Scorched (Phoenix Chronicles Book 2)

Chapter 36: In the Meantime

"You lied." Castor leaned against the Trusoe home, watching Altair. "Samson wasn't talking to the guards in the dungeon hallway."

Altair didn't flinch, his hands clasped in front of him as he tilted his head and listened to the room up above. "If I had lied, Phoenix would have known."

Castor rolled his eyes. "You led her to her own conclusions, which were false. Samson was where he belonged – not talking to guards in a dungeon hallway." When Altair said nothing, Castor pressed. "Why did you say Samson's name?"

Altair chewed on the inside of his cheek, not meeting Castor's gaze. "I have a temper."

"I'm aware. Why are you angry with Samson? What aren't you telling me about Phoenix?" Castor pushed off the wall, standing right in front of Altair, looking him right in the eye.

"She's not your concern."

"Like hells she's not – especially when you're bringing Samson into it. Samson and Eric are as close as Eric gets to anyone. Anything concerning him concerns me."

"Samson kissed Phoenix," Altair said, jaw clenched. "And something happened."

"What? What happened? What do you mean?"

"He hurt her."

Castor took a step back, eyes wide. "S-samson hurt Phoenix. How? He's – he can't do that."

"Apparently he can. He kissed her and she felt a sudden, sharp, horrible pain."

With a grimace, Castor shook his head. "That's a bad kiss..."

"She needs to stay away from Samson. It didn't go away. The pain continues."

"Like in the dungeon," Castor nodded, his mind racing with an array of thoughts. "That's why you were angry." He frowned. "Are we sure this was because of Samson and not because she was kissed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, has she ever kissed anyone before? Are we sure it wasn't something to do with her...unique makeup? She's not like other girls. I'd be wary of blaming Samson when another man could cause-"

Altair jabbed a finger into Castor's chest. "Samson can't go near her again. He's dangerous to her."

"I would have to agree," Castor said, pursing his lips. "But have you considered what keeping him away will do?"

"Do?"

"Driving her away from Samson could force her into someone else's arms."

Altair's dry look of disgust forced Castor to bite back a smirk. "Do you mean yours? That's quite an ego you have there, Castor."

"I would prefer them to be mine, but no. I meant in general. She has feelings for Samson. They could fade with time, but someone else will eventually step in to fill the void."

"What is it with you and her? What could possibly be so alluring?"

"I'm surprised you don't see it," Castor retorted.

Altair sneered. "I've been watching over her since she was an infant. She's practically my own."

"And I didn't see her until her life intersected with Eric's –  of an age not far from my own."

"It doesn't matter. She can't be distracted. There's too much to consider." Altair gestured to the balcony above them. "What's going on in there is far more important than anything going on out here."

"Until the worlds collide," Castor countered. "Which I think is just about to happen."

#

On the third night of Maverick's comatose, Noelle sat watch, waiting for Canya to return. She tried to keep her eyes open, but fatigue claimed her. She curled up in the chair next to Maverick's bed, resting her head on the arm, and drifted off to sleep.