48. Phoenix
Phoenix
Istand up and look down at the body of my sister. She is pale in a puddle of blood, the scent is strong on me, and when I look down, I see that I’m covered in it. She will live again. We both will.
One day, our souls will find each other. She’s flying free now. Weightless, innocent, and without burdens.
My anger is so cold that it surpasses these mortal things. My flames burn higher inside until I tremble with it.
“Who are you?” Father shouts, looking at me. “I don’t know you.”
He screams and clutches at his shoulder where the single old scar of a bond sits. It must be tearing him apart. Callea’s last gift to this monster.
He’s on his knees, his mask ripped off. Just a mortal man, an old one at that. An ugly one. Just an alpha with no more power in him than that. Every single aspect of his power came from the mask and the fear he wielded like a talisman.
That mask is gone.
I wear a mask, too: the mask of the body.
“I am Phoenix, risen from the ashes of the life you destroyed. I will be your end. Your punishment. Judge and executioner. You had a life, a chance to be kind, to be a good alpha. Instead, you wasted it hurting children and murdering those who got in your way.”
I speak slowly, enunciating my words with an accent that the body can’t quite manage.
“What the fuck do I care about children or people?” he screams, his back bowing. “Everyone deserves to die. Merelee, you waste. I should have killed you the day I found you.”
His eyes widen as I step slowly towards him. My pack gather around me, their family and friends around them. The children of this monster who have crept back watch on in horror.
I look up at the woman perched on the chair. I can smell the wrongness in her. She has two faces.
“Kill them,” I say quietly.
“With pleasure,” she purrs at me. “Jump.”
Twenty men climb the rails and then jump headfirst to the ground below. I look into the dark and spot the omega that is mine. He goes from body to body, slicing the throats of those still alive.
He is a very good hunter.
Now, there are no witnesses. I turn to the Nightingales, who have returned with Meg and Desi. The Flock holding them are dead and those chasing have been dispatched, but the children stare at me in terror.
I guess I look like a monster. I feel like one.
“Remove your masks.”
They hesitate, but one after another, they take off their masks.
I look them over. They have nothing in common other than being female. The eldest would be no more than fifteen.
Korax stands in the shadows, watching me intently. He’s going to try to stop me if I try to hurt his precious children.
I won’t.
I don’t care about children.
“Return the children to their guardians. Choose new names. You are no longer little birds.”
They stare at me with huge, wide eyes. Korax hesitates and then walks into the group, murmuring to them.
“Not those two!” I say when he reaches for the last two.
He glares at me. “What do you intend to do with them?”
Those are the two children who don’t have guardians. The ones who didn’t survive. I turn to the Sandersons.
“You will take them.”
Yvonne removes her mask, frowning. “Which ones?”
“Pigeon and Sparrow. Their guardians are no longer among the living. You will raise them to be good and strong. Killers with morals and the ability to do good in the world.”
Yvonne looks at Mitchel. A long look that says more with eyes than words. He dips his chin.
“Okay,” Yvonne says softly. “It would be nice to have some kids around again.”
“Take them now,” I say coldly.
Bonnie and her alphas hesitate.
“Go,” I say without looking at her.
Mark and his dogs look at me, then rush up the stairs to where Sariah is perched. He picks her up and carries her out of the building, all the while she protests.
Which just leaves me with my pack, a warehouse of dead bodies, and the man who killed my family.
“String him up.”
They get him hung up, and I start to work. Using the blade that has become a talisman of love. I am slow and systematic. I repeat every wound that I experienced, every one that I saw on Callea.
In the end, he’s barely breathing, and he has almost no skin left, but the fires of my rage are still burning. I don’t think I will ever put them out.
I open my mouth and let out a shriek, a scream that echoes and echoes. The alters inside me rise until we are all together, staring at the man who hurt us, who killed every family member we had, and we lift our hand, the one that is covered with blood.
The one that has her blood and mine.
We push the blade into his throat, and we slowly saw through it and watch his life leave him.
It should end things. It should make everything better and fix everything. But it doesn’t.
I return to the dark and leave the alters to catch the body.