The phantom, p.22
The Phantom, page 22
The creatures proved relentless. They gave no quarter, scraping her with their toxic flesh, slicing her with their horns and stomping on any part of her they could reach. Yet, she refused to give up, and took out another and another and another.
Only two monsters and two minutes to go. She just needed to outlast them.
Toward the end of the one-minute mark, she killed another but lost a hand, stumbled, and fell. As she rolled to escape a series of bites, she hemorrhaged blood in every direction.
Breath hitched in Roux’s lungs. The remaining beast prowled around her, herding her into a corner.
She had nowhere to go.
Claws grew from its nail beds.
Her prey lunged in her direction—and slammed into the wall. As its stony flesh cracked, she reappeared behind it. In a single fluid motion, she rammed a sword hilt into the widest crack, breaking through and reaching its heart with her hand. The ability to flash hadn’t abandoned her, after all. She’d faked it.
A howl of pain echoed as she yanked the heart out. Her specialty. The creature toppled, seized, then sagged into the sand.
Blythe dropped the organ and stumbled, collapsing. Blood poured from her wounds. Her eyes drifted closed.
“She outlasted the unibeasts, making round two officially over,” Roux bellowed. He flashed and gathered her near lifeless body. At last the screams in his head quieted. “Stay with me, Lyla.”
She panted shallow breaths. Alive! But she didn’t open her eyes.
He straightened, clutching her against his chest. Where to take her? Staying in the palace, being surrounded by all those prying eyes and ears right now held no appeal. Nor did camping near Wraith Island.
An idea rose. He flashed into the circle of Oath Stones and scanned the area. Abandoned. Excellent. Silvery moonlight glinted off the rocks. Far too soon, the sun would rise, starting another day. Another battle.
While cold winds had plagued the royal grounds for days, warmth enveloped the private haven. After gently stretching out on the soft grass and arranging Blythe against his chest, facing away from him, he sliced his wrist and held the wound over her mouth.
Crimson dripped past her parted teeth. She needed the blood of her consort to heal. Would she tolerate Roux’s or not? What if he was wrong and he didn’t actually belong to her?
They would find out.
“Take everything you need, Lyla. Heal.”
At first, she didn’t act as if she’d heard him. Or react at all. But as more and more of his blood dripped down her throat, her eyelids popped open and narrowed. She grabbed his arm with her working hand, bit into his flesh, and gulped him down.
“That’s my precious,” he cooed. Careful to hold his arm steady for her, he stretched out at her side. “Not just blood. Soul, too, she-beast.”
A soft light glowed around her lips. Usually, when phantoms fed on his soul, cold flowed to his limbs and an itch he couldn’t shake tormented him inside and out. Here, now, satisfaction inundated him. Color was returning to her cheeks. Gashes were closing, and her missing hand was reforming.
She continued to drink with greedy abandon. Even as a new tide of weakness washed in, his satisfaction remained high.
He petted her hair, telling her, “No one fought harder or better than my Lyla.”
When the suction ceased, he almost protested. Curiosity kept him quiet. Maybe a dash of uncertainty, too. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her belly. Do not vomit me up, Lyla. Please.
Tension roiled inside him as one minute bled into a second. Then a third. Another five minutes passed. She merely turned and settled more comfortably against him. With her head crooked on his shoulder, she molded her body to his.
He exhaled a sigh of relief. She’d kept him down. He was her consort. Her male. Pride infiltrated every inch of him, and he locked his arms around her once again. Possessiveness sparked and spread. Mine. My female. Always. Never giving her up.
Would she ever fully accept his claim, though?
Sighing, he stared up at the night sky. Perhaps not. The jewel remained embedded in her throat. A sight he suddenly resented. It represented the biggest obstacle between them.
“Thank you,” she muttered with an almost drunk tone. “In case you were wondering, Astra tastes good. You are pure power.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “You will want more of me?”
“Babe, I’ll demand it.”
