He happily followed, unseen by the masses. For days he’d debated the wisdom of keeping a rabid harpy in chains while fighting the fervency of his growing desire for her. Little had he known she would present him with the perfect solution, granting him everything he’d craved.
Blythe flittered around other shoppers, pausing to listen to different conversations. The entire population seemed to have gathered here, everyone buzzing about the upcoming tournament. An event that would require an arena of some sort. So why hadn’t one been built? Did the women already have a spot in mind?
Tonight, he would traverse the palace in secret. Something he should have done long before now, but couldn’t for three reasons. One, he could not leave Blythe alone and helpless. In her weakened condition, she needed a protector. Two, he’d enjoyed watching her, even as she tossed and turned on the bed, unable to sleep. And three, he’d spent a good amount of time scouring the corridors of his mind for his screamer or plunging the depths of his subconscious for any helpful information he’d tucked away over the centuries. So far, he’d made no real progress with either matter.
“Why’d you kill Minerva? She wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown.”
The statement caught his notice. Did the speaker use the word ‘cursed’ literally or figuratively? And did it matter to his cause? He slowed to listen to the rest of the conversation.
“She was ahead of me in line, so, she had to go.”
“Line? What line?”
“Dibs on the Astra. Should I add you to the list?”
“Nah. I’ll take your spot.” The woman swung a sword, removing her friend’s head. “Think I’ll remove the rest of my competition, too,” she said, focusing on Blythe with narrowed eyes.
Roux balled his hands into fists. The harphantom noticed the killer’s attention, he knew she did, but she displayed total nonchalance, blowing a kiss in his direction before branching off. Despite her many abilities, she couldn’t see his shielded form. Not fully.
He continued to follow, snared by her confident swagger. The longer he watched, the tighter his leathers became. Wasn’t long before his muscles tensed, as if he geared for battle. Maybe he did—another bloody war with himself.
What madness had he entertained, to demand the lethal beauty touch her palm to his chest for five minutes each day? He could barely tolerate her presence nowadays. The sight of her, with her sleek black hair, pale blue eyes, and curvy figure kept him on edge. The scent of all that honeysuckle and rose constantly invaded his nostrils, making him totter on that edge. And the hunger she incited. He was starved, always.
If he didn’t know better, he might think she was hisgravita. The one female in existence made for him. As Taliyah was to Roc. As Ophelia was to Halo. But that couldn’t be right. Roux wasn’t like the other Astra. Unless he was, and he just hadn’t known it until now?
But what were the odds? Millennia upon millennia without any kind of physical desire and then, boom, the old dog suddenly learned new tricks? No. On the other hand, he’d only just met Blythe. How like Fate to give a clone—a being never meant to exist—the female who would forever despise him, living only to end his life.
He gave his lips a nervous swipe of his tongue. No, he thought again. She wasn’t hisgravita. So far he had produced no stardust for her. The only sure sign. There must be some other explanation for his...tolerance of the harphantom. When she touched him later this evening, he would unearth the truth.
Well, well. He now had a logical reason for accepting her bargain. One based on strategy rather than romance.
His every instinct went on sudden, high alert. There. A vampire in a sunhat snuck toward a preoccupied Blythe, her fangs bared and her claws flared. The widow had yet to notice the forthcoming attack.
Roux prepared tohandle things. Blythe beat him to it. Moving at warp speed, she took the vampire to the ground with the grace of a gazelle and the ferocity of a lioness. Stab, stab. She blinded the vampire with the kabob, then swooped down to fit her lips over her opponent’s throat. A glowing light seeped from the other woman’s pores.
Disappointment sucker punched him.She’s feeding.
He should be overjoyed. Now he had no need to offer any part of himself.
As the vampire attempted to break free, Blythe ripped off the sunhat, allowing the bright light to sear the other woman’s sensitive skin. Some vampires in Ation could withstand the rays, others could not, just like in other worlds. Good to know.
The vampire screamed and writhed in pain. All around, conversations ceased.
Still acting as if she hadn’t a care, Blythe straightened, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and sauntered on.
“Hey!” someone shouted. “Someone needs to teach you a lesson about messing with vamps, and I’m just the one for the job.”
A gorgon swooped out of nowhere, beheading both the first and second vampire with a swift swing of her sword. No, not just “a” gorgon but a member of the welcome party. “You know the rules,” she shouted. “No harm comes to the phantom. We keep our vows and twist them, but we don’t forget them.”
Grumbles erupted, resentment spreading like wildfire. Multiple glares landed on Blythe.
She stopped at a booth filled with shoes. Crimson wet her hands as she pointed to a pair of leather boots and casually asked the vendor, “How much for those?” There wasn’t a hint of black in her irises.
“Too much for you.” The banshee looked ready to unleash her most potent death scream. Such an act killed some immortals and gravely injured others.
The harphantom hiked her thumb at him, telling the shoe saleswoman, “I’ll let you squeeze the Astra’s bicep if you give me the boots.”
“Blythe,” he snarled, dismissing the clouds and marching closer. “You cannot—”