Titanian's Phoenix: Titanian Chronicles, #1

By Victoria Saccenti

She's the mate he never expected. And she has powers she never asked for…

Maya Brown is New York tough. She doesn't believe in magic—until she's kidnapped along with her eccentric godmother, Anna. By elves.

Freed by a strange power, and reeling from bizarre revelations about her heritage, Maya follows Anna's plea to seek out a man named Soren at—of all things—a magical bar. Maya doesn't believe in love at first sight, either, but when she encounters seven-plus feet of muscle and mood-changing eyes, her body does a full-on reset.

Nothing shakes up Soren Westerberg, Titanian Enforcer assigned to NYC. Until a beautiful human woman with golden skin and lost brown eyes walks into a bar. In one trembling instant he knows that she's his mate—who promptly faints away in his arms.

Their bond is instant, gloriously intense, and a miracle. Soren's life scroll never foretold a mate, but now that he has her, he'll protect her at all costs. Because she's not just his—she's an extraordinary being coming into her powers. And ready or not, that makes her a target of his cruelest enemy.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Essence Publishing
• Release date: Jan 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736358900

Victoria Saccenti

Award-winning and bestselling author Victoria Saccenti writes contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic women's fiction. Not one for heart and flower stories, she explores the edgy twists and turns of human interaction, the many facets of love, and all possible happy endings.  After thirty years of traveling the world, she’s settled in Central Florida, where she splits her busy schedule between family and her active muse at Essence Publishing. However, if she could convince her husband to sell their home, she would pack up her computer and move to Scotland, a land she adores.

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Victoria Saccenti

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Epilogue

About the Author

Beloved Titanian Excerpt

Other Works by Victoria

Titanian’s Phoenix

Titanian Chronicles

Copyright 2021 Victoria Saccenti

ISBN: Print

EPub 978-1-7363589-0-0

Editor: Linda Ingmanson

Cover Design: Scott Carpenter

Formatting: Anessa Books

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

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Dedication

To Karina Kantas, for your guidance and help. And to my editor and mentor, Linda Ingmanson. You’re the best.

Prologue

LORD GUSTAF WESTERBERG had reached the edge of his patience. Muttering a string of invectives under his breath, he lowered his dense ebony eyebrows at his reflection. Several times, he’d been tempted to kick the massive gilded mirror before him in utter frustration. His broad fingertips made it nearly impossible to fasten the tiny buttons of his formal shirt and his crisp white vest. Finally, he finished with the last button and flexed his fingers, encouraging blood flow. He pulled a linen handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks and wiped his damp forehead dry.

With a bit more composure, he turned to pick up the oblong black velvet box on his dresser. He selected the essential choice for tonight’s event: his silver-and-sapphire cuff links. The stunning heirlooms had belonged to his father, Lord Troels, who in turn had received the pair from his father long centuries ago. Family tradition dictated that the ancient set, fashioned with the Titanian symbol, the wide T and Celtic ribbon wrapped around the middle, should be passed down through the ages from one Titanian leader to the next.

He linked the cuffs and dropped his hands to his sides. A soft movement behind him got his attention. Beatrix had entered the master chamber. Draped on her right wrist was his bow tie. A wooden hanger with his tailcoat jacket dangled from her left hand.

I detest these functions. He smiled, contradicting his words. But they’re all worth it just to see you dressed like a goddess, my love. Älskling, you are a vision.

Indeed, she was. Her gossamer gown embroidered with silver thread, tiny sapphires, and diamonds encased her beautiful lithe body within a shimmering cloud. The high neckline demurely covered her phoenix mate mark from strangers’ eyes. The crimson bird, poised for flight, was private, his to enjoy and love, no one else’s. She piled her fire-red hair—a nod to her Scottish ancestry—in a high twist anchored with sapphire-and-silver combs. He had to resist the temptation to pull that silky cascade down and run his fingers through it as he inhaled its delicious scent.

And you are a such a charmer, Beatrix responded, a light blush covering her cheeks. She hooked the hanger on the mahogany valet stand. With a soft swish of skirts, she stood next to Gustav.

Will you do the honors? he murmured.

Always. Can’t let you receive our guests with a crooked tie.

