Phoenyx Rising (Demigods Duet Book 1) Read online

  I feel a cold fingertip brush the hair off my face. My body is rigid with fear. It's a gentle touch, but it makes me cringe. Touch is never gentle. Touch is pain. How do I know touch is pain?

  When I open my eyes, there are two strange men standing over me. I scream and the flames envelop me and the bed I lay on, causing the man touching me to jump. A sharp pain shoots up my arm. My eyes lose focus and I slip into the comforting blackness once again.

  When I come to, I am still in a holding cell, there is no evidence of the bed being burnt, and I am no longer strapped to it. Fresh clothes have replaced the burnt ones, which makes me thankful and makes me cringe at the thought of someone touching my naked unconscious body. My hands are now cuffed together in front of me. The strange man who hovered over me is gone; he is now sitting on the other side of a very thick looking glass wall. He’s learned quickly to be afraid of me, pity. I am shaking with the unspent rage and shock. Where the hell I am and why I am being treated like a prisoner. What could I have done to deserve this kind of treatment? He sits quietly, in a folding chair reading from a file. His calmness and normalcy at the situation at hand makes me want to scream, to incinerate the building so I can crawl out from the ashes.

  My eyes dance around the room, looking for a way out, some weakness that I can use in my favor. Sitting up, I brush a strand of long, messy red hair out of my face with my cuffed hands, watching him. He’s in some kind of military uniform, spotless right down to his shiny boots. Who is he? What could he possibly want with me? Did he bring me here? He senses my movement and looks up; a scowl pinches his ready severe, angry face. Closing the file, he looks to his right; speaking to someone I can't see or hear. A clicking noise follows and I can hear him clear his throat through the speaker above the glass. I pull my knees up to my chest, the only barrier between me and whatever this angry man is about to say.

  “What is your name?” he interrogates with coldness.

  “Phee...” I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound stronger, “Phoenyx Ember,” I reply. This makes him smile; it's not a kind smile. He is a predator. He thinks I am his prey. He is foolish if he thinks I won't kill him to get out of here. I will do everything in my power to get away.

  “Do you know where you are?” he asks. I shake my head, Hell?

  “How long have you had your powers, Phoenyx? Do you understand what I'm talking about? What I mean by powers?” he asks. I shake my head in response. Are there others like me?

  “Your people are called Demigods; rich and powerful beings that consider themselves the elite of this world. It’s a self-gratifying name for nothing more than a defect in human evolution that should have been wiped out as soon as it was discovered, not revered. Self-serving freaks the lot of you! None of you can be trusted. We can never be sure of the depth of your power. If I had my way, I would eradicate your entire species,” he is seething.

  His hatred for all Demigods is extreme. How many others are there and if he wants to execute me, how am I supposed to get out of here?

  “How you got on the compound?” His questions continued, the same words over and over. Words like compound, security breach, assassination. I shiver, holding my knees tighter. Nothing I say will make a difference, I shake my head at all his questions, not even listening to him.

  “You were found near a burned-out barn, in the middle of a secure compound. You detonated an explosion that destroyed ten acres. Do you remember any of that?” My head jerks up; I shake my head again, no, lies. Ten acres? I know I did it, and I would do it again if it meant I could save him. I did everything in my power and still couldn't save him or myself.

  “How did you, an unregistered Demigod, end up there? Who sent you? Who got you onto the compound? Did you know who you are responsible for killing? Did someone make you do it? Who helped you?” His voice is getting harder and faster, more impatient. I blink at his questions. Did he just say kill?

  “I don't know. There...there was a boy,” I croak. The only answer I have for all his questions. This piques his interest. He looks down at some papers and back to me, his eyes narrow in disbelief.

  “What was his name? Did he make you do it?” he asks quickly.

