The Phantom, page 13
“I have an internal clock. I’ll tell you when to stop. If you don’t trust me to be up-front and honest, count down in your head. I don’t care,” he repeated. He inhaled deep again...
“Whatever,” she said, flippant. Finally, blessedly, she did it. She slapped her hand against his pectoral. The vampire’s blood still covered her flesh but it bothered him not a bit. In that moment, nothing bothered him.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. The softness of her. The delicious heat. The connection.
Forty. Zero irritation occurred. At the one-minute mark, the barest tendrils of pleasure uncoiled, and he stifled a groan. Only iron determination prevented him from clasping her wrist and guiding her fingers elsewhere. Or crowding her onto the mattress.
The thoughts in his head. The things he imagined doing to her, if ever he did get her into bed. So many things. His control wavered. His fingers twitched at his sides. Soon, he wasn’t just panting, he was pant-growling. Muscles hardened. All his muscles. Hunger clawed at his insides. He wanted this female. Needed her. Badly. More than he’d ever needed anything. Roux would commit terrible deeds to strip her.
Reason through this madness? Impossible. He could only peer down at her as she looked anywhere but at him, maintaining a bored expression. And yet, the pulse at the base of her throat hammered rapidly.
A wild thought invaded his head. Did she like the contact, too, despite her feelings for him? That thought spurred another. Something wilder. Did a part of her, possibly, desire him in return?
The clock ran out before he could deduce the answers. Part of him longed to beg for one more minute. Even a second. But she must have kept track of the time, as suggested, because she severed contact before he could make an announcement.
He nearly roared at the loss of the connection.
“All done,” she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder. But she couldn’t hide the trembling in her fingers. “Obviously, you got the better end of our deal. I’ll be in the bathroom, washing off Astra funk. Enter at your own peril.”
* * *
Silvery moonlight filled the bedroom. Blythe lay unnaturally still atop the mattress, too uncomfortable to move. Hours had passed since her hands-on interaction with Roux, but her skin felt far too tight. Her insides ached.
The Astra occupied his chair, per usual, polishing his weapons, watching her with a greater awareness than before. To better guard her, now that she was unchained, yes. But he wanted her, too. There was no mistaking the ferocity and passion he radiated. Not any longer. Not while she felt it, too.
Every so often—like now—she snuck a glance in his direction, unable to help herself. Perfect nocturnal vision displayed every detail of his rough features. The wide brow. The prominent cheekbones. The patrician nose. The strong jaw covered in golden scruff.
Once again, she caught herself panting with desire. The same consuming fire that had threatened to engulf her ever since she’d rested her palm on his muscular chest and wonder had lit up his incredible eyes. A thousand times, she’d almost demanded he take her to bed and give her pleasure for her pain. He owed her, after all.
Except, no enemy should be allowed to affect her physically. And Roux wouldn’t be able to do so, if he didn’t resemble Laban in some way. Yes, that must be the reason. Both were strong, blond, and, well, male.
Wait. What was this? Though Roux remained seated in the chair, he also stood. But the standing Roux was too bright to be a spirit yet not solid enough to be a body. Sitting Roux looked as if he’d been powered down.
That brightness... He’d projected his soul out of his body, hadn’t he, making himself an open smorgasbord to any phantoms nearby. And oh, how tasty he appeared. A feast of power.
No one would be able to see him, except a phantom like Blythe.
As he ghosted through the door, a warrior on a mission, she jolted into an upright position. To follow him or stay here and search his stuff, maybe even rig his weapons to fail? Oh, oh. Since he’d left her, she might be able to bypass her oath and leave him, whisking to Wraith Island to wheel and deal with Penelope. Worth the risk?
While options two, three, and four appealed greatly, curiosity got the best of her. Blythe shoved her hatred into that hidden corner in her mind. Strength returned faster than before. More strength than before, too. She should have no problem slipping into a spirit plane.
