The Phantom, page 15
He’d begun to think she might be the missing puzzle piece of his life. Or the prize of prizes he deserved after surviving centuries of horror and pain. Problem was, he didn’t deserve her.
But he craved her, anyway. He needed to learn the taste of her lips. Soon. He dreamed of tossing her onto her back and doing things. Soft things. Rough things. All things. He planned to start at her mouth, dabble at those plump breasts with their irresistible amber crests, and work his way down. Then back up. Then down again. He wouldn’t stop until she shattered. Or he did.
Inside him, pressure mounted, nearly unbearable, and a growl rumbled in his chest. If he failed to find relief soon, he might end up tearing this palace to shreds.
How could he win her? How? She might want him, but she didn’t like him. He liked her far too much. Liked her unwavering determination to avenge those she loved. Her unshakable fortitude to oversee a goal. The way she teased him. Played with him.
A shrill scream echoed inside his head, the loose prisoner making himself known.
Enough! Determined to stop the intrusion at last, Roux drew to a halt and retreated into his mind...there! An unauthorized shadow, slinking away. He gave chase, resolute. He would learn the being’s identity and lock him up or die—
“Warden? Yo! Rue. Your presence is requested.”
Blythe! Was something wrong? Yanked from the chase, Roux blinked into awareness. Frowned. The harpy stood directly in front of him, and she was patting his cheek.
Pale blue eyes offered...was that concern? “What happened? Where’d you go?”
He’d stopped in the middle of the hall, he realized, without allowing his instincts to take over. Anyone could have attacked him with any weapon, and he would’ve been unable to stop them.
Why would he allow such a travesty? Because deep down he wanted Blythe to touch him? Or was some part of him beginning to trust her? If his instincts no longer considered her a threat...
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. In Ation, Blythe the Undoing was his only threat.
“Perhaps the sway of your hips hypnotized me,” he croaked. As close to the truth as anything. Let her know the wealth of power she wielded over him? No.
“How wonderful for me. An unexpected weapon for my arsenal.” She winked at him. Actually winked. And her irises remained blue. Then she scowled, as if regretting her show of playfulness. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s go,” she snapped at the siren, who stood off to the side, eyeing them thoughtfully.
With a shrug, the other female kicked into motion. “No questions about the trouble you’re in?” she asked, as he and the harpy followed.
The irritation in her voice scraped against his eardrums. A common occurrence with her ilk. When a siren’s emotions infused her words, anyone within hearing distance usually experienced a bodily reaction.
“None.” He tore his gaze from Blythe and focused on their companion. His first date, Monna. A true beauty, with short dark hair, round brown eyes, and darker skin. Thick black slashes tattooed into her arms.
Why couldn’t he crave her touch? Life would be so much easier.
Monna huffed with greater irritation. “You should care. Things are about to go nuclear.”
Would Roux go nuclear if ever he got Blythe into bed?
Could he get her into bed? Should he? How much more would she hate him afterward? Did it matter? Hate was hate.
The siren cast a scowl over her shoulder. “Still no questions about what’s going on?”
“Nope,” Blythe said.
“None,” he repeated.
“You know what? I’m glad we didn’t work out.” Monna put her nose in the air. “You’re the absolute worst.” She opened a door to the very conference room he’d explored during his search of the palace. “In here.”
He flashed in front of Blythe, entering first. The remaining members of the welcome party sat at the table, each glaring at him. A refreshing change from the usual leers and catcalls. No sign of the wraith.
Spine ramrod-straight, the siren sat. The lone open chair waited at the end of the table. Had they purposely removed the other chairs? Last time, there’d been twenty females seated in here.
“Pop a squat,” one of the Amazons commanded.
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” Head high, Blythe sauntered around him to claim his chair. She acted like a queen before peasants, aware of her superiority and unafraid to show it.
To his bafflement, he almost smiled as he took a post behind her. With harpies, sass was never far from the fore, and Blythe the Undoing wielded more than most.
Saying nothing, he crossed his arms over his chest and scanned their disapproving audience. One minute passed. Two. Three. The first one to break the silence would prove themselves to be the weakest in the room. Patience required strength.
The vampire flashed sharp, white fangs at him. “It’s been brought to our attention that you somehow broke your vow to us.”
“I broke nothing,” he replied easily. Had Penelope witnessed his time with Blythe and informed the others? Was this her big play?
“Is that so?” The dark-haired Amazon banged her fist on the tabletop. “How about the fact that you left the palace grounds without being on an official date?”
“I’m able to flash. I was no more than a split second away the entire time I was gone.” Something he’d carefully considered before whisking Blythe to the lake. “Again, I broke nothing. Also, the rules stipulated I had to date each member of my welcome party. Technically, Blythe Skyhawk is part of my welcome party. She stood among your midst.”
“Therefore, in light of your egregious transgression,” the Amazon continued, “we’ve decided you owe each of us—oh. I see.” Frowning, she scanned the others, as if unsure how to respond. “Is he pardoned? He’s pardoned, isn’t he?”
Murmurs of disappointment arose, but one by one, reluctant nods came.