  “Do what? I... I don't understand,” I say, pushing the heels of my dirty hands into my eyes, trying to stop the pain behind my eyes. With a sigh, I respond, “My head is pounding. I was almost beaten to death. I'm covered in someone else's blood, I'm still filthy from sleeping in the dirt, and you won't stop asking me these questions, questions I don't know the answers to!” I scream at him. I am done with this interrogation, having no control over anything in my life.

  He is losing his patience as he glares at me, red faced; the vein on the side of his head is bulging. I wonder if I could feel his pulse if I touch it.

  “The remains of four bodies were recovered from what was left of the compound, on those ten acres. Four people are now dead because of you and your powers! And you are telling me you have no idea who it was you killed?” He spits the words like venom at me. They start to sink in.

  Four people? A shudder runs through my body. Four bodies... No, no, no. This cannot be happening. I didn't think there were people close by. “No, I didn't mean— “But he cuts me off, unable to contain his rage any longer.

  “YOU DIDNT MEAN TO! Somehow, in your idiotic teenage mind, you think saying that makes it all okay. You are a danger to the world, Phoenyx Ember, and should have been killed on sight. There are laws in our world; three strikes, three acts of violence using your abilities, and the offender is put to death. How the trackers didn't find you before now is a mystery, a tragedy! You should have never been allowed to cause this kind of damage. The fate of our world is in chaos and you are responsible.”

  “No,” shaking my head, this isn’t happening.

  “There is a reason your kind are locked away the moment your defect is awakened. Who raised you? Where did you live? Who kept you hidden?” He was getting fed up asking questions and getting no answers. I couldn't help him; I had none. I shake my head again.

  “I. Don't. Know.” I speak slowly so my voice won't crack. I am barely containing the inferno within. I can feel the prickling of the flames begin in my palms, and then spread out over my body in a flash of heat. A bead of sweat trickles down my neck, and I try to focus on my breathing.

  “You don't know? Do you remember the day before we found you?” I shake my head, clenching my teeth. He frowns, “The day before that? Your last birthday? Christmas? School? Your parents?”

  I shake my head slowly through all the questions, fists clenched. What is happening to me? I can see the rage building in him like a mirror to the rage brewing in me. Our beasts are clawing at the surface, ready for blood.

  “I find it hard to believe that you remember nothing of your life or how you came to be on the most secure compound in the country!” He is seething. He doesn't believe me. I don't blame him; I wouldn’t either, but it doesn't change the fact I don't know anything he is demanding from me. The longer he shouts questions me, the more I realize I am probably never leaving this room. If it is true, and I am responsible for killing four people, I will be put to death. The reality of my situation pushes me over the edge. I don't want to die here.

  “I don't know anything! I wasn't on any compound! I remember a barn, that’s it. I don't know what you’re talking about,” I croak out, squeezing my eyes closed. He finally loses his cool, standing quickly and approaching the glass. His chair goes flying out behind him, landing on its side across the room.

  “You murder four people and you remember nothing! Give me some answers or I will drag them from your screaming, broken body!” he screams at me, spit collides with the glass at the same time as his fist and I wonder if the glass was put there to protect him or me.

  “What gives you the right to lock me up, question me? Accuse me of these horrible things!” Standing now, I grab the chair positioned in front of the glass; it burst into flames instantly. “I DONT KNOW ANYTHING!
Let me out of here!” I scream as I hurl the flaming chair into the glass, right at his smug face. The glass shatters and I lunge for the opening. Before I get my hands on him, a familiar sharp pain explodes in my arm and I come crashing to the ground. My eyelids are slipping closed. The man is shouting orders, swearing. He approaches, where I am being held down by two guards. Something cold and metal is locked onto my wrist.

  “Excellent, I was hoping you’d choose the hard way,” he declares before motioning a guard forward, who grips my head in his huge hands. Pain erupts behind my eyes; I cry out, thrashing, trying to free myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to focus on using my abilities to get me out of here, but something is blocking me. When he finishes his torture, he throws my head back and it cracks on the ground. My eyes start to lose focus. A voice echoes through my mind.

