Read Phoenix (dystopian romance) (Theta Waves: Episode 1) for Free Online Page A

put on days before.
    "That man who was looking for me –"
    "Hunting you," he corrected.
    "Hunting me," she repeated. "What did you do to him?"
    He shook his head. "That's none of your business."
    "Sure it is," she said. "Did you kill him for my sake?"
    "For your sake?" He chuckled. "I killed him for mine. I couldn't have him stealing my bounty. Now go on. Open up."
    "You're a bastard," she said.
    That made his smile even broader. "Precisely what my mother used to tell me," he said. By now the blood was running down his finger and pooling into his palm. He had to keep it level and pointed up so that it didn't run down his wrist. "This is getting messy," he said. "Just do it already."
    "You're not going to like it," Theda warned.
    "The boss man wants proof. My wallet wants more money. What's like got to do with it?"
    "Well I'm so glad your boss man needs proof to murder someone. Shows he's at least got more scruples than the city he's ruling." She locked eyes with that gaze that reminded her of sun bleached grass, of running through the park with her dog on her heels, both of them chasing balls. Of feeling her toes in the turf, of laughing with her mother. Picnicking with her father. Days where she was just a girl and everything was possible in a world wide open to possibilities.
    Once again she remembered how far gone those days were now and how they would never come back and she thought that perhaps pharmaceutical bliss wasn't what she needed anymore. Maybe nights of mindless ecstasy followed by living through days of corruption weren't enough to keep her heart beating after all. Maybe if she performed her little trick, proved herself to the mayor, accepted the accusation and the death that would follow, maybe then there would be peace.
    She felt the tip of Ezekiel's finger probing against her mouth and she opened, letting him slip inside, wiggling against the inside of her cheek, pressing up into her palette until she curled her tongue around him and pulled hard on the wound.
    The magic of the re-visions was always so much like dropping onto solid ground from a tall tree, that at first she didn't realize she'd jumped. The copper taste of blood morphed into the taste of apples and cinnamon as her tongue twisted around the flesh of something she knew was no longer a finger. More supple, rasping across hers and drawing it forward. A tongue, she realized.
    She was breathless with excitement. Heart pounding into her throat, she could only register one thought: Finally . Finally she had him and his arms were pulling her close, so close she felt his erection through her skirts, the taste of the pie she'd fed him still on his mouth, so sweet but not gentle. Not anymore. Fever behind his kiss, as though he too had been waiting. Too long. They'd both been waiting too long.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    ACT SIX
     
     
    Clothing becomes an enemy that twists and snakes around their bodies, tying her to him with voluminous skirts and petticoats. She can either take them off or hitch them up, but before she can make the decision, he chooses for her. The cold damask of her dress when he pushes it aside, lays heavy on her stomach, and his hands are already heating her midriff as he inches toward her navel with exploratory fingers. She's wearing nothing beneath so the air in her bedroom is cold on her sex, a delicious thing in contrast to the heat she's feeling. Burning for him, she thinks, and breaks away from his mouth to let go the moan trapped in her throat, hears it echoing back at her from the depths of his.
    "Cathrin," she hears him say. "I can't stop."
    "I know," she confesses. She understands fully; the need to feel him against her, in her, is so great she can't stop her hips from grinding into his hand. His fingers trail between her legs, tangle in her curls for a long moment until she thinks she'll need to ride them to feel some relief.
    "Don't stop," she tells him. "Whatever happens, Markus, don't stop."
    It's the