His body heat! This close, he threw off intense waves of warmth. His skin actually burned hers...and she thought she might like it. Humiliating!
She looked over the crowd, but no one peered her way. The warlords had forced the harpies to the floor, facedown.
The powerful warrior behind her let his mouth hover just over her ear. “Let’s make sure, shall we?”
That voice...the audible equivalent of a whorehouse. Capable of pleasuring every inch of your body, as long as you paid for it.
What was he planning? Rather than raging out—her usual MO—she forced herself to melt against him. What did he have planned and why? “Baby, this mouth and these hands have done things.”
“Have they, then?”
Her breath hitched as he slid his free hand underneath her shirt, just above the waist of her pleated skirt. His heat intensified, his palm scorching her skin. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Shock held her immobile. Surely he wouldn’t—
He did.
He thrust his hand under her panties, through the tiny thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs, and thrust two fingers deep inside her. A moan nearly escaped. The warmth! Being filled... He needed to stop this. He needed to stop this now. Before she—
With a curse, he yanked his fingers out and stepped away.
Rational thought returned quickly, her cheeks burning with mortification. He’d made her forget their audience. She’d gotten wet for him.
Wet.
For him.
How dare he! She spun and threw a savage punch, her fist connecting with his rock-hard jaw.
His head didn’t move an inch. Meanwhile, her knuckles cracked against his bone and pain rocketed up her arm. Not fair!
He wasn’t reacting the way she’d hoped. Wait. Even through the haze, she noticed the way he fisted a hand and flared the other. The one with wet fingers.
Some part of him had enjoyed touching her. She grinned, pleased. A much better outcome—for her.
He nodded, as if he had just reached an important decision. “Yes. I do believe you’re the woman I seek.”
Then. That moment. Remembrance came, and her stomach bottomed out. Phaethon wasn’t a name but a rank.
This man was Commander of the Astra Planeta. The most brutal army ever to live.
Reeling all over again. She’d discovered the Astra Planeta while researching her fathers. The army consisted of twenty warlords, some living, some dead. Each male bore more than a hundred different titles. They’d once served as personal guards to Chaos, her secret grandfather. Motivations and objectives unknown, they’d killed his sons.
Reports claimed Chaos supported both his returned son, Erebus, and his former guards, refusing to pick sides as the two warred millennia upon millennia.
Would Erebus return to Harpina now? Did he know about her? She’d always wondered. Would Taliyah meet him at long last?
Did she want to?
If tales were to be believed, the Astra Planeta conquered worlds in less than twenty-four hours. They sometimes entered a state known as anhilla, a time when they killed without thought or mercy. Similar to what the berserkers experienced, only ten million times worse. Which made sense, since the Astra created berserkers.
They lived war and embodied conquest. Their favorite prey? Phantoms.
Tremors rushed through Taliyah’s limbs. Had the Astra come for her and Blythe?
No. No way they knew about the phantom daughters of their most despised enemy. If they’d had any clue, they would have struck at Taliyah already.
I might not walk away from this. I might have to crawl.
Alaroc exuded smug satisfaction, and it grated on her every nerve. “I see you’ve realized what I am.”
“Yes.” No reason to deny it. “You are Astra Planeta, primeval warlords fueled by planets. You travel from realm to realm, eradicating those who refuse to serve you. The evidence of your kills stains your skin, allowing others to observe the horrific nature of your crimes. No weaknesses, some say. Considered unbeatable, most proclaim.”
Despite her concerns, she grinned slowly, coldly. He liked threats? She’d give him a vow. “I will pop each of your individual vertebrae out of your mouth. You’ll be my own personal Pez dispenser. Afterward, I’ll wear your skin like a prized suit. I’ll call it the Husk of Defeat.” Her grandfather could take his favored soldiers and shove it.
The Astra’s nostrils flared with...not hostility. With a sizzling glare, he stepped into her personal space, pressing his body against hers.
Taliyah had a choice. Sever contact or let more of his heat chase away her cold, her pierced nipple aching with increased vigor every time she breathed.
Lucky piercing, Neeks? Really?
She craned up her face—and stayed put. Death before retreat.
Aggression charged the air.
Without looking away, he called to his men, “Bring the witness. The wedding happens today.”
4
Do not lick your fingers.
Yes! Lick.
Fool! Don’t you dare.
Commander Roc Phaethon assessed the ethereal beauty before him, desperate to forget the feminine honey that coated two of his fingers. He should wipe it away, ending temptation.