  “Phoenyx Ember, you are hereby charged with the murder of four citizens.” The bottom drops out of the world. No, this cannot be happening.

  Before I lose consciousness, I try to make out what they are saying.

  “Sir, someone has wiped her memory.”

  “Brand her and ship her to the Academy. If she remembers something, we will come for her. If not, leave her there to rot with the rest of them. She is useless.” Whatever meds they gave me start to kick in. I don't have more than a minute to realize my life is over before I slip into the comforting blackness once again.

  Chapter Four

  When I wake up I’m in a new room, no glass wall or handcuffs. Just four grey brick walls. My body aches like I've been sleeping for days. Who knows how long they have kept me unconscious. I've been washed, my cuts cleaned and bandaged, and I am now dressed in clean clothes. I try not to think about more strangers washing my naked body.

  My wrists ache from the handcuffs. I lift my sleeve to look at the bruising and there circling both my small wrists are two thick black lines. The skin looks red and angry all the way around it.

  Panic starts rising as it all comes back to me, four tattoos, four murder charges, a Danger to the world. I try frantically to rub them off; touching the freshly tattooed skin hurts so much, but I keep scrubbing, ignoring the pain. I scratch at them until they bleed. Cradling my arms to my chest, I rock myself back and forth, crying, begging, and praying for someone to come save me from this nightmare.

  People came into my cell every day. Whatever was blocking my powers has been removed, so here I sit, in waiting for them to open the door. Having no clock, I have no idea what time they come. But here I am, standing behind this door like an idiot, getting ready to fight back with all I have. When the door creaks open, I launch myself on the guard, grabbing his throat with blazing hands, I am going to use him as a leverage to get out of here. What I didn’t count on was the fact that I am barely five feet tall and this bastard is over six feet, out weighing me easily. There is no way I can pull his body out the door. A second guard jabs his fist into my side, my knees go weak, collapsing under me. They pick me up and I am thrown, not so gently, into my cell.

  Having no idea how much time passes after I am locked in this room. Clearly my escape attempt pissed them off because no one comes inside my cell anymore. Meals are slipped through a slot in the door. Hours bleed into days, days into months. Years could pass, decades and no one out there will miss me, no one is looking for me. The world could live and die while I am locked inside these four walls, and I would never know. To kill the time, I pace for hours on end to remind my body that I am still alive; I'm losing whatever small grip I had on reality. The desperation of it all pulls me under after days of trying to find the will to live. I know nothing about who I am, where I come from. I run my finger over a scar I find winding up my left forearm. That should have killed me. Did I do this to myself? I wonder what it felt like to pull that cool blade over my soft, pale skin. Did I hope I would die? Was I sad to wake up to another day?

  Like thick black sludge, my desperation coats the walls of my cell, tainting everything. After losing all will to pace, I curl on the floor. I don't deserve a bed. IF only I could stop breathing…I've tried. I always wake up, alive and disappointed. Apparently, my body has a will to live even if my mind doesn’t. Will death find me here? In my darkest moments, I beg for death. With nothing to hang by or swallow, I dream of a blade so sharp and true it ends this bitter existence. This is what I deserve, to spend the rest of my life suffering for the lives I took. I am a murderer.

  Waking up to another day in a never-ending nightmare of the same four walls trapping my insanity. Multiplying it over and over until it chokes out the air I breathe. Until I don't think I will ever feel the sun on my skin. How would I survive outside these walls?

  In the inky darkness, I sift through the memories I have, flickers really. Until a memory hits me like a freight train.

  I'm outside. Running wild in the grass, excited, I never get to play outside. It's sunny and there are the prettiest pink flowers along the fence. They are so soft and I snuck out to pick some for my room. Letting the sun warm my skin, I sit on steps picking the small velvet petals off one by one, brushing them on my cheek and over my lips. They are so soft; I love the way they tickle. Pain erupts in the back of my head as I'm dragged by my hair up the stairs and into the house. Father has hold of me. My feet stagger as I try to walk, but I'm not fast enough, I stumble and cry when he tightens his grip, “I’m sorry,” I want to explain to him that I wanted to be outside that I hated being locked inside, but he won’t listen.

