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And to give a glimpse of what’s in the book, as well as a look at the hero of Phoenix Legacy, here are some snippets from Phoenix Rising featuring Philip Drake.
Philip sank into her armchair and closed his eyes, hiding from the light of her corner lamp, covered by shadows. “Death has a way of spilling over onto anyone in its path. Alec’s life is one of violence. I don’t want you in the way. This was a mistake, a serious mistake.”
Her whole body felt battered, as if Alec had slammed her into that rock. It would feel worse after she told Alec. Whatever his reaction, she’d have to face it. Alec had taught her one thing. Don’t run, don’t hide. She’d wanted to change Alec’s life. Instead, he’d altered hers beyond recognition.
Her stomach rumbled. She ignored it and put her head in her hands and immediately felt dizzy. Her throat felt dry. Hunger, she could ignore. Thirst was harder. If she was dehydrated, that would explain part of the headache. She walked to the kitchen and pulled out the pitcher of water.
“Beth, we have to get the hell out of here. Now.”
She closed her eyes and sighed, her hands tightening around the pitcher. “Hello, Philip.”
She stepped between them, her arms wide. “Alec, this is Philip Drake. My father.”
Her father!? “The black ops CIA agent who had you set me up?”
“If I’d set you up, you’d be dead,” Drake said.
Drake brushed past them, holding a big-ass machine gun with a curved ammunition clip. A Kalashnikov, probably. How’d he get that?
“ I think he was hiding it in the kitchen pantry.”
“ I ’d hate to see what he keeps in his closet.”
“Off doing whatever he does. Does he vanish like that often?”
“Routinely. When he reappears, he usually has presents for me.”
There was no sense worrying about her father. She’d hear from him when he was ready.
“So Drake’s kinda like Santa Claus.”
“If Santa carried daggers and packed heat.”
Philip Drake is immortal by virtue of a psychic power that heals all but the worst injuries. He’s needed every bit of it as a black ops agent, a life so violent that the line between pain and pleasure is tangled up in his head.
When he walks away from the CIA, the last thing he expects is to discover someone stole his DNA to create a race of super-healers. And that the expectant mother is a woman from his past who’d consider it her pleasure to spit on his grave.
One moment, Delilah Sefton is listening to a seriously hot, seriously deranged man giving her some half-baked explanation as to why she’s pregnant with no memory of how she got that way. The next, armed men swarm into her bar, and she and Mr. Sexy-Crazy are on the run.
Safety at the Phoenix Institute is only temporary, but it’s long enough to put the pieces together. A madman plans to steal her son in a plot to take over the world. And to stop him, she must learn to trust the baby’s father—a man she blames for her greatest loss.