Page 25 of The Phoenix Inheritance

Wrath suddenly contorts the King’s ruddy face, but before he can even bellow his disapproval, Warwick grabs my arm and tears my attention away.

“Are you insane? You are a phoenix, Dane. I’m sure of it. You’re about to ruin your chance to sit on the throne just because you’re so damned impatient! For all you know you may shift tomorrow, and then you’ll literally have eternity to regret this dumb decision.”

I shake my head. “No, I…”

My tendons tense as I read the shock on my brother’s face, the cold disappointment on my mother’s, the raging fury on my father’s. I must tell them that this is my choice and I’ll stand by it. I hope at the very least that Warwick won’t scorn me for being human, for choosing not to fight a battle I can’t win.

“No son of ours gives up!” My father barks from across the table.

The rest of his rant is eclipsed by a sharp pang of pain in my palm. I peer down, belatedly realizing that I gripped my glass so hard it shattered in my hand. Blood pools on the mahogany table, yet more proof that I don’t belong in this fort where only invincible conquerors dwell.

And then as sudden as a wildfire, the unthinkable occurs. Before my very eyes and those of my entire family, miniscule but brilliant flames surge from my wounds. That burning sensation rises to the tips of my fingers, the same feeling I experienced so long ago I half-believed the time I nearly set my brother on fire was no more than a very detailed nightmare. The flickers work at the bloody cuts, sealing the gash together until my hand is good as new.

I don’t have time to understand what happened before I’m engulfed in an embrace I haven’t felt since I was a child.

“Indeed, we will wait no more!” My father exclaims as his grey gaze dances with emotion. “It seemed the day would never come.”

For some reason the pride I’ve always yearned to see on his face is too hard for me to look at. In a daze, I glance at Warwick who can’t hide his glee, my mother who sports a small but satisfied smile.

“You’re a phoenix now,” my father says. “In a week or two, you should grow your wings. You’ll be one of us.”

Why do those words make my stomach drop when all my prayers have finally come true?

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