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  OUT OF THE STACKS

  Librarian Phoebe Addison has lived her entire life within a seventy-five mile radius of her small Louisiana town, but when she receives a strange medallion from her adventurous, off-world sister, reality tilts toward the bizarre. Everything Phoe thought she knew is…well, wrong. Dead wrong. But bone-numbing fear has no place in this brave new world—nor by the side of the dangerous, exquisite man who saves her life.

  …AND INTO THE FIRE

  Following the tragic slaughter of his family, operative Macijah “Cage” St. John understands evil in a way no man ever should. He traded happiness for a magnificent and terrible power, and fate isn’t done with him yet. He wasn’t looking for comfort. He didn’t need tenderness. But today he’ll play hero to a damsel in distress, and his quest will deliver him to the Martian colony of New London—and his heart to the demure Phoebe Addison. The bookish beauty’s hidden talents and deep abiding love just might save Cage from himself.

  NAKED

  A Phoenix Rising novel

  Alexandra Christian

  www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

  NAKED

  Copyright © 2017 Rachel A. Wylie-Johnson

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

  ISBN 978-1-944262-66-2

  E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  For Mom and Brennan

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When I began writing Cage and Phoe’s story, I thought that I would definitely have to remember to write an acknowledgment page. There were so many people that I wanted to thank for putting me on the path that ultimately led me to write this book. A book that I believe is my finest to date. So, of course, I promptly forgot to write one until after the book had gone to the editor.

  First and foremost, I have to thank my adoring husband, Tally, without whom I’d never be able to write a word. He’s a constant muse that understands all the weird quirks of living with an author, if for no other reason than because he is one. He’s the real hero in every story, having shown me that real love goes beyond anything you’ll find in a romance novel.

  I’m extremely lucky to have a cavalcade of family and friends that offer daily support and reassurance. My father, Alex, who still thinks I should just give up this writing thing and go back to teaching. Despite his pragmatism, the only thing he’s ever wanted for me is my happiness. Hopefully he’ll read this book and realize that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. My mother, Anita, never got to read any of my published works. I hope that the Phoenix Rising books can live up to the novels of love and adventure that offered her so much comfort. My older sisters, Jayel and Sarah Kathryn, have been my champions since the day I was born. Together we’re a coven of velociraptors that will gladly mow down any obstacle in our paths. It’s their love and faith that have kept me going all these years. They and my husband were also gracious enough to bring me the big brothers I always wanted in Derek, Justin and Brennan, and another sister in Miranda.

  There’s family you’re stuck with and family you choose. Though I’ve not always been the best at choosing, I do occasionally get it right. Petey, Susan, Amy, Jen, Nicole, and Melissa—each of you has played your own little part in my life and your support means the world.

  To the lovely staff at Boroughs Publishing Group—thanks for taking a chance on this series when nobody else would.

  And last, but certainly not least, I have to give full points to Ben C. Without you, there would be no Macijah St. John. You’d be far too modest to accept any of the credit and will likely never see it, but I’m offering my thanks just the same.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  NAKED

  1

  Cage hated trains almost as much as he hated space travel. Trains were always crowded, even more so than air transport because Maglev trains were cheap. They snaked around the continent in a spiderweb of tracks that could deliver anyone or anything from New York to Los Angeles in just a few hours.

  Plus, they were packed with smelly travelers and their obnoxious children. Dear God, the children. Cage had been thrown off the Trans-Alpine Maglev for brandishing a large dagger while pulling on a screaming child’s tongue, threatening to cut it off if the brat didn’t shut up.

  All that being said, it was infinitely easier to keep a low profile using everyman transport. And of course, given his condition, Cage could only travel comfortably at night. One might think night travel would mean the whole system would be less crowded, but, unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have that same idea.

  So there he was, boarding a Maglev bound for Vegas with at least five thousand of his nearest and dearest.

  “Welcome to the Connestoga Line Maglev. Please store your luggage securely in the compartments overhead,” a computerized voice droned as Cage boarded the train. The narrow aisles were cramped with a seething crowd of people trying to find their seats. It made for an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia as he tried to move down the aisle to find his seat.

  Wilder had spared no expense; the ticket he’d provided for Cage was marked First Class. Of course, that meant Cage had to weave through coach to get to his final destination. It was like being caught in a herd of sheep with no sense of direction. There was all sorts of bleating and confusion, and everyone seemed to move like zombies, only half-conscious if they were moving at all.