It’s the twenty-first century. By now, all of us should’ve learned to relax, be less stuffy. I can say the identical ancient formalities and pleasantries wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

Beatrix laughed, a musical trill that delighted his heart. Ah, yes. Except Ambassador Devon is a stick-in-the-mud representative whose ego needs to be massaged with as much pomp and circumstance as he can get. She lifted the tips of his collar, slid the tie in place, and made a bow with unerring accuracy. There, you’re perfect.

She returned to the valet stand, held up the jacket, and helped him slide his arms through.

How do I look?

Be still my heart. She fluttered her eyelids. Her dark blue irises sparkled above her perfect straight nose. I’ll explain in detail when the banquet is over.

He turned to her. That’s it. I’m canceling dinner and sending everyone home with a doggie bag.

No, sir. Laughing, she grasped him by his wide shoulders and, despite the height difference of a foot and half between them, turned him around with ease.

You’re a tough customer, he sighed, opening the heavy paneled door. After you, my lady. He stood aside, allowing Beatrix to exit their chamber first.

Ornate bronze sconces, spaced every ten feet, illuminated the arched corridor outside their door. Wrought iron railings lined the open spaces under each arch and the elegant round staircase that led downstairs. The muted sounds of violins playing in the main level and soft conversation streamed upstairs. Despite the raging winter storm outside, his sturdy windows safeguarded the sophisticated environment, ideal for negotiations and treaties.

Utterly pleased, Gustaf offered his arm to Beatrix.

She flicked her finger at him. Not yet. The ambassador is in the antechamber to your office.

Oh?

Devon said he had some important matters to discuss before supper, so I ushered him in there.

Frowning, he grasped her hand. The situation with Roald and his mate was happily resolved. I haven’t heard a peep from Soren or Brant in New York. I wonder… Maybe he’s aware of the recent unexplained deaths. However, we’ve kept a tight lid on that matter. If he knows, it means someone in the inner circle leaked the information.

Beatrix eyed him intently. That’s why I brought him to the antechamber.

Let’s go find out.

She resisted his tug. Do you think I should go in with you?

Absolutely.

With Beatrix in tow, Gustaf opened the door to the antechamber and scanned the room. The ambassador was nowhere to be seen. Giving his wife a worried side-glance, he opened the door to his office.

The single bouillotte lamp on his mahogany desktop illuminated the circumference around its base. Otherwise, the rest of his office was basically dark.

Holding his long white hair away from his eyes, the ambassador bent over Gustaf’s desk, intently studying a Titanian family scroll. When he heard Gustaf and Beatrix enter, he jerked up his head.

Riveting read, isn’t it? May I help you find anything…Ambassador? Gustaf couldn’t suppress the twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Straightening, Ambassador Devon flicked his hair over his shoulder, revealing a beet-red pointy ear. He offered an apologetic look at Gustaf as he released the ends of the scroll. The edges curved up, wanting to return to their original rolled position.

Gustaf huffed softly. Beatrix squeezed his hand. Her discreet warning to hold his temper reached home. After centuries together, Beatrix knew when he seethed with anger. What the hell was the ambassador doing searching around the Titanian family’s most intimate records?

Well, I… You see, uh… Titanian scrolls are legendary. Items of great interest for those of us who’ve never seen one. Color tinged the ambassador’s usually pale skin. I saw this one just over there. He pointed at Gustaf’s tall mahogany cabinet and shrugged. And couldn’t resist the temptation. It’s quite beautiful, with all the gilded lettering and mysterious symbols. I suppose you know what everything means.

The ambassador was an unflappable minister. He must’ve honed deceit and subterfuge to a fine art through long years of service to his race. Despite all that work, the lie still glared in the elf’s expression, and that was the problem. Gustaf’s stomach churned with impotence. He couldn’t call him on it without creating all sorts of alliance debacles, scandals that would rip apart relationships.

Beatrix squeezed his hand again. He took a deep breath and calmed his fury. He went around the desk, picked up the scroll with the tips of his fingers, and moved to the ornate cabinet where the rest of the family’s ancient scrolls were stored. With slow and deliberate gestures, he opened a drawer, tucked the scroll inside, and slammed it shut. The message to the ambassador was clear: I know you snooped and went through my belongings without my consent.

I understand you want to discuss certain issues, Ambassador.

Ambassador Devon’s face grew redder than his ears. I…ah. Perhaps after supper is best. With that, the elf slipped around Gustaf and Beatrix and crossed the antechamber. Instead of waiting for his hosts, he disappeared into the hallway.