  “You ever step foot out of this house again, and I will kill you and your whore of a mother,” Father yells in my face, then opens the basement door and throws me down the stairs. Pain shoots through my arm, I lay in the spot I land, cradling my arm across my chest, letting my tears fall silently. I never should have gone outside; I knew what would happen if I was caught.

  Marcus finds me a few hours later. He carries me to my room, setting me down on my bed, and checks my arm for broken bones. Speaking softly, he tells me everything will be okay. I don't believe him, but the words feel like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  “I can't keep you safe if you disobey him, Phee. If someone were to see you use your powers...” He trails off, not wanting to scare me. I know it was bad. My gift isn’t like Father’s and Marcus’. They can hide theirs, no one knows what they can do, but mine could expose us all. If I use them carelessly, I could hurt someone, even kill someone.

  I gasp at the flash of my life. He warned me if I were careless, someone would die. He was right.

  When night comes, this box I'm locked in takes on a life of its own. The dark voices in my head chant murderer, murderer in haunting whispers. My skin erupts and cools over and over. Feeling nothing, I scream in frustration, wanting nothing more than to feel pain, cause pain. Break, burn, and destroy. Growing primal, like a trapped wild animal ready to gnaw its own leg off if it means freedom. I destroy anything I can get my hands on, but no one comes.

  Food keeps getting slid through a hole in the door twice a day. Regardless of how loud I scream “Let me out of here,” to the person on the other side, I see no one. I talk to myself, trying to search out my lost memories. I am a clean slate. I remember nothing except the boy’s name, Marcus; I think he was my brother but why would my brother leave me here?

  In this cell, alone, I fight the demons of my own creation. No one will tell me how long my sentence is, if they will ever let me out. Will they kill me? Or am I destined to spend the rest of my days in this room? There are so many things I don't understand. My body was covered in bruises and cuts from the attack at the barn; those wounds have slowly healed, but there were other scars littering my body. Someone has hurt me, and I have no memory of it. Someone's hands touched me in anger, and I don't know who they are.

  What was I running from? My imagination runs wild with possible monsters that could have caused these scars. I grasp onto the scraps of memories I have. I pace the room, going over every detail I remember. I’m terrified something else will slip through my fingers
and be forgotten forever.

  My name is Phoenyx Ember, they called me a Demigod, I have Pyrokinetic powers; the ability to create, control, and manipulate fire. A boy tried to save me. I killed him. I shudder at the thought. I’ve killed four people. I touch my now healed, and very permanent tattoos, two thick bands wrap around each wrist, shackles I will carry with me for the rest of my life. My crimes forever imbedded on my skin. And on the back of my right hand is a symbol that looks like a diamond with a cross in the middle. It looks kind of bad ass, though if the other marks mean murderer, who knows what this one means.

  Another few days until I let the wave of desperation pull me under again as I end up crying myself to sleep, wishing I had something sharp to carve the pain out of my chest, wishing I wouldn’t have scared the guards away. Best guess is that I have been here for a few months. When food is delivered, I mark the wall but it's only a vague guess.

  A week later the clicking of a door lock startles me. Across the room, I see someone standing in the doorway to my cell. His back is to me as he speaks quietly to someone outside the door. I gasp as fear takes over and my body is already ignited in case anyone tries to touch me. He turns at the sound of my gasp, and I see a familiar pair of stormy grey eyes. It's the boy from the barn and my flashes, my brother, Marcus is alive. Dropping the flames that protect my body, I rush into his arms, “You’re alive,” sobbing uncontrollably. He holds me close, rocking me. He pulls me back, brushing the tears away.