The Phantom, page 3
He laughed without humor. “I will not.”
“I wear your Commander’s stardust. I’m his wife and his gravita. I’m also acting harpy General, as well as the granddaughter of Chaos. You will show me the honor owed to me. Kneel.”
Again, he ground his teeth. That she’d echoed his earlier thoughts...
The stardust was a problem. Astra produced it for a fated mate and no other...and Taliyah indeed wore the glittery powder on every inch of visible skin. She was the first to do so, though Roc had wed twenty others before her. But problem or not...
Even as Roux worked his jaw, he slowly lowered to his knees.
“Good boy. Now, this might sting a bit.” Chin up and shoulders back, Taliyah eased closer... He tensed, his muscles like rock. Her body ceased moving just before contact, yet her spirit kept coming, slipping into him.
Electric pulses raced along his synapses, sharper than the pangs, and he stiffened. Pressure built in his torso. Then, he heard Taliyah whisper inside his head. “Blythe. Isla. I’m here. Follow my light and reach for me. I’ll do everything else. Isla, help your mother. Blythe, you’ll both be safe, I swear it. I’m not sure what you’ve witnessed, but you have my word the Astra won’t hurt any of us.”
For the second time, black dots wove through Roux’s vision. Moderating his inhalations, he held steady. Finally, the pressure eased and the dots dulled. Taliyah succeeded, extracting Blythe from the confines of his spirit and the young one from the confines of hers. At first, the General worked with invisible beings. Then the pair solidified, becoming visible to Roux as well.
His tension instantly mounted. The daughter sank into unconsciousness while the mother fought to awaken. The most incredible scent wafted from one or both, and he wondered how he’d missed the intoxicating mix of honeysuckle and roses the day of the invasion.
As he drank in the sight of his dark-haired beauty, various words streaked through his mind. Exquisite. Phantom. Enemy. Want. Mine!
Want? His? Roux didn’t...he couldn’t...no. Impossible. And yet, parts of him warmed, soon growing hot. Hotter.
Sizzling.
Suddenly, he was gnashing his molars, emitting a low growl, and huffing his breaths, as if he’d sprinted across three galaxies.
The beauty slit her lids and leveled pale blue irises on him. Wrong. Pale blue no longer. Black flooded their depths. Hatred all but iced her skin, and it—she—captivated him.
What if he burned hot enough to melt her?
“Enjoy your last days,” she rasped for his ears alone. “I’m coming for you.”
3
THE BEGINNING
Present day
Blythe stabbed her target in the gut. Twice. A one-two punch with her favorite daggers. Merciless, she spun and rammed her combat boot into the underside of his chin. Upon impact, a blade ejected from the boot’s toe, slicing into his mouth.
The life-size dummy with steel rods for bones seemed to smirk at her. That all you got?
Not even close. With a grunt, she elbowed his jaw, bending the rod, then punted his groin. Once again, the blade in the toe of her boot ejected on impact, slicing through his nut sack. For fun, she concentrated on those dangly bits until nothing but shreds remained.
Sweat dampened her skin, and her breaths came fast. Shallow. She’d been at this for hours. Ever since she’d tucked Isla in to bed. Training and strengthening, strengthening and training. Blythe’s new obsession. She was still out of practice, but she improved by the day, thanks to the gym she’d installed in her bedroom at the harpy palace.
“Look at you,” her sister, Taliyah, said from the doorway. The tall, slender goddess leaned against the frame, gorgeous in a skimpy red dress, with her pale hair falling around her shoulders. “Rumor says a switch flipped in you when you escaped the Astra. Bye-bye, Good Blythe, hello, Evil Blythe. Ice-cold yet brimming with fiery rage. Utterly unlikable. Detestable even. So of course there’s now talk of erecting a monument in your honor.”
The interruption didn’t stop Blythe. She danced around the dummy, throwing punches. By some miracle, she’d contained her icy, burning rage while Taliyah and Roc had won the first blessing task, and Halo, the second-in-command, had won the next. Now the need to attack the Astra—to maim one in particular—bubbled inside her without cease, threatening to erupt.