Gustaf blew out his cheeks. What is he up to, älskling? Doesn’t he understand I could kick his uppity ass out of my house? I’m so angry, I could pull all that stringy white hair out of his scalp. That was a complete breach of etiquette.

Yes. She nodded. But think of the diplomatic consequences before acting. Could you tell which scroll he was reading?

Hmmm… I’m almost certain he was reading the scroll that follows Soren’s and maybe part of Hagen’s path. Son of a bitch. He’s given me itchy ants all over my body.

I don’t like it either. We need to study the scroll. There’s something in Soren’s path he wanted to learn.

Evidently, but what? Gustaf rubbed his chin. And why was he snooping? He could’ve asked. Elves are supposed to be allies, not spies.

Beatrix kissed his hand. Supper and guests first. When they’re gone, we’ll come back and check what’s in it. It’s possible a new symbol appeared. Sound good?

Yes, my love.

Remember, Soren isn’t alone in New York. Brant is with him. They watch each other’s backs.

Thanks for reminding me. That makes me feel a little better. He offered Beatrix his arm, feigning a calm he didn’t feel at all. He wouldn’t stop worrying until that bastard left the ancestral home and he could check every detail in Soren’s scroll.

Chapter One

THE F TRAIN arrived at the Jackson Heights platform, stopped with a screeching sound of metal grinding metal, and opened its doors. Maya fought with the aggressive sea of humanity as half pushed in while the other half shoved out. She rode the outbound wave and dashed across the platform to the E train before it pulled out on her. Missing her connection meant she’d have to wait thirty to forty minutes for the next train.

A kind soul saw her struggle. He stuck his foot between the closing doors, forcing them to retract with an angry jump. Maya slipped in, followed closely by a burly man who must have also noticed the rare opportunity and took it. She sent a grateful glance at the young man. He nodded in quick acknowledgment and returned to his private space of headphones and twice-folded newspaper.

One more stop and she was a few blocks from home. Counting the minutes, she hung on to the pole as the car lurched side to side. Maya was exhausted and hungry. Her tummy groaned, emphasizing the sensation of emptiness. If she hurried, she could make it to JoJu before it closed. An image of the scrumptious Hot Chick sandwich—Joju’s most popular menu item—with extra garlic mayo formed in her mind. Her mouth salivated, anticipating the first crunchy bite with the ensuing explosion of flavor.

Her thoughts shifted to her sweet godmother, Anna, the angel who’d rescued her with unconditional love and showed her a new world existed beyond Chandler.

When Maya came to New York from Oklahoma at the age of fourteen, she’d never heard of Vietnamese food. Chinese was the closest thing to Asian cuisine most Chandler residents knew. The scant offerings available in nearby Oklahoma City weren’t as good or as authentic tasting—she learned that later with Anna.

Dear, sweet Anna. In the midst of a tragedy, she’d been a true godsend, the soothing presence Maya had needed when her parents perished in a freak accident. They’d gone hiking to Bell Cow Lake. When they didn’t return late that night, Maya reported them missing. Their bodies were recovered floating on the water three days later. Her parents were both excellent swimmers, so the police discounted drowning. Martha and John Brown were a quiet couple. They had no enemies. Folks knew how much they loved each other. Therefore, a crime of passion was also discarded. Plus, there were no signs of violence or trauma on their bodies. The authorities did discover a superficial round black mark on their right temples, which bewildered everyone. When the autopsy couldn’t link their demise to anything specific, the district attorney stopped investigating and the constant traffic in and out of her home ended. The reckoning silence of tragedy arrived.

That’s when Anna knocked on her door.

Maya had a vague, almost faded memory of the short, dark-haired lady. Anna’s kind brown eyes melted Maya’s initial shyness. And later, when Anna showed Maya photos of her baptism, several baby pictures, party images with her parents while laughing and drinking beer, her reticence disappeared and the bond was formed. Anna opened her affectionate godmother arms to grieving Maya and allowed her to cry her young heart out. Once the funeral was over, Anna took Maya to the shiny metropolis in the east.

New York was a whirlwind of excitement, eye-opening and wild. Maya went everywhere, visited, shopped, tasted, and, most importantly, learned. The dynamic diversity the city offered widened her horizons to possibilities she’d never before entertained. Little by little, an urban lady replaced the naïve country teen.

