The phantom, p.21
The Phantom, page 21
Okay, so, maybe she would entertain one thought about the Astra. Did she hate him still?
She thought...maybe? But also maybe not. Did she still hate what he’d done to Laban? Yes. Therefore, the jewel remained in place.
Okay, perhaps two more thoughts. Or three. Whatever! This was such a screwed-up situation, a bona fide mystery, yet here she sat, consumed by her desire for Roux. Her maybe, maybe not consort. The way he looked at her...
“Who’s ready to die?” Tonka, the harpy MC, called. She appeared at Roux’s side at the edge of the dais, though she maintained as much distance as possible. Did she fear getting too close to a caged Astra? I know the feeling. “Who’s ready to win?”
Cheers erupted all around but died soon after as the harpy waved her hands for quiet.
“Here’s what is going down. Twenty-three groups of twenty-five and two groups of twenty-seven will enter the ring with ten unibeasts. One at a time, for fifty minutes each. Anyone who survives goes on to round three. You must remain seated until it’s your turn. Leave and you are disqualified. By the way, disqualification equals death.”
Unibeasts? Oh...dang. Blythe clued in, puzzling together today’s festivities fast. More beasts like Amal to chase and maul combatants. Would any of the weapons in Roux’s backpack work against such creatures?
“You’ll go in the order you are numbered,” Tonka added, and Blythe moaned.
She must sit here for the bulk of an entire day, watching immortals get mangled at best and eaten at worst. An inner groan filled her head. Yeah, she’d get to study the animals and learn their weaknesses, but the pro did not negate the con: going from one battle to the next. Which she’d have to do, no doubt. Guaranteed round three took place immediately following Blythe’s heat.
There’d be no having sex with Roux. No conversation about expectations and feelings. Just more violence. And okay, yeah, she was kind of talking herself into liking this plan.
With a rattle, the gates that held the restless beasts in their cell rose. One by one, they charged out into the arena, snarling and hungry for a kill.
Below her, the twenty-five warriors formed a line in what must have been a hastily decided battle plan.
A trumpet blasted, and the first beast sprang forward, its teeth sinking into the neck of a shifter and ripping. The female beside Blythe gasped, her own hand fluttering to her uninjured throat. The creature spat out flesh and bone, and the shifter fell to the ground. A metallic bite filled the air.
After that, the line broke apart, every combatant for herself. Roars from the animals and the pained cries of the dying filled the air.
Finally, the dooming call of the trumpet rang out as the first heat ended with zero survivors, showcasing no discernible weaknesses for the beasts. Yikes! Blythe had guessed correctly about the means of suffering, however. Mauling and eating. The crowd cringed, hissed, cheered, booed, and shouted obscenities at the beasts. The aggression only seemed to make the creatures stronger.
During the ensuing heats, she took notes. The unibeasts poisoned with their ultrasharp, stony hide. Gouged and sliced with their horn. Kicked and left gaping holes in immortal bodies. They were faster than vampires, stronger than berserkers, and intelligent enough to learn and predict most of a foe’s moves.
Survivors crawled away from the sand, bleeding and broken and invariably missing a body part. Lucca and the Phoenix fought in the same heat and worked together, both emerging successfully, though battered.
As the crowd dwindled, Blythe realized the women who’d be battling at her side had been hand selected to make things more difficult for her. Sirens, the lot of them. They eyed her with varying degrees of glee.
Were they able to command the beasts with their song or something, protecting themselves? Whatever. Her mojo returned with force, and she’d get through this. Somehow.
At the approach of evening, Roux vanished from the dais. She tensed. Where had he gone? Why had he gone? Did he plan to return?
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter but...it mattered.
21
THE BEATING
Roux endured his second wraith feeding with gritted teeth, clenched fists, and locked knees. He despised every moment of this, which made the spectrals love it more. They were dragging out this feeding as long as possible. Hours had passed, sheer determination the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Whatever he had to do, he would return to Blythe and witness her battle with the unibeasts.
