The phantom, p.4
The Phantom, page 4
But no matter. That was a mystery for another day. This morning, she planned to initiate contact again.
Blythe teleported to the chandelier in the hall outside his bedroom. A favorite spot to observe his comings and goings. As cold as ice, she waited. Several minutes passed. Roux didn’t appear. Nor did Laban. In fact, no other hallucinations of her consort had come.
Surely the Astra’s fault.
Feeling petty, she unscrewed a bulb from the light fixture and tossed it at Roux’s door. Glass shattered, jagged shards exploding in every direction.
In a blink, the Astra opened the block and scanned the area. Left, right. He frowned.
“On your way to the gym, Astra?” she asked with a smooth tone. He wore a pair of workout shorts that hung low on his lean waist. No shirt or shoes. “Gotta keep those muscles bulging, huh?”
He glanced up. Though zero emotion emanated from him, he seemed to sigh. “I understand your fury with me.” His patient tone pricked her nerves. “I took someone you valued and—”
“You took someone I cherished,” she corrected. “Laban was a father and a consort. You, like all Astra, are nothing but death walking.”
Roux tossed up his arms, as if exasperated. Still his features remained impassive. “How was I to know the manticore was special and not to be decapitated? He wasn’t wearing a sign.”
A new bomb of hatred exploded inside Blythe. She materialized in front of him, met his gaze—and extracted another kidney.
“Three.” Giving him a saccharine grin, she dropped the organ at his feet. “Gotta admit, I’m really looking forward to taking number four.”
With a huff, he slammed the door in her face.
“The conversation is on pause then?” she called.
* * *
Early the next morning, Roux flashed to the trinite wall he and the other Astra had transferred to Harpina on the day of their invasion. The empty upper room located within his section, to be exact.
He peered out a large paneless window overlooking his assigned section of the marketplace. The very spot he’d first materialized. A violent storm brewed in the dark, gloomy sky. Cold wind blew in, the perfect complement to his troubled mind and its never-ending spinning wheel of irritations.
Blythe wouldn’t dare appear here at least. As a phantom, she weakened in the presence of trinite. As a harpy, she would never approach a foe in a weakened condition. Meaning, he could steal a few moments for himself and think. Perhaps even puzzle out an answer to a series of questions he couldn’t shake.
Namely, why did he seek her forgiveness for killing a male who’d chosen to challenge him? Why did he wish she...liked him?
Why did he care about her feelings at all? She—stepped from thin air, mere feet away, and rested a shoulder against the wall while munching on a candy bar, total nonchalance.
He ground his teeth.
Roux didn’t attempt to protect his vital organs. No, he was too busy cataloguing her every detail. Hair brushed to a shine and curling at the ends. Eyes like blue ice. No. Wrong. Eyes like onyx again. Cheeks pink with health. Or fury. The official harpy uniform clung to her curves: a metal breastplate with two intriguing cups, and a short, pleated skirt. Arm and shin bands adorned her, strapping a wealth of daggers to her limbs.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked. “Is Roux busy ruing the day he was born yet?”
Why not tell her the truth? “I’m contemplating what to do about you.”
Far from cowed by the threat, she took another bite of her treat. “Have you tried tattle-telling to the General? Or dying for good? Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s the winner.”
“I can stop you on my own.” But had he? Nooo. Some foolish part of him liked dealing with her. The very crux of his problem.
“Oookay. Sure you can,” she said, making a lewd motion with her free hand. She finished off the chocolate, tossed the empty wrapper on the floor, and wiped her hands together. “I no longer enjoy my sweets, by the way. Another crime to lay at your door.”
He leaned toward her. She just... She smelled so nice. And she moved with such grace. An unexpected coil of heat circulated through his veins, a sensation as wonderful as it was terrible. His bones burned, his muscles like slabs of steel molded in a forge.
I don’t know if you can handle the heat.
