The Phantom, page 24
“The second we arrive, I want you to mist.” Roux hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “From there, follow me in silence. Upon entering the palace, I’ll head to the throne room. You will launch your search.”
“How long will I have?”
“The feedings vary in length but usually last at least an hour. For that reason, you will flash to the location where we first landed, and you will do so within sixty minutes of our arrival. No later. And no matter what happens to me, you are not to attack the wraiths.”
“If a spirit-hag steals one of your organs, I make no promises. That’s my shtick.” But okay. His plan sounded simple enough. And once she got inside that palace, she’d have the ability to return anytime she desired. An ambush could be arranged...
Roux transported her to a rickety drawbridge shrouded by thick white fog. Blythe wasted no time with questions. She simply did as he’d requested and misted, taking a form not even other spirits could discern.
“This way,” he told her softly. When he crossed the creaking wooden planks, she floated behind him. As soon as they exited, putting their feet on solid ground, the fog parted, revealing Penelope standing in a doorway, wearing a see-through pink nightgown.
Do not strike. Do not!
“How intriguing,” the wraith said. “What’s this you’ve brought me, darling?”
He stiffened, and Blythe would have lost her footing if she’d been walking. Had she seriously been spotted already?
“What did I bring you?” he asked.
Penelope waved to the Astra’s groin. “Another erection. I’m beyond flattered. Truly.”
Okay. All right. But also not okay. Not all right.
“That isn’t for you,” he snapped, and dang if it wasn’t sexy.
“Sure it’s not.” The wraith winked at him. “Too bad for you the Astra aren’t able to mist the way Erebus does. You would then be able to handle spirits.”
“Enough chatter. Let’s get this done.”
“Tsk, tsk. So rude tonight. But I guess anything’s better than your smile.” Penelope spun and glided into an empty foyer. “Come on, then. The others are waiting.”
Blythe could handle spirits, no problem. And she was sooo tempted to solidify just enough to lash out. How did Roux put up with this female night after night?
He stomped after Miss Murder. Unnoticed, Blythe branched off, heading in the opposite direction. Fifty-nine minutes on the countdown clock.
She’d never forgotten Lucca’s claim that Penelope possessed a treasure room, and the only entrance was found in her bedroom. So, up the stairs Blythe blazed, on the hunt for the primary bedroom. No doubt a “queen” like ole Pen demanded the very best. Except the primary was as empty as the foyer. So were all the other bedrooms. She walked through every available doorway and got nowhere fast.
Could the entrance be hidden in the walls, maybe? Or the floor?
With the countdown clock ticking in her head, Blythe patted as many walls as possible. Searched the floors with an eagle eye. Hunted any well-portals that might lead below the palace. No luck. The most she managed to do? Uncover a vent.
“I thought about going first tonight.” Penelope’s sultry voice wafted through its slats. “In the end, I decided to go last and sample your deepest hatred. But you don’t mind, do you, handsome?”
Roux’s response was muffled, and Blythe pursed her lips.
“Mmm,” the wraith moaned. “My suspicions were correct. You rival the phantom.”
Frustration merged with annoyance when the sixtieth minute zeroed out, and Blythe had nothing to show for it. Though she was beyond tempted to make her way to the throne room, she set course for the front door, intending to head back to the drawbridge.
A pitter patter of footsteps echoed. Seconds later, a unibeast clomped into the chamber.
Breath clogged in her throat. Uh-oh. She so did not want to deal with any of these creatures today.
It sensed something and stilled. As its beady eyes darted, she didn’t dare flash. The use of power might trigger its most aggressive instincts. It had in the arena.
If it alerted the wraiths to her presence...
It prowled around the space, sniffing the air. Blythe held herself immobile...it walked right through her, and she breathed easier. But then it walked through her again. And again.
She moved. It moved, too, seeming to stalk her.
This went on for one minute. Two. Three. It never missed a beat and never failed to find her.
