“Go!” Blythe’s cold tone left no room for argument.
“Fine!” Isla stomped her foot as fat tears welled. “But I’ll expect your apology later, too.” With that, she flashed away, leaving Blythe flabbergasted. Teleportation was a skill she hadn’t mastered until the age of sixteen.
“The real surprise,” Blythe told her father, picking up the conversation as if there’d been no lag, “is you coming here to face me on your own rather than sneaking in one of your phantoms to deliver a message.”
The taunt missed its mark. He merely grinned, unabashed. “The last phantoms I sent gave Roux a message meant for you as well. What fills your life and empties it at the same time? You, my dear, know the answer mentally. Today, you’ll experience it firsthand.” He extended his palm, a length of chain twined between his fingers. Of course, Laban stood at the other end of the links.
Laban stood with his shoulders back and his head high, but his gaze downcast.
“This trick is old,” she snapped.
Her first consort finally lifted his gaze, and her chest squeezed. He projected something she’d never detected from him. Guilt and shame.
Unease skittered down her spine, dousing her rage. Without that rage, new realizations registered. Being in the same room differed from being on opposite sides of a doorway in two faraway realms. Here, now, a familiar scent wafted to her nose.Hisscent. Laban’s. What if...
Roux appeared at her side, radiating concern. “I heard Erebus—” He spotted her guests and growled.
“Erebus was just attempting to convince me that my first consort is alive,” she stated.
“Blythe,” Laban croaked, and tears welled inhereyes. Such desperation. “I’m real. I’m here.”
“No.” She gave her head a violent shake. “No!”
“I assure you,” Erebus purred, “he’s telling the truth. Go ahead. Touch him. You know you want to...”
She halfway expected Roux to grab her arms to prevent her from making contact. He didn’t. He glared at the manticore with blazing red eyes while huffing his breaths. His hands remained fisted. The blank mask he usually donned in front of others was gone. Torment etched his features, and all she wanted to do was fall into his arms.
“Laban.” Erebus gave the chain a tug. “Go on. Give your mate proof of life.”
Heart jumping, she whipped her attention back to the male she’d never thought to see again. Torment etched his features as well. Peering at her, he tripped forward, approaching.
“Touch me,” he beseeched when he stood mere inches away.
Though shaking and hesitant, she reached out with a shaky hand. Contact. The pads of her fingers met the warmth of his cheek, and she gasped. He was solid. Real. Not a phantom or illusion.
But, but... “I don’t understand.” Her mouth floundered open and closed. Her vision blurred. Two consorts. Here. Together. She didn’t...she couldn’t...
She looked to Roux for help. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to feel?
Still he glared at the manticore.
“How can this be?” she asked Laban, the words broken. “I watched you die.” Had thought his spirit lived on in Roux’s head. But he didn’t. Which meant both Laban and Roux were her consorts. And...and...and...she could make sense of nothing.
“I’ll explain while I hold you.” He reached for her, only to dart his gaze to the Astra and lower his arms. His lips pressed into a tight line. But, as he returned his attention to Blythe, vulnerability overtook his expression. He opened his arms. “Please, love. Let me hold you.”
Please, love.The same two words he’d spoken the day he’d died. Or she’d thought he’d died. A day that had changed the course of her life forever. But here he stood before her, alive and well.
A sob sprang from her aching throat as she fell into him. He enfolded her in his embrace, his warm breath fanning the top of her head. How she’d missed this male. How she’d loved him. How—wait. Had she truly just thought of her feelings in the past tense? Surely her affection for him hadn’t changed so quickly, along with everything else?
“Why don’t we give these two fated mates time alone?” Erebus cocked a brow at Roux. “They have much to discuss. And you have a mystery to solve. If the prisoner in your head isn’t Laban, who is it?” Laughing, he vanished. The chain, no longer in his grip, clattered to the floor.
“Roux,” Blythe croaked, pulling from Laban. Whatever she did or did not feel for her original consort didn’t change what she felt for Roux. Affection. Admiration. Love? She knew she liked him. Greatly. Knew she hungered for him wildly.
She reached for him, but he sidestepped, avoiding her touch for the first time. Her stomach sank.
“For once the Dark One is right. You require time. Together. Alone.” He pivoted, presenting her with his back. Then he was gone. But, but...
Laban offered her his hand. For several agonized heartbeats, she offered no response. The urge to hunt down Roux and force him to discuss this with her proved strong. Suddenly she reminded herself of a rope in a vicious tug of war.