“What do you think you can do to me?” Head back, menace clear, he invaded her personal space. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m bigger, stronger, meaner, and far more powerful than you.”
Far from intimidated, she lifted a hand and ghosted her fingers along his jaw, never actually touching him as she softly proclaimed, “Astra, I’m going to make you suffer in ways you never dreamed possible.”
He’d taught himself not to flinch when someone reached for him. For the first time, however, he had to stop himself from seeking further contact. What did she feel like?
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. What did the feel of her matter?
At least he thought he knew why she affected him like this. Blythe reminded him of his father’s favorite mistress. A deranged ballet dancer who’d giggled and twirled about as Mars inflicted unspeakable agonies upon him. The only part of Roux’s childhood with a positive association. Anytime he’d focused on the gracefulness of the female’s motions, he’d almost forgotten his pain.
In a world of pain and darkness, she’d been a vision of softness and light.
If the mistress had been a taste of grace, Blythe was an entire meal. The harphantom never looked as if she walked; she appeared to float.
“You can try,” he told her, “but you will only waste your time. I’ve lived too long and survived too much.”
“I’ll see your denial and raise you two fingers.” She lifted both hands and flipped him the bird.
He swallowed a sigh. “Is there anything I can do to appease your—”
“Nope,” she interjected. Her firm tone offered no wiggle room. “I’ll only hate you more if you try.”
Frustration gripped him. He wasn’t used to failure.
A muted scream suddenly filled every chamber of his mind. He stiffened. Someone had escaped his mental dungeon.
If Roux didn’t act, other prisoners might follow suit. If he did perform a search and grab, however, he would have to retreat in his mind. A state many of the Astra referred to as “Roo Coo.”
Cut short his time with Blythe? No. “Do you expect me to continue allowing your attacks?”
“Hey, that’s a hundred percent on you. You’re free to stop me anytime. If you can.” The harphantom tilted her head, studying him. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”
Inside, his breath hitched. Blank mask secure. Never reveal an emotion. A lesson he’d learned well as a child. Anything you felt could and would be used against you.
“I have, yes.” He punctuated the words with a nod. “Your father killed my brethren and my old Commander.” Erebus might not have taken the former leader’s head, but he was still responsible for the male’s death. “I miss them every day.” The family he’d built was now forever incomplete...much like Blythe’s.
He almost flinched.
Her mind must have traveled a similar path. Her irises turned black again. She swiped out her claws, intending to take another kidney.
Roux caught her wrist, stopping her at the last possible second. “Do yourself a favor and put your grievance with me on hold. The next blessing task nears. Erebus is soon to challenge a new warlord, and I won’t tolerate interference from you.”
“Give me a minute to etch that pearl in my memory bank. Roux won’t tolerate interference. He suggests I forget my vendetta against him until he and his buddies successfully defeat my father and ascend, gaining more power and living their dream. Got it.”
“I didn’t utter a suggestion,” he grated.
The corners of her soft pink mouth curled up, and his guts tightened. Uh-oh. He knew that look. Knew trouble came next.
“You know,” she said, sounding contemplative, “if you hadn’t murdered the male I loved, we probably would’ve been friends. But you did. And we’re not. And for some reason, I’ve only gotten to see him once, so I’m cranky.” Swipe.
She used her free hand to snag a kidney. “Four,” she said, droplets of crimson falling from her hand. “In case you’re wondering, it was just as satisfying as I’d anticipated.”
The blip of pain should have heralded a brutal retaliation to prove he meant business. Instead, he growled and spun her into the wall, marveling over a spike of excitement.
Excitement. As if they were playing some sort of game.
Their gazes met, and he heated another twenty degrees.
“Do not push me, harpy.”
The organ splattered on the floor. “Or what, Astra?” Smirking up at him, she vanished. Not flashing but misting, as only her kind could do.
The urge to hunt her down choked Roux. To press her against another wall and...do something. With his hands. His mouth.
