“I am Blythe’s consort, and she is mygravita,” he announced. “She chose me, we slept together, and I—”
“Whoa, back up. This is you we’re talking about. Do you mean you slept together or that youslept together?” Silver demanded. “There’s a big difference. Huge. If you’re confused, just check the measuring stick in your pants.”
Even now, her sweet honeysuckle and roses scent enveloped him, making that stick...uncomfortable. “I meant it in every sense of the word. I marked her with my stardust.” In essence, he wed her. For better or worse.
“Whoa,” Ian echoed, pulling up a chair and getting comfortable. “Just so we can be sure you truly understand the meaning of the word, describe to us in great detail about this so-called sleeping.”
Roux glared at the warrior. “We’re moving on. Besides the sleeping, I also tortured her.” Guilt cut through him. Followed by excitement. “Though she did find that part quite sexy.” Had his chest just puffed with pride? Another growl escaped him. “I must discover how to win my task without harming her. Perhaps I can offer her first consort’s heart? I am happy to kill him all over again. Unless she protests.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “By the way, Laban is alive, thanks to Erebus.”
His companions said nothing, so he kept going. “Blythe is mine. Mine! I do not share what is mine. Iwon’tshare. If she tries to let me go, after promising to stay together, Iwilldo murder. Except, I won’t. Like a fool, I desire her happiness more than anything. And little Isla deserves a father.” He scrubbed his chest next. “What should I do? Tell me. Someone. Anyone. Please!”
Silence greeted him. He glanced at the others. Both males watched him with slack jaws.
“Well?” he snapped. “Give me advice.”
“I must admit I’m having trouble getting past the first part of our conversation,” Ian finally piped up. “You’re telling me our Roo Coo lost his manginity?” He looked to Silver, his brow wrinkled. “Thatiswhat the harpies call it, yes? Manginity?”
Silver scratched his jaw. “I think they prefer the termpopped his ejacucap.”
“Ah, yes. You might be right.” Ian returned his attention to Roux and grinned. “Congratulations on the loss of your ejacucap, my brother. This calls for a celebration.” He held out his hand and a bottle of his favorite whiskey materialized. He removed the cork with his teeth, saluted Roux, and downed the contents.
“Did nothing else I said register?” Roux grated.
Another Astra arrived. “Did you find him?” Halo scanned the others before locking his amber gaze on Roux. “Did Ian and Silver not tell you Roc is ready to hear the rest of your report? If you’re hiding from Taliyah—”
“Roux had sex with Blythe,” Ian blurted out. “We’re celebrating.” He offered the empty bottle to the other male. “Would you like a drink of the whiskey I no longer have?”
“We’re all hiding from Taliyah,” Halo said, stroking his chin. “This is smart.”
Roc himself suddenly appeared. Tall, bronze, and commanding. He scowled when he spotted Roux. “What’s wrong with your face? No, never mind. There’s no reason to hide in your room. Taliyah is now distracted with—”
“Roux had sex with Blythe.” Once again, Ian interrupted a speaker. Something only he dared to do. But then, as Roc’s biological brother, he had certain privileges the others did not. “Oh, and he mentioned stardusting her, torture, and the return of her first consort.”
Surely the Commander would have brilliant words of advice for Roux. The male had dealt with his fair share of disasters while courting Taliyah, his twenty-first bride but the first to survive.
“What should I do?” he croaked. “I cannot live without her.”
Roc patted his shoulder. “Kill the original consort, command Blythe to forgive you, and enjoy your newfound happiness. No mercy. Iron fist. That’s how I handle Taliyah.”
Ian, Silver, and Halo snickered. “Yes, brother,” Ian said with a grin. “Your iron fist is the stuff of legends.”
“All right. Where is he? Where’s Roux?” The feminine shriek echoed from the walls. “I’ve got things to say!”
Roc winced. “Guess she’s not distracted, after all. My best advice? Run, soldier.”
Roux didn’t run. He flashed outside the harpy’s bedroom door. If the first consort received a private conversation, the second should, too. He deserved a chance to fight for what he wanted.
No sounds seeped from behind the entrance. What were the two doing? Were they even inside?
The blood rushed from his head. He lifted his fist and knocked a little too hard. Cracks spread through the wood. Booted footsteps thumped. Then the door swung open, revealing the manticore, who carried his own length of chain.
This male desired what belonged to him, and only one of them could have her.
Attack!Roux breathed in. Out. And remained still as a statue.
Laban narrowed his eyes, aggression suddenly pulsing from him. “She’s not here. You should not have come.” Despite his words, he stepped back and waved to encompass the room. He didn’t do it gracefully, however. His movements were jerky, as if he kept changing his mind about what to do. “Enter. We will talk.”
Halfway expecting to be stabbed in the back—hoping it happened, giving him a reason to strike—Roux strode inside. No ambush. Too bad.