She had no memory? “I believe your kind makes an exception for harpies near death.”
“I neared death?” Moaning, she massaged her temples. “This song...what is it hiding?”
She didn’t remember because of a song? But why would the siren—the answer crystalized before the question fully formed. Of course the siren had manipulated Blythe’s memory. To stop the wraith from utilizing the ruby, draining the harphantom at a time she needed to heal to survive, the siren had to take control of her emotions.
“I am...Roux,” he said, offering nothing more. How should he handle this? Her?
“Roux,” she echoed. She traced her gaze over him, radiating curiosity and, dare he believe it, attraction? “Are your tattoos moving?”
He glanced down, and sure enough. Thealevalamoved, as if he waged war inside himself.
Reeling, he dropped the weapon and tool, dug a shirt from the pack, and yanked the material over his head. A type of armor for them both. He needed a barrier against the torment of her gaze, and she needed to not get trapped in his past.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice, now, was it?” she chided. Half pouting, half smiling, she stood to steady legs. In a beam of light, the blue gown revealed more than it concealed. Her curves—he wiped his mouth.
Pure grace, she approached him, hips swaying, slits parting in the skirt, revealing hints of her thighs.
Sweat beaded on his brow. He couldn’t...he shouldn’t...
A scream exploded from the back of his mind. Jaw clenched, he gripped the arms of his chair. The mental interruption came from the escapee he’d noticed at the tea party with Isla. Someone he needed to capture and imprison at last. But miss this moment of comradery with Blythe to do so? No.
All sensual grace, the harphantom eased onto the ottoman in front of him. “Did something happen to me?”
He gave a slow, solo nod, afraid of startling her, reminding her of her hatred for him. “What’s the last thing you recall?”
“I know I’m a harpy and a phantom, my name is Blythe the Undoing, I have a daughter named Isla, and I’m working to become General. Although, I can’t become General with a child. So what am I missing?” Her brow furrowed. “I see flashes of you getting your smolder on but not much else.”
No memories of the consort then, despite recalling her child. But what did she mean, Roux’s smolder? “You’re missing a lot. Though it would be easier to lie to you, I’ll be honest. I am not your consort. You despise me.”
“Are you sure?Despiseis a strong word.” A teasing smile blossomed as she slid her gaze over him. “Maybe I’ve been flirting with you.”
The chair arms cracked. So badly he longed to reach out and shift a lock of her silken hair between his fingers. “I’m quite sure. On four separate occasions, you’ve extracted at least one of my organs.”
Those ice blue eyes glittered with mirth. A queen of delights, she waved a hand through the air, dismissing his words. “Foreplay, babe. That, I promise you. Judging solely by the book cover, I’m certain you are a story I’ve been eager to read, muscle to muscle.”
The way her voice dipped... He gulped. Once he pried his fingers from the chair, he tugged at the collar of his shirt. She was a playful feast of carnality.
Oh, how Roux dreaded the return of her memory.
“You...find me handsome then?” In that moment, he wanted this female to like him. A dream destined to go unfulfilled. “Or perhaps you meant you can’t wait to crack my spine.”
There was something in the core of his being that only Chaos and the other Astra could tolerate. A fact Roux had accepted long ago. He doubted Blythe would have favored him as a compatriot even if her consort still lived.
“Put it this way, Astra,” she rasped, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You’re a first edition, and I’m a highly motivated collector with cash to burn.”
He had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Thoughts left his head and gathered behind his zipper.
“Astra,” she repeated with a frown. Her head tilted to the side, as if she were trying to work out a puzzle. She muttered, “Astra, Astra, Astra. Laban.” Her frown deepened. “Invasion. Betrayal. Ation. Wraith. Roux.” Her lids dropped, slitting.
Roux lunged in her direction, hoping to prevent what came next. Too late. She swiped and ducked, avoiding capture. He stumbled back with blood trickling down his side.
“Five,” she snapped. Then she gasped, the organ falling from her clasp. She rubbed the ruby while wobbling on her feet. “I remember the rest now. Hatred. Weakening. Sleeping. I’m going to kill—” Eyelids sliding shut, she crumpled.
He caught her before she landed, clutching her to his chest. As he carried her to the bed, his inhalations came in quick succession. She was just so soft. So sweet. With such an incredible scent.
Reluctant, he placed her onto the bed and retreated to his seat by the fire, where he sharpened the already sharp dagger once again. And once again, his gaze remained glued to her.
Anticipation slithered through him. What would the she-beast do next?