Once again, frustration rose to the forefront, overtaking him. He needed to get this female out of his head. Somehow. Soon.
4
THE GOODBYE
Blythe trailed Roux, slinking through a lavishly decorated corridor in the Harpinian palace. He turned a corner, heading for his bedroom, and three of her father’s phantoms came into view. Their skin was pallid, their eyes milky while. As usual, Erebus had sent females he’d dressed in ragged widow’s weeds.
The trio walked in a circle at the far end of the hall, directly in front of Roux’s door. With monotone voices, they chanted, “Wait for Roux, tell Roux, laugh. Wait for Roux, tell Roux, laugh.”
They spoke the order that had been issued by their maker, Blythe’s father. And they would obey every action to the letter.
How Daddy Undearest loved to sneak his minions past Astra defenses. Not to inflict physical injury. No. Such small groups of phantoms could do little damage to such powerful males. Erebus did it to wreak havoc in their minds. And it worked. Roux stiffened and withdrew a dagger.
That weapon! Trinite. Hissing, Blythe stumbled back a step.
As soon as the creatures sensed the Astra, they pivoted in unison, facing him, and tilted their heads to the side. They were nothing like Blythe. She had free will; they did not. They could do nothing unless commanded by Erebus. A terrible fate they had not deserved.
As Roux closed in, the women intoned, “Riddle me this. What fills your life and makes it empty at the same time? Regret. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha—”
He killed them all with a slash of the dagger. The phantoms tumbled to the floor, where they quickly evaporated. Muttering under his breath, he stalked into his bedchamber.
Blythe followed him, ghosting through the door just in time to witness his beeline for the wet bar. He poured himself an ambrosia-laced whiskey with a trembling hand.
Oh, oh, oh. Trembling?
He poured himself a second glass, then a third, until the trembling tapered off. Only then did he plop onto the foot of a massive bed. Strain bunched his muscles as he propped his elbows on his knees and sank his face into his upraised palms. A picture of defeat.
Blythe thrilled. What had caused this delightful development?
“Get it together,” he mumbled. “You have conquered worlds. Slain royals. Tortured answers out of the most formidable of challengers. There’s nothing you cannot do.”
And now he gave himself a pep talk? Grinning, she flicked the tip of her tongue against an incisor. He should look and sound like this more often. Made her feel less stabby. For a second or two, at least. Just long enough to inventory the sense of familiarity that had only strengthened. Something that made her feel more stabby.
Should she reveal herself or wait a bit longer?
“Hello, daughter.” Her father’s greeting ended the mental debate.
A beaming Erebus approached her side. And oh, how the Astra would have thundered if he’d known his most despised foe stood within murdering distance, tucked safely inside a hidden realm.
As usual, the god wore a long robe the color of pitch. The preferred apparel of the ancients, and exactly like the garment Laban had worn in her first and only hallucination. But she wasn’t going to think about that. White corkscrew curls lay in total disarray around a face with heavily lashed black eyes and a large, hooked nose. Thick dark brows proved stark against Erebus’s fair skin. A constant smirk ruined any hint of attractiveness.
“Unless you come with news, leave,” she commanded. “You can torment the other Astra as much as you wish, but Roux is mine.” Especially in here. His bedroom, her territory. A harpy did not cede territory.
“I do come with news.”
Excitement glimmered to life. “Has the time come?”
He offered a slow nod, as if he savored the action. “It has.”
Well, well. The next blessing task was now set in stone, putting Roux up to bat. Soon, the Astra would journey to a prison world known as Ation to cut out the queen’s heart. A task designed by Erebus and one Blythe approved.
How better to separate the golden giant from his brethren and Taliyah, with no one able to come to his rescue? “I’ll be joining him.”
“Of course you will. That was always the plan.”
