The phantom, p.11
The Phantom, page 11
The tension thickened. Irritated, she snapped, “That sounds like a you prob—”
He shoved a strawberry onto her tongue, silencing her. A heated protest dissolved as the sweet juice awoke her taste buds.
After she swallowed, she tried again. “Look. I decided not to—” The tanginess of pineapple hit her awareness, and she moaned. His scent in her nose deepened the richness of the flavors.
“See. No need.”
Okay. At this rate, they’d get nowhere. Blythe did the only thing she could. She kicked the tray from his lap before he could feed her anything else. Instant outburster’s remorse! Bye-bye pineapple. Bye-bye strawberry.
Roux looked at the food splattered over the floor, then her, then the food, then her. He blanked his expression. “Very well. You may go hungry. Act like a she-beast, and you’ll be treated like one.”
When he made to rise, she slammed her foot atop his shoulder to hold him down. “Unchain me, and I’ll act like a mildly mature human adult. I’ll stay put. I promise. Consider this a test run for my level of honesty. While we eat, each feeding ourselves, we can exchange questions.” Win-win for her. There were mysteries she longed to decipher. Also, freedom!
He arched a brow. “You think there’s something about you I wish to know?”
“Yes.” A confident statement. “I’m the daughter of your worst enemy, and I’ve had more dealings with Erebus than anyone you’ve ever met. You must be curious to learn his greatest weaknesses. Or perhaps you’d like to learn the plans I’m privy to.”
Roux snorted. “And you’ll tell me all without lying, yes? Me, the male you despise.”
“Well, yeah. Why not? Daddy Dearest arranged for my passage here, only to betray me. I’m looking forward to returning the favor. Also—see! You have questions. In a show of good faith, I’ll answer this one for free. Erebus is the reason I’m wearing a wraith’s jewel with my see-through jammies.”
When she angled her metal-bound wrists to trail a blunt-tipped claw down the center of the ruby, he followed the action with his gaze and gulped. Got him! “What do you say?”
Roux gave a clipped nod. “I agree to your terms. We may ask up to three questions each about any topic. The other person cannot refuse to answer. If you lie, even once, I’ll know, and I’ll keep you chained even after my task is completed.”
“Please,” she retorted. “You’ll be dead long before then.”
His eyelids slitted. But he rose, unhooked the chain from the bed—without freeing her hands—and strode off to sit at the desk, where the bulk of food trays rested. With his back to her, he waved her over.
Testing her at the starting line? Blythe stood and stomped over, plopping in the chair across from him and digging in. He watched her. Intently. She tried not to notice or care that flutters had re-erupted in her stomach.
“So. Why did your father torture you?” Better to start with a bang, letting him know she wouldn’t be pulling her punches.
He blinked. “You wish to know about my childhood, when you have only three questions? An answer that has no bearing on our situation?” Confusion flittered over his expression. “Very well. I’ll tell you. My twin, Rowan, and I were not conceived in the typical way. Mars—”
“Whoa! There are two of you?” The second question exploded from her before she had a chance to filter it with common sense.
He smirked, the striations in his eyes spinning at warp speed. “There are, yes. And now you have a final question remaining.”
Hey! “That last one doesn’t count.” Might as well give a protest a shot. “It could have been a statement.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No,” she grumbled, honest. “It wasn’t.”
His next smirk was even more irritating than the original. “As I was saying, Mars—our father—was bored and wondered how he might have turned out if he’d lived different lives as a child. So he cloned himself, creating the two of us. Rowan, he kept in luxury and pampered. Me, he kept in the dungeon and tormented.”
Oh, wow. A thousand other questions whirled inside her head. Roux the Astra. A clone. A freaking clone of the Roman god Mars. An exact copy. All because the (clearly) egomaniacal warrior had wished to know the difference a childhood filled with torment wreaked on a boy?
The unbridled pride required to do such a thing. The total lack of compassion. Roux’s childhood was far worse than she’d suspected, wasn’t it?
