He peered out a large paneless window overlooking his assigned section of the marketplace. The very spot he’d first materialized. A violent storm brewed in the dark, gloomy sky. Cold wind blew in, the perfect complement to his troubled mind and its never-ending spinning wheel of irritations.
Blythe wouldn’t dare appear here at least. As a phantom, she weakened in the presence of trinite. As a harpy, she would never approach a foe in a weakened condition. Meaning, he could steal a few moments for himself and think. Perhaps even puzzle out an answer to a series of questions he couldn’t shake.
Namely, why did he seek her forgiveness for killing a male who’d chosen to challenge him? Why did he wish she...liked him?
Why did he care about her feelings at all? She—stepped from thin air, mere feet away, and rested a shoulder against the wall while munching on a candy bar, total nonchalance.
He ground his teeth.
Roux didn’t attempt to protect his vital organs. No, he was too busy cataloguing her every detail. Hair brushed to a shine and curling at the ends. Eyes like blue ice. No. Wrong. Eyes like onyx again. Cheeks pink with health. Or fury. The official harpy uniform clung to her curves: a metal breastplate with two intriguing cups, and a short, pleated skirt. Arm and shin bands adorned her, strapping a wealth of daggers to her limbs.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked. “Is Roux busy ruing the day he was born yet?”
Why not tell her the truth? “I’m contemplating what to do about you.”
Far from cowed by the threat, she took another bite of her treat. “Have you tried tattle-telling to the General? Or dying for good? Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s the winner.”
“I can stop you on my own.” But had he? Nooo. Some foolish part of himlikeddealing with her. The very crux of his problem.
“Oookay. Sure you can,” she said, making a lewd motion with her free hand. She finished off the chocolate, tossed the empty wrapper on the floor, and wiped her hands together. “I no longer enjoy my sweets, by the way. Another crime to lay at your door.”
He leaned toward her. She just... She smelled so nice. And she moved with such grace. An unexpected coil of heat circulated through his veins, a sensation as wonderful as it was terrible. His bones burned, his muscles like slabs of steel molded in a forge.
I don’t know if you can handle the heat.
“What do you think you can do to me?” Head back, menace clear, he invaded her personal space. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m bigger, stronger, meaner, and far more powerful than you.”
Far from intimidated, she lifted a hand and ghosted her fingers along his jaw, never actually touching him as she softly proclaimed, “Astra, I’m going to make you suffer in ways you never dreamed possible.”
He’d taught himself not to flinch when someone reached for him. For the first time, however, he had to stop himself from seeking further contact. What did she feel like?
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. What did the feel of her matter?
At least he thought he knew why she affected him like this. Blythe reminded him of his father’s favorite mistress. A deranged ballet dancer who’d giggled and twirled about as Mars inflicted unspeakable agonies upon him. The only part of Roux’s childhood with a positive association. Anytime he’d focused on the gracefulness of the female’s motions, he’d almost forgotten his pain.
In a world of pain and darkness, she’d been a vision of softness and light.
If the mistress had been a taste of grace, Blythe was an entire meal. The harphantom never looked as if she walked; she appeared to float.
“You can try,” he told her, “but you will only waste your time. I’ve lived too long and survived too much.”
“I’ll see your denial and raise you two fingers.” She lifted both hands and flipped him the bird.
He swallowed a sigh. “Is there anything I can do to appease your—”
“Nope,” she interjected. Her firm tone offered no wiggle room. “I’ll only hate you more if you try.”
Frustration gripped him. He wasn’t used to failure.
A muted scream suddenly filled every chamber of his mind. He stiffened. Someone had escaped his mental dungeon.
If Roux didn’t act, other prisoners might follow suit. If he did perform a search and grab, however, he would have to retreat in his mind. A state many of the Astra referred to as “Roo Coo.”
Cut short his time with Blythe? No. “Do you expect me to continue allowing your attacks?”
“Hey, that’s a hundred percent on you. You’re free to stop me anytime. If you can.” The harphantom tilted her head, studying him. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”
Inside, his breath hitched.Blank mask secure.Never reveal an emotion. A lesson he’d learned well as a child. Anything you felt could and would be used against you.