The subway car wobbled side to side on the track as it hit a curve and jerked. She snapped to the present, tightening her grip on the storyboard case before it flew across the floor. Everyone in the ad agency had toiled day and night to prepare for next week’s presentation. They’d shoot her if she lost or damaged it. Tonight, she had to look over the VP’s notes, edit the three graphics he’d requested, and the project was ready for presentation.

The Elmhurst station’s sign came into view; the train slowed and stopped. Its doors opened with a pneumatic swish, and Maya bolted out.

As she turned to the right-hand stairs, she caught a glimpse of the burly man who’d rushed behind her at the Jackson Heights station. She watched him for a second. When he exited to the left, she forgot about him as she ran up the stairs.

Outside, most of the shops along Broadway had closed or were in the process of lowering their metal shutters. She walked quickly, zigzagging between foot traffic. She crossed the corners of Elmhurst and Whitney, and then she saw it, JoJu’s flashing neon sign, a lime-green oasis promising exquisite nourishment to the starved. She was going to make it.

As Maya entered the brightly lit establishment, Sam ignored the customers trying to get their last-minute orders in and waved at her. Hi, missy. You good. Enough time before closing. Same ol’ same ol’, Hot Chick, ya?

Mmm-hmm. She held up a thumb, glancing at the delicious-looking food photos hanging on the walls. The scent of garlic and spices wafted in the air. Her tummy danced with happiness. Again, her mouth watered.

I make one for you and one for auntie? Sam’s slanted eyes crinkled with humor.

Maya thought for a moment. Should I call Anna and ask? What if she ate already? Nah. If Anna doesn’t want it, she’ll have the sandwich for lunch tomorrow.

Two, please.

Ten minutes. Spicy?

Green bomb. She giggled. You know us. We love spicy.

Okay, missy. Right away.

At this hour, most customers came to JoJu for takeout, and a short line had formed. She got out of their way, pulled out a metal chair from an empty table, and sat. Exactly ten minutes later, Sam came out holding a large white paper bag. She paid him, sent her regards to his wife, Joon, and left.

The cool early-April breeze brushed her skin. She took a deep breath, ignoring the additional funky smells city living spread in the air, and walked on. Holding on to her precious paper bag, she crossed Dongan Avenue, made it to the corner, and stopped dead. From shoulder to shoulder, a weird prickle ran across her back.

Her street-tuned senses went on full alert.

She blinked and listened, seeking any sounds out of the ordinary.

Nothing.

A moment passed, and so did the sensation.

Releasing a deep breath, she shook her shoulders to relax the tension and turned left on St. James.

Anna called these sensations warnings from the universe. On occasion, she claimed magical beings existed alongside mankind, except human sight was normally blind to that world. It would take a life-changing event, something really critical, close to death, to lift the barrier. Maya would laugh, amused by her godmother’s eccentric ideas and vivid imagination.

Odd. She wasn’t laughing now,

Maya crossed 88th Street. Halfway up the block, the prickle returned. Did she hear…footfalls? This time, she turned around. The sidewalk was empty. She scanned the area. No fleeting shadows. No movement. Even the bushes lining the fronts of the buildings were absolutely still.

Only a distant siren shattered the silence.

The tiny hairs on her arms stood.

She turned on the tips of her toes and broke into a jog as she searched inside the pocket of her slacks for her keys, a habit Anna had ingrained in her. Keep your keys close. Always. They open doors quickly. In a pinch, they’re weapons. She sped into the empty lobby of her building. The door swung shut behind her as she fumbled with her purse, storyboard case, and paper bag until she got her phone out. If a stranger appeared, she’d dial 911.

Panting she waited. No one showed. The walkway remained empty. A tenant shuffled behind her with a loaded laundry basket in his arms, mumbled a greeting, and turned into the laundry room.

The waning heat of the sandwiches got her moving. She rode the elevator alone, walked along the pale-yellow hallway—its air saturated with cooking smells—and entered their apartment.

I’m home, she called out, turning on the light switch. Anna?

Strange, the TV was off, and other than a dim light coming from Anna’s bedroom, the apartment was dark. Was she asleep?

Wake up, sleepyhead. Look what I brought us. JoJu was open. Maya swept past the small dining-living room space, dropped the storyboard case on the table, and entered the kitchen. She placed her precious JoJu’s bag on the countertop and flipped on a light, then opened the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of water.