A grin bloomed. Roux might sense her, as he had before, but he wouldn’t see her. Therefore, he couldn’t prove she’d acted inappropriately. If anything, she was doing something right, keeping her oath by remaining within his sight. Kind of.
Blythe gave chase, passing his notebook. Backtracking. Okay, so, maybe she could spend a minute or two spying for the good of her cause.
She flipped through the pages of the book. Uh... A flush heated her skin, and she fanned her cheeks. He’d written the same word over and over. Feast.
Her lungs emptied. Was the thought directed at her?
She needed to get out of here before she talked herself into becoming his next meal.
On the way out, her gaze got caught on the crown. Once again, she backtracked. Must touch...
Trembling, she reached out... If she wore this magnificent circlet, Roux might—Roux! Gah! Blythe stilled and huffed an angry breath, hit by another realization. The crown clearly had some sort of mystical draw. It must. From now on, she’d have to be careful around it.
Right now, nothing mattered more than finding Roux. She rushed from the bedroom. An unfamiliar vampire and siren stood sentry in the hall. There to ensure the honored guests remained within? Rolling her eyes at such a feeble block, she hurried on, unnoticed. Following the Astra’s scent—there was no missing it, even in this form—she glided down a narrow staircase.
There! He entered and exited rooms. Anytime he encountered one resident in conversation with another, he stopped to listen. Discussions about the “sperm donor” caused his features to twist before he marched on. Debates about who might win the tournament elicited interest. So. He sought info about the coming battle and its probable victor. The woman—queen—he must kill to complete his task.
Blythe listened while taking in palace details she’d missed on her way in. Elaborate buffets. Comfy sofas. Flameless torches. Murals depicting a bloody battle of some sort between warrior women of every species. True to the realm’s history?
On the fourth floor, they entered a room filled with women who were throwing what looked to be popcorn at a white sheet that hung on the wall. That sheet showcased an old episode of New Girl.
On the third floor, a group of ten immortals congregated with Roux’s dates at a long, rectangular table. They passed pieces of parchment around.
Following the Astra’s lead, Blythe leaned over someone’s shoulder to study the parchments herself. Hmm. One was a blueprint for what looked to be an underground fight club. The other had nothing but text. A vow? Oh, yeah. Definitely a vow—Roux’s. Considering there was a promise in there to date ten women, this must be the pledge he’d made to save Blythe.
Back to the underground fight club. Was the tournament to take place there? How intriguing.
“Okay,” an Amazon said. “I call this Get You Some meeting to order. And guys? We’re down to the wire here. Did you hear me? The wire. We gotta figure out how to murder a phantom and trap ourselves a torture master once and for all.”
13
THE TEMPTATION
Bargain: Day 2
“Wake up, Warden.” Blythe reached for Roux, only to draw back. Touch him free of charge? No!
Still and quiet, he sat in his chair by the hearth, his eyes closed. He should have looked at peace. He didn’t. Tension roiled from him.
“There’s something I want to do, which means you gotta come with me so I can keep my promise,” she said. “Also, you need to...nothing. Never mind.” She’d meant to tell him to hide the crown, too, but the words dissolved in her throat.
Now that she understood the crystals possessed power, she knew better than to approach. But, really, was there a valid reason to forever shield the headpiece from her view? No, of course not. Look how pretty it was, bathed in morning light. This masterpiece deserved to be examined daily.
Blythe stepped forward, reaching—Argh! Snared again. Scowling, she drew back. Focus. In a matter of minutes, multiple someones would knock on the bedroom door to offer the Astra breakfast and a blow job.
“Wake. Up,” she commanded, clapping her hands.
Slowly he parted his lids, revealing stormy irises. Bothered by the council’s plot to betray him? Or something else? Yeah, must be something else. The male considered himself too powerful to harm. And it was as irritating as it was sexy.
He scanned her once, twice, and gulped. Tension pulled the corners of his lips down as he gripped the arms of the chair.
