The Phantom, page 20
Panic sparked. About to fall asleep. With the Astra. Her greatest foe. Her sworn eternal enemy. The object of her death vow. Yes, circumstances between them had somehow changed irrevocably, for better or worse. But this... No!
Blythe fought with everything in her, prying open her eyes and refusing to blink. But it wasn’t long before her irises burned and new tears welled. Her lids got heavier.
She didn’t care. There would be no sleeping with Roux. Adult harpies only drifted off with their consorts. No exception other than death. Unlike his carry to the palace, tonight’s nap couldn’t be explained away.
There was no way Roux was...he couldn’t possibly be...she refused to believe...
Boulder-heavy eyelids sank low...lower...
What are you doing? Stop this!
Gathering what little remained of her strength, she attempted to rise. Her body betrayed her, refusing to obey her mind’s commands—and she snuggled more comfortably against him.
Lower...
No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. She refused to let it. She would do something, anything, and then...
The darkness came, and Blythe drifted into the oblivion.
20
THE CONFUSION
Roux woke as if someone had just punched him in the gut repeatedly. His eyelids popped open. Every muscle in his body went taut and hard as stone, as if he prepared to attack and defend. Instinct kicked on only a split second later, and he remained still, absorbing different details.
He lay on his back. On a floor. No wraiths loomed nearby. The screams had ceased, his prisoners secured in their cages, and he had no idea how it happened. Muted rays of morning sunlight seeped into a familiar bedroom, illuminating a cascade of dancing dust motes.
An unfamiliar weight pressed into his side. He frowned. Could it be...no, no, surely not. And yet, the harpy’s tempting scent enveloped him.
Dare he hope... When he felt the caress of her warm breath against his bare skin, a sensation he’d memorized as they’d kissed, his muscles hardened for an entirely different reason. She had draped herself over him? Willingly?
Slowly he craned his head. Another punch in the gut! She was draped over him. Willingly. In fact, she lay on her side, curled into him, looking as contented as could be. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, her face aimed up at his. They exchanged breaths. But she wasn’t awake. She slept. She actually slept. As if she trusted him to oversee her protection while she was at her most vulnerable. But... That couldn’t be correct.
Blink-blink. The image never shifted. Her eyes remained closed, her long lashes casting shadows he longed to trace over her cheeks. Her exhalations were steady, her expression soft. Lengthy locks of her silken hair spilled over his chest. Rosy color tinged the cheekbone he could see. Her lush lips were slightly parted.
She was so beautiful it almost hurt to gaze upon her. So delicate he feared her image might shatter at any second. So elegant, even in slumber, he felt as if he held the world’s greatest treasure.
But.
What?
Why?
How?
What?
He scoured his mind, only bits and pieces coming back to him. By the time the wraiths finished feeding on him, he’d barely had the strength to stand. Or the wits to puzzle out a plan of action. Somehow, he must have focused enough to flash to Blythe. His sometimes partner and always enemy. A foolish move on his part—or the most brilliant.
Though she’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to attack him, achieving a measure of vengeance at last, she had opted to cuddle him instead. How was Roux supposed to process such an unexpected development?
Did this mean she considered him a consort? Him? Roux? The male she still despised. His eyes widened. Surely not. Harpies didn’t get two consorts. But also...maybe. He didn’t know how. Or why. Or even why him. Unless she were, in fact, his gravita.
Careful, so careful, moving more slowly than before, he wrapped his arms around her and flashed them both to the bed. The soft mattress replaced the hard wood floor, contouring to their shapes. Much better. A breathy sigh left her, and she settled deeper into the crook of his embrace.
A gratification he’d never known washed over him. As if he was finally doing what he’d been born to do. Beneath the sensation, however, hunger stirred. The same hunger he’d experienced while they’d kissed. Only stronger. Hotter. More insistent. But somehow also softer. Sweeter. Calmer.
The conflicting impressions warred. Sweat beaded on his brow. If he woke her with another kiss, would she receive him? Castigate him for taking what didn’t belong to him?
He wouldn’t risk it. No way he could start this miracle day with a misstep. For their next embrace, he wanted—needed—her to be aware from the onset. Pride demanded it. Not to mention a sense of honor he’d never known he possessed. But then, from the very beginning, Blythe the Undoing had excelled at bringing hidden things to the surface, exposing long buried truths. Besides, did he even have time to do half the deeds he imagined? He checked his internal clock. Forty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds until round two of the tournament. A rough groan left him. No, not nearly enough time. Once he began, he didn’t plan to halt until she begged for mercy. A process that could take days.
Focus on anything else. He peered up at the vaulted ceiling and tried to reason out what horrors awaited Blythe during today’s battle. Too many possibilities. At least he didn’t have to worry Blythe would be drained during battle.
Angling to his side, he traced a fingertip over the ruby above her sternum. The action, though gentle, woke her at last. She rapid-blinked. Spotting him, she didn’t jump up or stiffen. No, she offered him a dreamy, dizzying smile she might grant to only those she admired.
“Good morning, Astra.”
A trick? Maybe. But wait to touch her? No, not now. Not after that smile. Invitation enough.