Once, female-centric species had shipped vile criminals incapable of rehabilitation to the prison realm. Easy to enter but impossible to escape, even if you possessed the ability to flash. Unless your father was a god, and you were a phantom. At least, Blythe expected one of her unique abilities to provide a way home. If she failed to return, well, it was a risk she must take. For Laban. For vengeance.
For Isla.
Finally, her daughter could begin to heal. Eventually, she would understand and even praise Blythe’s efforts.
“When is he to leave?” she asked, a mental to-do list forming. Pack. Hug and kiss Isla goodbye. Warn her sister. Blythe adored Taliyah, despite the General’s annoying defense of the Astra army, and she wanted the beloved woman prepared for the worst—the loss of the blessing and the beginning of the curse.
“Tomorrow,” Erebus replied. “But you will go now, or you won’t go at all.” He delivered the threat without masking his giddiness.
“Wrong.” Her fingers curled into fists. “I’ll go in an hour.”
Silent, he slinked about Roux’s bedroom, examining the warrior’s things, and Blythe followed, huffing with irritation. First her father looked over a stack of folded leathers resting atop the dresser next to a bowl of fruit. On the desk was a piece of parchment with the same three sentences scrawled over every inch of it. She isn’t mine. But she is. But she isn’t.
Interesting. She who? His concubine? And should Blythe kill the woman just for giggles?
“You are ready for this, are you not?” Erebus asked. “I haven’t pinned my hopes on a mistake, have I?”
“I’m ready,” she grated. He sought to manipulate her. But. She hadn’t lied. She was ready. She’d fed on soul again this morning. She wore the harpy soldier uniform and had two short swords crisscrossed over her back. Daggers hung at her sides and waited inside her combat boots.
“Why delay then?”
“Why move so quickly?” she countered. “You want me at my best, do you not?” Two could play the god’s mind game. If Roux succeeded, completing his task, the entire Astra army would be one step closer to obtaining the blessing. If all triumphed, Erebus earned the curse. An eternal curse this time. No more getting another chance every five hundred years. The outcome of this war forever settled the issue.
“I know what will happen if you leave this room. You’ll visit your brat. She’ll say something disgustingly sweet, and you’ll convince yourself to stay and strike at Roux another way. You’ll lose.”
Dang him. An argument she couldn’t refute. Except for the brat part. Her father possessed the Blade of Destiny, an ancient weapon able to transport him far into the future while remaining entrenched in the present. At any given time, he viewed hundreds of fates at once.
“I’ve already ensured you’ll have everything required for today’s departure and total victory.” He slid an odd-looking purple blade from a pocket of his robe, and a plain black pouch from another pocket. “This weapon is made of firstone. The only substance able to slay an Astra.”
Blythe gaped. Knew it!
“When sheathed in this pouch,” he added, anchoring the weapon inside the material, “Roux will not detect the blade. Better to surprise him...”
Gimme! She made grabby hands.
Her father held it just out of her reach. “Like Roc, Roux will have thirty days to win or lose his task. If you cannot kill him, you have only to keep him trapped in the Ation realm. When the thirty days ends, the curse will fall upon all Astra, and killing Roux will no longer be a problem for you.”
With firstone in her possession, how could she fail? But. What her father proposed struck her as too easy. Too good. A trap?
Why set her up, though? What could be his end goal?
Granted, Erebus cared nothing for her or her safety. He never had, and he never would. And most days, she didn’t care. He wasn’t worth an emotion. Long ago, he’d attacked Harpina, murdering hundreds of innocent harpies, all to coerce her mother into spending the night with him to conceive Blythe. He was a bona fide monster.
After she ended Roux’s life, she intended to target Erebus. The Astra were right to detest him. The Dark One had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He was pure evil, loyal only to himself, and lacking any type of moral compass. But for now, she needed him. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
“You were born to defeat the Astra from the inside out,” he said. A mantra she’d heard before. “Do things my way, and you will succeed. Nothing will stop you.”