Out of nowhere, a huge hand muffled her nose and mouth. As she fought to get free and tried to scream, a sharp needle stung her neck.

Countless black pinpoints blotted out her vision.

The bottle slipped out of her hand and hit the floor.

Maya’s tongue felt dry and thick inside her mouth, like it had swollen too much and had run out of space. She smacked her lips. Nauseating, metallic saliva surged in her mouth. An unbearable jackhammer punished her temples without mercy. Her skull would break open like a coconut shell if this continued.

Slowly, she opened her eyelids to slits, tuning in to a distant voice. The speaker, judging by the deep tone, sounded angry.

I’m telling you, Devon saw it. I defied him. Told him it was impossible, but he insisted, the stranger argued. The symbol was there. Clear and unmistakable.

Through her eyelashes, she distinguished a dark, rickety, tired room—a place built a century ago, at least. She lay stretched out on a bed, and a human shape occupied a chair next to the window. She tugged her right hand. Confusion blurred her thoughts. She couldn’t move it. Another wave of nausea hit her. She retched. A mouthful of bile came up. Fearing she would gag, she forced it down. Disgusted, she retched again.

Maya. Are you awake, honey? The human in the chair shifted. The familiar voice eased her consternation.

Despite the pounding headache that warned her to remain still, she opened her eyelids wide. Anna? Anna? The room spun around her. What is this? I don’t understand—

Shh, keep your voice down. He’s in the next room, but he’s got excellent hearing.

He who? Where are we? She pulled at her right hand again. It was tethered to the metal railing framing the bed, same as the left.

Darling, listen to me very carefully. Don’t interrupt, Anna whispered. Your safety, your life, depends on this.

Anna paused. Maybe she wanted an acknowledgment from her.

Okay, Maya murmured back. I’m listening.

This is all my fault. I should’ve prepared you better and much sooner. Told you the truth. I was a fool. Always thought I’d hidden you so well, you wouldn’t be found. Now you’re paying for my hubris. The shape moved again.

Maya’s vision had grown accustomed to the gloom. She could see her godmother’s sad expression. She groaned with impatience. Where was Anna going with this?

Remember my stories? About the magic and the creatures that lived alongside humans?

Yes, Maya whispered. I took them as amusing children’s stories. A touch of eccentricity on your part.

No, darling. They’re true, and the entity in the other room is an elf, a high-ranking member of a supernatural breed. He’s the one who had us kidnapped. Why he risked taking you, a phoenix mate, is beyond me. This will trigger a war.

If her godmother had been less tragic-looking, she might have laughed. Still, a tiny smirk formed.

There’s no time for skepticism. Anna frowned. You promised to listen. I haven’t lost my faculties yet. I was assigned to care for you if something happened to your adoptive parents.

Maya gasped. My what…adoptive parents?

Please hush, sweetheart, Anna murmured quickly. I understand your confusion. This is too much information and too sudden. I’m asking you to trust me once more. I’m your godmother and human guardian as well. My job is to protect you, keep you safe, and that means getting you out of here. Hold still. Maybe I can send you a bit of strength.

Anna breathed in and out. Each inhale and exhale grew in strength. On the fourth exhale, she expelled the air inside her lungs. Strangely, her breath strengthened, became a small gust of wind. When it hit Maya’s body, a sensation similar to an electric rush coursed through her. The headache and nausea disappeared.

Pull your arms free, goddaughter.

Maya flexed her arms. The ties broke like strings.

Damn.

Listen, Anna murmured. Get out while he’s still arguing. Your muscles should have enough lingering power to open the window and jump down.

Yes! The angry voice blasted through the wall, reinforcing Anna’s urgings. For the last time, I have her. I found her in Queens. Now it’s up to you. Do your fucking part.

I’m not leaving you tied up with that beast, Maya protested. I can free you.

Anna shook her head. Don’t waste your strength. You’re going to need it to reach Soren.

Who?

Oh, my Lord, Anna scoffed, obviously exasperated. Okay, release my hands so I can use my amulet.

Maya unwound the rope from around Anna’s wrists as she listened to her instructions.

"The building we’re in is on Mulberry Street, Little Italy. You need to find the bar on the corner of Sullivan and Spring. It’s a beat-up, no-name place with a black façade. You’ll recognize it when you see it. Go inside, ask for Soren or Brant. They’ll help you. The bar isn’t close. Use the shadows to hide while you hurry