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Rise of the Phoenix

JL Madore

Four wildly sexy males. Powers I don’t understand. And the eyes of the fae world on me as the person to unite the severed realms. No pressure.

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Read an excerpt from Rise of the Phoenix

I don’t look back. If this was a standard roadside rescue, I would’ve woken up in a hospital, not naked in a mansion.

Something is waaay wrong.

I blow past the rose garden and round a gazebo. The sound of distant traffic spurs my hope. If I make it to the road and flag someone down, I’ll—

A massive wolf cuts in front of me and halts my escape. It races past in a silver and chocolate blur, then prowls back around to stand in my way. Head down, shoulders rigid, it stares at me through dark, brown eyes.

Every hair on my body prickles upright.

Holy-crapamoly. I freeze and hold out my hand. Yeah, like that’ll keep the beast from killing me. Where the hell did he come from? Heart hammering, I ease a slow step backward and scan to my right.

A grizzly bear lumbers close, its massive form only twenty feet away. It shakes its boxy head, thick brown fur ruffling beneath his broad shoulders. His big, black nose twitches as he sniffs the air and grunts, looking annoyed.

Heat builds in my chest.

Left then. My head swivels to my other side to assess my chance of escape. A golden jaguar sits silent as death, pegging me with an eerie turquoise stare. His head drops low, his shoulders tense and strung with coiled muscle.

What is happening?

My gaze flips left and right, a pounding in my temples making everything fuzzy. I know better than to turn my back on predatorial animals, but I am surrounded. When the flap of powerful wings sounds directly behind me, I spin toward the house I just escaped from.

A massive bird lets off a piercing screech and drops from the sky. As its talons stretch toward the grass, its form shifts, and a man touches down in its place.

What. The. Hell?

As the birdman straightens, I catch a glorious glimpse of tattoos and his manliness before clothes appear, and he is covered in slick black slacks, and a blue button-down rolled to his elbows. He’s handsome without an ounce of pretty, and ruggedly masculine. “Calliope,” he says, his voice hard and sharp. “Stop and let us explain.”

The dominance of his voice resonates inside me. His tone is commanding and arrogant. It demands submission and I struggle to fight it and stay focused.

I look around. The bear flashes into a beautiful brunette beast of a man in cargo pants and a muscle shirt. He is beyond buff, with well-built shoulders and a brawny chest that fills out his towering frame. “There’s no need to run, beautiful.”

The wolf straightens and transforms into a young man with the rich copper skin and ebony hair of an indigenous American. He is shorter than the other three but wiry and fit. Wearing a denim shirt, ripped jeans, glasses, and a wide leather choker around his throat, he takes my breath away. “No one here will harm you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

That only leaves—I turn to the jaguar.

The blond hottie that materializes before me is sexy beyond my wildest: tanned, golden skin, with bright turquoise eyes, and a glorious ruggedness that Chris Hemsworth would envy. Packaged in tight black jeans and a supple, linen shirt that hangs open at the front and swaths to his hip, I have a glorious view of the prettiest sculptured abs I’ve ever seen.

I’m struck stupid. I’ve cozied up to a few perfect specimens during my wild and rebellious adventures, but these four put them all to shame. Four stunningly gorgeous men.

And they’re mine.