A full-blown smile bloomed. Since she hadn’t brought up the consort thing, he wouldn’t, either. Yet. “I look forward to this,” he replied.
“Good.” She got more comfortable. “So, um, where’d you go earlier? During the battle, I mean. Not that I was obsessing over it or anything.”
He kissed her temple. “I went back to the wraiths. As long as I feed them once a day, Penelope isn’t allowed to drain you.”
“That’s...wow.” Her voice wobbled. “That’s some kind of a romantic gesture, Astra.”
For the first time in his life, he felt the urge to tease another living being. “Oh? Does my harphantom approve of romance now?”
“To her absolute shock, she does indeed,” was the prim reply. A yawn cracked her jaw. “Round three begins in an hour.”
“Forty-nine minutes, twenty-two seconds, actually.”
She pouted. “So, not nearly enough time to provide my own romantic gesture.”
“There’s time to describe it,” he intoned. “Begin with the removal of your clothing and end with your shouts of pleasure.”
A soft laugh left her, the warmth of her breath fanning his shoulder. “Talking about getting naked and drowning in sexual bliss will only drive us both to the brink of insanity. So, yes, you’ve convinced me to do it.” She lifted enough to prop up her elbow and rest her cheek on her palm—and give him the sexiest grin he’d ever had the privilege to see, setting his blood on fire. “Why don’t we pretend I’ve already verbally stripped us both so I can tell you everywhere I plan to put my mouth...”
“Yes! Start there and spare no detail.”
22
THE COMEBACK
Blythe took her place in the underground arena with the rest of the combatants. Only a hundred or so had survived the unibeasts and very few hid their shock upon discovering her among their numbers.
She offered everyone a mocking smile and a middle finger salute. As predicted, frenzied horniness had left her cranky.
Teasing Roux before today’s competition might have been a wee bit foolish. But she couldn’t regret it. The guy was feeding wraiths on the daily to keep her strong. He tended to her. Charmed her. Beneath that tough, rough exterior might be—gasp—a candy-coated center.
He was just so different than she’d initially believed. Teasing him had become an enjoyable pastime. She had only to think of him to ache.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to like him. Or crave him. And sleep in his arms? Never.
Lifting her gaze to the royal dais, she caught his eye. And lost her breath. Oh, did she love the way his gorgeous irises lit up anytime he spied her. How his body all but vibrated with the need she had stoked.
Somehow, this male was her consort. The second. An impossibility somehow made possible. The evidence couldn’t be denied. She had napped in his arms. His blood hadn’t sickened her, yet drinking from others did. Even drinking from bloodfruit had bothered her. And his soul... Mmm. There was nothing better.
So what was she going to do about this?
“Congratulations, everyone,” Tonka’s voice echoed from the cavern walls. “You survived your worst nightmare. Are you ready for today’s challenge?”
Silence met her query.
“Wow. Save the enthusiasm for later, okay?” the harpy griped. “We’ve decided to take it easy on you this go-round.”
That did it. Cheers rang out.
Head in the game, girl.
When the celebration quieted, Tonka added, “When you hear the horn, all you must do is venture topside, find a queen of hearts flower, and bring it back here. Oh. And you gotta do it in fifteen minutes or less.”
Groans of distress rose from the masses. Uh-oh. What was a queen of hearts flower?
Blythe searched for Lucca, intending to ask her. Of course, the horn sounded and combatants scrambled out of the arena.
A plan formed. Blythe flashed topside, waiting at the well. A group of competitors shot from its shadowed depths, landed in the palace foyer, and sprinted outside. She stayed put, searching for Lucca... Yes! Payday, baby! The harpy and the Phoenix emerged from the well together.
Blythe jetted after them, blazing over grass, soon passing the circle of silos. Jockeying for a better position, she elbowed and shoulder checked anyone in her path. The combatants behind her ganged up to knock her feet together. Down she tumbled, the immortals trampling over her. She didn’t stay down, though. Nope, she ignored the bumps and bruises, and surged to her feet, giving chase once more. No sign of Lucca now. Dang it!