Still her instincts pinged. Something more was going on here. “Why don’t you venture into Ation?”
Blythe teleported to the chandelier in the hall outside his bedroom. A favorite spot to observe his comings and goings. As cold as ice, she waited. Several minutes passed. Roux didn’t appear. Nor did Laban. In fact, no other hallucinations of her consort had come.
Surely the Astra’s fault.
Feeling petty, she unscrewed a bulb from the light fixture and tossed it at Roux’s door. Glass shattered, jagged shards exploding in every direction.
In a blink, the Astra opened the block and scanned the area. Left, right. He frowned.
“On your way to the gym, Astra?” she asked with a smooth tone. He wore a pair of workout shorts that hung low on his lean waist. No shirt or shoes. “Gotta keep those muscles bulging, huh?”
He glanced up. Though zero emotion emanated from him, he seemed to sigh. “I understand your fury with me.” His patient tone pricked her nerves. “I took someone you valued and—”
“You took someone I cherished,” she corrected. “Laban was a father and a consort. You, like all Astra, are nothing but death walking.”
Roux tossed up his arms, as if exasperated. Still his features remained impassive. “How was I to know the manticore was special and not to be decapitated? He wasn’t wearing a sign.”
A new bomb of hatred exploded inside Blythe. She materialized in front of him, met his gaze—and extracted another kidney.
“Three.” Giving him a saccharine grin, she dropped the organ at his feet. “Gotta admit, I’m really looking forward to taking number four.”
With a huff, he slammed the door in her face.
“The conversation is on pause then?” she called.
* * *
Early the next morning, Roux flashed to the trinite wall he and the other Astra had transferred to Harpina on the day of their invasion. The empty upper room located within his section, to be exact.
He peered out a large paneless window overlooking his assigned section of the marketplace. The very spot he’d first materialized. A violent storm brewed in the dark, gloomy sky. Cold wind blew in, the perfect complement to his troubled mind and its never-ending spinning wheel of irritations.
Blythe wouldn’t dare appear here at least. As a phantom, she weakened in the presence of trinite. As a harpy, she would never approach a foe in a weakened condition. Meaning, he could steal a few moments for himself and think. Perhaps even puzzle out an answer to a series of questions he couldn’t shake.
Namely, why did he seek her forgiveness for killing a male who’d chosen to challenge him? Why did he wish she...liked him?
Why did he care about her feelings at all? She—stepped from thin air, mere feet away, and rested a shoulder against the wall while munching on a candy bar, total nonchalance.
He ground his teeth.
Roux didn’t attempt to protect his vital organs. No, he was too busy cataloguing her every detail. Hair brushed to a shine and curling at the ends. Eyes like blue ice. No. Wrong. Eyes like onyx again. Cheeks pink with health. Or fury. The official harpy uniform clung to her curves: a metal breastplate with two intriguing cups, and a short, pleated skirt. Arm and shin bands adorned her, strapping a wealth of daggers to her limbs.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked. “Is Roux busy ruing the day he was born yet?”
Why not tell her the truth? “I’m contemplating what to do about you.”
Far from cowed by the threat, she took another bite of her treat. “Have you tried tattle-telling to the General? Or dying for good? Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s the winner.”
“I can stop you on my own.” But had he? Nooo. Some foolish part of him liked dealing with her. The very crux of his problem.
“Oookay. Sure you can,” she said, making a lewd motion with her free hand. She finished off the chocolate, tossed the empty wrapper on the floor, and wiped her hands together. “I no longer enjoy my sweets, by the way. Another crime to lay at your door.”
He leaned toward her. She just... She smelled so nice. And she moved with such grace. An unexpected coil of heat circulated through his veins, a sensation as wonderful as it was terrible. His bones burned, his muscles like slabs of steel molded in a forge.
I don’t know if you can handle the heat.
“What do you think you can do to me?” Head back, menace clear, he invaded her personal space. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m bigger, stronger, meaner, and far more powerful than you.”
