Phoenix Chosen #3 (The Phoenix Guardians #3)

1. Tyler

1

TYLER

A nd I thought getting hit by a car was painful.

The clouds break and Kalistratos soars over the city of Athenos with me safely caged in his talons, and another surge of intense cramps rolls through my body like an invisible fist wringing my insides out.

I remember Jane, the receptionist at the chemical company I used to do security for, ranting to me about her pregnancy and how men had it easy. I remember how I listened politely but never really gave it much more thought. I’ve had plenty of painful experiences, like the time my tooth got infected and I had to live with it for over a week while waiting for payday so I could get it taken care of. Or when I ate shit riding dirt bikes with my friends in high school and could feel the broken ends of my collarbone grinding together. Or getting kicked in the balls by an unruly customer when I used to bounce at a local dive bar. I knew childbirth had to be no walk in the park, but men having it easy? I didn’t quite believe it.

Sorry, Jane. I’m a fucking idiot.

This is by far the gnarliest thing I’ve ever experienced—and it’s only just started.

Jesus.

Suddenly, a random factoid pops into my head about the dangers of childbirth in the times before modern medicine, and a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. Something tells me the doctors in Circeana don’t know anything about germs.

“Almost there,” Kalistratos says, tilting his head to look at me with one bright copper eye.

I can feel the sonorous resonance of his voice against my body through the warmth of his chest plumage, and it’s the only thing bringing me any comfort right now. I’m scared as hell. I don’t know how I can possibly give birth. My body isn’t made for this.

No, that’s not true. My body wasn’t made for this. I’m an omega again, and getting pregnant and giving birth comes with the package.

Kalistratos banks left through a haze of fragrant smoke rising through the columns of a temple at the center of the city. I’m fully aware of the danger he’s putting himself in by using his phoenix form so openly over the biggest city in the region in broad daylight. Phoenikos have scattered themselves across the world, remaining in hiding to stay safe from the poachers who hunt them for the powers they believe they can extract from them, and now, because of me, everyone knows he's here, but I’m in no shape to protest. Another wave of contractions reminds me there’s no way in hell this baby is going to wait for me to give it permission to pop out.

“ Fuck, Kalistratos!” I groan. “This is not good! Wherever we’re going, get there now, because I don’t think it’s a good idea to poop out a baby two hundred feet in the air!”

“We’re almost there !” he repeats, and we drop suddenly in altitude like we’re plummeting off the apex of a roller coaster. Thrilling, normally. Right now? The worst.

With a final dip and swoop, he lands in a cramped alleyway. We’re in what must be a slum district, tightly packed with dilapidated buildings made of mudbrick and faded wood, with roofs of thatch and haphazardly placed tiles, sagging with the weight of neglect. Laundry hangs from ropes overhead, and the air is thick with the smell of cooking smoke, dust and sewage. Wonderful.

Kalistratos is in his human form now, and he has me cradled in his arms. Carefully, he lowers me to my feet, keeping my arm wrapped around his shoulder for support. The pain has lulled again, but I know it’s just like a tidal wave—when the waters pull back, something bad is coming.

“Almost where?” I say miserably. “Please don’t tell me I’m gonna be giving birth in a pile of garbage…”

Kalistratos is hunched over, looking ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. I feel bad that I’m giving him shit right now. He’s afraid too, maybe even more than I am.

“Can you move quickly?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “The pain comes in waves. I’ll try.”

He shakes his head and, without waiting, scoops me back up. “I won’t risk it.”

My man is strong as hell. He moves with me in his arms, quickly navigating the twists and turns of the slum back alley. The contractions start again, and despite my best efforts, I fail at keeping silent. Kalistratos doesn’t stop. I see curious faces coming to the open windows overhead, their eyes following after us.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter through clenched breaths.

He looks down at me and smiles briefly. “We’re going to be alright. I have a friend here who can help.”

“Seems like we can’t catch a break, huh? Always have someone or something chasing after us.”

“But at least we’re home.”

Kalistratos rounds a tight corner then comes to a sudden stop and pulls back into the dark of an overhanging canopy. Two humans carrying baskets of dried fish on their heads shuffle along the cross street.

“They say it was a Phoenikos,” I overhear one of them say.

“Nonsense. Why would a Phoenikos fly over Athenos?” says the other.

I hold my breath and bite the side of my wrist. I can feel the tension rolling through my back into my core. I squeeze my eyes closed. Their voices fade as they continue up the muddy street. When they’re finally gone, I bury my face into Kalistratos’s chest and let out a strained cry. He checks if the way is clear, then streaks through the intersection like a ghost, immediately turning down an alley so narrow the soles of my sandals drag along the clay wall. Eventually, the passageway widens. There’s a set of stone steps on our left, and Kalistratos goes up them to a door that looks ready to fall off its rotting hinges.

“Please be here,” he says before rapping the door with his foot in a clear staccato pattern.

Thirty seconds later, a voice says, “Name yourself.”

“Kalistratos.”

There’s a clatter and whine of an interior gate opening, then the door unlatches. A woman with hard lines creased at the corners of her eyes peeks her face out. Her graying hair is pulled up into a bun hastily tied with strips of white linen, and she wears a muted sage green chiton draped over her shoulder and cinched at the waist with a weathered leather belt adorned with several pouches. She frowns warily.

“Zona,” Kalistratos says. “I really need your help.”

Uh oh. I know the expression on her face. It’s the look of someone over your shit.

“And why in the name of the Gods would I help a swindler like you?” she says.

He winces. “Well, because it’s your business to treat swindlers. And thieves, bandits, rogues, assassins, bounty hunters…”

“Only when they don’t swindle me ,” she replies sharply.

“Listen, I was going to deliver the rest of the drachmae, and?—”

“Yes? You only managed to remember now? After you led the entire Keresian Horde to my doorstep? I had to offer their Archon my best healing potions just to keep them from burning my place to the ground.”

“I swear, I was planning on paying you, but…”

Her sharp gaze turns to me for a moment. “You were too busy impregnating omegas?”

“Zona, this is my mate?—”

He’s cut off when she slams the door shut. I’m surprised it’s not the death blow that throws it right off the frame.

“Uh, Kalistratos,” I say, “what in the holy Circeana did you do?”

“Tried to steal from the wrong people,” he explains sheepishly. “Zona cured my wounds, and I might not have given her all I promised.”

“Kalistratos…”

“Hey, I was going to get her the rest of the coin, but we were hot on the trail of the temple map. It’s been nearly a year; I didn’t think she would still be so angry.”

“Dude, I would be fucking pissed ?—”

Boom . I’m rudely interrupted by a cascading chain of contractions that absolutely decimate my ability to do anything except howl in pain. Kalistratos curses and hurries back down the stairs. I see the look of desperation break across his face as he tries to figure out what to do next. Taking me to just any healer in Athenos wouldn’t be safe. It has to be someone he can trust—and obviously, that list is pretty short.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “I’ll take care of this.”

“What?” I grunt. “Are you going to deliver this thing yourself?”

He stares back at me with a determined look on his face that I might’ve found endearing if not for the damn circumstances. The reality that I might really be pushing this baby out in the middle of an alleyway has now taken hold, and I’m on the verge of tears.

“Hey!” a voice calls.

We both look up and see Zona standing in the doorway, palms pressed firmly onto her hips. She sighs, then beckons with a wave before returning inside.