Phoenix (7 page)

"So, no Team Beck or Team Ryker questions?" I laugh at the ludicrousness.

"This isn't funny, Lark." Annalise's eyes tear through me, and I shudder. As much as I've come to like my sister-in-law, she still frightens me at times. Plus, I can't forget Henry's theory she may be involved with the Splinter group.

"I know. I'm sorry." I lean back in my chair. My over-sized home office suddenly feels too small with Henry and Annalise in it with me.
 

"You'll have to address the Beck issue if you want to have him as your escort to the Ball," Henry says

I play with my necklace. "Which means what?"

"Which means you'll need to talk about Ryker, too."

I let out a sigh. I've given exactly two press conferences in my life. My first meeting with newscasters was a disaster. Mother made me tell the world Beck was Sensitive and that I wanted him dead. It was all lies, but carefully crafted ones. The second was to inform the world Beck killed my mother.

Both times, I marked Beck as a wanted man, and now, I'm supposed to reverse all of that.
 

Good luck.
 

But I can't let Henry and Annalise see my nervousness. I need them to believe I can do this. I have to be able to do this – or Beck and I won't ever be able to be together.

"What if the newscaster goes off question?" I ask.

"You steer him back. It's basic public relations, Lark. Anyone can do it." Annalise admonishes me like a naughty toddler. "The bulk of the questions will be about the attack and your well-being, not Beck and Ryker."

"But what if he does ask? What should I say?"

"That Beck has been cleared of all charges due to new evidence," Henry retorts as he paces the room. "Ryker has been sent on assignment. You should also inform the people that Beck is your rightful mate, and unknown to Malin, the two of you were bound at Summer Hill. The trauma you suffered there, prevented you from remembering until very recently."

"Also mention that the State put him through vigorous testing before releasing him, and he is not a Sensitive," Annalise adds.
 

I stare at my hands. "Can't I have a spokesperson?"

"No, you cannot." Henry snaps. "And don't look nervous, Lark. Leaders don't stare down, and they don't fidget."
 

Henry raises his voice louder than I have ever heard him speak, and I recoil. He never raises his voice or acts testy with me.

"You wanted this job." He pauses and glares at me. "In fact, you forcibly seized the State against the advice of others. Now you have to deal with the ramifications." He slams his tablet down on my desk. "For now, that means getting up on that stage and telling the people of our Society what they need to hear. If you can't do it, you have no business being here."

Heat flares across my face, and my magic begins nipping at me – starting in my heart and radiating out along my arms and down into my fingertips. Anger. That's what I feel. Anger of being spoken to so harshly. I recognize it and quickly work to calm myself. Without Beck, it's harder than normal, but I breath deeply and think of him. My heart rate slows.

"You know what?" I say evenly. "I don't think I need either of you to save me. I can do this on my own. Just like I always have."

I push away from the table. I have to get out of this room, and there is one person who I know can cheer me up right now: Beck.

Before Annalise can stop me, I step forward and spin into the icy blackness. Transporting has never been one of my favorite activities, but it's great for making quick, dramatic exits.

"Lark!" Beck's surprised voice fills me with happiness. He leaps up from where he was siting and wraps his arms around me.
 

I laugh. "Hiya to you too!"
 

"Annalise said you'd be busy all day, and I've been out of my mind waiting for you."

"I've missed you." We collapse in a heap on the sofa. Remembering my manners, I ask, "How are
you
feeling? Better?"

"Stronger. Not as groggy."

Huh. "Have they been giving you herbs?"

"Just some stuff to ease my pain. I'm still really sore," he says, touching his face where he was cut.

My eyes rake over him, to the places where I healed the gashes on his face, and there's no evidence of him ever being injured. He looks as perfect and beautiful as ever.
 

"I'm still sore too, but no one has given me anything." I make mental note to ask for some medicine later. "I guess I'm supposed to just deal with it. And this stupid press conference."

