Page 6 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)

I know this technology—or magic—is common in this world. I've seen them all around, from flying ships to work carts hovering across the ground. Every one of them must use phoenix power. This is industrial-scale extraction. This is what happens to phoenixes.

We enter a narrow corridor that angles upward, and the throbbing beat of the engine room fades enough for me to hear the sound of my own breath again.

"We're almost there, I think," Dustin whispers.

"You think?" I repeat back.

"I'm pretty sure," he says. "Yeah. I think there's a door coming up on the left. I remember, because it was just before the noise room."

Sunlight shines through a wooden grate in the ceiling ahead, and I stop us before we walk beneath it. There are two wolfmen standing there, and their voices drift down.

"...once we get to Al'Phaer."

"You son of a bitch. You're not really thinking of leaving Praxis Skotos?"

"Why not? Fifty shares of gold and drachmae can buy my own ship."

"He'll kill you."

"I'll risk it."

A loud bell suddenly rings out from somewhere above. The wolfmen look at each other and hurry away, their footsteps creaking across the deck.

"What was that?" Dustin asks.

"Probably our cue to get a move on," I say urgently. "C'mon."

The corridor stretches ahead of us, wooden walls closing in tight. The first door we reach comes by on our right. Then another, and another.

"Dustin," I say. "There ain't no left door here."

At the corridor's end, a wooden ladder leads up through a narrow shaft to a hatch overhead. I stare up at it.

"Maybe it was a right, after all," he stammers. "I'm sorry."

Just as we turn to double back to the first door, it swings open and two wolfmen hurry out with swords drawn.

"There they are!" one snarls, thrusting his sword at us. The other wolf turns his head up to the grated opening in the ceiling and lets out a piercing howl.

"Back!" I shout at Dustin, shoving him toward the ladder. "Up, up, up!"

The wolves barrel down the hallway at me with their fangs bared and swords raised. I raise the nail and feel like I'm wielding the world's tiniest thumbtack. But even thumbtacks can be dangerous in the right hands.

The one on the right makes it to me first. He thrusts his sword at my head, and I dodge out of the way by dropping into a fast crouch.

The blade gets stuck in the wall behind me, and I lunge forward and smash my shoulder into his knees.

He yelps in surprise and stumbles off balance, colliding with the base of the ladder.

Dustin nearly loses his grip, but keeps on climbing.

The other wolf is on me now, and I quickly dive forward to get inside his attack circle—I don't want to be anywhere near his sword.

He snaps at me with his fangs, and I feel a sudden sting on my cheek and the flow of warm blood.

He tries to put distance between us, but I crowd him like a boxer going in for an attack.

My jabs are fast. For a few seconds, he doesn't even know I've gotten him.

Then he slams his palm to his chest. Blood flows over his fingers and soaks his tunic and fur. He drops his sword.

I spin around. The first attacker is trying to get his sword out from the wall, but when he looks back and sees his buddy lying on the floor and me gunning for his ass with a bloody spike in my fist, he changes his tactics and clambers up the ladder after Dustin.

Time compresses in a fight. The shot of adrenaline, the way your brain separates from logic and enters a heightened primal space.

Some people have trouble decoupling in the face of violence, but I've never had a problem with it.

I've gotten used to it—gotten good at it, even.

Imagine being able to look death in the face without flinching, and yet when it comes to looking at myself, the first thing I want to do is flee.

Everything happens in less than ten seconds.

The wolfman is four rungs up the ladder, reaching out to grab Dustin's ankle.

Dustin clutches the ladder, his pregnant belly pressed up against the rungs.

Something in me snaps. I've defended children and pregnant women in active warzones before, but the protective fury that roars up inside of me is beyond anything that I've felt before.

The storm of emotion and thoughts whirling around my head all boils down to one single thing: I won't let you hurt our children.

I grab the wolfman's legs and slam my fist into his thigh, driving the spike deep into the muscle.

He lets out a snarling roar and kicks me in the side of my head.

Riiing. I fall onto my ass as lights flash around me like paparazzi.

I hear Dustin shouting my name. He's near the hatch at the top of the shaft.

The wolfman leaps down from the ladder and his feet thud on either side of my hips.

The end of the nail is poking out from his leg.

He grips it and tears it out with a grunt.

He tries to stab me in the face with the nail, but I shift my head out of the way just in time, and it sticks into the floor. He's on top of me and grabs my throat with one hand. I can feel the tips of his claws pushing into my skin. My vision blurs. Fuck . I can't breathe.

"Jackson!" Dustin shouts. His voice echoes like I'm inside a tin can.

I'm fighting, trying to muscle this fucker off of me, but it feels like he weighs a ton. It's gotta be because of the way his body is shaped. His physiology means a different center of gravity.

He snarls and snaps at me, foul breath pouring through his rotted fangs. I try to swing my leg up and drive it into him, to flip him off of me, but he's shifted forms to become even more wolf-like. I can't get the leverage. I can barely even get my leg up because of my belly.

Everything is closing in. A black tunnel circles around my vision.

" STOP !" shouts Dustin.

And all of a sudden, the wolf's muzzle retracts and I feel his claws become fingernails. Instead of an ugly wolf's face snarling at me, there's an ugly man's face. He looks down at himself in surprise.

That's all I need. I grab his tunic at the waist and thrust my knee up, driving it straight into his crotch and beyond, lifting him into the air and throwing him over my head.

I'm back on my feet. Dustin stares down, eyes wide in surprise.

Did he do that? Did he force the guy out of his wolf form?

The man recovers, rising up to one knee. "What is this?" he yells, looking at his hands. His face scrunches up with effort. "I can't shift!"

He strides forward, eyes blazing with anger, without even a limp from the wound I put in his thigh.

These motherfuckers are built tough, but at least it'll be a fair fight this time.

I raise my fists into a guard, bobbing my head back and forth as I track his movements.

He makes a telegraphed swing to my head, and I evade and land a solid jab on his chin.

It's like hitting a brick wall. Goddamn solid bones.

Bam, bam . I cut in and connect with a gut punch, and when he lurches over, I pivot on my toes and throw my weight into a devastating uppercut that flips his chin like a Pez dispenser.

He staggers backward onto his heel. For a second, it looks like he's about to recover, but I know that look in his eyes.

Or lack of one. Then they roll back into his head, and he goes down hard.

"Fuckin' A," I say. "I think I broke a knuckle."

No response from Dustin. I whirl around. A patch of blue sky is visible through the open hatch at the top of the empty ladder.

Son of a... Why didn't he wait for me?

With a sharp tug, I pry the sword stuck into the wall and climb the ladder. Slowly, carefully, I peek up over the rim.

My heart plunges into my feet.

Dustin is on his knees, trapped between two armed men, their drawn blades crossed in front of him. His eyes meet mine, wide with terror. Sitting casually on the ground in front of them is that damn cat sniper, the same one that took me captive. She licks the back of her paw and hops up to her feet.

"Come on out," she calls to me. "There's nowhere for you to go."

A shadow falls over me. I don't need to turn around to know I have a sword pointed at the back of my head. I grip the rungs of the ladder, my knuckles burning and swollen. I hear shouts from the passageway below, and the thud of boots and paws.

Well, shit .