The phantom, p.10
The Phantom, page 10
Truth? “If you have lied, I will find you. Both of you. I’ll kill you and everyone you love.” He released his hostage, and she collapsed on the ground.
“So fierce!” someone squealed behind him.
Females! He kicked into gear. Things only grew worse from there as he and the siren journeyed across a hilly expanse. Monna used the opportunity to explain all the reasons he should sleep with her. Everything from scratching an itch to giving her the baby she’d dreamed of having for so long to proving “once you go siren, no others are worth admirin’.”
“Hey! Are you listening to me?” she whined. “I said this Monna knows how to make you moan. There’s no better time to demand I prove it. Hint, hint.”
Tracking, tracking. Dirt gave way to pink sand and mile after mile of abandoned desert. Though Blythe’s scent continued to provide a path, he never caught sight of her. Somehow, she remained at bay.
“What is located in this direction?” he asked, interrupting his date’s newest diatribe.
Monna gave a slight shudder. “Wraith Island.”
Ah. Blythe sought the individual who’d hobbled her. “How far is it? How many wraiths reside there?”
“Five hours or so on foot. And one wraith? Ten? A hundred? Who knows? Anyone foolish enough to venture onto the island is never seen or heard from again. Not even our queen attempts to rule the species. The wraiths govern themselves, led by Penelope the Husk Maker. She’s responsible for tagging your phantom, which means your phantom is now hers, and you’ll never get her back. You might as well forget her and focus on a different bedmate. Hey, here’s a totally random thought I’m offering for no particular reason. I’m very bendy.”
Husk Maker. Because she drained her victims dry?
Roux picked up the pace, jogging. Running. The citizens were right to avoid the wraiths; they were extremely dangerous. Oh, the damage this Penelope could do to Blythe...
The next hour passed in silence, wind kicking sand in every direction. The grains ruffled his hair, filled his nose, and pelted his skin, stinging like needles. Nothing he hadn’t borne before. The siren, on the other hand, began to lag, despite using his body as a shield. Was she deterred from flirting? Not even slightly.
Another hour passed, seeming to take an eternity and a blip at the same time as the landscape changed again. From sunny pink sands to dark and gloomy skies overlooking rock bundles.
“Do you have a mate at home?” Monna asked. “Is that how you’re able to resist all this?” She motioned to her admittedly lovely body.
He held his tongue, supplying only a grunt.
With twenty-two minutes remaining on the six-hour date clock, a large body of choppy water came into view. Even as a thin white vapor blew over the surface, he caught sight of a bobbing dark head at last. Blythe! She didn’t appear to be drowning but swimming strong and fast toward a large island with a heavily wooded mountain rising from the center, its top shrouded with a much thicker mist.
“Stay here.” he ordered. But, when he tried to flash, he failed. Roux swallowed a curse. His oath. He couldn’t leave the siren behind.
“Sorry, lover,” she said, understanding, “but abandoning me for any amount of time isn’t how this date of ours works. If you want to flash, flash, but you gotta take me with you. Them’s the rules you agreed to.”
“Very well. We do this together.” He slung an arm around her. “Prepare yourself. This might be jarring.”
Just as before, she melted against him and ran her palms over his chest. “I’ll be sure to hang on real tight.”
Flash. They materialized directly in front of Blythe, chin-deep in the icy water. He treaded his feet, holding the siren with one hand and snagging the harphantom with the other as a wave rolled past.
Monna screeched. Blythe fought him, but it was too late. He held fast and flashed to the beach.
Upon landing on solid ground, the siren curled against him, muttering, “So c-c-cold, k-k-keep me warm.”
Blythe wrenched free from his clasp. He expected an immediate attack, but she stayed where she was, drenched and glaring, her eyes a haunting mix of black and blue. The gown clung to her water-dotted skin. And he’d considered the garment transparent before. Every curve defined...
Roux licked his lips. His flesh might be the temperature of ice, but his blood burned white-hot. The sight of her body, a perfect hourglass...