Beck's not listening to my words, because he's too busy kissing my neck. Sparks of electricity rumble across my skin and I sigh. "Shhh," he says. "No more talking about press conferences and--"

I wiggle away from him. "About the press conference. I'd like you to come. Be there in the wings at the least."

"Birdie, if you'll be quiet and let me kiss you the way I've been dreaming about all day, I'll go to as many conferences as you need."

"Will you wear a uniform?" I ask while trailing my finger along his shoulder blade and to the soft spot on his neck. Most senior State officials wear the uniform of their division. Since Beck will be in diplomacy, if everything works out right, he should wear that uniform.

He sighs. "I can see where your brain is."

"I'm sorry, it's just I can't turn it off. Annalise and Henry were so mean to me, and all I want is to prove I'm competent."

I'm lying...a little. I want to be competent, but sometimes I wish there was someone else to make the hard decisions – and do press conferences.

Beck holds my face between his hands. "Then do it. Show them you're a seasoned pro. Give the best press conference ever."

"There's one more thing."

He cocks an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"I have to tell the Society about us and our binding. I have to make you my legitimate mate."

"Which means what for Ryker?"

I inhale deeply. "For now, he's on an assignment. At least that's what we're saying."

Beck twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. "And me, what's my role?"

I kiss his nose, chin, and full red lips. He responds by skating his lips over mine, slowly at first. Slowly and torturously. When I moan, he grips the back of my neck and kisses me deeper and harder until I feel like I'm about to disappear into him. My fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck while he runs his hands down my spine to the small of my back. I shudder under his touch.
 

When I surface, I say, "You are my rightful mate and co-leader. I'll make sure the people know."

CHAPTER NINE

I sit on the edge of my chair, pondering the tatters of the empire I supposedly govern. Light witches and Dark witches. Humans. Food shortages. Wars. A murderous Splinter group.

Thank you, Mother, for the fine mess you left me.
 

Everything around me is beginning to crumble, but I have to convince the people of our – no my – Society I have everything under control. That I am the rightful heir of Caitlyn Green. I can't let them see my weaknesses.

Before me, James Martinez, a reporter for News Feed 5, leans forward, scrutinizing me. His peppermint breath fans my face. "You appear so healthy for a young woman who just suffered a brutal attack."

"It
was
nearly a week ago." The feed isn't rolling yet, but I'm still guarded in my answer. Cold sweat beads along my hairline, and I try to inconspicuously brush it away. The dampness in my armpits is a different matter, and I pray I have no reason to lift my arms. "I was fortunate to have the best healers in the Society work on me."

"I bet you did." James clears his throat and adjusts the floppy cravat he wears wrapped around his neck. His hair has been slicked backed and curls just above his collar as is fashionable for Statesmen. Next to him, in my plain tunic and low chignon, I feel understated. But this was the look my advisors suggested, so this is what I'm wearing.
 

I fidget in my chair, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling working around my stomach.

"Nervous?" James asks.

"Yes," I admit. "I'm not very good at these things."

James laughs. "You sell yourself short, Miss Lark. I watched your last two press conferences, and you did wonderfully."

I gulp back a nasty taste in my mouth. Annalise promised James would softball the questions, focusing on my recovery and allowing me to address what we've taken to calling the "Beck Issue" on my own. Namely, how to explain his sudden presence in my life and the overturning of his death sentence. I hope she's right. I don't think I can handle much more than that - especially questions about Ryker.
 

"Wait until you're announced, then flash the world your best smile. Are you ready?" James asks, as a small audience of other press members is lead into the room. I count fifteen before stopping.

"As much as I can be," I say, even though I would rather be locked in a room with Ryker than be here. A camera blinks to life near his left ear, and a bright light beams down on me.
 

James laughs. "You, Miss Lark Greene, are an interesting young woman."

Off in the wings, Beck waits. His nervousness combined with my own is making one not-so-great emotional cocktail. But we both insisted he attend - even if that meant him transporting in at the last minute to avoid notice – because I thought his presence would calm me. Henry, of course, was set against the idea. Maybe he was right?
 

