The phantom, p.9
The Phantom, page 9
He let her do it. “For the record, vicious killers don’t have to tell their victims they are vicious killers.”
He was teasing her right now? “I will rain a thousand deaths upon your head!”
The beating continued.
“Are you done, she-beast?” he asked, almost sounding bored.
Oh, how she hated him! Hated, hated, hated. “I’m only beginning, wretch.” Blythe whaled on him with every ounce of force at her disposal, put her all in the blow. When that failed to satisfy, she shredded his shirt. His flesh.
Rather than protect any part of himself, he petted her hair. What the—She failed to land her next blow and swiped only air.
“There, there,” he said. Another stroke of his fingers through her tresses, and she failed to land her next three blows.
“What are you doing?” Trying to comfort her? Fool! And yet, the rage seeped from her. She sagged in place, almost as if—no! No, no, no. Only a consort could tempt a harpy from the worst of her tempers, and Roux wasn’t her consort. He wasn’t.
So he’d calmed her a little? So what? It didn’t mean anything. An effect of the ruby probably. It must be.
With a huff of irritation, she hurled herself away from him.
“Did you harm yourself?” he asked, removing the remains of his shirt. “Do you require medicine or sustenance of any kind? I know you are unable to keep down blood, but what if you can process what comes from a stronger species? It might be worth a try.”
“Stronger species? Like an Astra?” Pacing before him, she laughed without humor. “I don’t need blood right now, and I can drink any soul, any time.” She’d never tasted her consort’s soul, even by accident. He’d asked her not to, and she had respected his decision. He’d needed to preserve his strength to protect his girls.
Roux revealed no reaction, neither confirming nor denying her accusation. “How often do you need to feed on soul?”
“Whenever I wish or monthly.” Whichever came first. Why was he being so solicitous with her, anyway? “Just so you know, I prefer death over ingesting any part of you.” Best to hammer the point home until he did react.
“I don’t recall offering,” he quipped. “If you get hungry, go for the Phoenix. I spotted her on the walk to the palace. She might nourish you well. Blood or soul.”
“Either way,” she grated, “I don’t need you to oversee my meals.”
“Noted.” He remained annoyingly casual. “Shall we talk, then, or would you prefer to use me as a scratching post again?”
“Scratching post. Obviously.”
“Just be careful of my face.” All but smirking now, he stroked his chin. “I know how much you enjoy looking at it.”
Oh! The nerve! Blythe got serious and launched her next attack, once again diving into his lap. Punching. Clawing. Slapping. Elbowing. Kicking. He took the blows without complaint.
Though she didn’t activate the link to the wraith, she began to weaken. Bones broke in her hands with every blow. Skin split, and blood trickled. It wasn’t long before she merely swatted at him. But stop? No! Must deliver pain. Must...feed.
She slowed, her gaze dropping to his throat. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth. How good would he taste?
With the next swipe, the tips of her claws grazed his flesh. Not to harm but to caress. His eyes widened, and he sucked air between his teeth. Without thought, she kind of, sort of rested her palm on his chest. Maybe, possibly, she curled her nails into his skin, too, as if she intended to hold on forever.
Forever?
In a snap, she came to her senses and drew back. Appearing shell-shocked, he captured her wrist and flattened her palm against his bare chest. His racing heartbeat greeted her. She stood frozen—while burning up. He was an absolute furnace!
He moved her touch across his collarbone, forcing her to stroke him. Or maybe not forcing her so much as guiding her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, far too breathless for her liking.
“There’s no irritation with you,” he said. Shock lit his features, smoothing his roughest edges.
“I don’t care. Stop it!” Better?
He didn’t stop it. He linked their fingers.
Too intimate! “Let me go,” she commanded, tugging to no avail.
“There is no irritation with you,” he repeated, drawing her touch to his well-defined abs. “I want more.”