“Don’t be too jealous, General Hussy,” she said. “I’m not angling for your position. Yet.”
A snort met her words. “It’s General Huffy, and you know that. Anyway. I kind of miss my only mildly homicidal sister.”
“You have Kaia, Bianka, and Gwen.” Taliyah’s other half sisters, and Blythe’s cousins. Yeah, their family was complicated.
“Are you kidding?” the General exclaimed. “Not one of them has even killed their first battalion yet. They are sweet as sugar.”
“Then you are out of luck, because the old me died with her consort.” She attacked the dummy with more fervor.
Taliyah heaved a sigh. “Have the hallucinations started?”
“Nope.” Most widows were forced to see their slain mates everywhere they looked for the rest of their days, unable to touch. The reason so many of their species opted to waste away in bed or go out gloriously in battle, taking a myriad of enemies along with them.
Many of the harpies who’d lost a consort during the Astra invasion hadn’t even awoken from their forced slumber. The others were busy hallucinating right and left. But not Blythe. She slammed a fist into the dummy’s face. She had yet to see Laban even once, and it wasn’t fair. But she knew who to blame.
“The Astra I inhabited,” she grated. “He filled my head with terrible memories I never lived, and there’s no room for anything else.” Horrors that revolved around a sobbing little boy he’d tortured. A child who had begged for mercy...at first.
A shudder rocked her, vibrating in her wings. Detest the Astra! He’d shattered every bone in the child’s body. Removed his organs, including an entire husk of skin! Hung him upside down and drained him of every drop of blood, laughing all the while.
“I’m due my psychosis,” she continued. Punch. “Deserve my insanity.” Punch, punch, punch.
“His name is—”
“I know. Roux.” Pronounced “rue.” With a hiss, she clawed the dummy’s face to shreds. “The name fits him well, considering I’m going to make him rue the day of his birth.” She’d meant what she’d said when she exited his body. For the rest of her existence, she would live only for his death. “Nothing will stop me. You know this, yes?”
Another sigh seeped from her sister. “I do. But he’s our ally, not our enemy.”
“No, sister. He’s your ally. He will always and forever be my only enemy.”
The majority of harpies—those without consorts—were like Taliyah. They’d already forgiven the Astra for their crimes. Beefcake had to beef, right? The bulk of the sisterhood considered the nine warlords and their legions of soldiers to be friends. But not Blythe. Never her.
The Astra shouldn’t be allowed to live while Laban, her only addiction, was now ash in the breeze. His body had been torched with the rest of the dead while Blythe was stuck inside Roux.
The problem was, the Astra were deathless. Even if she removed their heads, they would revive. For gods like them, such injuries meant nothing. Not when an ordinary weapon was used, anyway. But. Similar to Blythe and trinite—the very substance now walling her great city—the Astra possessed a kryptonite. Everyone did.
She had only to find theirs. And she would. Soon.
“At least speak with Neeka before you act,” Taliyah said. “She’s the most powerful oracle in, like, ever. Seriously, the woman can see everyone’s future but her own.”
“Fine. Where is she?” Blythe wouldn’t turn down trusted inside information.
“Wellll. That, I don’t know. She up and disappeared again. But don’t worry. I’ve got my best spies on the lookout. Though so far they’ve only uncovered rumors about an underworld king who might have abducted her to his Hell kingdom for reasons.”
Wait for the harpy-oracle’s return? Nah.
“No, Daddy. No!”
Isla! Blythe flashed into the bedroom connected to hers. The precious angel tossed and turned under a lacy pink quilt. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Momma’s here,” she cooed, caressing the little girl’s face.
An anguished whimper escaped her child, and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut.
Taliyah materialized at her side, took in the scene with a glance, and deflated. “I’m never going to convince you to see things my way, am I?”
No. “Roux should be your enemy, too,” Blythe replied with a quiet tone. “Isla will have no peace until I achieve vengeance.”