“Would our resident rooster like a cock-a-doodle handy before today’s session ends?” Penelope asked, eyeing the bulge in his pants as she reclined on her throne of immortals. Or rather, acting as if she reclined while hovering over the seat. “Yes? No?”
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” he told her. The wraiths sucked and sucked and sucked some more. Every inner pull added fuel to the fire of his fury, while also dulling the fire Blythe had stoked in him.
“I’ll take that as a soft no. Do let me know if you change your mind.” The wraith heaved a sigh. “Although, I must say, you shouldn’t come to our home loaded for bear if you don’t want us to offer sexual favors. It’s downright rude.”
“I will kill you slowly,” he grated. He couldn’t be blamed for his condition. A sense of possession clawed at him. His harphantom was considering having sex with him. He couldn’t not stay hard.
“She won’t survive, you know,” Penelope said, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Our pets can move between the natural and spirit realm with ease. She’ll have no means of escape.”
“She will find a way to win.” She must! He needed her well. Not for Roc. Not for Taliyah. For himself. Because she might be...his. The knowledge cemented in Roux’s mind. She was. She was his. His female. His gravita. Stardust wasn’t needed to prove it. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
From the very beginning, he had reacted to Blythe the Undoing in ways he’d never reacted to another. First, her beauty and grace captivated him. Then her touch entranced him. Now, having tasted of her teasing sense of humor...her unexpected gentleness... How could he resist her?
What had begun as physical attraction had ripened into a bone-deep awareness. And really, they weren’t as terrible a match as he’d once assumed. Their jagged edges just...fit. He struggled with his emotions, but she felt everything in spades. Confidence was never an issue with Blythe. She knew herself, and she reacted to situations accordingly.
This morning, when she’d promised to rock his world, she’d even helped him figure out what he felt. Eagerness. Excitement. Anticipation. The stardust would come. It was only a matter of time.
I have a female. Me. The clone.
Joy burst through him. A ray of light in the darkest recesses of his mind.
“Are you smiling now?” Penelope made a disgusted noise.
“Will you demand your turn tonight?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“While you look like that? How can I do so now? The first bite a diner consumes is with the eyes, and I’m not currently digging your flavor.” She scowled at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Astra, but you and your brethren are weird.”
“You’ve known more than one of us?” Some of the wraiths wrenched away from him, as if the tang of his happiness repelled them. The rest followed.
“I might have. Then again, I might not have.”
Roux checked his mental clock. Blythe’s heat shouldn’t begin for another thirteen minutes, eighteen seconds. Enough time to ferret out a bit more information for his task.
“Who might have you met?”
The queen of wraiths shrugged. “Perhaps I followed Silver for a time, without his notice. It would have happened before I was sent here, of course. He’s a hot piece, that’s for sure. Has even more hatred than you. Perhaps I’ve also conferred with Erebus a time or twenty.”
“Did the Dark One send you here?” Roux rolled his head over his shoulders, straightened his spine, and flexed his hands, checking the extent of today’s damage. His internal defenses were compromised but holding steady. His limbs weren’t a hundred percent, but they weren’t going to give out on him, either. “He usually only deals with those who will affect his war with the Astra.”
“Oh, I’ll affect his war with the Astra, all right, but he’s not to blame for dragging me to this land, kicking and screaming. My mother is to blame for that.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice. “The Dark One appears to me upon occasion, that’s all. He’s quite inventive, isn’t he? And kind of delicious, if you’re into evil villains who can only be counted on to betray you. A particular favorite of mine. I mean, who else would think to use a—oh, oh, oh. Sorry, Astra, but I won’t be spilling my secrets that easily.”
Erebus, able to speak to those in Ation. Upon occasion. Without visiting. How? For that matter, how had the god gotten Blythe here? She’d mentioned her father’s betrayal. At the time, Roux hadn’t questioned her further because he’d known he couldn’t trust her. Now he wasn’t so sure. Would she tell him the truth?
