the soil, misting the air with the coppery scent of death. Fury sparked like lightning between blade strikes.
Adelaide, my darling sister, was mid-duel with Councilman Roland. He fought like a monster reborn, no longer berserker, but shifter. How ironic. The man who’d sworn to protect our people from Cedric, had instead become his echo. She held her own, but she was alone, and the former councilman wasn’t fighting fair. He worked with two other shifters, a coordinated pack against one.
I bit down hard, stomach twisting. Where was—? There. Taron.
The muscles in my jaw slackened. He was carnage in dragon-berserker form. Twice his normal size, with muscle piled upon muscle, his body rippled with fury and dragon fire. Lost completely to his rage, he tore through dragons and shifters alike, using his claws and fangs with utter abandon. Uncontrolled, untrained, unstoppable.
The dragon inside him was new to him and wild, its smokewings flickering in and out of existence as he rampaged. It made him stagger, left him vulnerable, allowing any challengers to strike with vicious precision. But no matter how many times Taron fell, he got up and headed straight for—I growled. Straight for Lorik, who fought three of my sisters.
My frown returned. Lorik wore metal cuffs. Shackles without a center link. Why would he—
Recognition came in a rush. The Chains of O. The reason Taron continued to throw off his attackers and make his way toward the shifter king. He’s being drawn. Our enemy’s final crumb along the gingerbread trail.