Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(25)

In my duffel I carried a silk robe in all the shades of midnight: blue, purple, black with sparkles of silver. A gift from Sawyer, or perhaps my own personal curse, I hadn't yet tried it out. Guess now was the time.

The thing was bunched into a corner of the bag, beneath my clothes, gun, and toiletries. I held it up and the luscious material tumbled downward, revealing the shimmering image of a wolf—there, gone, and then there again.

I glanced at Sawyer, who still sat patiently, panting a little as he stared at me.

"Turn around," I ordered.

He snorted again. His repertoire of commentary was a tad limited in this form. Nevertheless, I could practically hear his thoughts. Nothing I haven't seen, and touched, and tasted before.

Which was how I'd gotten into this predicament in the first place. Sex with Sawyer had given me the ability to shape-shift, too.

He needed only to brush his clever fingers across one of the inked images that graced his body, and he would become that animal. Since I'd gotten my power from him, I could shape-shift the same way. Touch a tattoo, become a beast. It was slightly more complicated than that, but not by much.

However, since Sawyer's tattoos appeared on his human skin, this avenue wasn't open to me now. Luckily—I clenched my fingers more tightly around the purple silk—there was another way.

I glanced at the western horizon. No time for modesty; I had maybe half an hour of daylight left. I needed to talk to Sawyer, and then fight the invasion of the luceres.

Quickly I lost my jewelry and clothes—I didn't have enough with me to just burst through them—then I spun the robe across my shoulders. As the material settled against my skin, I changed.

A burst of light made me close my eyes. My skin went cold then hot, and I was falling. By the time my hands met the ground they were paws.

In this form, I could think like a human. I could reason; I could plan. I could also kill.

Shape-shifters are stronger, faster, better than their bestial counterparts. We were stronger, faster, and better than humans in a lot of ways, too.

For instance, as a wolf I could see into the damp darkness of the forest much farther than I'd been able to seconds before. I could smell everything, hear so much. In the distance, cars swooshed down a highway. Beneath that tree, a deer had slept.

I shook my head, felt the breeze brush my fur, fought the urge to run until I found that deer and brought it down with ease. My mouth watered. I hadn't eaten since yesterday.



Phoenix.

The word whispered through my head in Sawyer's voice—so deep, so luscious, yet treacherous, it made me shiver.

Sawyer had always called me "Phoenix"; I couldn't ever once remember him calling me "Liz" or "Elizabeth." He'd definitely never called me "baby."

I winced at the memory of Jimmy, then immediately brightened. If Sawyer were here, he wasn't helping Jimmy to die.

He slid along my body, rubbed his snout against mine. As much as I wanted to stick a knife in him most days, in this form we were pack, a connection that sang to me like a siren. I couldn't resist it, even when I knew that following him might get me smashed to death on sharp and dangerous rocks.



How did you find me? I thought.

"Speaking" as animals was a form of telepathy. Words were thoughts; feelings were scents. It's hard to explain.



I will always find you.

Not only did the stone apparently protect me from the Naye'i, it was also a homing device. Sawyer sensed where I was whenever I wore it.



I had a visit from your mother. She didn't much care for the turquoise.

His snout opened in a doggy grin, the most amusement I'd seen from Sawyer in any form. I caught the scent of something sweet; he was definitely laughing.



You thought she'd come after me?



Eventually.



Why?



I knew you'd become someone special, Phoenix. Which only meant killing you would be at the top of every Nephilim's to-do list.



Killing me appears to be the new favorite pastime of the next up-and-coming Antichrist wannabe.

His laughter died. / don't understand.

Quickly I filled him in on Summer's theory.



Have you ever heard that before?



No, but the fairy's right. Prophecies are guidelines and they can be interpreted many ways. Regardless of ifDoomsday is still in motion or on hiatus, the Nephilim will try to kill you, and the Naye'i needs to he stopped. We continue on the same way we have been.



Why did you come looking for me? I asked.

I had a feeling you might need help.

I stared at him for several seconds, suspicious, but who was I to argue with a premonition.



Ihad a vision, I said. This place will be wiped out by luceres if we don't do something.



What do you suggest?

In wolf form, Sawyer wouldn't be able to help me shoot luceres, even if I'd had an extra bow. However . . .

One of the ways to kill a shifter is a fight to the death with another shifter. Healing is accelerated by the shift itself, and if you're dead you can't shift, which means healing a mortal wound . . . ain't gonna happen.

Technically, I could have gone that route myself, shifting then fighting. However, I wasn't the killer Sawyer was. I hadn't been a wolf often enough or long enough to be much more than bad at it.