"And three, two, one. You're on," says someone from the shadows.

"Good evening, people of the Western Society." James beams a toothy white smile at the camera. "Tonight I have the privilege of interviewing Miss Lark Greene, Head of State."

The camera zooms backward before flying closer to my face. I channel my inner-Mother and flash a sweet smile at the camera. I may be young, but years of watching Mother taught me the most important thing is to make the audience love you. And no one loves a scowling, upset looking Lark. Smiling, sweet Lark, however, is a different story.
 

"Lark, thank you for joining us this evening," James says in his deep newscaster voice. "I think I speak for all of our Society when I say how relieved we are that you're recovering from your accident."

I smile warmly despite wanting to vomit. "It was hardly an accident, James. I, along with Beck Channing and my guards, was brutally attacked and left for dead."

Henry coached me that at this point I should play up my amazing recovery. I intentionally didn't wear a dress for this interview, and I gingerly lift the loose shift I wear as a shirt to expose the angry red scar across my stomach. Unlike Beck's wounds, mine haven't healed as well.
 

James gasps. "Good word! How did you survive that?"

"Luck, strength, and amazing healers." I sound breathless. Too nervous.
 

"I'd say." James arranges himself so he's leaning so close to me his manicured beard could scratch my cheek. His breath smells of fresh mints, and his gray-green eyes probe mine, as if searching for something deeper.

Sweat runs between my cleavage. At least he hasn't asked me about Ryker.
 

Tell him about the attack in the garden. Describe
it the best you can.
Beck's voice fills my mind, and my eyes flit to the area offstage where I know he hides.
 

"The attack was a truly horrifying experience," I begin timidly, but then I remember Henry's admonishment and add force to my voice. "One minute I was listening to the nightingale's song, and the next I found myself crawling over the gravel toward my house. My guard didn't answer my cries. Of course, I know now he was brutally murdered."

James adjusts himself. "I'm sorry to hear that. What was his name?"

"Dawson," I answer with a hitch in my voice. Tears now would make me look weak. "He was the second guard I've lost in as many months. We lost Oliver in another unreported attack with Sensitives."

James reaches forward and touches my trembling hand. "Two separate attacks? And yet you press on, determined to protect us all from the Sensitives. Truly remarkable." The small group allowed into the pressroom claps. "Where do you think you found the strength to keep fighting?"

"So many thoughts flashed through my brain, but the one that stands out the most is the memory of love." I inhale deeply to steady myself before leaning forward in my chair. "Have you ever felt a love so strong, it kept you going, no matter how hurt you were?"

James shakes his head. "That must be a remarkable bond you have with your mate Ryker Newbold. Did he rush to your aid?"

I pause, unsure of what to say. "No." This is not a line of questioning I want.
Ask me about Beck
, I think.
Ask me how I'm going to deal with him.

"Tell me, Lark, what do you plan on doing with Beck Channing now?"

Careful, Birdie,
Beck says.
Don't overwhelm them.

 
"After careful review of the case, the Council and I believe it's impossible he led the attack against my mother. Or against me. The Sensitives doing this are attacking Founder descendants. For what reasons, we're still unsure. But I swear we will get to the bottom of this.

"As for Beck Channing, after strenuous testing, we've concluded he is not and never was Sensitive. He was framed."

James gasps. His hand flies to his cravat. "But the State," he stutters. "The State doesn't make mistakes."

Oh no. This isn't a going well.
 

I throw my head back and laugh it off like I'd seen Mother do. "Oh, Darling James, the State didn't make a mistake. A human did. The test was perfect, but someone – an unclaimed Sensitive perhaps – tampered with the results."

He relaxes into his seat, and his energy tells me he is content that all is right in the world.

"I have to ask," James says. "Could the culprit be someone in your inner circle?"

I freeze. It's almost like this man is reading my mind, but Annalise assured me he is an ordinary human.