She chanced a step toward a door, gauging its reaction. It jumped in front of her, blocking the way, daring her to escape. Its ears flattened, and its eyes darted.
Her frustration and annoyance intensified. The unibeasts were intelligent beings; they learned and adapted.
Should she wait it out or risk flashing to the bridge?
Would Roux storm the palace, searching for her, if he beat her to the meeting spot?
In the end, she decided to take a chance. Blythe flashed to to the edge of the bridge. She held her breath. No Roux. And no commotion at the palace. No stampede of unibeasts giving chase.
Relief cascaded over her—until the unibeast appeared right in front of her, with seven friends. Licking drool from their fangs, they circled her. She rolled back her shoulders and palmed a dagger. No choice. She had to fight.
“All right, fleabags. Who wants to die first?” she asked.
Tendrils of smoke curled from her skin, as if flames danced just beneath the surface. And mmm. The scent. Sweet and spicy, just like Roux.
Her eyes widened. The stardust was responsible?
The unibeasts snarled at her, gearing to attack. They leaped, and she braced. But at the moment of contact, they jolted and jerked, as if grazed by a cattle prod. They fell to the ground and shook.
Oh, yeah. Definitely caused by the stardust. What an amazing turn of events!
Just how powerful was her new armor? Grinning, Blythe kicked the creature closest to her. Nothing. No reaction. Very powerful.
Roux appeared at her side, waxen and clammy. Her grin vanished. Silent, he gathered her close and flashed to the Oath Stones, where he collapsed to his knees. He looked up at her with wounded, questioning eyes.
“The dagger?”
A lump grew in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, dropping down to pet him. Fury sparked as she smoothed damp hair from his brow. She would absolutely be killing the wraiths of Ation. “I didn’t find it.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and gave a clipped nod. “Then we try again tomorrow.”
24
THE UNCERTAINTY
The next morning, the fourth day of the tournament, Roux cheered for Blythe from the royal dais. The combatants’ participated in some sort of endurance test known as “jazzercise.” They jumped, kicked, and flailed for almost an entire day.
The fifth challenge started soon after and it, too, stretched on. It was then that Roux clued in. The councilmembers obviously strove to keep him separated from Blythe. And they were succeeding. After the sixth and seventh rounds, he and the harphantom had enough time to catch a swift nap, nothing more. There was no discussing what had happened between them. No touching.
He needed to touch her. To mark and claim her again. To know her desire for him hadn’t waned.
As the eighth battle stretched on, his taut nerves frayed. Blythe raced a dangerous obstacle course alongside nineteen other immortals; tension mounted inside him. Didn’t help that she had a chance to take out Carrigan and Lucca but spared them instead. The two were suspected accomplices of his greatest enemy, yet she showed them mercy? Why? And why did the wraith’s jewel remain firmly entrenched in the hollow of Blythe’s throat?
He didn’t want to doubt her desire for him but...doubt crept in.
What if she had welcomed his touch and eagerly offered her own to trick him? What if she’d faked her pleasure? Was there a better plan? Lure the besotted Astra into a false sense of security, then take him out when he least expected it.
What if she worked behind the scenes to sabotage his task?
By trusting her in any capacity, he risked more than his life. He jeopardized the lives of his brothers. Men he loved. Men who relied on him to do his job. They’d always had his back. Had often put themselves in danger to save him. How could he endanger their futures for anyone, even a gravita?
But how could he not?
Tonka approached him at the edge of the dais and raised the horn to signal the end of the round. Not only did she act as the MC of the event, but she also acted as Roux’s handler. The other members of the welcome party hadn’t bothered to show up today. No doubt they planned an ambush of some kind.
“Your girl’s sure to move on,” the harpy grumbled. “Again.”
“Yes.” And he could not be prouder of her.
Covered in sweat and sand, Blythe swung a sword with expert precision, taking the head of a wolfshifter just before she crossed the obstacle course’s finish line.
