Page 12 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)
JACKSON
“ M aybe we can talk this through,” I say in a low voice to Airos. "You know? Be diplomatic? We're not in a place to take these guys on."
He gives me a slow nod but doesn't relax from his defensive stance.
"We mean no harm," Airos says, voice steady. "We're travelers, seeking only water to survive our journey."
The lead rider speaks, but I have no idea what he says.
It's just a bunch of guttural sounds that seem to roll from the back of the throat.
His monster bird mount rocks beneath him, its razor-sharp beak opening slightly to reveal a purple tongue, and its tawny feathered mane transitions seamlessly at the shoulder into a fur coat that covers the rest of its body, down to its paws, which spread at the toe almost like a camel's foot.
It's probably how they were able to creep up on us so silently.
"You can understand him, right?" I ask, but Airos shakes his head no.
The leader gestures toward the well, his voice rising in what sounds like accusation. The other riders murmur in agreement. One of them points at me and my wet hair, then at the dark saturated sand at the base of the well, and lets loose with an angry tirade as he waves his hand above his head.
"Yeah, definitely doesn't look like they're gonna forgive us for the splashy splashy," I mutter before bowing my head, trying to look as apologetic as possible.
The leader barks an order, and his men raise and twirl their slings, filling the quiet air with an eerie whistling noise.
Airos moves even closer to me, shielding me with the entirety of his body so that my belly is pressed right up against the small of his back.
Then he lifts his hand, and I feel him take command of what little power he has regenerated.
Two plumes of sand explode up like geysers around the riders, ruining their slings and knocking three of them from their startled mounts.
But that's all Airos has in him. I catch him under his armpits as he falls to one knee, his hand clutching his staff for support.
"Get behind the well," he tells me.
"Hell no. You know I ain't hiding. I can fight."
" JACKSON, " he snaps.
The look in his eyes and the fire in his voice makes my heart jump, and I find myself scampering around the well to take cover like he told me to.
There's not a single man outside of a uniform with bars on the shoulders who can make me move like this, and yet he just did.
I hate feeling like I can't take care of myself, but right now, as I stare at the back of this man who has put himself between my pregnant body and six men meant to harm me, something shifts inside of me, like an engine finally coughing to life after so many failed starts, that sudden roar when the fuel line clears and everything fires in perfect sequence.
I can't explain it. I don't understand it. I don't like this feeling. I don't like it at all. But I want more of it.
How the fuck does that make any sense?
The leader's beast screeches angrily as it rears and shakes sand from its fur and feathers, and he yanks its reins and wrestles it back under control.
I brace myself for the attack—but instead, the man leaps from the saddle.
The others also dismount or rise from where they've fallen.
There's been a clear shift in the energy.
They're acting cautiously now, waiting for the leader's command.
Suddenly, he drops to his knees in front of us and grumbles something that sounds like " shalkek ."
The word echoes through the group as the others all do the same. Airos's shoulders relax, and he exhales a long, relieved breath as he leans against the edge of the well.
"This word I think I know," he says, glancing back at me. "I believe we're going to be fine... For now."
"Well, what the hell does it mean?"
" Fated ."
The riders are adamant that we come with them, and we aren't really in a position to say no. According to Airos, the animals are called sand gryphs, and one of them is made available for us to ride.
"Just one?" I say, eyeing the creature warily. The beast stands taller than a horse, with its feathered head bobbing impatiently and golden eyes tracking our movements. "You expect both of us to ride on that thing? Together?"
The leader of the nomads makes a flowing gesture with his hand, pointing first to the sand gryph, then to Airos and me. His meaning is clear even through the language barrier.
I'm not exactly thrilled about playing damsel in distress. The thought of riding between Airos's legs for who knows how long makes my skin prickle with a heat that has nothing to do with the desert sun.
"I can walk." I mimic a walking motion with my fingers.
The leader cocks his head slightly, then repeats the flowing gesture with his hand as he says something to me. He's insisting I ride.
"We don't both need to?—"
"Jackson," Airos cuts me off with that same authoritative tone that had sent me scurrying for cover earlier. "Don't be stubborn. You're pregnant, we're both exhausted, and we don't know how far we're traveling."
I clench my jaw, hating that he's right. The nomads are watching this exchange with obvious interest, their eyes crinkling at the corners in what I'm guessing are hidden smiles beneath their face coverings, and suddenly I feel like this whole thing is being misconstrued in the wrong fucking way.
They think Airos and I are a goddamn couple!
"Fine," I growl. "But I'm not riding in front."
Airos raises an eyebrow. "It would be more comfortable and safer for you if?—"
"Behind. You."
We stare at each other for a long moment before Airos sighs and shakes his head. "As you wish."
He moves to the sand gryph and strokes its feathered neck before gripping the simple leather harness and swinging himself up onto its back with surprising ease.
The creature huffs but accepts his weight, settling its powerful haunches in the sand.
Airos extends his hand to me. I stare at it like it might bite.
All the others have mounted, and they're watching me, waiting.
I swallow my pride and grip Airos's forearm, letting him help haul me up.
The sand gryph snorts at the added weight, and I scramble to find a secure position behind Airos, fighting to keep space between us.
It's a losing battle. The animal's back is narrower than it looks, and as soon as it stands to its full height, I slide forward against Airos's back, my swollen belly pressing awkwardly against him.
A murmur goes around the group, like they're perplexed about why I would choose to put myself behind him.
I'm embarrassed as hell, and pissed off about it. This shouldn't get to me, but it does.
The leader shouts a command, and the entire group surges forward in unison.
Our mount lurches beneath us, and I grab Airos's waist instinctively to keep from sliding off.
His body is firm and warm beneath my hands, and I immediately try to loosen my grip, but another dip in the beast's gait has me clutching him tighter.
As we make our way across the seemingly endless desert, following whatever invisible trail our guides can see, I try to focus on anything but the feeling of Airos's body against mine.
The rhythmic swaying of the sand gryph's stride.
The shifting colors of the sand as the sun begins its descent.
The towers of rock rising like red-orange skyscrapers on the distant horizon, or the strange, gutturally melodic sound of the nomads as they call to each other over the whistling wind.
But my mind keeps circling back to something that's been lingering in my thoughts since the moment I'd regained consciousness after the battle with the bugs.
Not a dream. My dreams always feel like I'm witnessing them from afar.
This felt more like I'd been jacked into someone else's memory and forced to live in it.
Like wearing someone else's clothes that don't quite fit.
I couldn't even say if I actually saw anything at all.
It was more of a kaleidoscope of feelings and impressions; of an island and the ocean, of being home, then the whiplash of being overcome by the sharpest terror and deepest sadness I'd ever felt.
I somehow know that whatever these memories and feelings are, they have Airos's fingerprints all over them. I don't know how to ask. I don't even think I really want to know.