The Phoenix Prophecy: Nova

By the time I realize Nova’s gone, I can already hear the rumble of Tanner’s truck. I glance at the hook near the door. Keys are missing.

“I’ll go after her. You fix them.” I nod at Mack. I’m halfway to the door when a flash of pure white fur appears in the corner of my eye. Mack might not be able to stop an elemental fight single-handed, but Snow can.

I take the bike. As I pick up speed, following Tanner’s truck down the tree-lined roads that lead to the center of town, I bite down hard on the hunger in my veins. Seeing her vulnerable like that; it lit something inside me, but I can’t be distracted by it. Not now.

I’m still trying to sift through the quagmire of what Luther and Mack discovered when I reach The Cross.

Her boyfriend was injured in the fire, but she wasn’t. That says witch. That says Phoenix. But he’s A.M.A.? She was at an anti-magick rally? It makes no sense, and any chance we had of getting information from her could have disappeared with Luther’s outburst.

I’m not surprised by it. He finds it hard enough to be in the company of humans, but learning she could be part of the Alliance? That would have sent him over the edge.

Whatever happens between him and Tanner, they’ll be back to being brothers in a few hours. But who knows what damage they’ll cause to the kitchen in the meantime. Mack won’t be pleased.

I wait a moment. I see Nova’s silhouette pass the window.

I pocket my keys and head for the back entrance. I take the stairs two at a time. The apartment door isn’t locked. I knock gently as I step inside. The living room is empty. I head for the bedroom.

I push the door open, expecting to see her sobbing on the bed. “Nova?” I speak quietly, afraid of startling her.NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.

She’s standing in the middle of the room. Her hair is dripping wet from Tanner’s water display. As she turns, I realize she’s wearing nothing but her jeans and a deep turquoise bra that makes my balls pulse. Her skin is damp. She’s holding her wet shirt and it’s like she’s frozen to the spot.

“Bike…” 

My eyes land on her chest. I tilt my head. What the fuck is that? A burn? Was she hurt in the fire, after all?

I move closer. Suddenly, I understand what I’m looking at. My throat constricts. Hunger rages in my muscles. In one move, I’ve got her by the throat and I’m slamming her up against the wall.

“Luther was right? You’re a fucking spy? An A.M.A. spy?”

Her eyes widen as she pulls at my hands. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Was I so desperate for a purpose greater than serving beers behind the bar that I dreamed up everything that made me think she was the one? The hunger is beating in my belly, it’s not because she’s special. It’s because she’s a filthy A.M.A. fascist?

As I look at her, my thoughts slow. She’s gone limp. She’s not resisting me or struggling. She’s just waiting for my rage to subside.

I let go and stumble backward. I’ve never hurt a woman before. Never. I’ve left pink marks on her neck and, instantly, I want to smooth my fingers over them and make them better.

“Luther was right about Johnny. But not me.” She’s trembling, but she meets my eyes. “He got caught up with the Alliance about a year ago. That was when things started to get really bad.” Her fingers move to the scar on her upper arm. I breathe in slowly.

“The rally?” I’m so close I can hear her heart beating, and the thought of her blood pulsing quickly through her body makes me lick my lips.

“I was there, but only because Johnny forced me to be.” She moves her hand to her chest. The place above her heart where the A.M.A. symbol has been burned into her skin. “He did this on my birthday.” A wry smile crosses her lips, and she shakes her head. “He invited his friend to our apartment. They held me down and branded me. As a present.” She flicks her eyes up and meets my gaze. There’s something harder about her now. Like she’s remembering how not to be scared. “I swear to you. I did not want this. I didn’t want any part of what he did with the Alliance. The reason I had to leave Ridgemore was because I finally stood up to him.”

I flex my fingers at my sides. I’m breathing heavily, but focusing on her face helps.

“Call Tanner. Ask him to read my mind. I swear, I’m telling the truth. I am not part of the Alliance and I never have been.”

I turn away from her and pace toward the door. Instead of stopping, I head for the living room and sit down hard on the couch.

When she joins me, she’s still wearing nothing but her bra. She sits next to me. I’m breathing heavily, staring at my hands, fingers entwined and knuckles white with the pressure.

I raise my head. It’s an ugly scar. Untidy. A vision of her struggling beneath the fizz of a white-hot poker brings a jolt of nausea to my throat.

I stopped seeing when I stopped taking F.H.B. I had to close it off. One thing went hand in hand with the other. Inextricably linked. But she’s changing me. I’m not imagining it. The way I’ve felt since she arrived in town. I’m not imagining it.

She’s barely a few inches away from me. I’ve never allowed myself to be this close to her. I reach out and press the tip of my index finger to the blood-red teardrop tattooed in the center of the scar.

She closes her eyes and sighs. A tear rolls down her cheek. I wipe it away. Her skin is tantalizingly soft. I breathe her in and the sound of her heartbeat echoes in my ears. I lick my teeth. The vein on the side of her throat is pulsing. I brush her hair back over her shoulder.

Then, like a punch in the gut, I realize what I’m about to do and push her away.

I stand up and stride to the other side of the room. She’s staring at me, wide-eyed.

“Tell me about the fire.” I lean on the wall next to the window and stare down at the street, unable to look at her pale skin in the moonlight.

There’s a long, quivering pause. Then she says, “All right.”

I slowly turn around and force myself to focus on her eyes.

“But first, I need you to do something for me.”