The horn’s blare pierced the air. “And that’s a wrap,” Tonka called.
Roux planted his feet, remaining in place, ignoring the urgent urge to flash to his treacherous gravita, gather her close and bend her over their bed. The harphantom remained rooted, too, clutching the blood-soaked sword. She was panting with exertion as she lifted her gaze, peering up at him.
Awareness arced in the space between them. Despite his jumbled mix of emotions, he wasn’t sure he could function without her anymore. He’d tasted of pleasure and peace for the first time in his life, and there was no going backward for him. She was a lifeline, and he refused to let go.
He nodded his approval of her victory, and she blew him a kiss.
“By the way, tonight we’re hosting a dinner to celebrate the combatants who reached the semifinals,” Tonka said.
The tournament had done its job, thinning the herd. From hundreds of Ation citizens to ten semifinalists, including Blythe, plus the nine members of the welcome party, the thirty-nine women who’d chosen not to fight, and the twenty-three wraiths. And those from the villages who hadn’t participated.
“You will come,” Tonka added. A statement, not a question. “You don’t even have to travel far. Food is being served in the conference room on the third floor.”
Somehow, he found the strength to tear his attention from Blythe and face the other female. He arched a brow while tilting his head to the side. With an eerily quiet tone, he asked, “You have the means to force me?”
“Well, yeah.” A flush stained the harpy’s cheeks. “Your oath. Between courses, we’ll be discussing round nine, which definitely, positively requires your input to ensure no rules are broken. And, because you can’t interfere with the tournament, you can’t refuse to listen to our questions.”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Maybe his oath would force his involvement in this, maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, he wished to hear more about this round nine.
“I’ll be there. Make sure there’s dessert.” He hadn’t forgotten Blythe’s request for the cake. “Something chocolate, preferably.”
A relieved sigh gusted from the harpy, and she grinned. “Okay, that was easier than I expected. Heck yeah, there will be dessert. If you’re lucky, we’ll serve the sweet treats on our bodies. Oh, and first course will be served in an hour. That way, we’ll be sure to finish up before you’re due at Wraith Island.”
That, he highly doubted. Perhaps they intended to poison him and keep him from fulfilling his vow to Penelope? Too bad. His immunity to poisons, toxins, and venoms hadn’t weakened. Or maybe they hoped to poison Blythe? Again, too bad. He would act as her taster. And probably feed her by hand.
The idea struck, and there was no negating it. He would feed her by hand. And probably love-hate every second of it.
Blythe flashed to his side, startling Tonka, who backed up a step. “You ready to go, babe?” The harphantom leaned her head against his shoulder while gliding a palm up his chest.
Staking a claim? He almost grinned. And would have, if his doubts hadn’t returned. Scowling, he slung an arm around her waist and transported her to their chamber.
He released her, stalked to his chair, and sat. “We’re attending a dinner in an hour. Wash up and change,” he said. “Then we talk.”
She stood where he’d left her, her arms hanging at her side, her expression lusty and yet almost vulnerable. “Why don’t we take off our clothes and see what happens instead?”
He bit his tongue to stop a swift agreement. “Stay bloody, if you’d like, but we will talk. We approach the end of our time here, and I want things settled between us.”
Moments passed in silence as she searched his face. Maintaining a blank expression required work, but he did it. “Guess I’ll be washing up,” she quipped, sauntering to the closet, where she withdrew multiple garments so sheer, he broke out in a sweat.
“We’ll be flashing to Wraith Island straight from the dinner, so dress accordingly,” he instructed, gripping the arms of the chair.
“Sir, yes, sir.” A sassy tone, filled with determination. Blowing him a kiss, she strolled into the bathroom without exchanging the sheer garments for others and sealed herself inside.
He lurched to his feet and paced. Back and forth, back and forth. Did she plan to betray him or not? What would he do if she did betray him? A denial roared in his head.
Back and forth, back and forth.