After their first round of sex, or perhaps the third or fourth, they’d probably cuddle, and he’d have an opportunity to find out. Maybe, after a dozen climaxes, she’d be more inclined to help him rather than harm him.
“There you go, smiling again,” Penelope muttered. “Can’t you wait to unveil it after you leave? Honestly, Astra, it makes my stomach turn.”
Twelve minutes, twenty-seven seconds until Blythe’s battle. “Shall we bargain for information, wraith?”
“We shan’t. You have nothing I want.” She ran her gaze over his body. “Well, almost nothing.”
He waggled his jaw. “What of your freedom from this world?”
Her eyes brightened, as if she suddenly glowed from the inside, but the light dulled in a snap. “You believe you’ll escape. You’re wrong. Why do you think Erebus stays on the other side of his doors when he—” She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Well, well. Look who tricked me into saying more than I planned.”
The god comprehended how to open doors into Ation. A tidbit. Roux had only to figure out how Erebus did it, then reverse the process. Maybe. His task for tomorrow. After he devoured Blythe.
“Smiling again.” The wraith tsked. “Don’t you dare rush off,” she ordered when he tensed to leave. “Maybe we can bargain. After all, I know other things concerning your enemy. Many, many other things.” She purred now. “In return, you can give me the same show the harpy gave you this morning.”
She’d spied on them? Of course she had. Eyes and ears lurked everywhere in the palace.
Despite his rising irritation, he was tempted to stay and question the wraith further. But acting too eager might place him in a lesser position in her estimation. Better to return on his terms.
Eleven minutes, nine seconds left in the battle. Eight. Seven. Six.
“I’ll consider it,” he said. As she sputtered with indignation, he flashed to the underground arena, landing in the same spot he’d abandoned earlier. The edge of the dais. Without glancing over his shoulder, he knew every member of the welcome party still occupied the dais as well. They sat in their chairs, laughing and drinking champagne.
The harpy named Tonka popped to her feet, bubbly liquid splashing over the rim of her glass. “Uh, don’t you have somewhere else to be, Astra?” she asked with a worried tone.
He scanned the area below and stiffened. If he’d been smiling before, he wasn’t now. His harpy stood in the ring, lined up with everyone else in her heat. They were all sirens, the weakest of the participating immortals...save for their voices. The group faced off with ten unibeasts on the other side of the circle, each animal pawing at the sand, eager to begin.
Smears of blood wet the walls and drenched the sand. Evidence of previous battles.
Having watched many of the preceding heats, he knew the beasts had eaten the losers. A strong metallic twang scented the air.
“The last group isn’t supposed to go for another ten minutes, thirteen seconds.” Other facts hit him. The odds of only sirens ending up in Blythe’s group, rather than an eclectic mix of species, were not high. This had been planned, and not in the harpy’s favor.
“Not our fault. The combatants before this one canceled,” the pale-haired Tonka explained, setting aside her glass and approaching his side. She faced the arena, not daring to meet his gaze. “They preferred to lose their heads by sword rather than to feed a horde of unibeasts their vital organs. To each their own, amirite?”
He flicked his tongue over an incisor. This had been a planned act, and, considering Penelope’s change of heart at the end of their conversation, the wraith participated. Was she supposed to keep him on her island until Blythe’s heat ended? A heat meant to conclude with the death of his chosen female, he was sure. If not by fair means, then definitely foul. Without him acting as an eyewitness, the perpetrators could claim total innocence afterward.
The fury he’d experienced when he’d learned what was to occur today—nothing compared to what he experienced now. It burned through him, torching any semblance of calm.
“When I kill you,” he told the councilmembers, using the softest of tones, “I will make sure you hurt in ways you never dreamed possible.”
A mix of trepidation and aggression wafted from them.
