Page 2 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)

She smiles. "And some say that this knot would tie two people together for eternity. Best friends, or... or more."

I burst into a fit of laughter. "Rachyl, you are into some weird-ass shit. I could definitely see you starting an Etsy store, though."

She stops what she's doing and stares at me. Then, she slaps the knot into my lap, grabs her backpack and walks away.

"W-wha... Hey! The hell, man? Rachyl, where are you going?!"

Too late. Headphones are on and hoodie is up. I've been shut out.

The corded knot is unfinished. The end still hangs apart as two loose strands. I stuff the thing into my pocket and turn back to my lunch. Whatever. I'll see her after school.

Slowly, the world around me fades away, and the sounds of the past go soft and muddy.

It all vanishes.

Damn... What a dumbass I was. How did I not see what she was trying to say?

My eyes open again.

I'm awake. Actually awake.

I quickly shake off the haze of sleep to return to the noisy, dark, smelly brig of the flying ship I'm a captive in.

My heart hammers against my ribcage. Memories swirl around my mind, and I fight to empty my thoughts of them.

Now is not the time to get caught up thinking about McScott or Rachyl.

It's not the time to be thinking about my failures as a man.

I'm not going to get into another fight with myself, another shouting match inside my head to remind myself of what I'm not .

I raise my right hand to press my palm over my pounding chest, and the weight of the wrist shackle and bump of the iron chain against my swollen belly rudely reinforce my current reality.

Our current reality.

I know nothing about him, other than that he's one of us—the third Chosen omega.

That part was obvious from the moment I laid eyes on him, two days ago.

The clothes are a dead giveaway—nobody else around here wears cargo pants and Nikes.

He's a man of few words, and I get it. Anyone would question their sanity waking up in a place like this.

He's been in Circeana as long as I have, but it's clear that he hasn't dealt with his new reality quite the same as me.

I think he still doesn't quite trust that I'm really from Earth, or that I'm real at all.

I've seen this kind of thing before in people I served with.

The first time you find yourself in a combat situation and realize that it's nothing like how you imagined, and that you're not nearly as brave as you fantasized.

It's like your brain just shuts down a little.

Goes from zeroes and ones to just zeroes.

A blinding shaft of sunlight wipes across the wooden stairs leading up to the trap door out of this place, and the werewolf in charge of guarding our door clomps down them with a clay cooking pot of gruel hanging from his furry fist.

"Food," the wolf grunts, and he pours the slop into bowls and slides them across the floor to us, spilling half their contents, then tosses two pieces of hard bread that clonk along the wood like stones.

My cell mate squeezes his eyes shut and sits very still, like a kid trying to will away an imaginary monster.

I crawl out to the limit of my chain and grab the bowls.

It's the first food we've had in a day. As the guard heads back up the stairs, I crane my neck to try and get a better view through the trap door.

I make some mental notes about our captor—his stature, his weaponry, his capability.

Some people look tough but aren't; others are more subtle.

This guy looks like no slouch. He knows how to use the sword hanging at his waist. How many more like him are there on board this ship?

The one who captured me was a cat shapeshifter carrying a bow and arrows.

I haven't seen her since I was brought onboard.

The trap door slams shut. It takes a minute for my eyes to readjust to the amount of light shining through the gaps and knots in the wooden hull.

"Here," I say, sliding the bowl over to my cell mate.

He looks at it distrustfully. I can't blame him, but I know that our captors are going to want to keep us healthy until they've gotten what they need from us.

Which is... what, exactly?

As far as my knowledge of their MO is concerned, it's to get us to their leader, Umbrios. A certifiable deity, according to Tyler and the others. This dark god needs us to complete his takeover of this world, apparently. But it's the nitty-gritty details that I'm lacking.

What are they planning to do with our babies?

I examine the stale bread and flick a wriggling weevil larva off the crust. Then I dip the bread into the gruel and take a big bite.

"Honestly, you'd think they would give us better food. We're precious cargo." I flash a wry smile. "Yeah, that's a goddamn baby in your stomach."

"And... you are too?" he asks in a soft voice, hesitating. "Pregnant?"

I'm startled to hear him speak, but I maintain my composure. I lift the front of my cloak.

"Sure am," I say. "As much as I want it to not be the case, this ain't no dream I can force myself awake from. Don't worry. It's not gonna bust out of you, Alien style."

His smile carries a tinge of relief, like it was something he had been concerned about. Then he picks up the bowl and slowly dips the bread into the gruel and takes a bite. It's not long before both of us are scarfing that shit down.

"Always eat, and always eat fast," I say. "You never know where or when your next meal might be in front of you. And we're going to need to stay fueled if we're gonna bust out of here."

"How?" he asks hesitantly.

"Still working on that. But don't worry. Let's just say this isn't my first rodeo. You ready to tell me your name?"

He nods. "It's Dustin. Dustin Levine."

"Jackson Bird." I raise my hand in front of my face to show the shackle. "Before we can do any escaping, breaking these is priority number one."