Title: THE PHOENIX
Category/Genre: YA Urban Fantasy
Word Count: 78,000
My Main Character would use sun or snow to battle their biggest obstacle:
Dane knows the sun can’t do any damage to the Phoenixes, so he would choose snow in hopes of piling enough on his enemies to freeze them. Or at the very least, slow them down.
Ivy would attempt to use sun to battle her biggest obstacle, thinking enough heat would kill her captors. Sadly, she’d be mistaken.
Every year on his birthday Dane Phillips spontaneously combusts. He believed Phoenixes were a myth until his twelfth birthday when he exploded into a ball of flame, killing his parents. Now eighteen, Dane does everything in his power to live a solitary life in order to keep others around him safe.
Since her mother’s death, all seventeen-year-old Ivy Watson wants is to get through the school year unnoticed. When she meets the gorgeous Dane, he’s annoying mysterious and…naked. After he commandeers her truck, Dane leads her to the father she never knew. He explains she too is a Phoenix—but a hybrid—and very valuable to men who want to both study and breed her.
Realizing he no longer desires solitude, Dane will do everything in his power to protect Ivy. But when she’s kidnapped, he will have to give up his quiet existence, and embrace his power, if he’s to help the one girl he’s willing to walk through fire for.
First 250 words:
I always reek of smoke afterward. The kind of smoke that carries the scent of burnt hair and flesh, a raging inferno so hot nothing in its path can survive. Yet, I always do. Once I even played with the raging flames…made them dance along my neon red fingertips, the tendrils wrapped around my skin like silk. It was beautiful, deadly, and it didn’t hurt me.
Luckily, the fenced meadow I’m standing in is damp and green with new spring growth, allowing me to inhale a breath of relief.
The last thing I need is another fire on my conscious. I can’t see any houses around anyway, just tall pine trees, matchsticks really. After bursting into flames as I do, the only thing remaining on my person is the flame retardant box I have chained to my ankle. Everything I need to start fresh is in there: a partial change of clothes, my wallet with a fair amount of cash, and my driver’s license, though I’ve been on the move so much it’s outdated.
A low rumble on pavement catches my ear and I don’t have time to shrug on the pair of sport shorts or shirt I carry. Instead, I pull the box off my ankle and sprint through the tall grass, hissing as it whips at my legs. A beat up older Chevy truck with two-tone blue paint crawls around the corner becoming my target.