As Blythe pumped her arms to increase her pace, she followed the females ahead of her. They aimed for Wraith Island.
She mentally shifted through the sights she’d encountered the last time she’d traveled this direction. A wooded terrain. A field of wheat. A small village. A cemetery. A stretch of gravel. Another wooded terrain, two other villages, then the beach. Unless... Were the queen of heart flowers found on Wraith Island?
If so, Blythe could flash and arrive before everyone else. If not, she would waste precious time. She also ran the risk of losing the crowd, her current GPS.
Considering she had no idea what she was looking for, she opted to remain near the other combatants.
Through the woods they went. Trees blurred at her sides. Suddenly, prickles on her nape alerted her to a possible threat. She scanned...and sucked in a breath. Erebus! Up ahead, he stood in the frame of a red door, wearing his customary black robe, with an expanse of a star-studded sky behind him. He held a length of chain, and he offered the smile she reviled most. Smug.
“I have a surprise for you, daughter,” he called. “A good one.”
Fury scorched her. How she longed to punch that grin off his face and rip out his guts with her claws. No doubt he’d popped in to distract her at a critical juncture. She hadn’t forgotten the truth: she was nothing but Astra bait to daddy dearest.
Maybe Erebus even knew she’d come to kind of, sort of...like Roux. Or maybe the Dark One hoped to taunt her about her doomed situation, and the role she played in it. How she’d been granted a miracle, a second consort, but surviving the tournament meant cursing Roux. Did she really want to do that now?
Could she do anything less?
She garnered the strength to ignore the god, sprinting on. But again and again he reappeared, always standing in the frame of that red door. No one else seemed to notice him. In fact, several combatants misted through him. He occupied a spiritual plane.
“Last chance,” he told her. As she approached the end of the woods, he tugged on the chain—yanking someone from behind his back.
Blythe nearly tripped over her own feet as she came to an abrupt halt. Her heart punched her ribs. This...this couldn’t be. Wasn’t possible. But the sight before her never altered. Laban. Her consort. Alive and well.
No, no. Must be a wraith in disguise. Or another hallucination. Finally. Her second sighting. He looked so different, yet the same. A spiked metal collar circled his throat. Like her father, he wore a black robe. His once golden skin was paler than before, the thick mane of dirty blond hair she’d loved to finger comb a tangled mess. His head hung low, but his dark eyes were lifted and glued on her.
He unveiled a small smile. “Hello, sweetness.”
His voice! This was no wraith in disguise.
With a screech of shock, Blythe launched forward, slipping into the spiritual plane. At the doorway, she hit an invisible block and bounced back. Impact rattled her brain and momentarily blurred her vision. “You prick,” she shouted at her father. “Let me touch him.” Would her fingers ghost through him?
Erebus ignored her. “Don’t be rude, Laban,” he said with the tone of a teacher speaking to a misbehaving child. “Tell your mate how beautiful you find her, even when she’s snapping at the hand trying to feed her.”
“You are the most beautiful sight in the world to me, Blythe,” the manticore croaked.
She came to her feet and pressed her hands over her churning stomach. “Let me touch him,” she repeated.
“Deal with your friend first.”
Friend? She heard the footsteps then, closing in fast. She turned just in time to spot an Amazon’s fist flying toward her face. Blythe ducked and kicked, sending her attacker stumbling into the dirt.
The other female didn’t seek revenge, but jumped up and hurried on, muttering, “You’ll get yours soon enough,” before disappearing past the line of trees.
“Well?” Erebus prompted. “I’ll hear your thanks now, daughter. I put your male back together. He’s not a hallucination. Aren’t you so happy?”
She skidded her gaze to her father and...and...her attention snapped back to Laban. Alive and well? No, this couldn’t be. No way, no how. She’d observed Erebus as he’d made some of his phantoms. A grotesque, awful process that involved the living, not the dead. “This isn’t my Laban. It can’t be.”
