He opened his mouth to refuse, but snapped his jaw shut before a single word escaped. To end the battle sooner rather than later and get Blythe in his possession? Perhaps he could bargain.
Needing a moment to consider his options, Roux halted his next blow midswing and moved out of the strike zone.
The females maintained their defensive positions around the harphantom, watching him with varying degrees of lust, hope, and satisfaction.
This bouquet of femininity hoped to use his body. He supposed he should be flattered? Ian would’ve been. Many other Astra as well. And ever since Roux had spotted Blythe in her transparent gown, sparking the heat, he’d ached for...something. Every cell in his body felt alive with purpose. For the first time in his life, he was curious about sexual matters.
How soft might a woman’s curves feel against his palms? Would he react to the opposite sex as the other Astra did, always hungering for more? Would the heat flame out of control, remaking him? But to what end? Curious Roux might be, but tolerant he was not. Physical contact had never not bothered him.
So what would he offer these females instead of what they currently desired? Wait. What was he doing? He was a legendary warrior. A killer—a god. He fought until his challengers died, always, without exception.
“Do you agree?” the gorgon asked, hopeful.
“I’d rather rend each of you in half.” He retracted his claws and withdrew the shiniest of his swords.
She held up her hands, palms out, and rushed to say, “Whoa. Hold up there, hot stuff. Do you refuse because you think your phantom is already dead? I assure you, she’s alive and well.”
The women parted, revealing Blythe at long last. Though the black-haired vixen lay on the ground, unconscious, her wound had closed, and her chest was rising and falling with her breaths. His breath came easier. Unfortunately, the ruby still glinted in the sunlight.
“We know you require an Ation queen to complete your blessing task. Well, you require her heart, anyway,” a harpy said. A shapely beauty with rich brown hair, flawless skin a shade lighter, and big eyes a shade darker. “If you refuse our oh, so generous offer, the crown will go unclaimed until your clock runs out. And Astra? The crown means nothing unless it is willingly claimed. But, if you agree to our terms and sign the Oath Stones, we’ll give you the phantom as a token of our goodwill. She’ll be yours to do with as you please.”
Oath Stones. His gaze slid to the circle of strategically placed boulders in the distance. He knew how they worked. Whoever chiseled their symbol in the stone, spoke a vow, and sealed it with their blood would be forced to keep their word. Zero exceptions. A practice once used by the oldest of the gods to circumvent betrayal. Not even an Astra could break its compulsion.
Roux needed someone to claim that crown. Thankfully, the females had just provided a way to force the issue. Far different than the females expected.
Halo might be the strategist, but Roux was an excellent problem solver. He had to be. Have other people trapped in your mind? Lock them up. Black out occasionally? Train yourself to instinctively shield yourself with electrifying power. Today’s solution seemed obvious.
“Here ismyoffer,” he said, sheathing his weapons. “You will place Blythe the Undoing into my care, as promised, but you will also hold a to-the-death tournament.”
A tournament served multiple purposes. Rallied the competitive spirits of these alpha warriors, kept them occupied mentally and physically, and provided a queen for his task. If they took each other out in the process, leaving him with fewer bodies to cut down on his way out, even better.
He continued, “The winner will claim the crown, and I’ll spend the night with her without killing her. I’ll also escort her to Harpina.” Where he would remove her heart, as ordered. If she revived afterward, as many immortals could, he might kill her again just for grins. He had no mercy to spare for the females of this world.
The group’s lust, hope, and satisfaction morphed into excitement, suspicion, and cold calculation.
“My, aren’t you a clever one, offering something we would kill anyone to acquire,” the manticore said. The others chirped their agreement. “Give us a moment to discuss the particulars.”
They rushed together, forming another circle around Blythe, once again shielding her from his view. He barely silenced a second roar. Nearly flashed closer to shove everyone aside. He wanted the widow in his sights.
Frantic whispers erupted from the group before they broke apart and faced him.
He almost smiled. He’d won. He knew it.
Once again, the harpy spokeswoman stepped forward. “We agree to your terms. With certain caveats, of course. We host the tournament and make the rules, not you. You can do nothing to affect who wins or loses. The games begin in ten days and last ten days. This gives us an opportunity to alert the masses. Gotta give everyone a fighting chance, you know? Also, while you’re on Ation, you will live at the palace. The phantom can stay in your chamber, if you like, but you cannot stray far from royal grounds...unless you are on a date, then you must only remain near your date. Speaking of, you must spend at least six consecutive hours with each member of your welcome party, and you cannot commit murder during these times.” She winked at him. “The order you choose to be with us is up to you. So is what happens.”
Why let the masses participate, risking the crown? Or did these females have no wish to carry the title, despite its new perks? Perhaps they thought to use their wiles and lure him from his task, keeping him here.
Soon they would learn the error of their ways.
“Agreed,” he stated. Ten dates and ten days of the tournament. One night with the queen. Nine days to find a way into Harpina with Blythe and the queen at his side. Perfectly doable.
A celebration erupted, an assortment of high fives, whistles, and victory shouts. One voice rose above all others.
“Sausage for everyone!”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Let’s get this done.” With a thought, he teleported to the closest Oath Stone.
He had no need of a chisel. Not with his claws. Hand lifted, index finger poised over the rock face, claw extended, he announced, “As long as all females of this realm abide by our agreement—no harm comes to Blythe the Undoing, the harphantom in my care—I agree to the following. In ten days, a ten-day to-the-death tournament will commence, free of my interference. The winner will become queen. I will spend the night of her coronation with her. In return, I will remain near the palace unless I’m on a date, then I will remain near the date. As for the encounters themselves, I will spend six hours with each of the ten residents here, without committing murder. I will also escort the queen to Harpina.”