Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
To be perfectly candid, they absolutely, positively would’ve had sex if she hadn’t come to her senses. He’d nearly lowered his zipper, and oh, how she’d hungered for him to do it. No male had ever tempted her more. She’d been consumed by his scent, his heat, his strength. Even his expressions. The usually stoic warrior had displayed everything from shocked wonder to fierce possession. His touch had been eager and firm. Confident despite his lack of experience. Which was another turn-on, dang it!
He reacted to Blythe alone. Yearned for her alone. Or he used to. And now? Had she opened the floodgates of passion for others?
On her next pass, she scraped the stone harder, surprised when the thing didn’t crumble into dust. Part of her resented the return of her good sense. And she shouldn’t! Wrong turns put you in the wrong location at the wrong time, doing your best to put out fires you were never supposed to ignite.
Lifetime consequences for a momentary pleasure? Not a fair bargain on any level. And yet, still she desired the intense blond giant. And this time, she couldn’t blame the siren’s song.
What’s the matter with me? To a certain degree, Blythe had once acted this way with Laban, too, before she’d realized—or rather, accepted—that he was her consort. But Roux wasn’t her consort. He couldn’t be. To her knowledge, no harpy had ever gotten a new fated male. And, if such a thing were possible, which it wasn’t, there was no way the second would be the one who’d murdered the original.
Unless Laban belonged to the harpy and Roux belonged to the phantom?
No. No! All other harpies possessed a dual nature, too, reflecting whatever their father happened to be. Again, they only ever received a single consort. Even if said consort had only appeared in a solo hallucination and had done the unthinkable, telling them to move on and live their best life.
What kind of spouse did that?
Blythe paced faster. Why couldn’t she get herself together? If not for herself, for her child.
Sweet Isla. A whimper slipped free. Blythe stopped, just stopped, as a fresh tide of homesickness rose. What was the little girl doing right this moment? Did she need help with homework? Was she sleeping at night?
Regret joined the toxic assortment of emotions fermenting inside Blythe. Forget teaching the beloved child how to properly handle a foe. Why hadn’t she shown her daughter how to properly love her family?
How could a mother leave her own child without even saying goodbye?
With a shriek, she pounded her fist into the wall. Stone finally cracked, and dust coated the air. Tears seared her eyes. Tears? Ugh! What kind of a harpy cried?
First a bad wife and mother, now a bad harpy. Her chin trembled. Was overseeing a vendetta always this complicated? So far, Blythe had done little to aid her own cause. She gotten herself stuck in an unfamiliar realm, a participant in a death tournament. Oh, yes, and she was kind of owned by a wraith.
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, clearing her vision, then rubbed the ruby still embedded at the base of her throat. As firmly attached as ever. Not even the slightest wobble.
Why had Penelope ceased feeding from her during today’s battle then? And why hadn’t the queen fed since its end?
An unexpected motion caught Blythe’s attention. Wings fluttering, she spun, ready to defend herself against—Roux! He tottered on his feet only a few feet away.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, staggered by his deplorable condition. Not just pale but ashen. Shaky. “What happened?”
Clutching his head, he collapsed to his knees.
Stomach churning, she rushed over to crouch beside him. Was the Phoenix responsible? She dies first! “Talk to me, Roux.” She checked his pulse. Thready. “Tell me what I’m dealing with here.”
“Wraiths fed...screams started...won’t stop.” He would have toppled the rest of the way if she hadn’t caught him and eased him to the floor. “Can’t make them stop, can’t make them stop,” he chanted, thrashing.
The wraiths had fed on him? No, no way Penelope’s crew had managed to overpower an Astra in his prime. A male who’d battled countless armies of phantoms for eons. Plus, there were no jewels adhered to his body. Not that Blythe could see, anyway.
Ignoring her own shakiness, she ripped his shirt down the middle. The material fell away, revealing moving alevala. Images jumping from one place to another, again and again, faster than a blink.
Her heart jumped in unison. She scanned him as quickly as possible to avoid getting trapped. Nope. No jewels. Meaning, he hadn’t been overpowered. There were no open wounds, either. The wraiths must have...what? Gotten his permission?
No way. He must have...but he wouldn’t...unless he would. She gasped again. He had given them permission, hadn’t he? He’d let them feed on him. He must have bargained with Miss Murder to save Blythe’s life. No wonder Penelope had stopped feeding during the battle.