Perhaps he could do one deed he imagined.
“Let’s make it an even better morning.” Desperate, Roux clasped her nape and swooped in to claim her lips with his own. She opened for him without hesitation, welcoming his tongue. He gave it. Aggressively. The kiss proved harder than he’d intended, but she met each thrust with the very moans of surrender he craved.
Fire raged through his veins. More!
As if she heard his thoughts, she panted, “Yes. More.”
He thrilled. She might hate him, but she no longer wished to kill him. If she did, she wouldn’t kiss him this way. Or sleep in his arms. With a bit of time and patience on his part, he might be able to convince her to become his new concubine.
She hooked a leg over his hips to force him closer, practically fusing their bodies. She petted his cheek. Kneaded his shoulder. His pecs. His abdomen. She stroked lower...
Every point of contact wrenched a new huff from him. Careful. Never had he barreled toward a cliff so fast, with such an uncertain outcome. Would she end this before he experienced his first climax?
He wrenched his mouth from hers to demand, “I want everything, she-beast.” Conquer a world? No problem. Destroy it? No big deal. Relinquish this prize of prizes? No. “What do you want from me?” He let his mouth hover just over hers. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is.”
“I want... I need... I crave...” The words left her between panting breaths. Specks of black dotted her irises, glittering bright and brighter, as if her phantom and harpy warred for rights to answer him.
Unable to wait a nanosecond more, he stole her next words with a kiss and rolled on top of her, pinning her with his weight. Pinning her wings, too, which wasn’t something harpies usually allowed. But she didn’t protest. Instead, she moaned and spread her legs, creating a cradle for him. Yes! Need drowned out everything else inside his head, consuming him in an instant.
Her lush breasts drew his palms like magnets. He kneaded her through her shirt, nearly losing his mind as she arched her spine, seeking greater contact. His inhalations roughened. Thoughts fragmented. More, more, more. He tracked a hand down her belly and did something essential to his sanity: he tunneled his fingers under her panties and plunged one inside her.
His eyes flared wide. She hungers for me. Greatly. He’d heard talk of such a tantalizing reaction from one’s female, but he’d never cared. Until now. He very much cared. Will experience this every day for the rest of eternity.
As he teased her, and himself, working the digit in and out, learning what she liked best, they both released a series of ragged cries.
“Lyla. My Lyla.”
“Roux,” she gasped.
They locked gazes like so many times before. This time, something was different. There was a deeper connection. An undeniable awareness—they knew exactly what they were doing, and they weren’t ready for it to end.
“Never take this from me,” he commanded.
All sultry indulgence, she slithered against him. “Does the Warden like his new toy?”
“The Warden loves his new toy.”
“Does he love—” She went still. Her air of sensuality evaporated. A second later, she pulled her gaze from his, razing his fantasies of the impending pleasure. Dread infiltrated his excitement. He braced for a torrent of staggering disappointment. He knew what was coming—and it wasn’t him.
“My consort loved me,” she told him softly. Flatly. “You do not.”
Anger scraped the center of his chest. “You mean your first consort, yes?”
Absolutely the wrong thing to say. Again.
“Okay, I’m done,” she snapped. “I don’t have two consorts. I can’t. And you should know I wasn’t sleeping earlier. I was resting my eyelids. There’s a difference.”
“You were sleeping, Lyla, and you know it,” he snapped back. Though he throbbed, his every frayed instinct insisting he continue, Roux eased his finger free of her body. There was no preventing his next action. As she watched, he licked her desire from his skin.
His eyes closed as he rolled to his back. The sweetness! His new reason for breathing.
A choking sound left her. “You cannot be this sexy. I forbid it.” With a huff, she hammered her fist into the mattress. “Also, dial down the smolder. And stop enticing me!”
“As if I can stop. Apparently, I do it simply through existing.” And what a stunning revelation. How was he supposed to function, knowing such a life-altering bit of information? “But then, I am your consort.”
“You aren’t. There’s got to be another explanation.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, not another word from you. I’m not discussing this while I’m so obviously mentally compromised.”
“For the record,” he said, focusing on calming his rough breaths. Maybe she was right and there was another explanation. But maybe she was wrong. There’s a good chance I’m hers. “I prefer you when you are out of your mind with passion for me.”
To his surprise, she snorted. “I bet you do.”
Amusement from her? Now? After all she’d admitted? With a jolt, he shifted to his side, facing her fully. Sparkling eyes of baby blue greeted him. Soft lips. Oh, yes. Amusement.
Think! He must be smart about this. Must do nothing to dampen her good humor. “Shall we discuss the fact that I can still taste you? Or would you prefer to focus on my plan to go straight to the tap next time.”
“Uh.” She blinked rapidly, as if wavering. In the end, she shook her head. “Neither, thanks.”
Determination narrowed his eyes, and he pinned her gaze with his own to let her know the seriousness of his words. “But there will be a next time.” A statement rather than a question. The female was a fever in his blood, contact with her both his cure and his sickness. He wouldn’t be deterred from this for long.
“Maybe there will,” she grumbled.
“Today,” he insisted. “After the battle.”
