The Phantom, page 18
* * *
Blythe struggled to keep her attention on Lucca, the famed harpy she’d cornered not too long ago. At first, they’d exchanged half-hearted insults. Then they’d bargained, becoming allies who swapped information tonight and returned to being foes tomorrow. Finally, she had a chance to get her burning questions answered. Though, granted, she and the other combatant had only issued softball queries so far, feeling each other out.
But dang it, Roux had been involved in a deep conversation with the Phoenix for the past ten minutes. What were the two chatting about?
Focus. Only an idiot wasted a golden opportunity like this. “Tell me about the Ation crown,” she said. “I’ve felt its come hither vibe and heard it’s cursed. Is it?”
“Yes and no,” Lucca replied, the braids in her hair slapping together as she wobbled her head back and forth. “To see it is to want it. But once someone is crowned, they cannot shed it until their death. So, they end up dying quickly because others want it. And not just because of the crown’s intense draw. Legend claims only the queen will be freed from this realm. Your Astra’s offer fed the tale, growing it into a beast. Why else would so many survivalists be willing to die for the chance to win a night with a surly warrior and his chopping block?”
“He isn’t mine,” she muttered, casting her gaze his way. He was fully engaged with the Phoenix. He kept his body angled toward hers and his eyes on her face. Hers. Not Blythe’s. And he even clasped the other woman’s wrist, locking her in place, as if he couldn’t bear to part with her.
Hey! He was touching her. Willingly.
Was he enjoying it?
Blythe curled her hands into fists. Prickles ran the length of her spine, and she couldn’t understand why. Or what they stemmed from. Because it wasn’t jealousy. Nope. Not even the tiniest bit.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Lucca said, palms up and out in a gesture of innocence. “No judgment over your appallingly terrible taste, I swear. Anyway. My turn for info. Tell me everything you’ve gleaned about the Astra’s blessing task.”
To say anything might well be a betrayal to Roux. But to say nothing was to end a fruitful Q and A.
Shouldn’t she want to betray the Warden? Yes. She should. So she would. “He’s gotta cut out the queen’s heart.”
“Yeah. With a trinite blade. That’s public knowledge around here. What else you got?”
Hold up. He had to use trinite? Blythe pressed the tip of her tongue against an incisor. Erebus had conveniently left that part out.
“What happens when he fails?” Lucca added.
Ugh. Forget the guilt. “If he fails, he and his buddies get cursed,” Blythe forced herself to admit. But she didn’t elaborate. “Your turn. What can you tell me about Penelope, queen of the wraiths? You might call her Miss Murder. After she tagged me with her jewel, she stole my favorite dagger, and I want it back.”
“Well, I know she guards a treasure room underneath her palace, and the only entrance is in her bedchamber. At least I think she does. No one had ever returned to verify the rumor.”
Okay. Good to know. Now they were getting somewhere. Gotta get to that treasure room. And she needed to do it before the tournament ended. Now, her course was set. She must win the crown and kill Roux before he killed her.
Before she could stop herself, she glanced his way again. This time, their eyes met, and her breath caught. He was glaring at her, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Uh, was he angry with her? Had he guessed her thoughts?
The background music changed, the pounding beat becoming a siren’s soft melody. Her questions ceased to matter. Mmm. She liked this music. Slow and haunting. Electric. Her limbs trembled. In her veins, blood raced and heated.
Suddenly every desire Blythe had ever harbored for the Astra surged to the fore. She needed to get her hands on him. Now.
Maybe he felt the same way. His features softened, his eyelids hooding and his lips parting. He looked...hungry.
“Does your favorite weapon happen to be a—” Lucca moaned, then giggled and fanned her cheeks. “Uh, did everyone in the world get sexy all of a sudden? Because wowzer. Even the Astra is starting to look good to me.”
“He does look good, doesn’t he?” she replied with a moan of her own. Her insides were fluttering, heating. Demanding. Pull her gaze from the warrior? Impossible. “Very good.”
