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)
The scene spun again. Again, Roux died at the hands of a shadowy Astra. Then again. And again. It happened over and over, one murder revolving into another. Once the lineup finished, each one repeated, only faster. Same order. Same outcome. Then came another repeat, faster still. It came again and again and again. A never-ending spinning wheel of blood, pain, and death, leaving Blythe dizzy.
Sickness churned in her stomach. Hers, not Roux’s. Or maybe theirs? She felt the burn of it through the haze of memories. Then the screams started. One after another, soon blending into a familiar cacophony of horror. She struggled to keep her thoughts together. A colossal chore, yet somehow she managed it. Kind of. Intelligence came in bursts. The Astra’s blessing task. Had he been forced to relive the tasks completed by his friends? Only, he took the place of their victims?
Did it happen in real life? Or was this some type of mental torture?
Mental torture, she’d bet. Meant to be reminders of his childhood, when he’d been physically tortured by someone else who was supposed to love and care for him.
Poor Roux. How many times had he relived his friends’ blessing tasks? Once? Or an endless cycle until a clock ran out? Either way...
How was this male still able to function? As she’d suspected, he’d known nothing but torment and betrayal throughout his life. How did he not hate the males he considered compatriots and friends? Or did he? Did a part of him resent them for what happened, whether it was real or not?
Blythe attempted to extract herself from the memory, but the spinning wheel held her captive. Roux died again. And again.
No escape? Stuck here?
Panic gripped her, but she fought it, focusing on her goal rather than the failure. Disengage! Abort!
She clawed and kicked, attempting to evade Roux’s stream of chaotic consciousness, but an invisible tether held her in place. With no other options, she wrapped herself in that tether, letting it choke the life out of her...
Blythe came to with a gasp. Her eyelids popped apart, and she sagged to the floor beside her Astra. Or rather, sagged on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his arm. Though she tried to shift positions, she was too weak.
Sweat soaked her. Probably blood, too. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth as if she’d just sprinted across three different galaxies, chased by a posse of her worst fears. Roux had calmed, at least. He wasn’t flailing anymore.
As she lay there, her mind ravaged into oblivion and her body absorbing his heat, her eyelids grew heavy and slowly slid shut. Darkness teased the edges of her mind.
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.