“Don’t look at me like that.” Blythe’s teeth chattered. “You’re making it difficult to contain my hatred for you.”
“Go ahead. Unleash it.” He stepped toward her in challenge. “Let the wraith drain more of your strength.”
She jumped to avoid contact. A mistake. Her knees buckled. She careened to her backside and stayed put, panting and glowering up at him. The hem of the dress—nightgown—whatever bunched above her knees, revealing more of her legs.
Roux scrubbed a hand over his drying mouth. Too beautiful, and too stubborn. That’s what she was. Why not keep the ruby on her until the end of the tournament? Forcing her to dial down her abhorrence for him could only aid his task. There would be fewer attempts to take Roux out or reach Wraith Island. The weaker his charge, the less damage she could do.
As long as he kept her by his side, she would be perfectly safe. Yes. He liked this plan. Once he’d successfully crowned the new queen of Ation, he would work to free Blythe. Until then...
Best to hobble her in other ways, too. He reached behind his back and summoned the chains from his pack. The metal links with accompanying shackles appeared in his waiting grip. If—when—he did this, Blythe’s loathing for him was sure to double. Triple. Harpies were notorious for their aversion to fetters. But so what? Wasn’t as though he had a chance with her anyway. Or that he even desired a chance.
The burn to touch her and be touchedbyher would go away sooner or later.
“Know you brought this on yourself,” he grated, revealing the contraption to Blythe.
“Ohhhh. Is that for you or me or me and her?” Monna squealed with happiness. “Never mind. I say yes! I’m into it.”
The harphantom clambered to her feet. “Don’t you dare come near me with that thing.”
“I dare anything when it comes to the well-being of the Astra and the safety of my task.” Perhaps her safety factored into the equation as well. He kept his gaze locked with hers as he prepared the cuffs for her wrists. “I gave you a chance to behave. Now I’ll force the issue.”
“I won’t go down easily,” she snapped.
“I know. But you will go down.” He wasted no time, flashing closer and caging her in his arms.
She fought hard, injuring herself to injure him. He absorbed any abuse. Twice he lost his grip on her.Such soft, slippery skin.A thousand times, he lost his mind.Such lush, feminine curves.Fire consumed his veins, a distraction he couldn’t afford. In the end, he had to drop the shackles, pin her atop a mossy rock with her arms over her head, and straddle her waist to subdue her. Unexpectedly winded, he summoned the chains.
“Is it my turn yet?” Monna asked.
“Go ahead,” Blythe spit up at him. He missed her playful smile. “You’re the Astra’s torture master, after all.” Her eyes flashed black. “Do to me what you did to the boy.”
Boy? He clamped the first manacle in place. “What boy?”
“The one in your memory. I’ve seen how much you enjoyed chaining him. He lay upon that table, helpless, pleading for mercy, as you peeled and seared his flesh, piece by piece.”
She’d seen his memories, without the aid ofalevala? The blood rushed from Roux’s head, a piercing ring filling his ears. Before he had time to think, the truth spilled from his tongue. “My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.”
10
THE BARGAIN
Blythe reeled. She had no words to give as Roux transported her and the siren back to the bedroom at the palace. He released the other woman immediately, then secured Blythe’s chain to the bed’s canopy rail, securing her arms above her head.
He muttered, “The so-called adventure date is officially over,” while escorting the other woman to the door. A slab of wood now in major need of repair. “My obligation to you has ended.”
The siren gaped at him. “But we haven’t... I didn’t get to... Give me a chance—”
The Astra slammed the block in her face. He didn’t acknowledge Blythe as he stalked to his backpack, gathered a set of tools, and worked far longer than necessary to repair the damaged entrance.
For an eternity, she stood where he’d left her, trying to make sense of the words he’d spoken with such a flat, almost dead cadence.
My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.
Had he told the truth? Maybe. Or spun a lie to garner undeserved sympathy? Maybe not.Think this through.
She’d known the visions in her head had come from his memories. But she’d been so focused on the older male who resembled Roux in every way but one, she hadn’t studied the child. Now she considered nothing else. The child did resemble Roux—greatly. Same pale, wavy hair. Same bronze skin. Same yellow eyes with those spinning striations.
The two were indeed related. They were probably even father and son, just as he’d claimed.