“Tricky, tricky Astra,” someone muttered.
As if these females were any better. They intended to betray him at the first opportunity.
“Now that that’s settled, I’m guessing the meeting is over,” Blythe said, reclining and kicking up her legs. “The big guy is starved. Someone make him a sammich. Extra pickles.”
The women ignored her, no one even sparing her a glance.
The taller of the Amazons offered him a tight smile. “Minus the wraiths, roughly ninety-five percent of the realm has signed on to participate in the tournament.”
Exactly as hoped. Even those who had no interest in sex or sperm sought a way home.
“This assembly is concluded.” The tall Amazon banged a gavel.
The councilmembers stood, their customary leers returning. Some winked at him. Others blew him a kiss. The manticore made a crude hand gesture.
He showcased no reaction. But Blythe...might have. Had she stiffened, as if she were upset by the attention he received from the others? Surely not. Wishful thinking on his part, nothing more.
“What about that sandwich?” he asked on her behalf.
“Food-wise, you’re on your own today,” a gorgon said as everyone else filed out the door. “We’re busy preparing for the festivities. Unless you’re hungry for gorgon? Because I’m already hot and ready to be served. No?”
He didn’t deign to respond.
“Tomorrow,” the Amazon piped up, pausing in the doorway to glance at him, “someone will collect you at sunrise and escort you to the opening ceremony.”
Opening ceremony. The moment his truce with Blythe ended.
He nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
15
THE SURPRISE
“Come.” Roux extended his hand to Blythe as soon as they were alone in the conference room. “I will feed you.”
She reciprocated, linking their fingers without thought. Thought came after. Dang him! His newfound charm had to stop. Roux, with his tragic past, sexy-rough features, and desperate passions was nothing to her. Less than nothing. That hadn’t changed and wouldn’t. Ever. But she didn’t let him go. Not yet.
“Where are we going?” she grumbled.
“A village we passed when I carried you to the palace.”
He transported her to a clearing with ancient fae-type beings scattered about. Eleven of them, to be exact. They ranged from the palest white to the most flawless black, with hair in every shade imaginable. All wore dresses made of leaves and flower petals. They flittered about, either gardening or cooking.
The scent of roasting vegetables coated a cool breeze, and her mouth watered.
“Not the sandwich you requested, but food,” Roux said, sounding proud of himself.
Ugh. Why was even that charming?
Noticing the enormous male in their midst, a fae shrieked. “He’s back!”
The others shrieked as well, practically stampeding each other to race off. Dude. “They are not your biggest fans.”
“No. They are the first of the fae-nymphs,” Roux explained, resignation replacing his pride. “Mars filled his harem with them. By force. To escape him for good, they came here.”
Her chest clenched. Roux had been a victim of the god too, yet he garnered the same reaction as his perpetrator. Perhaps another reason he’d always despised being touched. He’d never known if someone reacted to him or his father.
The clenching worsened as the Astra led her forward. They’d never let go of the other’s hand, she realized with a start.
He stopped near a pot of simmering soup, clasped her by the waist, and hefted her onto a waist-high tree stump, putting them face-to-face. Their gaze caught for a moment. His attention dropped to her mouth before he got busy filling two clay bowls with the rich, creamy potage. One for her, one for him.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Trying to tune him out and gain control of her emotions, she dug in with a small wooden spoon. Mmm. Tasty. “Four and a half stars. Will eat here again.”
“If nothing else, I can satisfy this hunger,” he muttered.
Seriously! Did he have to be so charming? “You know, I can so snag an organ from you right this second, yes? Probably two. Or more. Let me enjoy my meal in peace.” And maybe sneak a conversation with one of the fae-nymphs and get a message to Penelope. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
“Lyla, you may take any organ at any time.” The heat in his eyes said what he didn’t. I’ve never forgotten. It’s foreplay.
She squirmed atop her stump. They finished the soup in charged silence.
“More?” he asked. “Dessert?”
“No thanks.” Now probably wasn’t the best time to indulge in a vice.
He placed their dishes in a basket partially filled with dirty utensils, then turned to help her down. As if she wasn’t a harpy in her prime, well able to hop off a perch, she waited to accept his assistance.
He clasped her waist, lifted her, and slid her down his body. Slowly. Tendrils of pleasure uncoiled. Her feet reached the ground, but she didn’t remove her hands from his shoulders. For balance. She breathed in the intoxicating aroma of cedarwood and spiced oranges, her head fogging.
Maybe she could indulge this vice instead?
“Is there something you’d like to do to me, Lyla?”
The low, rough quality of his voice caressed her ears, and she shivered. “I’ve already touched you today,” she stated, panting a little.
“I believe I’ve mentioned I’m good with doubling up.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again. “I have no limits with you.”
No limits. Because she was special. She melted into him, even as she chided him. “This has to stop.”
“This? What is this?” He cupped her backside, massaging sore muscles. “I’m merely standing here. Breathing.”