Rather than partake of the meal, he crossed his arms over his chest. “My turn. Death is involved in becoming a phantom, even for the daughters of Erebus. Tell me about yours.”
She frowned. Why would he wish to know such a thing? Unless he thought he would discover her greatest weaknesses? Yeah, that had to be it.
Well, too bad, so sad. The story revealed nothing. “I was nine years old. A year away from leaving home to attend harpy camp, where I was expected to learn to control my temper in order to better kill my enemies. My mother and aunt summoned me, explained the circumstances of my birth, asked if I wanted to be stronger, then stabbed me in the heart. First with fireiron, then demonglass, and finally cursedwood.” The three substances that made up trinite. “When I revived, boom, I was a phantom. And yes, I was stronger.”
He thought for a moment. “The actual conception of a phantom isn’t Erebus’s preferred method of creation.”
“Nope.” Usually, the Dark One killed an immortal of another species first, injected them with his death venom and seared his brand into their spirit—among other things—binding their will to his. “Don’t worry. I’ll turn my sights to Erebus soon and end the phantom-making problem at the source. Like I said, I owe him as much as I owe you.” Mood instantly soured, she sank her teeth into a bacon sandwich and ripped. The flavors burst on her tongue. Man, the ladies of Ation had no modern equipment that she’d seen, but they’d found a way to excel in every way possible, anyway.
Roux continued to watch her, the intensity of his gaze making her squirm.
“What?” she demanded.
“You harpies and your need for vengeance. It never ends.”
She replied between bites. “As if you Astra operate another way. I admit, though, I’m surprised you didn’t ask me how Erebus betrayed me.”
“Betrayal is betrayal.” A pause. Then, “Do you wish to become General, now that the rules for leadership have changed?”
Again, another question that revolved around her. “No. I’m on a different career path now.” Only a few months ago, a harpy had to be a virgin to rule over the species. Since the Astra’s arrival and Taliyah’s ascension to the throne as replacement for the slain Nissa, that requirement had gotten the boot.
With nine stars earned, only one challenge stood in the way of Blythe’s reign. Defeating her sister on the battlefield.
First, she had no desire to cut another beloved family member from Isla’s life. Second, Blythe didn’t want to harm her sister, and that’s what it would take to win a true battle between them. And third, she had her vengeance to oversee.
“Ah, yes,” he said, a little too silkily for her liking. Uh-oh. Had they switched to flirt mode again? “Your new career path. Let me guess. Destroyer of Astra.”
“Exactly. DOA for short. An acronym with a second, equally applicable meaning.”
He arched a brow, Astra-speak for do tell.
Her pulse fluttered. “Dead on arrival.” Meal forgotten, she reached up and grazed the ruby with the pad of a finger. “That’s my company motto.”
His gaze followed the action and heated. “Funny. This Astra has never felt more alive.”
Yes. They had definitely switched. “What do you want from me, Rue? No, don’t answer that.” She had a solo query left, and she had to make it count. What should she demand to know?
Thinking...
Oh! Here was something sure to ruin the mood and educate her about his physiology at the same time. “Why did your alevala kill the shifter?”
He shrugged. “My memories are tainted. In fact, you are never to peer at my alevala.”
Big tell. Huge! What part of his past didn’t he want her to see? Unless...
She gulped. Was he concerned about her well-being? “I feel cheated. You’re gonna have to elaborate and tell me why your memories are tainted.”
“Because I am tainted.” A flat statement. He clearly believed what he’d said with every fiber of his being.
Why would he think that? “Are you tainted because of all the fated mates you’ve killed during your battles to obtain a blessing?” Petty of her, yes, but a girl had to use the weapons at her disposal.
A tinge of color dotted his cheeks. “Couldn’t the same be asked of you? How many mated ones have you slain?”
The food she’d consumed settled like lead in her stomach. He wasn’t wrong. But as soon as she affirmed the truth, that yes, she had killed many fated mates on the battlefield, Roux would want to know how she could turn around and blame him for his actions. And he would have a point. But grief was an insatiable beast that fed on pain, and it didn’t care about points.
