Phoenix Reborn by Carina Wilder

from a large circle of earth, then with her hiking shoe, dug a small pit into which she laid the wood. This was the act of someone who’d learned to control fire, who respected its power. And for now, the fire would wait until the cold of evening set in.
    Ashling stood up straight, bending her neck back so that she looked up into the treetops, inhaling the fresh air as she took in the deep blue sky above. This time there were no vultures, no eagles. Only her, very much alone. But this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Solitude; a chance to think.
    And as she unpacked the tent and began to set it up, that was just what she got.
    She thought of Hawke, of his seeming affinity for his “muse,” and caught herself smiling. There was something special about him; he was unlike any man she’d ever met. And it wasn’t fake charm. Every ounce of feminine intuition told her that she could trust him when he spoke sweetly to her. Perhaps it was because he spoke the same way of Woodland Creek, of the air and the trees. His voice in those moments was so like hers, and in him she had a kindred spirit; a lover of all things wild and untamed.
    But that was the thing: she was wild and untamed. And a film star who lived in New York wasn’t the man to tame her. She could only bring him down. And she was too generous to do such a thing. What was that frustrating saying that people used all too often? If you love someone, set them free…oh, yeah. That was it. She wasn’t sure about love — it was too soon to conceive of all the meaning behind such a word, even after all these years. But she liked him. A lot. And ruining him wasn’t in the cards.
    Maybe by the time she headed back to Woodland Creek, he’d be long gone. Away, off to find another woman who could be his muse. One without so much literal or figurative baggage.
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    Hawke cancelled the appointment he was meant to have that evening with his co-star, an actress named Virginia. She seemed nice enough; young, naive, sweet. She’d approached him, wanting to run over the lines for their next scene together, and at the moment the only woman with whom he wanted to exchange words was somewhere deep in the woods. If she wasn’t actually lost, he had no doubt that she was at least a little troubled. And he could help.
    Shifting had always been a bit of a pain, particularly the part when it came to concealing one’s shed clothing. He always ended up leaving garments lying here and there, and over the years he had gotten quite good at hiding it.
    Woodland Creek was the only place where he could really be free. Here lay a community of others who, like him, concealed the truth. And many of them were well aware of each other; some were even aware of what he was. But he knew that he could trust them, as not one of them wanted the secret of their abilities revealed.
    Unfortunately, this secrecy also offered a sort of protection for those of their kind who were less than savoury characters — the ones who got away with offences. These were generally petty acts — the odd bit of bullying and nastiness, acts that were unregulated by the human population. But an attack like the one perpetrated on Ashling was a rarity. Shifters weren’t psychos, after all; they were simply humans with extraordinary abilities.
    He didn’t know why the man had attacked her, but he could guess. She was special, miraculous. And Hawke had known it even when they were children. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way she moved. She was fluid, like liquid, as though her body were made of the air that surrounded her.
    His gifts meant that he moved in strange ways, as well. He’d always been quick, faster than most people, and he hid it well while working with those in his field. Hot young actors weren’t meant to have what amounted to superpowers, after all; he was supposed to seem more like a boy next door than a fiction. And in all probability, if it weren’t for the fact that he was a shifter himself, he