No, he was tempting and smoldering and seducing. How could he affect her so strongly? How had her consort’s hold on her body lessened to such a degree, allowing it to happen? Had the father of her child been nothing more than a passing fancy? Why hadn’t she had any more hallucinations of him? That manticore had been the love of her life. Her addiction. Now he was regulated to be little more than a memory she took out of a box and played with occasionally...when she wasn’t playing with the Astra.
Shame and guilt stabbed her. How could she want Roux at all? If she were being honest, he didn’t look anything like Laban, so she couldn’t trick herself into blaming a resemblance between the two. Not anymore.
“You know exactly what this is.”
“Tell me.” A heated demand as he deepened his massage. “Let’s make sure we understand each other.”
Oh, they understood each other all right. More than she liked. “I mean it. D-don’t do this,” she said, ashamed of her desperation. A weakness only he inspired. If he kissed her, she would kiss him back.
Could she live with herself?
“I will not do this, as you call it.” He released her and eased back. Promise glittered in his eyes. “Yet.”
* * *
The first rays of sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows. Blythe lay on the bed, where she’d tossed and turned all night, as usual. Roux wasn’t in his chair by the hearth, staring at her, at least. He’d shut himself inside the bathroom ages ago, leaving her alone with his parting word.
Yet. The worst of all the words! Now anticipation crackled in her cells.
What was he doing in that bathroom, anyway? Going on a date with Palmela Handerson? Yeah. That had to be it. Blythe had turned him on, and now he hoped to turn himself off.
Good! Maybe he would emerge with his smolder dialed down, and she’d be able to think clearly again.
Right on cue, he stepped from the enclosure wearing a black T-shirt, leather pants, and eight layers of tension. Well. The date must not have gone well. The smolder endured at full capacity.
Why she wanted to smile, she didn’t know.
He strode her way, a brave prisoner on his way to execution. “Get up.” He stopped out of range. “The tournament is soon to begin.”
Right. The tournament. The urge to smile faded. Their truce was over. From now on, there’d be no more forced physical contact. No more straddling her enemy or sharing an almost kiss. And that was good. The time had come to choose a war path. Become queen, putting their battle on a forced timeline? Or let him win his task, and take care of business afterward? In other words, strike now or later?
Which one, which one? Both came with pros, and both came with cons.
No wonder she hadn’t pulled a decision trigger yet. Get this right, and she would win big. Get it wrong, and she would lose everything. Nerves already frayed, Blythe climbed from bed. “Guess we’re back to being enemies.”
“We were always enemies, harpy.”
True. “You acted like a besotted suitor yesterday,” she quipped, stretching.
“Yesterday, I didn’t have to chain you. Today I do.”
And...what? He resented the need? She strutted to the wardrobe, almost glancing his way. But bad things happened when their eyes met. Or when they stood next to each other. Or when they touched. Terrible, wonderful, awful, amazing things.
Now or later?
Blythe cast a glance to the crown. To wear or not to wear? The crystals glistened in the sunlight, summoning her closer for a better look. The next thing she knew, she was kneeling in front of it, holding it. Heavier than she’d expected. Colder, too. Not that she minded.
Pinpricks of light didn’t just glisten within the crystals; they swirled. So lovely. She must try the piece on. There was no reason not to. Become queen...yes! This was her destiny. Meant to be.
Blythe lifted the gorgeous coronet—
“What are you doing?” Roux swiped the headdress from her clasp.
“Hey!” She shot to her feet, reaching, but the crystals vanished into thin air. “Give that back!”
He clamped onto her wrist, snarling, “I will not.”
Will murder him right here, right now! Her nails elongated, the tips sharpening. She tensed to strike. “Final chance to heed my warning, before I make a new crown from your entrails.”
“Go ahead.” He lifted his chin. “Try.”
She wouldn’t try, she’d do! Except, just as soon as she met Roux’s gaze, the spinning, jewel-toned striations in his irises wiped her mind of all thought. That blip of blankness cleared the way for a mortifying realization. She’d fallen victim to the crown’s spell. Again.
The Astra had just prevented her from choosing a war path before actually choosing a war path. Although, the answer struck her as obvious now. Avoid the crown and postpone her vengeance.
Yes, that felt right. It bought her more time. Time to win the firstone dagger from Penelope. To plot and scheme at home, away from the Astra and his sense-highjacking intensity.
“Sorry,” she muttered, deflating. Deep breath in. Out. Uh...had she just apologized to the Astra? Roux should infuriate her, not calm her. That was a consort’s job.
Hello, guilt. Hello, shame. Hate myself.
Weakness washed over her limbs. Hate the wraith.
Her knees wobbled. “I meant, you’re welcome.” She put her emotions on lockdown and shimmied free of his grip. “Now we know the crown gets more powerful with every punch.”
“There have been other punches?” He scowled, his eyes flittering with red. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Was he serious? “Like there aren’t a million obvious reasons, Rue. Though, really, only one of those reasons matters.” She selected today’s attire, another uniform. A well-made leather vest and pleated skirt with her combat boots. Perfect. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to.”
He opened and closed his mouth. “Do not push me, Blythe.” With a huff of frustration, he stabbed his fingers through his hair. Muscles flexed. In his arms, alevala switched places. He froze. “Unless you want to push me further and see what happens.”