“You can’t blame a girl for taking a shot.” The pale-haired harpy reached for a large ram’s horn that rested against a pillar. “Besides, we’ve heard your threats before. So far you’ve been all talk and no action. How do we know you’re even half as evil as you’ve been boasting?”
Did she hope to goad him into launching an attack? Would he then be accused of breaking a rule? He leaned down, getting in her face, forcing her to peer into his eyes. “You’ll be the first to suffer.”
She stumbled back, only to lift her chin in defiance. “Promises, promises. Now enough chatter. It’s time for the final round.”
She couldn’t mask her trembling as she brought the horn to her lips. Her gaze returned to him before she inhaled deeply...and blew.
At the sharp blast of noise, combatants and beasts launched into motion. Roux watched, his jaw clenched, as the sirens rushed together to join hands, leaving Blythe on her own. A soft melody rose from them. As the song increased in volume, each of the unibeasts shifted their full focus to the harphantom.
Every note of the song ramped up their level of aggression, until they were foaming at the mouth.
Roux braced. No matter what occurred, she would pull out a win and kill each predator. Roux hadn’t lied earlier. He had complete confidence in this female’s abilities. But, despite her arsenal and skill, she would not emerge unscathed. The thought of her pain...
A growl vibrated in his throat, and Tonka backed away from him.
On the field of battle, Blythe charged toward her foes, clutching two short swords. A shout of warning died on his tongue. She needed different weapons. Swords served no purpose against a unibeast’s thick, stony hide. A soft underbelly might be susceptible, but she’d have to get underneath a beast without getting torn to shreds. An impossibility. Then, at the last second, she vanished, reappearing in the circle of sirens.
Slash, slash, slash, slash. With her customary grace and elegance, she cut down the other immortals, her motions as fluid as water. Bodies toppled, one after the other. When the final competitor fell, the song died and the unibeasts ceased foaming. Their steps slowed as they shook their heads, coming out of a haze.
“So she can flash,” said an Amazon behind him. “She didn’t reveal the skill in round one.”
No, she hadn’t, he realized. She’d kept her talents to herself. As she should have.
The unibeasts reacted to the kills, rushing over to feast on the remains before any survivors could heal. Their hunger never abated, their stomachs bottomless pits. As screams flowed and ebbed, Blythe was momentarily ignored. She dropped the swords and unhooked a whip from her side. With a crack of her wrist, the end of the whip coiled around one of the beasts’ necks. Yank.
It flipped over and she flashed, materializing crouched on its belly and already ramming a blade into his heart.
Yes! “That’s my female,” he whispered, unwilling to distract her.
At the death of their comrade, the other beasts lost interest in their meals. They focused the full bulk of their attention on Blythe. Snarling, with thick droplets of drool leaking from fangs any vampire would envy, they formed a circle around her.
“All right,” she called. “Who’s ready?”
They surged at her in unison. And, when next she flashed, the animals dove to greet her where she reappeared, clearly expecting the action. But she had expected their counterattack and met the creature closest to her with a sword through its open mouth.
Unlike immortals, these beasts did not heal swiftly, and a second one died.
Eight to go, with roughly nine minutes on the countdown clock.
Roux barely contained a cheer.
Blythe took out three others in quick succession, leaving five opponents and a little less than five minutes. But she didn’t do it without injury. Gashes littered her torso. Horn gouges had left holes in both of her shoulders and one of her thighs. Her right arm had no bicep, only teeth marks in the bone.
Heart in his throat, Roux reached up to grip a pillar, uncaring when cracks spread around his fingers. A scream tore through his mind, animalistic. Primal. There was something odd about it. At any other time, it would have bothered him. Right now, he couldn’t think.
Blood loss had slowed Blythe’s ability to heal. Not to mention her motions. No longer did she have the strength to flash. Though she tried, flickering in and out of view but getting nowhere. She seemed to operate solely on combat skill and sheer determination.