Far from intimidated, she lifted a hand and ghosted her fingers along his jaw, never actually touching him as she softly proclaimed, “Astra, I’m going to make you suffer in ways you never dreamed possible.”
He’d taught himself not to flinch when someone reached for him. For the first time, however, he had to stop himself from seeking further contact. What did she feel like?
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. What did the feel of her matter?
At least he thought he knew why she affected him like this. Blythe reminded him of his father’s favorite mistress. A deranged ballet dancer who’d giggled and twirled about as Mars inflicted unspeakable agonies upon him. The only part of Roux’s childhood with a positive association. Anytime he’d focused on the gracefulness of the female’s motions, he’d almost forgotten his pain.
In a world of pain and darkness, she’d been a vision of softness and light.
If the mistress had been a taste of grace, Blythe was an entire meal. The harphantom never looked as if she walked; she appeared to float.
“You can try,” he told her, “but you will only waste your time. I’ve lived too long and survived too much.”
“I’ll see your denial and raise you two fingers.” She lifted both hands and flipped him the bird.
He swallowed a sigh. “Is there anything I can do to appease your—”
“Nope,” she interjected. Her firm tone offered no wiggle room. “I’ll only hate you more if you try.”
Frustration gripped him. He wasn’t used to failure.
A muted scream suddenly filled every chamber of his mind. He stiffened. Someone had escaped his mental dungeon.
If Roux didn’t act, other prisoners might follow suit. If he did perform a search and grab, however, he would have to retreat in his mind. A state many of the Astra referred to as “Roo Coo.”
Cut short his time with Blythe? No. “Do you expect me to continue allowing your attacks?”
“Hey, that’s a hundred percent on you. You’re free to stop me anytime. If you can.” The harphantom tilted her head, studying him. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”
Inside, his breath hitched. Blank mask secure. Never reveal an emotion. A lesson he’d learned well as a child. Anything you felt could and would be used against you.
“I have, yes.” He punctuated the words with a nod. “Your father killed my brethren and my old Commander.” Erebus might not have taken the former leader’s head, but he was still responsible for the male’s death. “I miss them every day.” The family he’d built was now forever incomplete...much like Blythe’s.
He almost flinched.
Her mind must have traveled a similar path. Her irises turned black again. She swiped out her claws, intending to take another kidney.
Roux caught her wrist, stopping her at the last possible second. “Do yourself a favor and put your grievance with me on hold. The next blessing task nears. Erebus is soon to challenge a new warlord, and I won’t tolerate interference from you.”
“Give me a minute to etch that pearl in my memory bank. Roux won’t tolerate interference. He suggests I forget my vendetta against him until he and his buddies successfully defeat my father and ascend, gaining more power and living their dream. Got it.”
“I didn’t utter a suggestion,” he grated.
The corners of her soft pink mouth curled up, and his guts tightened. Uh-oh. He knew that look. Knew trouble came next.
“You know,” she said, sounding contemplative, “if you hadn’t murdered the male I loved, we probably would’ve been friends. But you did. And we’re not. And for some reason, I’ve only gotten to see him once, so I’m cranky.” Swipe.
She used her free hand to snag a kidney. “Four,” she said, droplets of crimson falling from her hand. “In case you’re wondering, it was just as satisfying as I’d anticipated.”
The blip of pain should have heralded a brutal retaliation to prove he meant business. Instead, he growled and spun her into the wall, marveling over a spike of excitement.
Excitement. As if they were playing some sort of game.
Their gazes met, and he heated another twenty degrees.
“Do not push me, harpy.”
The organ splattered on the floor. “Or what, Astra?” Smirking up at him, she vanished. Not flashing but misting, as only her kind could do.
The urge to hunt her down choked Roux. To press her against another wall and...do something. With his hands. His mouth.