Did he approve of her new look?
When his leathers pulled tight, she almost grinned. Oh, yeah. He approved.
While he’d slept the approaching dawn away, she’d cleaned up in the bathroom and dressed with care, selecting a sheer white dress with bright red cotton undergarments. All of which she’d had to adjust for her wings. Worth it.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and rasped, “What does the she-beast desire, exactly?”
Time to take advantage of his appreciation. “I want to swim in the lake.” Get her peepers on Wraith Island again. There’d been no sign of Penelope in the market. Maybe the wraith would appreciate a curbside visit. Maybe not. Perhaps Blythe would encounter a different wraith and pass along a message. The day was ripe with promise.
“The water is ice-cold,” he reminded her.
“So? I don’t recall asking his most delicate royal highness to get in. If you prefer, you can watch me from the shore and stay all hot and bothered. Yeah. That’s right. I noticed your hard-on.” The best way to cover her desire? Exploit his. “And yes, I’m very aware it’s pointed in my direction. And only mine.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “No swimming.”
Okay, so, taunting him hadn’t been the smartest course of action. Noted.
“Why do you wish to venture into the territory of the female who controls you, anyway?” he demanded.
She kicked into a swift pace in front of his chair. “Look, I’m used to activity. Exercise. I’ve been cooped up for far too long, and I’ve gotta expend some energy before I combust.” Truth.
“Energy?” Something akin to hope flickered in his eyes next. “Is the wraith no longer able to drain you?”
In other words, had Blythe ceased hating him. “Or,” she added, with a roll of her eyes, “we can return to the market, and you can use your muscles to purchase more supplies.”
A scowl twisted his features. “Fine. I will take you swimming. In exchange, you will answer a question for me.”
The old one or a new one, such as how she planned to inconvenience him today? Either way, triumph lit her up inside. Already a step closer to her goal! “Deal,” she said. “Ask.”
“Did you get all hot and bothered as well?”
Her breath caught. His tone. Like melted honey poured over ice. He had sensed her desire. Or at least suspected she harbored it. “Yes,” she grated. “But I thought of Laban.” Because she always sometimes thought of Laban. Just not often enough anymore.
Roux’s scowl returned, and shame slapped her. Unable to meet his gaze, she dropped her attention, landing on the thumping pulse at the base of his throat. The perfect place to tap his soul. Mmm. Even his vein looked good. How sweet would he taste? How much power would flood her system before she vomited him?
“Do you need to feed, Blythe?” A softly uttered question.
Maybe? “I—”
A knock sounded at the door, bringing her back to her senses, saving her from making a huge mistake.
Demonstrating pure frustration, Roux grabbed his backpack and stood. “We leave now.” With two long strides, he reached her side and yanked her body against his.
Blink. Suddenly, they stood on the rocky, mossy beach, enveloped by a cold, boisterous wind that whipped tendrils of Blythe’s hair across the Astra’s face.
She peered up at him, struggling to rein in an unexpected sense of comfort. Being in a man’s arms shouldn’t feel this good. Especially this man’s arms. But it did feel good. So, so good.
He reached up and smoothed those errant locks of hair behind her ears. A gentle caress. Defenses crumbled, and she leaned into him. The urge to rest her head on his shoulder was nearly irresistible. To drink in his strength and his heat. To forget the past and their troubles and just be, if only for a moment. But she couldn’t ignore their history. She shouldn’t.
“Blythe,” he said, looking as though he had a thousand things to say. “If I could go back—”
“But you can’t.” She stepped free, earning her freedom. Anything else he had to say, she didn’t need to know. An apology wouldn’t make things better. “I’m swimming, you’re watching.”
She turned away and yanked the dress over her head. For the first time, he got an unimpeded view of her undergarments. As she folded the outer garment and set it aside, being sure to exaggerate her movements, Roux’s hitch of breath made her belly quiver. Ignoring the tremors in her limbs, she strode into the tempestuous waves. The iciness wasn’t pleasant, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
“Don’t venture too far,” he commanded. “Stay within my sight.”