With a growl, he plopped onto the bed; the mattress bounced with his weight, shifting something beneath him. He thought he sensed—Roux went still. The firstone dagger. Here?
Frowning, he scrambled to his feet and lifted the mattress. And there it was. The barest hint of a purple dagger, peeking out of a plain black sheath. Obviously a blocker designed to hide the dagger’s nearness. If that tiny portion of the blade had not worked its way free, he might never have known the weapon waited within his reach.
Realization struck. Blythe planned to kill him. And what better time to strike an Astra than in bed, distracted beyond reason? No wonder she’d welcomed his touch.
Fury and pain tore through him, setting off a chorus of screams inside his head. The murder plan, he understood. Accepted, even. Tit for tat. But the faked pleasure...
He tasted blood as he stashed the dagger in a hidden pocket of his bag. With one act, Blythe had tainted his favorite memories. Rousing her passion and giving her pleasure had affected him. Undone and remade him, offering life rafts of bliss amid an endless sea of torture. To learn those recollections were nothing but lies...
Roux beat his fists into his chest once. Twice. Again. Then again. One of his ribs cracked. Perhaps others. Difficult to tell when his insides felt shredded. How far would she take this ruse? At what point might she strike?
Most important, what was he going to do about it?
* * *
“The she-beast is ready for dinner and dagger hunting, Warden,” Blythe announced when she emerged from the bathroom exactly one hour later.
Roux reclined in his chair, firelight crackling behind him. With narrowed lids, he looked her over. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Um, did he not like it? Because, for the first time, he was looking at her the way he looked at everyone else.
She’d chosen her outfit with care. A scanty, scarlet dress reminiscent of the “bait” Penelope had forced her to wear, with off-the-shoulder spaghetti straps, a deep vee to showcase plenty of cleavage, and slits that stretched from her hips to her ankles. A bejeweled belt cinched the scandalously sheer material at her waist.
Eerily silent, he eased to his feet. His hands balled and opened, then balled again. Whoa! His eyes. They flickered with sparks of crimson. She gulped. Before, he’d been a volcano soon to erupt, with molten lava seething beneath his skin. Blythe had blamed sexual frustration. Now she wasn’t so sure. Never had he looked more capable of committing cold-blooded murder.
All this because she’d avoided having a chat about their expectations?
He flicked the tip of his tongue against an incisor. Finally, he spoke. “You look lovely, Blythe.”
His tone. It was one she’d never heard him use before. Not with her. It sent icy shudders down her spine. And why hadn’t he called her Lyla?
Disappointment set in. She’d expected heat from her Astra. Maybe a suggestive comment or twelve. A series of illicit touches, perhaps. Definitely a new application of stardust.
She tossed her arms up. “That’s all I get from you?”
“Yes.” He said no more but waved his fingers at her. “What more would you like me to say?”
So formal. She didn’t appreciate it one bit. Had he somehow learned of Erebus’s visit? Or discovered her father’s evil plan to use a fake Laban against her? She still hadn’t told him. Hadn’t known how to broach the subject in the short minutes between heats. Should she do so now?
Maybe he resented her for leaving Carrigan and Lucca alive. He’d asked about the pair after every round of the tournament. Except today. Blythe just...well, she didn’t want to murder the women who’d helped her until she knew beyond any doubt that they were working with her father.
Had Roux grown tired of her? In the space of an hour? Did she even want a consort so changeable?
Every day she’d felt herself soften toward the male. But what if the opposite were true for him and his feelings for her?
No. Surely not. The remnants of his stardust sparkled on her skin. He’d claimed her. For now, she’d claimed him. Whatever was going on, they would work it out.
Determined, Blythe strolled over, exaggerating the roll of her hips. His eyelids slitted further. Pressing against him, she glided her hands up his chest. She might not know how she felt about him, but she knew what she wanted—more pleasure. And she planned to get it.
“I crave you,” she rasped. “That’s what else I want to hear you say.”