Once again, frustration rose to the forefront, overtaking him. He needed to get this female out of his head. Somehow. Soon.
4
THE GOODBYE
Blythe trailed Roux, slinking through a lavishly decorated corridor in the Harpinian palace. He turned a corner, heading for his bedroom, and three of her father’s phantoms came into view. Their skin was pallid, their eyes milky while. As usual, Erebus had sent females he’d dressed in ragged widow’s weeds.
The trio walked in a circle at the far end of the hall, directly in front of Roux’s door. With monotone voices, they chanted, “Wait for Roux, tell Roux, laugh. Wait for Roux, tell Roux, laugh.”
They spoke the order that had been issued by their maker, Blythe’s father. And they would obey every action to the letter.
How Daddy Undearest loved to sneak his minions past Astra defenses. Not to inflict physical injury. No. Such small groups of phantoms could do little damage to such powerful males. Erebus did it to wreak havoc in their minds. And it worked. Roux stiffened and withdrew a dagger.
That weapon! Trinite. Hissing, Blythe stumbled back a step.
As soon as the creatures sensed the Astra, they pivoted in unison, facing him, and tilted their heads to the side. They were nothing like Blythe. She had free will; they did not. They could do nothing unless commanded by Erebus. A terrible fate they had not deserved.
As Roux closed in, the women intoned, “Riddle me this. What fills your life and makes it empty at the same time? Regret. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha—”
He killed them all with a slash of the dagger. The phantoms tumbled to the floor, where they quickly evaporated. Muttering under his breath, he stalked into his bedchamber.
Blythe followed him, ghosting through the door just in time to witness his beeline for the wet bar. He poured himself an ambrosia-laced whiskey with a trembling hand.
Oh, oh, oh. Trembling?
He poured himself a second glass, then a third, until the trembling tapered off. Only then did he plop onto the foot of a massive bed. Strain bunched his muscles as he propped his elbows on his knees and sank his face into his upraised palms. A picture of defeat.
Blythe thrilled. What had caused this delightful development?
“Get it together,” he mumbled. “You have conquered worlds. Slain royals. Tortured answers out of the most formidable of challengers. There’s nothing you cannot do.”
And now he gave himself a pep talk? Grinning, she flicked the tip of her tongue against an incisor. He should look and sound like this more often. Made her feel less stabby. For a second or two, at least. Just long enough to inventory the sense of familiarity that had only strengthened. Something that made her feel more stabby.
Should she reveal herself or wait a bit longer?
“Hello, daughter.” Her father’s greeting ended the mental debate.
A beaming Erebus approached her side. And oh, how the Astra would have thundered if he’d known his most despised foe stood within murdering distance, tucked safely inside a hidden realm.
As usual, the god wore a long robe the color of pitch. The preferred apparel of the ancients, and exactly like the garment Laban had worn in her first and only hallucination. But she wasn’t going to think about that. White corkscrew curls lay in total disarray around a face with heavily lashed black eyes and a large, hooked nose. Thick dark brows proved stark against Erebus’s fair skin. A constant smirk ruined any hint of attractiveness.
“Unless you come with news, leave,” she commanded. “You can torment the other Astra as much as you wish, but Roux is mine.” Especially in here. His bedroom, her territory. A harpy did not cede territory.
“I do come with news.”
Excitement glimmered to life. “Has the time come?”
He offered a slow nod, as if he savored the action. “It has.”
Well, well. The next blessing task was now set in stone, putting Roux up to bat. Soon, the Astra would journey to a prison world known as Ation to cut out the queen’s heart. A task designed by Erebus and one Blythe approved.
How better to separate the golden giant from his brethren and Taliyah, with no one able to come to his rescue? “I’ll be joining him.”
“Of course you will. That was always the plan.”
Once, female-centric species had shipped vile criminals incapable of rehabilitation to the prison realm. Easy to enter but impossible to escape, even if you possessed the ability to flash. Unless your father was a god, and you were a phantom. At least, Blythe expected one of her unique abilities to provide a way home. If she failed to return, well, it was a risk she must take. For Laban. For vengeance.