Oh, good gracious. Was he smuggling an eight pack of grenades in there? Her heart knocked against her ribs. Had she been standing, her knees would have wobbled.
Not just sexy. Needy. Sensual. Lethal to her common sense. Her toes threatened to curl with—no, no, no. But there was no denying it. A tendril of desire. As if she craved the touch of a man. This man.
Why, why, why would her body come alive now? With him?
The echo of the siren’s song must be responsible for this, too. Or her brain was glitching, mistakenly assuming she stroked her consort. An understandable error, considering muscles felt like muscles.
Just before Blythe’s fingers reached the Astra’s golden happy trail, she rallied enough inner strength to wrench free of his grip and slap him across the face. Once, twice. Thrice.
Angry with them both, she snapped, “Don’t do that again.”
“Don’t aid me then.” He wagged his jaw, as if she’d finally made an impact emotionally if not physically. Those multi-colored striations spun around his pupils, faster and faster. Drawing her closer...
What are you doing? She wrenched away, furious with herself. With him. “I’m going to examine my surroundings, and you are not going to complain.”
“Can we discuss what happened the day of the Astra invasion?” he asked as she darted about. “I’d like a chance to explain.”
Gnashing her teeth against a sudden onslaught of weakness, this one courtesy of Penelope, Blythe put down a crystal vase she’d lifted. “Why bother? Nothing you say can make things right.” An apology wouldn’t restore her consort. An explanation wouldn’t reunite father and daughter, returning Isla’s joy. “You did what you did, and I’ll make you pay for it. End of conversation.”
For now, while she dealt with the wraith, she should probably default to her original plan and do everything in her power to ruin Roux’s mission.
“Very well.” He resumed his dagger sharpening, as if he hadn’t cared about her response. “Allow me to catch you up on our situation.”
“Go for it. I’d love to hear your take.” Opening a door, she discovered a closet brimming with leather dresses reminiscent of those she’d seen on others. The garments hung alongside scantier outfits like the one she wore. “Lucky for you, I’ve got my listening ears on today.”
“We are in the queen’s palace, though there is currently no queen. In ten days, a ten-day tournament will begin. Winner becomes ruler. In the meantime, I will be dating the females who survived their introduction to me.”
“I see.” Irritation surged. And only irritation. Absolutely nothing else. Not in the slightest degree. But. If the Astra thought to satisfy a harem of eager lovers while waiting for the tournament to begin, he needed to think again.
“Tell me about the wraith who marked you,” he said, changing the subject. “Tomorrow, I’ll find her and have the jewel removed from your spirit.”
Blythe yanked a leather dress free from the rack, cracking the wooden hanger. Though it galled and stung her pride, she considered accepting his offer. To kill him, she required full strength. The best way to get it? End Penelope. If he wished to take out her other enemies, who was she to stop him?
“What do you require in return?” With the garment in hand, she eased to the bay of windows and peered out. They were at least twenty stories up, higher than any silo around them. Bonfires and torches crackled here and there, illuminating dirt streets filled with immortals. Fast-paced music thrummed in the background. Laughter rang out.
A slight hesitation from Roux. Then, “Would you agree to a truce until we return to Harpina?”
“Not even to spare my life.” Truth. He asked for too much. Looked like her pride won this round, after all, escaping a brutal battering.
He heaved a sigh. “How about a temporary cease-fire that ends as soon as the wraith is dead?”
Oh. Well. A more palatable outcome. Sorry, pride. You gotta take one for the team.
Before she could respond, a series of raps sounded at the door. A feminine voice with a tone so perfect it could only belong to a siren called through the block, “Yoo-hoo. Mr. Sausage Man. It’s go time!”
Blythe spun. She recognized that timbre. The one she’d heard inside her head when she’d first awoken in Roux’s arms.
Speaking of the Astra, he closed his eyes as his shoulders rolled in. A pose of dejection.
“Tonight’s date is here,” he muttered. “I had to pick the first contender while you slept. I went with the siren who sang to you.”