Maybe she wasn’t yet ready to take on Roux, but she could power up on soul—sustenance for her phantom side—and cause him some damage. It would be a start, anyway.
“Blythe,” Taliyah began, sensing the direction of her thoughts.
“No. No more conversation.” Determined, Blythe kissed her daughter’s brow, then slipped into the spirit realm, becoming undetectable to all, even a fellow phantom like Taliyah, and flashed to her new snack closet. The barracks containing the Astraian army, located inside the wall the warlords had teleported around the city the day of their invasion.
The massive three-story structure was divided into nine sections, one for each Astra. There were rooms for soldiers on the bottom, with different facilities and offices in the middle, and a covered, windowed walkway on top.
Blythe couldn’t occupy the structure for long without weakening. When she weakened, her ability to cloak herself deteriorated.
Today, she would eat and run, staying no more than five minutes. A huge improvement, considering she’d lasted sixty-six seconds her first visit.
Sticking to Roux’s portion of the structure, she stalked the corridors. Day and night, his soldiers took turns doing patrols throughout the world, on the lookout for her father and his minions. Those who weren’t on patrol were either resting, training, or playing.
Coming upon the sleepers stretched out on a multitude of bunkbeds, she rubbed her hands together. “Let’s see what’s on the menu today,” she muttered. An eclectic mix of vampires, Amazons, banshees, and shifters. Males and females Roux had conquered throughout the ages, no doubt.
Hatred grew unchecked in her heart, sprouting thorns that pricked her veneer of calm.
She got to work, ghosting over the nearest sleeper, pressing her lips deep into his throat, and sucking out a single gulp of his soul before moving on to the next course. Her version of a sampler platter. This served two purposes. One, she affected a cluster of soldiers rather than a lone combatant. And two, no one would associate the slight, unexpected weakness with a phantom feeding.
Blythe glutted herself without reservation or guilt, consuming more than ever before. Some beings tasted sugary, others spicy, but all provided her with a warm burst of energy. When she finished, unable to hold another drop, she wiped her mouth and prepared to flash away with thirty-two seconds to spare. The perfect time to hunt her foe.
Someone burst into the room, crying, “Bossman is fishing in the maze again!”
A buzz of excitement crackled in the air. Everyone but those she’d sampled exploded from their beds, dashing out the door. Her appeteazers lumbered a little.
Hmm. Bossman—Roux?
Just in case, she teleported to the center of the royal garden. The heart of the realm’s only maze. Bloodred flowers bloomed all around, sweetening the air. Large ebony spears grew from the limbs, interlocking to create a wide circle around a stone bench. A contingent of harpies and soldiers clustered about, gaping at the male in the middle of it all.
Roux indeed. Sunlight bathed him. He wore a short-sleeve white T-shirt beneath a blood-soaked apron, the alevala decorating his arms on display.
He wasn’t handsome by any means; his features were far too harsh for such a classic description. But. She pursed her lips. As much as she loathed to admit this, some females might consider him sexy hot. Over six and a half feet of muscle and sinew, he possessed a body built for war. Wavy blond hair appeared softer than silk while golden scruff on a strong jaw looked deliciously rough. Long lashes framed the most unusual yellow irises with striations of magenta, gray, and russet. The red had vanished completely.
Why, why, why is this Astra familiar to me?
Seeming bored, he wiped his crimson-stained hands on a rag. Though everyone else muttered about the carnage he’d just wrought, he remained quiet.
A vampire lay upon the bench, sobbing and frantically scanning his open chest cavity in the process of regrowing every organ but a racing heart, which remained whole. The original vital organs were scattered over the ground. A multitude of lungs, intestines, kidneys, gallbladders, stomachs, and livers. A thick metal hook protruded from each.
Blythe prowled closer, gaze locked on her target. Midway, she exited the spirit realm, catching his attention. And his scent. Cedarwood and spiced oranges. A fragrance as lovely as it was horrifying, bringing back memories of death and pain.