  Cage tried to be polite, stepping aside to let a tired-looking middle-aged woman and her child backtrack to get to the seats they’d missed. He even helped a little old lady get her carry-on into the compartment overhead. He could see the door to first class up ahead, but it was like one of those scenes in a horror movie when the hero was trying to get to the door, but it kept getting farther away.

  “Excuse me,” a small voice stammered from behind him. Cage turned to see a young woman staring down at her shoes. “Could you possibly help me?”

  “Sorry?” he asked, leaning down to hear her. She was practically whispering, and with the din of computerized directions, people shouting, and children caterwauling, he had to strain to hear her hushed voice.

  “Well, I needed…,” she continued, still contemplating
the floor.

  Cage reached down, putting a single fingertip under her chin, and nudged her to look up from underneath the curtain of dark hair. Her green eyes were enormous behind her round glasses, and he could see the abject terror in them.

  “Say again?”

  “M-m-my seat,” she stammered. “I’ve never…” She stopped and held up her ticket, her eyes never leaving his.

  He took the ticket from her fingertips and read it. “Row A, seat four. You’ll be at the front of the train at the window. First-class. It’s this way.” Cage pointed toward the door to which they were meandering slowly.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking her ticket back when he offered it. She gave a little gasp as his fingertips grazed hers and she blushed.

  He nodded and turned back. Poor girl, she was nearly paralyzed with fear. Probably the first time she’d traveled alone. Or traveled at all, by the looks of her.

  Her overly large eyes darted here and there but she never looked anyone in the face. A shame, really. She was an attractive woman, despite that deer in headlights thing.

  Ordinarily a girl like that would have made a perfect midnight snack, but tonight he couldn’t be bothered. His search for the vampire, Dagger, had led him on a wild goose chase from Paris to New York where Cage had lost the trail.

  He knew Dagger had associates out west, hence the Mag to Vegas. Cage had a lead on an old girlfriend who was a showgirl in Vegas. Maybe Dagger was hiding out there. The son of a bitch assumed that Cage wouldn’t venture this far, and normally he wouldn’t, but if Maurice Wilder could do what he claimed, Cage would travel the Maglev for a month for the promise to return to normal.

  For eight years, he’d been this monster who craved the blood of innocents and lived in a world consumed by darkness. A monster whose only thoughts were of vengeance and destruction. He’d give anything, do anything, to be free of this burden.

  Mercifully, he made it through the door into first class and found his seat. He nodded to the nervous young woman as she passed him as she made her way to the first row. Several people came in, but it was nowhere near as crowded as coach.

  Thankfully, Wilder had bought a seat in the back of the carriage, away from everyone else. Cage threw his overnight bag into the seat beside him and settled down. It would take a few hours to get to Vegas. That should be plenty of time to get a bit of sleep.

  This would be a typical late-night run of the Maglev. Lots of snoring and bad pop music from the late twentieth century piped in over the loudspeaker. He wouldn’t be missing anything when he dozed.

  Cage pulled a flask from inside his jacket and took a long swallow. The blood inside was still warm and thick. He savored it, letting it slide down his throat and satisfy the beast that was growling within. His hunger quelled for the time being, he lay back against the seat, closing his eyes as the train began to move.

  * * *

  Cage moved through the house in the pitch darkness. He knew this place like the back of his hand. The shadowy forms of his daughter’s toys lay strewn on the floor around his feet. Reaching down, he picked up a small pink rabbit. Its large plastic eyes stared at him, and he could see his face reflected. Blood and bruises marked his features, and for the first time, he could see the weariness of age and worry drawing a roadmap around his eyes.

  A heavy thud overhead made him drop the stuffed toy, and his hand immediately went to the holster just under his arm.

  He could feel a subtle shift in the air, and this incredible sense of dread washed over him as he made his way across the room toward the stairs. He could feel an invisible hand in the middle of his chest, telling him to stay back, but he kept going. He had to.

  “Corinne,” he shouted on his way up the stairs. She would be asleep, and his urgent call would probably startle her, but right now knowing she was safe was all that mattered.

  No answer. As he rounded the landing, the silence was deafening. Surely baby Lily would cry, but he heard nothing.

  Cage entered the hallway, his gun drawn. A dark spot on the floor caught his eye, and he went down on one knee, touching it. The spot was wet and sticky, and when he brought his fingertips to his mouth, he tasted the bitter iron flavor.

  “Corinne. Lily,” he called again, this time with an urgency he couldn’t swallow.