For Isla.
Finally, her daughter could begin to heal. Eventually, she would understand and even praise Blythe’s efforts.
“When is he to leave?” she asked, a mental to-do list forming. Pack. Hug and kiss Isla goodbye. Warn her sister. Blythe adored Taliyah, despite the General’s annoying defense of the Astra army, and she wanted the beloved woman prepared for the worst—the loss of the blessing and the beginning of the curse.
“Tomorrow,” Erebus replied. “But you will go now, or you won’t go at all.” He delivered the threat without masking his giddiness.
“Wrong.” Her fingers curled into fists. “I’ll go in an hour.”
Silent, he slinked about Roux’s bedroom, examining the warrior’s things, and Blythe followed, huffing with irritation. First her father looked over a stack of folded leathers resting atop the dresser next to a bowl of fruit. On the desk was a piece of parchment with the same three sentences scrawled over every inch of it. She isn’t mine. But she is. But she isn’t.
Interesting. She who? His concubine? And should Blythe kill the woman just for giggles?
“You are ready for this, are you not?” Erebus asked. “I haven’t pinned my hopes on a mistake, have I?”
“I’m ready,” she grated. He sought to manipulate her. But. She hadn’t lied. She was ready. She’d fed on soul again this morning. She wore the harpy soldier uniform and had two short swords crisscrossed over her back. Daggers hung at her sides and waited inside her combat boots.
“Why delay then?”
“Why move so quickly?” she countered. “You want me at my best, do you not?” Two could play the god’s mind game. If Roux succeeded, completing his task, the entire Astra army would be one step closer to obtaining the blessing. If all triumphed, Erebus earned the curse. An eternal curse this time. No more getting another chance every five hundred years. The outcome of this war forever settled the issue.
“I know what will happen if you leave this room. You’ll visit your brat. She’ll say something disgustingly sweet, and you’ll convince yourself to stay and strike at Roux another way. You’ll lose.”
Dang him. An argument she couldn’t refute. Except for the brat part. Her father possessed the Blade of Destiny, an ancient weapon able to transport him far into the future while remaining entrenched in the present. At any given time, he viewed hundreds of fates at once.
“I’ve already ensured you’ll have everything required for today’s departure and total victory.” He slid an odd-looking purple blade from a pocket of his robe, and a plain black pouch from another pocket. “This weapon is made of firstone. The only substance able to slay an Astra.”
Blythe gaped. Knew it!
“When sheathed in this pouch,” he added, anchoring the weapon inside the material, “Roux will not detect the blade. Better to surprise him...”
Gimme! She made grabby hands.
Her father held it just out of her reach. “Like Roc, Roux will have thirty days to win or lose his task. If you cannot kill him, you have only to keep him trapped in the Ation realm. When the thirty days ends, the curse will fall upon all Astra, and killing Roux will no longer be a problem for you.”
With firstone in her possession, how could she fail? But. What her father proposed struck her as too easy. Too good. A trap?
Why set her up, though? What could be his end goal?
Granted, Erebus cared nothing for her or her safety. He never had, and he never would. And most days, she didn’t care. He wasn’t worth an emotion. Long ago, he’d attacked Harpina, murdering hundreds of innocent harpies, all to coerce her mother into spending the night with him to conceive Blythe. He was a bona fide monster.
After she ended Roux’s life, she intended to target Erebus. The Astra were right to detest him. The Dark One had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He was pure evil, loyal only to himself, and lacking any type of moral compass. But for now, she needed him. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
“You were born to defeat the Astra from the inside out,” he said. A mantra she’d heard before. “Do things my way, and you will succeed. Nothing will stop you.”
Still her instincts pinged. Something more was going on here. “Why don’t you venture into Ation?”
