Page 5 of The Phoenix Inheritance

“Do you ever shut it, or do you always drive people crazy like this?”

His voice suits the rest of him. Rough, but laced with softer notes that are quite pleasing to the ears.

Flabbergasted, I cross my arms. Perhaps it’s true that I spend so much time alone that I sometimes forget the difference between thinking and speaking out loud. The Hunters only stop by about once a month. But still, the rudeness of this man…

“That’s no way to speak to your savior!”

At long last, his eyes flutter open. They’re glaring at me with a world of annoyance, but no matter. Because the shade of his irises is the color I love most in the world. Like the barren landscape around us that nursed me back to life when it found me on death’s precipice five years ago.

They’re grey.

A foreign emotion invades me as I sense his gaze sweep over my form from head to toe. The sensation is like tiny red ants biting my toes, tortuously crawling all the way to the very roots of my mousy hair. My cheeks burn. I resist the urge to feel them with my hands in astonishment.

Is this embarrassment? It’s been years since I’ve felt embarrassed. My sole company these days, the Hunters, aren’t exactly the kind to blush. They’re all men, and not the most well-mannered ones at that.

Yet this prickly affection finds its way into my lips. It’s when I’m overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him that I understand what’s happening to me.

Oh. I’m attracted to this guy.

The realization doesn’t fill me with dread – on the contrary, it thrills me. The adventures of the heart is a subject that crops up often among Garrison, Ehren and the others. I always feel left out, and wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to experience passion as well.

It seems my chance has come.

“What’s that?” He grouses, pulling me away from my musings. He makes a vague gesture of the hand towards the top of my head.

I brush a few wisps away from my forehead. “It’s a style I invented. Maybe I don’t get many visits, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t devote time to my appearance. Look at you, for example, you just dropped from the skies! So I gather small branches around the lake and weave them into a coronet. Kind of like a crown.”

One of those slate eyes narrows. “Looks more like a bird’s nest to me.”

As intensely as the thrill of attraction rushed through me, I’m suddenly crushed with a self-consciousness that’s just as novel. When late at night, the gatherings of the Hunters veer towards sentimental affairs, the women they describe are tall and svelte or short and voluptuous, ravishing brunettes or fair blondes.

I’m none of that, I realize with dismay. I’m short and flat as my front door, with hair that’s neither dark nor light but a sort of dull in-between that blends into the Solenz scenery a bit too seamlessly.

I can see it in his gaze. He doesn’t think I’m pretty.

But before I can ponder upon my disappointment any longer, the man clutches the hand he was pointing at me and moans in bloodcurdling pain.

“What is it?” I gasp as I kneel by him once more. “Did you break anything?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snarls as he tugs his arm out of my clutch, only to turn paler as another wave of distress hits him.

“Of course it matters!” I hiss no less vehemently. “It’s your hand, silly. How can you get by without a hand?”

The redhead sneers and avoids my scrutiny. “I told you. I don’t care.”

I hate the look in his beautiful eyes. They’re like two chips of stone. Cold, hard, empty.

My earlier suspicion that he may have attempted to take away his life grows stronger. This time, instead of throwing me into a bout of panic-infused anger, my heart breaks. No, I still don’t understand how a healthy young male could possibly give up his own existence. The very notion of it doesn’t appall me any less.

But only because I can trace my scars with the tip of my finger doesn’t mean some wounds don’t hide beneath the flesh. Whatever caused this handsome, hardy man to jump from a cliff must ache as excruciatingly as the dreadful end he was ready to endure.

“Let me see,” I order, though the edge has left my voice. “I know a fair bit about wounds, you know.”

Indeed, the Hunters often rely on me after battles. Years spent fighting against the progress of my own injuries has made me quite talented with those of others.

He shrugs me off at first, but I eventually coax him into showing me his wrist. I suck in my breath as I note the angry swelling and nasty bruises beginning to form. After some inspecting and prodding, I assess that the wound isn’t as bad as it looks.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your wrist. It looks like it’s just sprained.” Taking hold of his uninjured hand, I give it a pull. “I’ve got everything to patch you up at home.”

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