He thought he heard Monna exclaim, “So big! And still growing! By the way, you touched me first, and I consider that my permission. Stay silent if you agree.”
Focus on what matters. Right. Anger overlaid his attraction. Blythe had endangered herself as well as his mission. She must be stopped from ever doing so again.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Blythe’s teeth chattered. “You’re making it difficult to contain my hatred for you.”
“Go ahead. Unleash it.” He stepped toward her in challenge. “Let the wraith drain more of your strength.”
She jumped to avoid contact. A mistake. Her knees buckled. She careened to her backside and stayed put, panting and glowering up at him. The hem of the dress—nightgown—whatever bunched above her knees, revealing more of her legs.
Roux scrubbed a hand over his drying mouth. Too beautiful, and too stubborn. That’s what she was. Why not keep the ruby on her until the end of the tournament? Forcing her to dial down her abhorrence for him could only aid his task. There would be fewer attempts to take Roux out or reach Wraith Island. The weaker his charge, the less damage she could do.
As long as he kept her by his side, she would be perfectly safe. Yes. He liked this plan. Once he’d successfully crowned the new queen of Ation, he would work to free Blythe. Until then...
Best to hobble her in other ways, too. He reached behind his back and summoned the chains from his pack. The metal links with accompanying shackles appeared in his waiting grip. If—when—he did this, Blythe’s loathing for him was sure to double. Triple. Harpies were notorious for their aversion to fetters. But so what? Wasn’t as though he had a chance with her anyway. Or that he even desired a chance.
The burn to touch her and be touched by her would go away sooner or later.
“Know you brought this on yourself,” he grated, revealing the contraption to Blythe.
“Ohhhh. Is that for you or me or me and her?” Monna squealed with happiness. “Never mind. I say yes! I’m into it.”
The harphantom clambered to her feet. “Don’t you dare come near me with that thing.”
“I dare anything when it comes to the well-being of the Astra and the safety of my task.” Perhaps her safety factored into the equation as well. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he prepared the cuffs for her wrists. “I gave you a chance to behave. Now I’ll force the issue.”
“I won’t go down easily,” she snapped.
“I know. But you will go down.” He wasted no time, flashing closer and caging her in his arms.
She fought hard, injuring herself to injure him. He absorbed any abuse. Twice he lost his grip on her. Such soft, slippery skin. A thousand times, he lost his mind. Such lush, feminine curves. Fire consumed his veins, a distraction he couldn’t afford. In the end, he had to drop the shackles, pin her atop a mossy rock with her arms over her head, and straddle her waist to subdue her. Unexpectedly winded, he summoned the chains.
“Is it my turn yet?” Monna asked.
“Go ahead,” Blythe spit up at him. He missed her playful smile. “You’re the Astra’s torture master, after all.” Her eyes flashed black. “Do to me what you did to the boy.”
Boy? He clamped the first manacle in place. “What boy?”
“The one in your memory. I’ve seen how much you enjoyed chaining him. He lay upon that table, helpless, pleading for mercy, as you peeled and seared his flesh, piece by piece.”
She’d seen his memories, without the aid of alevala? The blood rushed from Roux’s head, a piercing ring filling his ears. Before he had time to think, the truth spilled from his tongue. “My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.”
10
THE BARGAIN
Blythe reeled. She had no words to give as Roux transported her and the siren back to the bedroom at the palace. He released the other woman immediately, then secured Blythe’s chain to the bed’s canopy rail, securing her arms above her head.
He muttered, “The so-called adventure date is officially over,” while escorting the other woman to the door. A slab of wood now in major need of repair. “My obligation to you has ended.”
The siren gaped at him. “But we haven’t... I didn’t get to... Give me a chance—”
The Astra slammed the block in her face. He didn’t acknowledge Blythe as he stalked to his backpack, gathered a set of tools, and worked far longer than necessary to repair the damaged entrance.