“Oh. I assure you. It is indeed your Laban.” The god’s tone hardened. “And if you want him back, you’ll kill Roux as planned. Soon. If not, I’ll kill Laban for good. After I’ve told him all about your escapades with the Astra. He’ll be riveted, I’m sure.”
She...he... This was another trick. She knew better than to trust a known liar to keep his word. And yet, despite her growing hunger for Roux, she felt a draw toward the male at the end of that chain. A need to get nearer to him.
Just another trick? For all she knew, he was nothing more than an illusion crafted with potent black magic.
If he wasn’t?
No! Erebus sought to distract her and circumvent her success.
Had the Blade of Destiny shown him a path to his own defeat? Loss was the only thing Erebus feared.
Determination came in like a freight train off the rails. Survive this round and plan. The Dark One had screwed her over for the final time. She would help Roux win his task and somehow save herself in the process. Then she and the Astra could face off about the past.
“Enjoy your defeat.” She smiled and zoomed off. As she exited the forest, she came upon Lucca and the Phoenix, who were headed back toward the palace. Both were sliced and diced in multiple places and soaked in blood. Carrigan was missing a hand but in the process of growing a new one.
“You’ll never get a flower and make it to the palace in time, even if you flash,” an earnest Lucca said, trying to propel Blythe in the same direction. “The bees are good and mad. A third of the competitors have already lost their heads.”
Bees? “Don’t bet against me,” she responded, preparing to blaze on. “You’ll always lose big.”
“You misunderstand.” The Phoenix jumped into her path. “We picked a queen of hearts for you.”
Blythe prepared to throw an elbow when the words registered. Uh... “Come again?” They’d gotten her, the Undoing, a flower?
“Here.” Lucca withdrew an ugly orange bloom missing petals.
Another trick? Surely.
And if not?
With great reluctance, Blythe accepted the offering. “Why would you do this?”
“For the moment, you’ll just have to trust that we have a reason. Right now, let’s qualify for round four. Come on.”
The pair dashed off, leaving her behind. Blythe hung back, immobilized by indecision. To follow or not?
What possible motive could they have for aiding her in a zero-sum game? Nothing struck her as good enough. And yet... She couldn’t shake a lingering doubt. What did they know that she didn’t?
Other combatants with shredded throats and missing appendages headed her way, many clutching the same orange bloom.
Not a trick, after all? Unless they were all in on it?
Deciding to risk it, Blythe flashed to the underground arena and presented her flower to Tonka.
“Son of a beast,” the harpy muttered. “You move on to round four. Yay.”
* * *
Roux thrust an arm into the air. Yes! Blythe had done it. She had obtained a queen of hearts flower and returned first. Others arrived soon after, and the horn blasted.
The harphantom immediately lifted her gaze, meeting his. A current of electricity arced between them, wild and sharp. Why did she appear so...desperate? Had something happened out there?
“Looks like your female survived,” Monna said. She stood with him at the edge of the dais.
He ignored her, appearing at Blythe’s side.
“Take me to our spot,” she pleaded.
Something had happened. Roux gathered her close in a hurry and returned her to the Oath Stones, where sunlight bathed the land, casting a vivid sheen over the sea of soft grass and glistening rock.
“Tell me.”
She slipped free and backed away. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened, closed. Then her shoulders rolled in, gutting him.
“Tell me.” A command.
Pale baby blues wide and wounded, she wrapped her arms around her waist, saying, “The harpy and the Phoenix helped me. Gave me the flower. I don’t know why. But before that...” Her eyelids narrowed. “You know what? No. Nothing else of importance happened out there. I’m not going to waste another moment of my life wishing for something I can’t have. I’m going to take what I want while I can.”
Motions jerky, she ripped off her top. “Strip, Astra. Let’s do this.” Her skirt hit the ground. She kicked off her boots and shed her weapons. Gloriously naked, she demanded, “Why aren’t you stripping?”