Lightning flashed as Roux stalked across the distance, closing in on her. He stopped directly in front of her, his scent making her head swim. “Dance with me,” he rasped, extending his arm.
Dance? With him? Not what she’d expected him to say. Wings rippling, she placed her fingers in his. “Yes.” No other reply was acceptable.
18
THE FEASTING
Something about the melody...
Roux had never danced with anyone. Never even swayed to music when he was alone. He wasn’t sure he knew what to do, but stop this? No. Uncaring about his audience, he tugged his gorgeous harphantom close and wrapped his arms around her.
Oh, the softness of this female. Lush curves pressed against him. Pleased him.
He ignored the muted warning in the back of his mind. Forgot the Phoenix. Lost track of everything but Blythe’s smooth palms skating up his chest, locking at his nape. They swayed together.
Those pale blue eyes mesmerized him. Undid him. He craved everything she had to give, all at once. Lived only to touch this woman and be touched by her. To possess her, body and soul. And be possessed?
Words spilled from him, unfiltered. “Give yourself to me, Lyla.” He wasn’t sure anything mattered more. “Every inch. Hold nothing back.”
“Mmm. Every inch, huh?” she echoed with a sexy chuckle. “That’s my line to you. And I’m betting there are a lot of inches.” She toyed with the ends of his hair, and he leaned into the contact. “If I do, what will you do with me?”
“Whatever I want. Everything. Only what you desire. Whichever answer you prefer.”
“That’s an impressive list.” Dazed, she rasped, “I say yes to each. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. So kiss me, Astra, and make it count.”
Kiss! Yes! Heart hammering, Roux swooped down. To his delight, Blythe rose to her tiptoes, eagerly meeting him halfway. Their lips pressed together, and she opened for him, allowing his tongue to thrust against hers. No, there was no allowing, no passively accepting his ministrations. The breathtaking woman greeted him with a thrust of her own and clutched him closer.
The pleasure of his first kiss! The sensations. The connection, deeper than ever before. Hands wandered. Bodies ground together. Heat left him fevered, wafting from an inferno that sparked in the marrow of his bones. Had anything ever tasted sweeter? Or more intoxicating? She was a potent wine enchanted with desire itself, and he only wanted more.
He kissed and kissed and kissed her, savoring at first. Growing more and more frenzied—and more and more mad.
How could he ever live without this now?
A new burst of lightning flashed overhead, quickly followed by another. And another. Thunder boomed, shaking even the ground. Through it all, the siren’s song filled his ears.
The rest of the world vanished from his awareness, the desperate tasting speeding into a wild devouring. Never, in the whole of his life, had he drowned in anything other than physical pain or mental screams. Until now. Until her. Roux drowned in Blythe, and he had no urge to recover.
Icy raindrops fell, sizzling against his blistering skin. Blythe gasped, and the kiss paused. They fought for air, but they didn’t spring apart. Separate him from this female? No. Not even when the heavens split and hammered the land with hail. He pressed his brow against hers, and she let him.
The most sublime sigh escaped her. “What are we doing?”
“Everything I’ve dreamed.”
“Are you ready to stop?” she asked, soft against him.
“Not until you scream my name.”
“Do it. I dare you. Make me scream and scream and scream and—”
He swooped in, silencing her with another kiss. They ate at each other. Clutched and kneaded. Rubbed. But all too soon, wandering hands and grinding bodies weren’t enough. He required her surrender. Total and complete. In bed. Naked. She would be eager for him and him alone.
Roux lifted his head, ending the kiss, only to lick the seam of her lips. Between harsh breaths, he bit out, “I want more than your body. I want your thoughts. Give them to me.”
“Can’t think...” She stabbed her fingers through his hair, and nipped his chin. “Want to scream. You said I’d scream.” Diving in for another kiss, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Hardness met softness, and his madness sharpened. “Give me what you promised.”
A harsh groan barreled from him. The new alignment amplified every sensation rampaging through him—and added others!