For an eternity, she stood where he’d left her, trying to make sense of the words he’d spoken with such a flat, almost dead cadence.
My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.
Had he told the truth? Maybe. Or spun a lie to garner undeserved sympathy? Maybe not. Think this through.
She’d known the visions in her head had come from his memories. But she’d been so focused on the older male who resembled Roux in every way but one, she hadn’t studied the child. Now she considered nothing else. The child did resemble Roux—greatly. Same pale, wavy hair. Same bronze skin. Same yellow eyes with those spinning striations.
The two were indeed related. They were probably even father and son, just as he’d claimed.
Bile burned Blythe’s throat. How could a man hurt his own child in such a way? Parents were supposed to be protectors. The thought of purposely maiming her own daughter sickened her. That sickness worsened when she considered any young one, even the Astra, enduring such repeated anguish and agony.
The savagery she’d witnessed. The tormentor’s delight. Roux’s hopeless desperation.
Blythe tensed as a question struck. What did this realization mean for her vengeance? Something? Nothing? A traumatic past didn’t excuse what Roux had done to her family or her people. Nothing did. Nothing could. Deep down, she still despised him, her determination to mete punishment unwavering. And yet, the sense of urgency had faded.
Stop allowing your hatred to be your coffin. Live your life. Find happiness.
Laban’s advice echoed inside her mind. Well, the hallucination’s advice.
Maybe Roux’s death could wait until the completion of his task? She could even turn the delay into a belated wedding gift to Taliyah. The newlyweds wouldn’t be condemned to five hundred years of defeat, forcing all of harpykind to go into hiding with the General and her Commander, simply to survive. A win-win for everyone but Erebus.
But what of the other consort-less harpies Roc and his army were responsible for? Was their vengeance to be delayed as well?
Although, they might be consort-less, but they were still harpies. What if they preferred to deliver their own brand of justice?
Okay. Wow. What a difference a small piece of information made in a person’s mindset. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. If Blythe didn’t strike at the first opportunity, she was nothing but a fool. Right?
The shackles rattled as she plopped onto the foot of the bed. She sat statue still amidst a beam of silvery moonlight as Roux finished the door, returned to his chair, and dug items from his backpack. Weapons. A notebook and pen. More weapons. A pillow. Even more weapons. A can of soda. More weapons.
Who was he, Mary Freaking Poppins? What else was in that bag, and how soon could she steal it?
The crystal crown caught her eye. The circlet dangled from the side, as usual. Even more beautiful.
The urge to hold it and wear it resurged stronger. If she hadn’t been chained, she might have marched across the room to claim it. Who didn’t want to be queen? But, just as before, the urge tapered, allowing her to refocus on Roux. Mistake!
Candle after candle sparked to life on its own. More and more soft, golden light caressed the Astra, creating a glittering force field around his powerful body. Her heart rate quickened.
Head bowed, he wrote in the notebook and sipped his drink. Must be writing down observations about the realm and the women within; he concentrated with all his might.
He. The male who’d survived horrors of unimaginable proportions.
It wasn’t long before the sun rose, pouring morning light through the windows. A delicate wind snuffed out every candle. Smoke curled from the wicks, soon creating a hazy, dreamlike effect. Still Roux wrote.
A dozen times, Blythe opened her mouth to initiate a conversation. His task. His past. Their current predicament. A few questions about Isla. Had he seen the girl before coming here? How had she looked? Acted? But Blythe choked and stayed quiet. Maybe it was better not to know. And why make nice with Laban’s killer? Even if a hallucination had maybe kind of offered permission.
A firm rap at the door preceded the clicking of a lock. The gorgon she’d seen at the Oath Stones strolled inside the room, carrying a tray piled high with food. The snakes protruding from her scalp currently slept and hung well past her shoulders.
“Hello, gorgeous,” the other woman said. “I thought I might bring you a little me with a side of pancakes.”
