Bright lights flipped on inside Blythe’s head, bringing instant clarity. Laban. Invasion. Betrayal. Ation. Wraith. Roux. Flirting. Hatred. Weakening. Sleeping. Strengthening. Destroying the song once and for all. Waking. Committing murder—soon. Yep, all her memories were accounted for.
With a hiss, she popped open her eyelids and jolted upright, freeing her buzzing wings from confinement. She perched on an ultrasoft mattress, and she wore a clean, transparent nightgown. A spacious bedroom filled with amazingly detailed furniture surrounded her. The scent of cedarwood and spiced oranges saturated candle-lit air. Night had come. Roux sat by a crackling hearth, a pile of weapons scattered about his feet. He was as still as a statue but wide awake and staring at her, squeezing daggers in a white-knuckled grip. It would have been creepy if it hadn’t been so sexy.
His intensity clashed with her rage—and gained ground. From wild inferno to dying spark she went. A cloud of smoke lifted from her mind, revealing a waiting revelation.Night had come.Hours had passed. Time she’d spent sleeping, vulnerable to attack while her greatest enemy hovered nearby. Oh, the horror!
Blythe ran her tongue over her teeth. Harpies only slept with their consorts, yes, but this didn’t count. It couldn’t. Like Roux had said, she’d been recovering from a near death experience. Because of him.Go ahead and slice.
Reason abandoned her. She didn’t care that Penelope had taken possession of her firstone dagger and nothing Blythe did today would cause permanent damage to the Astra.Attack!
Unleashing a war shriek, she hurled herself at the blond giant. Swipe. She clawed out his throat. Tit for trach. “One,” she said, holding up her prize. New body part, fresh start.
He didn’t tense or gasp. Healing in record time, barely even bleeding on his chair, he set his daggers aside with slow precision. His yellow irises spun with striations of magenta, gray, and russet. There was no hint of red, despite the violence of the moment.
Her rage roiled on and on and on. Except, now there was something else mixed with it. Something hot she couldn’t identify.
He arched a brow. “Foreplay?”
Argh! “Absolutely not.” She tossed the bloody mess in his face. Crimson splattered his skin. Somehow it looked good on him. “I’m a vicious killer.” To prove it, she leaped onto his lap and attacked him with renewed force.
He let her do it. “For the record, vicious killers don’t have to tell their victims they are vicious killers.”
He wasteasingher right now? “I will rain a thousand deaths upon your head!”
The beating continued.
“Are you done, she-beast?” he asked, almost sounding bored.
Oh, how she hated him! Hated, hated, hated. “I’m only beginning, wretch.” Blythe whaled on him with every ounce of force at her disposal, put her all in the blow. When that failed to satisfy, she shredded his shirt. His flesh.
Rather than protect any part of himself, he petted her hair. What the—She failed to land her next blow and swiped only air.
“There, there,” he said. Another stroke of his fingers through her tresses, and she failed to land her nextthreeblows.
“What are you doing?” Trying to comfort her? Fool! And yet, the rage seeped from her. She sagged in place, almost as if—no! No, no, no. Only a consort could tempt a harpy from the worst of her tempers, and Roux wasn’t her consort. He wasn’t.
So he’d calmed her a little? So what? It didn’t mean anything. An effect of the ruby probably. It must be.
With a huff of irritation, she hurled herself away from him.
“Did you harm yourself?” he asked, removing the remains of his shirt. “Do you require medicine or sustenance of any kind? I know you are unable to keep down blood, but what if you can process what comes from a stronger species? It might be worth a try.”
“Stronger species? Like an Astra?” Pacing before him, she laughed without humor. “I don’t need blood right now, and I can drink any soul, any time.” She’d never tasted her consort’s soul, even by accident. He’d asked her not to, and she had respected his decision. He’d needed to preserve his strength to protect his girls.
Roux revealed no reaction, neither confirming nor denying her accusation. “How often do you need to feed on soul?”
“Whenever I wish or monthly.” Whichever came first. Why was he being so solicitous with her, anyway? “Just so you know, I prefer death over ingesting any part of you.” Best to hammer the point home until hedidreact.
“I don’t recall offering,” he quipped. “If you get hungry, go for the Phoenix. I spotted her on the walk to the palace. She might nourish you well. Blood or soul.”
“Either way,” she grated, “I don’t need you to oversee my meals.”
“Noted.” He remained annoyingly casual. “Shall we talk, then, or would you prefer to use me as a scratching post again?”
“Scratching post. Obviously.”
“Just be careful of my face.” All but smirking now, he stroked his chin. “I know how much you enjoy looking at it.”
Oh! The nerve! Blythe got serious and launched her next attack, once again diving into his lap. Punching. Clawing. Slapping. Elbowing. Kicking. He took the blows without complaint.