“No worries, Warden. I haven’t forgotten our deal.” Or the fact that she must touch him again sometime today.
Groaning, she dove underwater and didn’t come up until she needed air. Blythe swam laps for ten...thirty...sixty minutes. Then another hour. By the end of the third hour, some of her excess energy burned off, and she treaded water near Roux, who did indeed sit upon the shore, watching her every move. He’d donned her least favorite expression: the blank mask.
“What are we doing when we leave the lake?” she asked.
“Returning to our room.”
Ugh. “We should explore the land together. You know, listen to gossip. Find a way home. Stuff like that.”
He snorted. “Trust you to aid my cause? No. Expect you to sabotage me at every turn, then use whatever we learn against me? Yes. For now, the best path to my victory is spending as much time as possible indoors.”
“Okay, we’ll circle back to our next activity.” She floated to her back, peering up at a gray sky. “What’s it like being a clone? Are there differences between yourself and others?”
“There was one difference in particular,” he grumbled, “until recently.”
What did that mean? The touch thing?
There’s no irritation with you. Words he’d spoken as he’d guided her palm across his chest, broadcasting shock and wonder.
She chewed on her lower lip. Did every other touch bother him? But what made hers different?
For the first time, she went digging for his memories, rather than fighting them as they attempted to resurface. She bypassed delightful glimpses of a smiling, laughing Isla. Blips of Laban, crooking his finger at her. Her mother. There. The tortures inflicted upon Roux by his father. Mars, the original Roux. The peeling of his skin. The whippings. Stabbings. Torchings. And those were just the things she’d seen! No telling what other horrors he’d suffered as a child. But, um, yeah. That explained why he disdained contact with others. Get hurt enough, and you came to expect it. But it didn’t explain what made her touch different.
“Care to elaborate?” she asked, tiptoeing around the issue as she bobbed through a wave.
“No.”
Figured. “Mars is dead, right? Why haven’t you claimed his throne as your own?”
He couldn’t hide his disgust. “I want nothing that belonged to him.”
Daddy issues. Something they had in common. She swam a little closer to the shore. “You mentioned a pampered twin brother. What happened to him?”
“He died,” Roux said, his eyes flickering with red.
A warning to change the subject. She didn’t. “Were you close to him?”
He pursed his lips. “I was, and I wasn’t. He visited me upon occasion and sometimes snuck me treats. Most times he oversaw my next fileting.”
Her chest tightened big-time. Did this guy have any good childhood memories?
“How could you leave your daughter behind?” he asked, making her stomach roil. “She is a sweet child. I met with her and—”
“You what?” Rage pierced Blythe, all sympathy gone in an instant. The next thing she knew, she was flying onto the shore, her wings fluttering wildly. She shoved the Astra to his back and sank her claws deep in his throat, preparing to rip. “Why did you seek her out? What did you do to her?”
He lay in the sand, broadcasting more of that awful, tantalizing wonder. In a blink, she became aware of his hands on her hips, holding her steady.
“Answer me!”
“I didn’t seek her.” He tore his focus from his fingers and met her gaze. “She sought me. Invited me to a tea party.”
A tea party. Of course. A harpy tradition. Invite an enemy to drinks and laugh as they downed their own death. “Well? What did you do after she poisoned you?” His answer would determine Blythe’s next moves.
“She didn’t poison me. She told me I have a prisoner in my mind who I’ve hidden from myself, and he will punish me for my actions. Though she was wrong.”
Prisoner? In his mind?
“Isla needs you,” the fool continued. “Yet you came here.”
“I came here for Isla.” She spit the words at him. “You murdered her father. What kind of mother allows such a wrong to go unpunished? And who are you to question me about her wellbeing? You would have killed her too if I hadn’t intervened.”