Drunken catcalls and lewd suggestions hit his ears. He wrenched up his head and snarled at the offenders. Only then did he remember the celebration taking place around them. Despite the storm, the fizzling out of the bonfires, and the inundation of rain puddles, immortals loomed in every direction, watching him and the harphantom. Some grinned while teetering on unsteady legs, spilling their drinks. Some glared while doing the same. Those who remained stone-cold sober—the welcome party—exhibited smug satisfaction.
That smug satisfaction should bother him. And it would. Tomorrow. As for tonight...
Roux flashed Blythe to their private chamber, appearing beside the bed. The siren’s song drifted through the windows, growing more and more muted as the rainfall intensified.
He gripped the object of his fascination by the waist and tossed her to the mattress, exactly as he’d imagined doing a thousand times. Before she ceased bouncing, he lunged over her, putting his mouth just over hers. Hovering. With one hand, he braced his weight. With the other, he plucked at the button holding her vest together. She watched him, her pupils expanding.
The sides of the garment parted, revealing the plush mounds he’d beheld in his every waking fantasy. “Let me touch.”
“Yes.” She arched her back, presenting herself to him. “Do it.”
Trembling, he reached out slowly, so slowly, and tentatively cupped one of her breasts. He groaned. Gently kneaded. The utter softness. Nothing better than this.
Gasping, she flattened her hand over his. The sight of her. The sight of her in his grip. The feel of her. This. This was better.
Aching to see more, all, he jackknifed to his feet and yanked off her boots. His trembling worsened as he reached under her soaked skirt, hooked his fingers around the crotch of her panties, and pulled. The material slipped down her legs, past her feet. Feet he placed exactly where he wanted—far apart at the edge of the mattress.
She watched him with glittering eyes. “Deep down, I knew you’d be like this.”
“Like this?” He lifted his shirt overhead and dropped the material to the floor.
“Mmm-hmm.” Passion painted her flesh with a rosy flush. “Irresistibly demanding.”
“Oh, you knew it, did you?” He undid the button on his leathers. “How often did you ponder this phenomenon?”
“Too often,” she grumbled.
He gave a rusty chuckle filled with more strain than amusement. “That’s good. Because I have never stopped thinking of you. And Lyla? I will demand many things from you.”
Here, now, only one question remained. Where should he start? Instincts shouted rush while begging for slow.
Roux dragged his gaze down her curves, setting off a chain reaction of sensations. His blood burned hot, nothing but fuel. Energy pumped into muscles. Sweat glazed him, and ferocity whipped at his back.
“My Lyla is a prize among prizes.” Strands of inky hair clung to her rain-dotted skin. A pulse raced at the base of her throat. The rise and fall of her bare chest left his insides clenching.
Where the skirt parted...
The moisture in his mouth dried, and he wiped a palm over his face. “No one compares to you,” he croaked, throbbing for her.
“How do you know?” Remaining reclined on one elbow, she stroked a tiny claw around her navel. “I’m your first.”
“Yes, but I’m thousands of years old.” And then some. “I’ve seen much. Trust me when I say you are my favorite sight in all the worlds.” His favorite everything.
She entranced him with a sensual smile. “I want to see you, too.” Her gaze dropped to his zipper, and she licked her lips.
A hoarse sound brewed at the edge of his tongue. As the storm intensified outside, reaching a new pinnacle, obscuring the siren’s song, he slowly opened the metal teeth. “Is there something specific you’d like to see, harpy?” To bare himself to her...to remove all barriers between them...
“Very much so. I—wait. Hold up.” A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head. “This isn’t right. Something about this is wrong.”
A denial threatened to detonate. But she wasn’t wrong. Fighting for air, he dropped his arms to his sides. The most difficult action he’d ever completed. In that moment, however, he comprehended the problem—the siren’s song.
He growled with more force. Without the tantalizing melody filling his ears and clouding his judgment, reason bombarded his mind in a rush. With reason came recognition. Fury pitched and swelled, fast and hard.