  As he looked up, he noticed there was blood everywhere. The spot at his feet had grown to a river that ran over the edge of the gallery and down the stairs in a flood. It splashed over him in waves, holding him back as he tried to get to the bedroom. It dripped from the walls and rained from the ceiling. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it burning his eyes. He screamed their names over and over, but there was no one to hear. The sharp scent of the blood infiltrated his senses, blinding him to everything.

  Finally, he reached the door and pushed through with a heave of his shoulder. The scene was like something out of Poe or Lovecraft.

  Such horrors were the stuff of nightmares.

  The blood was deep, covering his shoes and wetting his jeans to the knees. It was thick and congealed, causing him to move in slow motion.

  “Corinne,” he whispered, putting his hands out in front of him to feel his way through the empty room. He brushed something with his fingertips. Something cold and heavy. Running his palms over it, he began to see the blood rolling down his wrists in rivulets and dripping from somewhere above.

  The darkness began to fade, and he could make out shadowy forms overhead. His eyes focused, and he saw her. Corinne hung from the chandelier over their bed, her neck pouring blood from where the rope cut into her flesh. Bound with a twist of barbed wire in her arms was their child, the pudgy little face that was so like his own frozen in a mask of terror.

  “Corrine. No,” he shouted, grabbing at her ankles and trying to lift her up, but her body was so heavy. He looked up into her face, his vision blurred. “Please, Corinne,” he whimpered. He tried once more to lift her from the fatal harness and dislodged tiny Lily’s body, which fell to the floor at his feet.

  Her blue eyes opened, cold and dead.

  “Good night, Daddy. See you in the morning.”

  2

  Cage woke with a start. He could feel the tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he closed them tightly, trying to block out Lily’s face. That terrible, frozen stare. The melodious tinkling of her toddler’s voice. And the blood.

  Every morning when he closed his eyes, he could see it, feel it sliding slick between his fingers, smell it even. And God help him, it made him faint with hunger. He reached into his jacket for his mobile and swiped a fingertip across its face. The numbers 3:47 blared at him bright green. He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours, but the ache in his muscles felt like days.

  “Are you Phoebe Addison?” Cage sat up, looking toward the muffled voice. Peeking over the seat, he could see three large men in black suits standing in the aisle at the front of the carriage. They towered over the mousey woman who had asked him how to find her seat. She looked terrified as they bore down on her. Broad shoulders, these men stood at over two meters and had heavy jawlines and wild hair. Werewolves. Worse yet, werewolves in suits. That suggested government. Since when did the government, any government—even the Interplanetary Union—use shifters as agents? After his own misadventures in London, the program to splice agents had been shut down immediately.

  “Um, yes. I’m Phoebe.” Her voice cracked and wavered as if she weren’t sure what answer she should give. What on earth would they want with a country girl schoolmarm? “Is there something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, Miss Addison.”

  “Come with you? Where?” There were tears in her voice.

  Bastards. They were intentionally using her weakness to intimidate her. Pushing his coat aside, Cage stood and made his way toward the front of the car. He listened to his purposeful footsteps and wondered why he was bothering to get involved. It wasn’t as if he knew this woman.

  But Cage hated a bull
y.

  “Come quietly, Miss Addison,” the speaker said, no emotion at all. “We don’t want to have to force you.”

  “I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “We certainly hope not,” the overgrown dog of the group growled. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her up out of the seat.

  Phoebe shrieked, trying to pull away from him with little success. “Please. I haven’t done anything.” Throughout the carriage, people’s heads were beginning to pop up over the seats to watch the scene unfolding in front of them. To her credit, Phoebe was putting up quite a bit of resistance, flailing and scratching to free herself from the grasp of the agent.

  “Let her go,” Cage said, throwing his voice at them in as deep a timbre as he could muster. “Whatever you think she may have done…” The largest man turned to stare down at Cage and found that they were eye to eye. Cage gave a smug grin and flashed his eyes in a show of dominance. “She hardly looks like a terrorist.”

  “This is none of your concern, vampire,” the leader whispered, trying to keep his voice down. But it was too late. The girl had heard the word vampire and was now staring up at them, abject terror clear on her face. “Walk away.”

  Cage’s blood boiled in his veins. How dare this dog call him a vampire at all, no less in public. Grubby little parasites. But now was the time to remain cool. This situation could escalate quickly and they were in a carriage full of innocents who had no idea that The Others even existed.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. This woman is under my protection,” he lied. “Any issues you have with her you’ll have to take up with me.”

  “Your protection? You were in the back of the carriage.”

  “I don’t like being noticed. It must have worked, as you obviously didn’t see me until this moment.” He held out his hand to the girl. “Miss Addison.” She started to take his hand when two of the goons pushed between them.