“Ask your final question,” she told him, swiping a sugar cookie from a tray. Though she was no longer hungry, the sweet treat helped sooth her nerves.
Roux’s study of her intensified. “Why are you able to function after the death of your consort, when other harpies cannot?” The fact that he used the softest, gentlest tone—a tone she should never, ever hear from someone like him—made the impact of his words a thousand times worse.
Then. That moment. The easy exchange was utterly obliterated. She bolted to her feet, her chair skidding behind her. The cookie splattered on the floor.
“What are you implying?” she demanded, wings buzzing.
“Oh, yes. I’m curious, too.” A feminine voice filled the room, startling and unwelcome.
Blythe found the culprit with her gaze and scowled. Penelope splayed on the bed, her head propped onto an upraised palm. She’d selected the same redheaded bombshell guise as before, with a much sexier outfit. No firstone dagger in sight.
“Well, this is awkward,” the wraith said. “Not the jubilant reception I expected. But please, do continue. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
11
THE MENACE
And the threats keep coming.
“Take a seat and be quiet, girl,” the intruder commanded. “Your superiors need to have a grown-up conversation.”
Shock held Roux immobile for two heartbeats as Blythe paled and obeyed, stumbling back and plopping into her chair, no longer as graceful as a ballerina. Black flooded her eyes, and croaked sounds left her. Attempting to hurl curses at the invader? Though she fought her position, she remained seated.
He catalogued several thoughts at once. The sight of the harphantom’s weakness did something to him. Roused a hidden protective instinct he’d never known he possessed. A wraith had entered his private bedroom without his knowledge. She wielded some kind of control over his harphantom, making her the one who’d applied the ruby. A certain enemy who’d accomplished the impossible by sneaking up on him without alerting his defenses. How?
He’d sensed no hint of aggression from her. Or perhaps he had sensed something but his desire for Blythe masked it. So much desire. White-hot. Blistering. How did she continue to touch him without inciting pain or irritation?
He’d been seconds away from yanking her into his lap and pressing his lips to hers.
He would have kissed her. Tasted her.
He still wanted to.
The wraith might have saved him from making an unforgivable mistake, but he planned to kill her regardless.
“Nothing to say, Astra?” she inquired.
He didn’t jump up or accuse or reveal a single beat of concern. Didn’t display any indication of his thoughts. He knew better. As soon as an opponent realized their effect on you, they owned you.
“I have plenty to say,” he offered pleasantly. “But I don’t think you’ll like any of it.” At last he deigned to stand, putting himself between Blythe and the visitor.
The wraith looked him over. “My, my, aren’t you a delicious treat? More so than I expected. I’m thrilled to say rumors are true for once.”
He studied the buxom redhead who reclined on the bed, perfectly at ease in the midst of a brutal warrior and his chained prisoner. She must know what many did not. Though the Astra Planeta could create worlds, they couldn’t handle spirit beings at will. One of the reasons Erebus had utilized his armies of phantoms to such a degree throughout the eons of their war.
But, even if Roux could handle this wraith, he couldn’t kill her yet. The ruby linked her to Blythe, and that link was currently open. If the wraith died right now, Blythe died as well. She might not revive.
Frustration pricked his nape. “If you came for the harphantom—”
“Let me stop you there. I came for you, darling. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Introductions must first be made. I’m Penelope the Available. Very available. And you are...?”
“Already tired of this conversation. Why are you here?”
She smiled, unbothered by his harshness. “I’ll call you Sir Hugsalot. Hugsie for short. Since I’m a businesswoman by nature, I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. For starters, I’m here to welcome you to our humble world. For enders, I’m owed one hundred meals in heels.” Her pitch hardened. So did the glint in her golden eyes. “I’ve taken the liberty of creating a list of names. You will fetch each female, or I will reclaim my sweet Blythe. You did notice my mark on her, yes?”