Now he understood the smug satisfaction every member of the welcome party had exhibited. The treacherous group had decided to bring Roux and Blythe together. Why? To introduce him to the pleasure he’d been missing all his life? Because mission accomplished. Now he knew what the harphantom tasted like. He’d glimpsed the rapture awaiting him in her arms. He could never be satisfied without her.
“The siren dies today,” he hissed.
“She dies badly.” Eyes as black as night, Blythe jolted upright, refashioned her vest as best she could, then smoothed her skirt, blocking his gaze from the lushest, sexiest, most exquisite view he’d ever come across. Another reason to rage.
How was he supposed to keep his hands off her now?
“Allow me to do the honors.” She jumped from the bed and darted around him, lacking her usual grace. Her motions were clipped, her legs trembly.
A small mercy, he supposed. He hadn’t left her unaffected.
After swiping up his bow and fishing two arrows from the quiver, she stomped to the window, aimed, and released a double shot. Roux flashed behind her as the missiles sliced through the siren. One dead center in her mouth, the other dead center in her throat. Both silenced her for good.
“There. Problem solved.” To the others, Blythe shouted, “Anyone else want to join the choir?”
The rain lightened as the welcome party rushed over to circle the fallen immortal. Comprehending what had happened, they glared up at Blythe and Roux. It was only then, as the countdown clock in the back of his mind ran out, that he pieced together the crux of their plan.
They knew about his bargain with Penelope. They’d hoped to make him miss today’s feeding, giving the wraith a reason to drain the harpy. Craftier than I realized.
Other females stopped partying to frown at their mugs, as if they weren’t sure why they held a mug filled with a mix of brew and rain in the first place. Other victims of the siren’s song, meant to drink themselves into a stupor before tomorrow’s battle?
Roux turned on his heel. “I must go,” he told Blythe. He flashed to his discarded shirt, donned the material, and amended his pants.
“Go? Now?” Whirling around, she gaped at him, incredulous. The black faded from her eyes. “Where?”
“That isn’t your concern.” Admit the truth? Surely he wasn’t so foolish. She would only insist on tagging along, and he needed a break from her. The tension inside him...something was soon to shatter.
“Not my concern?” she grated. “Are you meeting someone? A certain Phoenix, perhaps, now that I’ve primed the pump?”
Speaking of Carrigan the Phoenix, he would go somewhere quiet to recharge after he dealt with the wraiths, and carefully consider what to do about her and her threat.
“Well?” Blythe prompted.
“Does it matter? You planned to find me a—what did you call it?—a bang buddy. Stay here. If you leave, I’ll consider it a breach of our agreement.”
“Breach? What breach? How? You can’t just change the rules and—”
“I can. I did. I’ll return shortly.” He flashed to Wraith Island before she could issue another half comment. Only able to transport himself to places he’d seen, he landed on the shore.
To the left and right were mountains made of stone. Between them, a valley filled with dead trees. He followed a single, open path, flashing forward as far as his eyes could see. Before long, he came to a gated drawbridge, which led to a sharp-edged palace built from glistening ebony. The top disappeared in a wealth of gray clouds.
Penelope waited at the front door, grinning. Ribbons of red hair blew in a breeze a spectral like her couldn’t feel. She’d changed clothes. Or rather, changed the image she projected. A long black gown now cinched at her waist and flared to feet several inches off the ground.
“I’m surprised you made it, Astra, considering the trap the council laid for you.”
A trap that would have succeeded if Blythe hadn’t stopped him when she had. Roux doubted he would have possessed the strength to end the encounter for any other reason. “Did you want me to fail, wraith?”
“Yes and no. I was undecided, honestly. On one hand, my followers could’ve drained you in retribution, taking you out of commission until you failed your blessing task, allowing me to keep the phantom forever. On the other, she couldn’t possibly taste as delicious as you. Or as delicious without you around to inspire her hatred.”