The vampire, a harpy, a siren other than Miss First Date, and an Amazon elbowed each other in the hallway, fighting to be the first through the door on the gorgon’s heels. Each held a tray of her own and raved about the dishes.
“Grandma’s secret sexy recipe!”
“Guaranteed to stimulate your fiercest appetites.”
“Once you taste mine, you’ll forever pine. It’s a guarantee.”
The females jockeyed for the best spot to leave their offerings, utterly ignoring Blythe. Thank goodness. Oh, the utter humiliation of being bound to a bed in front of witnesses.
“By the way. Who gets to date you next?” Trayless now, the vampire anchored her hands on her hips. “We gotta have an answer so the lucky lady has time to prepare her nether regions for pound town.”
“Nether regions?” The Amazon elbowed her in the stomach. “We talked about this.”
“What? I didn’t want to sound crass while being crass.”
“We are picking up the pace,” Roux said without glancing up from his writing. “There will be multiple dates today. I’ll start with the first female to leave this room. She may return in one hour.”
The jockeying started up again, with the harpy making it into the hall first, the gorgon second, and the Amazon third. The harpy celebrated her victory with a smug little dance while the others pouted and threw fists. And daggers. Amid the brutal battle, someone accidentally shut the door—with someone else’s head. Suddenly Blythe and Roux were alone once again.
The scent of bacon, syrup, and fresh fruit made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. Unlike other harpies, she didn’t have to steal her food in order to prevent sickness. A perk of being a royal phantom.
“Well? Unchain me already. Let’s feast,” she commanded, so snotty she annoyed even herself. “Apparently, we only have an hour.”
He didn’t glance her way, either, but he did stop writing. “The she-beast is hungry, is she?”
She rolled her eyes. “You do realize she-beast isn’t an insult to me, yes? It’s a compliment. But yeah, I’m hungry.”
That snared his attention. He set the notebook aside, asking, “Do you want food or the Phoenix I mentioned? Or both?”
“Food.” And maybe soul, just not the Phoenix’s.
“Very well.” Roux stood and breathed deep, as if steeling himself for a coming blow. He popped the bones in his neck and rolled back his shoulders. Muscles and alevala rippled before her eyes.
Mmm, mmm, mmm. Look at those washboard abs.
Dang. Ogling him now? Trying to ignore her fluttering belly, she quickly averted her gaze. So he had a physique sculpted from fantasies and power? So what? She had no interest in bedding him. Nope. None. Like any harpy who’d lost her beloved consort, Blythe was dead from the neck down.
Well, mostly dead. On the verge, anyway. Perhaps a libido took time to wither completely? Yes, yes. That must be it. Her foe’s incredible strength had nothing to do with anything. This was simply her body’s last-ditch effort to revive.
From the corner of her eye, she watched as Roux swiped up the tray closest to him and dragged the stool at the desk to the foot of the bed. He eased atop the stool’s rounded top and balanced their breakfast on his lap.
Did he think to feed her by hand? “No way,” she spat, facing him. Too intimate! Too reminiscent of the time she’d had no memory of their past. She’d sat on him, in total lust with his ferocity, feeling as if she’d stumbled upon a treasure of untold riches, delighting in his reaction to her teasing.
“If you wish to eat this food, yes way,” he said. His pupils immediately pulsed, momentarily covering his irises. Two alevala jumped, switching places.
Ohhhh. What was this? Was he fighting a battle within himself again?
Was she? Blythe realized she was panting ever so slightly. Panting. With desire. For him. So close she had only to reach out to touch him...
No! No, no, no. The desire wasn’t for him but sex. There was a difference.
Desperate to eradicate the tension in the air and prove herself right, she rushed out, “Why don’t we bargain?” She would do almost anything to avoid having his fingers near her mouth.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and his lids turned heavy, sinking to half-mast. A good look for him. “There’s no need. Without an Oath Stone, I cannot trust you to keep your end of an agreement.”