Why did he look and sound so disgruntled about this? Did he have no desire to use the women of Ation as his own personal harem?
An admirable trait. Not that it mattered. “That’s my cue to beat feet, I guess,” Blythe said, stepping in the direction of what she hoped was a private bathroom with a tub and running water. She’d change into something less comfortable and head out.
Her gaze caught on the crown anchored to his backpack, and she missed her next step. The urge to race to that gorgeous array of crystals, to hold it, to try it on and see how it fit drifted through her.
Focus. She reached the door, turned the knob, and peeked inside—yep, a bathroom with a wooden tub and copper pipes.
“You will stay here.” Roux’s lids popped open and narrowed. “In fact, you will remain within my sight at all times.”
I will, will I? “Aw, does little Rue and his Winky Boo Boo seek a chaperone?”
His lips compressed into a thin line. “Word of the tournament hasn’t yet spread far or wide enough. One rule should hold particular interest to you—you aren’t to be harmed. You are the sister of my Commander’s gravita, and I will protect you unless you attempt to compromise my task. Force me to choose between you and my mission, however, and I will. I’ll kill you myself, and I’ll do it without hesitation.”
That, she believed. Which meant she hadn’t detected reluctance a bit ago. On the contrary. She’d sensed resignation. He planned to bed his babes in front of Blythe. But so what? Someone make her a bowl of popcorn. She’d offer commentary from beginning to end. From the size of his penis to his inability to find a G-spot with a miner’s hat and a map.
Except, why should he be allowed to experience a single moment of pleasure? And why should she let him call the shots? It was bad enough that the females of this world already believed Blythe required a male to fight her battles for her. A humiliating truth she would rectify as soon as possible all by her lonesome.
Yeah, she’d made a mistake earlier, thinking to use him to slay Penelope on her behalf. Eight years out of practice had screwed with Blythe’s brain, that was all. If she couldn’t defend the honor of her family and harpies in general, no matter the odds stacked against her, all in the name of vengeance, she didn’t deserve the nine stars decorating her wrist.
Another series of raps came, followed by another and another. No way was Blythe sticking around, bowing to his dictates, and making things easy for him. Let him spend his date searching for “the sister of his Commander’s gravita.”
“Ready or not, I’m entering,” the siren called, her patience gone. She kicked at the door. Hinges pulled, and wood split. “I’m Monna, by the way.”
“Enjoy your night. Or not.” Knowing she wouldn’t survive her next actions if she reactivated the link to Penelope, Blythe buried every ounce of her hatred. A bandage to a hemorrhaging wound that wouldn’t hold for long.
“Harpy,” he rasped. “What are you planning?”
She grinned, earning a double blink. And okay, yes, without the hatred coloring her perception, she couldn’t deny the reaction appealed to her. Or that his powerful body stole her breath. Of course, she liked looking at lightning, too. That didn’t mean she should reach out and grab it.
Splinters rained from the door frame. Any second the siren would breach the perimeter.
“Catch me if you can, Rue.” Blythe blew him a kiss, spun on her heel, and sprinted toward the windows. With the dress clutched close, she dived through an opening, soaring into the night.
9
THE CHASE
“No!” Roux teleported to the window and leaned out, reaching—“No,” he repeated as he swiped air.
His gaze cut through the darkness, Blythe’s descent as clear as if halogens spotlighted her. In a split second, he calculated her trajectory. Then he materialized in the exact spot she was to land, intending to catch her—a curse exploded from him. He hadn’t moved an inch. Thanks to his oath to stick near his dates, the ability to teleport deserted him.
All he could do was watch as the harphantom hurled toward the ground.
Foolish woman! Why would she do this? Did she want to hurt? She had wings, yes, but they were tiny and not meant for flight.
A patter of footsteps let him know his date had entered the room. He cared not, keeping his attention fixed on the harpy. Despite the ruby and its weakening effects, Blythe managed to land with great ease and grace, rolling to her feet. Relief engulfed him.