His blank expression never wavered—but he did go still, as if arrested by the sight of her. She knew the feeling. Seeing him in the flesh after inhabiting his body...being face-to-face with the male who’d destroyed her family... Rage deluged her. Another dose of hatred. Frustration. Intrigue. Curiosity. Even more rage and hatred.
“Everyone else,” he calmly stated without glancing away from her. He dropped the rag inside the vampire’s gaping wound. “Go.”
The spectators shot off in varying directions. Someone carried the vampire away.
Blythe arched a brow at Roux. “What’d the vampire do wrong? Dare to breathe your air?”
“He did nothing wrong. He asked me how many times an immortal can lose certain organs before they cease regrowing. As one of his instructors, I decided to show him with a hands-on demonstration.” Roux flashed, appearing directly in front of her. “The answer isn’t twenty-eight.”
“Well, I’m interested in learning the answer myself. How about another hands-on demonstration?” Wings fluttering, bones humming with fresh strength, she struck. A swift swipe of her claws, and she held a kidney in her grip. She offered him a cold smile and tossed the organ into the pile, saying, “One.”
A stream of scarlet wet his T-shirt before the wound healed. The corners of his mouth turned down. “Your eyes turned black, a sign of aggression, yet I sensed no hint of it. How did you hide it from—”
Swipe. Again, she held a kidney in her grip. The sweet baby he’d just regenerated. “Two,” she stated, matter of fact before softballing the brand-new organ his way. “And Roux? Hot off the presses. I am aggression.”
Smiling wider, she stepped into a spirit realm and flashed to Isla for a quick check. Sleeping soundly. Excellent.
Blythe appeared in her private bathroom next, planning to clean up and figure out her next move. As she fiddled with the knobs in the shower, a movement toward the right caught her notice. Spinning, she prepared to attack.
Her gaze lit on familiar features, and she gasped. “Laban?”
“Hello, little love.” He occupied a corner of the spacious room, peering at her with a soft expression of total adoration. A black robe draped him.
Realization struck with the force of a spiked baseball bat, and Blythe half laughed, half groaned. Her first hallucination.
“What took you so long?” She marched over, reaching for him out of habit. Her gore-covered fingers ghosted through his beautiful image, and she swallowed a sob. “I expected to lose my mind long before this.”
“You aren’t losing your mind. I’m real. I promise you.” He, too, reached out, only to drop his arm to his side before contact. “Listen to me, sweetness. All right? Stop allowing your hatred to be your coffin. Live your life. Find happiness.”
Uh... “What do you think I’m trying to do?” As long as Roux breathed, happiness would forever dance from her clasp.
“Please, Blythe. You aren’t listening.” Disappointment radiated from him—and it was directed squarely at her, making her squirm. “I need you to let go of...”
The words tapered off, his image fading.
“Laban!” She attempted to clamp onto him, somehow, in some realm, but he was already gone.
Tears stung her eyes. “Bring him back right this instant,” she commanded her brain, slamming her fists into her temples. But Laban never reappeared. Her rage flared anew.
Forget the shower. Forget planning her next move. She knew what to do. Until she acquired the means to slay him, she must make Roux utterly miserable.
* * *
For days, Blythe secretly studied, researched, and followed her enemy, the Astraian torture master. She learned his habits. Searched out every rumor that mentioned his name. Collected details about him as if every tidbit were priceless in value.
Roux never knew. Yes, Astra were far more advanced than any other species she’d faced, but they weren’t all-powerful.
What she’d discovered so far: He was the son of the war god, Mars. If a job called for the swift extermination of an entire planet, the Commander summoned Roux. Like any Astra, he could change the very air around him with only a thought, filling the atmosphere with poison, sleeping gas, or many other substances. But he did it with a speed the others couldn’t replicate. A second preternatural ability allowed him to absorb souls into his mind. Something no one understood.
No one understood the reason his alevala writhed when he fought but stilled when he stopped, either. For the other Astra, the exact opposite occurred.
Though Blythe had tried to activate one, concentrating on an image with all of her might, she’d never relived a piece of Roux’s past.