“What? No. Not then.” Before he could protest, she added, “It’s too soon. I need a couple days to think this through, or I’ll just keep stopping you before we reach the best part. And no tempting me while I’m pondering, either. Lust for you clouds my judgment. Obviously.” More grumbling.
He opened his mouth but went silent with another jolt, as if hit by lightning. The things she kept admitting! “Come again?”
“Only if you’re good,” she retorted. “Look. I’m as baffled by this as you are, but here it is. The truth, the full truth, and nothing but the truth. I can’t have two consorts, but something is definitely happening between us. And despite everything, a part of me is genuinely rooting for you on this one, Astra, it really is.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and rose to pad to the closet. “I might not like you, but dang, I do want you.”
No more hinting. She’d just issued a bold statement. Roux sat up in a rush. “How badly?” He must know!
“Dude. Keep it down before we’re ambushed by the horndogs. Geez.” She riffled through the clothing selection, choosing the standard leather top and pleated skirt. “I think we can both admit we’re attracted to each other, but there are obstacles in our path. Namely, if I allow myself to rock your world, I’m not sure I can ever overcome my guilt and shame.”
A terse silence stretched before he softly asked, “You think I feel no guilt for what I took from you and your child—what I took from him?”
Peering at the floor, she chewed on her bottom lip. For a moment, she radiated nothing but tender vulnerability, and it shocked a growl from him. That growl acted as a cattle prod. She leaped back into pure harpy mode and anchored her hands on her hips.
“You know what? I just realized the gal who calls you Mr. Sausage Man has shown you more romance than I ever have,” she said. “That isn’t fair to you, now, is it?”
He eagerly shook his head. “It isn’t. Will you give me some?”
“I think I just might. My Astra deserves a preview of what I have to offer.”
Her Astra? He gulped. His heart raced. Was she about to make him suffer in the most amazing way...?
With the world’s most seductive smile, she reached for the straps of her top. Oh, yes. She was. She stripped for him. Slowly.
His jaw slackened. He blinked. Scrubbed a palm over his face. Refocused. Licked his lips. Fisted the bedsheet with one hand and stroked himself with the other before realizing his actions. Seeing her fully unclothed...
Descriptions rushed through his mind, one after the other. Perfect. Flawless. Incomparable. Breasts. Nipples. Stunning. Gorgeous. Exquisite. Navel. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Tantalizing. Mine.
“Do you approve of my version of romance, Rue?” she simpered at him. Flirted with him. This wasn’t a punishment but a game.
He couldn’t look away. Could only croak, “Yes.”
“Good.” To his consternation, she began to dress. “Don’t worry, babe.” She anchored her boots in place, then strapped on multiple blades. Each weapon belonged to him, and oh, did he enjoy seeing her don his things. “If I decide to give you a go, I promise I’ll make your first time beyond story worthy so you can brag to all your Astra buddies.”
He heard the teasing note in her voice, but he knew. This wasn’t a game, either. She’d called him babe. Babe. As if she bore a slither of affection for him.
This was a full-on seduction, and he never wanted it to end. “You will give me a go.” No other outcome was acceptable.
She flashed a smile, causing his heart to stutter. “Are you worried about the outcome of today’s battle?”
“Lyla.” He couldn’t keep the chide from his tone. “Nine stars decorate your wrist. You are one task away from ruling the entire population of harpies. Yesterday, you shot a siren in the mouth and the throat simultaneously after dispatching every opponent who challenged you with a viciousness not even the Astra have displayed. Entertaining worries concerning your ability to protect yourself would be a waste of my time and energy.”
All hint of teasing faded from her, and for a long while, she simply stared at him with wide, vulnerable blue eyes, as if trying to figure him out. “I...thank you. That means a lot.”
She reveled in his confidence? Will remind her every day!
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “You should probably change into something that hides your newest tent. I’ve got immortals to slay and some thinking to do.”
Not grabbing her and throwing her back on the bed proved difficult. The most difficult task of his life. Somehow he managed it, merely standing and adjusting his hard-on through his leathers.
“Anything I can do to help you think faster?” he asked, stuffing an array of armaments into his backpack and handing the pack to her. Ensuring her safety had never been so important.
“Just sit in the stands and look pretty without distracting me with your smolder. Imma bring home the big V.” She hooked the bag over her shoulder and winked at him. “Maybe in more ways than one.”
* * *
Blythe carted her borrowed backpack to the arena. She flashed into the crowded stands to take a seat alongside the other combatants. All six hundred and twenty-eight others, to be exact. Everyone else had beaten her here, including Lucca and the Phoenix. Why? What did they know that she didn’t?
No one but Blythe looked confused as Tonka kept shouting, “You’re number six hundred and twenty-nine, phantom. You go in order of arrival.”
Well, well, well. The others must have known to come ultra-early to snag a smaller number. Thanks for the heads-up, Lucca.
On the other side of the stadium, Roux appeared at the edge of the royal dais. He was a tower of strength and arousal, peering at her with unwavering lust. And yes, smoldering. Behind him, the usual suspects perched in lounge chairs and ate popcorn. But she refused to think about them. Or the Astra. Or her actions this morning. Or her actions last night.