She paused and craned her neck. Meeting his gaze, she bestowed another diabolical smile upon him and extended her middle finger in the air.
Like a bullet, she shot off, disappearing in the masses. Many more immortals than he’d counted upon his arrival to the royal lands. They celebrated around a bonfire, playing music, laughing, and fighting viciously.
“Don’t mind me,” his date cooed. “I’m just admiring the view.”
He pivoted on his booted heel. She stood merely two feet away, wearing something akin to a mortal bikini. The lovely black siren with curves for days had helped save Blythe; he’d thought to honor her by choosing her first, not encourage her advances.
Although, if he responded to her touch the same way he’d responded to Blythe’s, the date might go differently than he’d anticipated. After he caught the harpy. Which he would do.
He swiped out his arm and grabbed the siren’s bicep. “Come.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” She wiggled her brows at him. “I assure you, that’s why I’m here.”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he transported her to Blythe’s landing spot. He could flash only within the realm itself, and only to places he’d seen. “For this date, we’ll be traveling at lightning-fast speeds and hunting a harphantom.”
“Ohhh. An adventure. I’m impressed. I’m also all in.” She melted against him and traced her hands up his chest. “By the way, you can be all in, too, if you know what I mean.”
The contact aggravated his sensitized skin, and he stiffened. Why respond as usual with this stunning female when, only minutes before, he’d luxuriated in blissful contact with Blythe? A woman who despised him. Except when she lost her memory and ate him up with her eyes.
With the memory, his muscles bulged, burned, and hardened. His leathers pulled tight.
Roux scowled. Why did he crave her touch, and hers alone, as if he would die without it?
Had the torture master turned his talents on himself?
Chuckling, the siren rubbed against him. “You are loaded for bear, and I’m living for it. Rowr!”
He set her away and snapped, “If you’d like to keep your hands, do not touch me without permission.” And, all right, okay. Perhaps he understood Blythe’s violent reaction to his manhandling. Next time, he wanted her willing.
A bitter laugh lodged in his throat. As if she would ever be willing again.
“Sure, sure. Permission. Got it.” The siren winked, all innocence, not the least bit abashed or discouraged. “Hey, for no reason in particular, do you happen to have a safe word?”
A muscle jumped beneath his eye. How was he supposed to deal with the females of this land? “Just...try to keep up with me.”
He stalked off, not waiting for her response, tracking Blythe’s scent. He approached a crowd congregated around a bonfire.
To the siren’s credit, she followed without complaint.
“He’s here!” someone shouted.
The music stopped. Every female in the vicinity scrambled over, forming a circle around him. That circle tightened as the immortals drew closer. A chorus of “Dibs” accompanied dreamy sighs.
“I hear he’s a villain, not a hero,” someone said, and many of the sighs turned to purrs.
Then the women got serious, preparing to rush at him. Roux readied his claws.
“Don’t you dare touch! He’s mine tonight,” Monna screeched, the tenor of her voice different than before. “If you screw this up for me, I swear I’ll sing all of you into the flames.”
Sirens had an aptitude for compelling other species with their melodies, and hers struck him as far stronger than most.
Everyone scattered. A path opened up, and Roux increased his pace. There. A banshee was changing into the leather dress Blythe had carted from the room. Without thought, Roux flashed over, gripped the banshee by the throat and lifted her off her feet, constricting her airway before she was able to issue an ear-destroying death scream.
“What did you do to the harphantom?” he demanded. “Tell me!”
Her eyes bulged, and her face turned purple. Mouth floundering open and closed, she pointed a trembling finger in the direction he’d been headed.
He tightened his hold. “Did you harm her?”
“She didn’t,” a gorgon next to the banshee assured him. Despite her calm tone, the snakes growing from her head slithered and hissed with aggression. “All she did was snag the dress as your charge raced past us.”
