A Short Story

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Phenix stood in front of the closed door, his heart pounding and his fist ready to do the same to the heavy, whitewashed, wood panel. Damn the Archaeans to hell! Why wouldn’t they let him wrap up this ludicrous contract in the way he usually did, a simple tag-and-bag transaction. Boom! Pay up. He wasn’t in the mood to play nice, to seduce a foul-tempered woman who’d readily gut him the instant he lowered his guard—been there, have a new body to prove it. He’d rather go up against an entire army of demons than coax the female to relinquish her soul. No one in their right head would want to give up their soul willingly? You would… Doesn’t count because he wasn’t of sound mind, was he? But, who did Kalyssandra consider worthy of such a …show more content…

Under the moonlight, the rocky landscape gleams midnight blue touched with silver. The only thing missing from his view was the cenobites. Where were they? Though the stone walls of the building offered privacy, he doubted the timeworn rock was a hundred percent soundproof. He stared at the other end of the corridor where he knew a short flight of stairs led down to the ground floor when the cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrated against his chest. He pulled it out and checked the screen before answering the call. “Yes?” “We’ve got trouble.” He turned his face to the window and spoke to Jonas. “Where?” “Teahouse.” Phenix glanced over at Kalyssandra’s door. “I’m on my way. Can you contain it?” “Horse has already bolted. It’s a little late to shut the door now.” Phenix ended the call and stretched his neck to each side. Damn, would he ever catch a break? A cold breath whispered across the back of his neck, and had nothing to do with the winter air wafting through the latticed window. A few minutes ago, everything had been on track and he’d persuaded her to have dinner with him. But Jonas’ call had shot things to hell. Stalking along the hall to her bedroom, he lifted a hand and was about to knock when the door swung open and Kalyssandra dropped into a fighting stance. “Shàngdì!” He resisted smiling, watched her eyes turn a dark, searing shade of brown. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but no one has ever called me, ‘Supreme

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