“Try to take her from me. I dare you.” He offered no more. While he couldn’t handle a wraith, he could hurt her. There were ways.
Behind him, Blythe grunted, no doubt fighting her weakness with every fiber of her being and spewing silent curses his way.
Penelope eased into an upright position, her smile growing wider. “I see you haven’t yet realized your predicament. Let me explain it in a way you’ll understand. I can aid your mission...or ruin it.”
He raised his chin a notch. “I promise you, wraith. My predicament is far better than yours.”
“I do hope you won’t make me teach you otherwise.” All teasing seduction, she glided to her feet, revealing a short pink dress with a deep vee up top and a ruffled skirt that did little to hide her panties. Tracing a sharp red nail between her breasts then plucking a piece of folded parchment from beneath the gown’s fabric, she said, “Last chance to agree to fetch my meals.”
He arched a brow. “If you’d done your research, you’d know I never reverse my decisions.”
She patted her mouth as she yawned. “I guess I hoped you’d make an exception since you cannot save yourself from battle by altering the atmosphere and putting anyone to sleep. Yes, I know about that.”
“I can manipulate the air in other ways.” Maybe. Probably. Creating airborne pain toxins required a whole different skillset. “You will remove the ruby or—there is no or. You have no other options.”
“Don’t be silly. I have all the options.” Penelope waved the parchment in his direction. “Are you sure denying me is the correct course? Even though I’ll rain more torment upon you than you’ve ever known?”
As if such a thing were possible. With a father like Mars, a mentor like Chaos, and a head full of mental prisoners who reviled him, Roux had already experienced the worst torments imaginable. His memories offered a fresh fileting every morning, and nothing anyone else did to him could ever compare.
In an attempt to prove it, the escaped prisoner screamed. Rage echoed through the chambers of his mind. So annoying. Who was this persistent male? Where did he hide, and why did he make himself known only at times like this?
“I’ll take your silence for a yes, you wish to deny me.” Penelope shrugged, resigned, and returned the parchment to its proper place. “Very well. I’ll allow you to enjoy the rest of your morning. But we’ll be seeing each other again real soon. That, I promise you.” With a wink, she glided to the wall of windows and whisked outside.
He waited several beats, lest she return, before concentrating on Blythe, who sagged in the chair, limp. Should he offer to feed her his blood? His soul? Other phantoms had smashed their lips all over his body. Why not her? Yes, it was a process he’d always detested. While souls regenerated and the pulling sensations were temporary, the memories lingered, festering with all his others. But. He had to admit he was curious to learn how he affected his charge.
If her mouth felt half as pleasant as her hand...
The fire reignited in his veins. Soon, he burned. Before he could make the offer, Blythe vaulted to her feet, her strength oh, so clearly returning. Well. Time to chain her to the bed, then.
Her eyes narrowed. Extending her shackled arms in front of her to ward him off, she snarled, “We both know Miss Murder just proved enemies can sneak up on you. Meaning, yes, you’re a terrible guard dog, and I’ve gotta be able to defend myself if I have any chance of surviving. Don’t you even think about—”
He flashed mere inches from her and clasped her by the biceps. Anger, irritation, and embarrassment collided within him. “I never make the same mistake twice. The wraith won’t succeed again.” He lifted the harphantom off the floor and hauled her to the bed, where he rehooked her to the metal links. “If you hadn’t guessed, she-beast, the breakfast and our bargain are over.”
* * *
Blythe fumed for the next four days while Roux lived his best life, going out with one beautiful immortal after another, completing his nine remaining dates as vowed. But, yeah, okay, sure. Those rendezvous had sucked for everyone involved. The guy had zero game. Like, none. Basically, he pretended he was alone while the women fawned or sexually harassed him. He never spoke a word. Not even when he spent quality time sharpening too-sharp weapons while sneaking searing glances at a certain prisoner who remained chained to his bed, making said prisoner wonder what thoughts wove webs inside his head.
