Page 23 of Phoenix's Rising
"You won't." Her voice is certain. "I don't know you well, Phoenix, but I know you won't fail them. You'll fight like hell to keep them safe, to keep everyone safe. That's who you are."
I want to believe her. Want to trust that confidence in her voice, that certainty that I'm somehow better than I feel.
"We'll protect each other," I say finally. "That's what brothers do. We stand together, fight together, survive together. It's the only way this works."
"Do you believe there's a world where you'll all survive?" Ivy asks. "Where everyone makes it through this war?"
The question is hard. Honest. The kind of thing most people wouldn't ask because they don't want to hear the answer.
"I have to," I say simply. "Even if the probability is less than one percent. Even if the odds are impossible. I have to believe we'll all walk away from this, because the alternative, imagining my brothers dead, imagining failing them, that's not something I can carry and still function."
Ivy nods slowly, understanding. We're both operating on hope and desperation, both clinging to the belief that somehow, against all logic and probability, things will work out.
We fall quiet, and I can’t help but notice how close we're sitting. Our thighs are almost touching. I can hear her breathing, can see the rise and fall of her chest.
I turn slightly to look at her, and she's already looking at me.
Her green eyes are bright in the morning light, wide and beautiful. I find myself noticing details I shouldn't notice: thesmoothness of her pale skin, the way her short auburn hair falls in choppy layers that frame her face perfectly.
Her lips.
God, her lips are plump and pink, slightly parted as she breathes. I watch her tongue dart out, dragging across her bottom lip in a nervous gesture that makes every rational thought evaporate from my brain.
She's not doing it on purpose. I know that. It's just a habit, an unconscious movement. But it looks like an invitation anyway. Looks like pleading to be kissed.
And I want to. God, I want to kiss her so badly that my cock throbs with need. I lean forward slightly, drawn by a force I can't name and don't want to fight.
Ivy doesn't pull away. Doesn't move at all except to tilt her face up slightly, her eyes searching mine.
"Phoenix," she whispers, and my name on her lips destroys the last of my restraint.
I cup her face gently, my thumb brushing across her cheek as I close the distance between us. Her skin is soft under my rough hands, and for a moment I hesitate, aware of every scar on my knuckles, every callus, every mark of violence I carry.
But Ivy leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and I let myself have this one perfect thing.
When my lips meet hers, the world stops.
It's soft. Gentle. Nothing like the rough, urgent kisses I've had before. This is tender, like I'm holding something precious that might break if I'm not cautious.
Ivy's hand comes up to rest against my chest, right over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel how hard it's pounding.
The kiss lasts only a moment: a breath, a heartbeat, a stolen second of something beautiful in the midst of chaos, before I pull back.
We're both breathing harder, faces still close, and I can see wonder in her green eyes. Like she didn't expect it to feel like that. Like maybe she's been kissed before but never like this, never with passion and the desperate hope that somehow this moment could mean something.
"I shouldn't have—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Don't." Her voice is soft but firm. "Don't apologize. Don't tell me that was a mistake."
"Ivy—"
"I wanted that," she says. "Have wanted it since you opened the door last night and looked at me like I was a person instead of a problem."
Before I can respond, a knock sounds on the door.
We both pull back, reality crashing in.
"Phoenix?" Judge's voice comes through the wood. "We need you downstairs."
