“The worst,” he agreed.
She ran her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I have a sinking suspicion you’re going to be amazing in bed.”
“The best.” He would not stop until she collapsed, utterly satisfied.
Black flickered in her eyes, there and gone, leaving soft baby blues. “I think I’ll hate you more if I pick myself for you. But I still might do it.” With that, she spun and bounded off.
A shout welled in the back of his throat. Muscles hardened, his leathers threatening to burst. He opened and closed his fists, considering flashing directly behind her, gathering her close, and returning her to their room.
The ease with which this female elicited a physical reaction frightened him. “Don’t drink anything,” he called. “People are already intoxicated. The brew is potent.”
“Ahhh. Is Grandpappy Rue worried about me?” she called back. “Don’t be. This isn’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”
The grace of her movements, even as she pushed and elbowed her way through the crowds, drew a moan from deep in his chest. But all too soon, he lost sight of her.
Roux curbed the urge to give chase, planting his feet in the grass and remaining at the edge of the congestion. If anyone attempted to harm her, she would take them out without problem. In that regard, he had no worries. The way she’d fought today had more than proven her capabilities. She wielded the kind of bravery and cunning too many forsook. Any warrior worth his wage would be overjoyed to fight at her side.
A group of leering, giggling shifters approached him, their drinks sloshing over the rims of their clay mugs. Roux set an internal countdown in his mind, concealed himself with shadows, and strode off. He would not miss his visit to Wraith Island.
He skirted the party’s perimeter, listening to gossip, searching, scanning. Catching sight of Blythe again, he automatically altered his path to draw closer. She stood with a harpy. A beauty with light hair—a skilled warrior he’d noticed on the battlefield. A true competitor who’d cut through her opponents as if they were nothing but sheets of paper.
The pair engaged in a serious conversation. Serious, but not heated. Meaning, no trash talk. Did they know each other? What did they discuss?
Blythe reached up to hook a lock of silken hair behind her ear, the motion pure elegance. He would never tire of watching her.
The two females shook hands. Agreeing to some kind of deal?
Why not secretly listen to the rest of the discussion?
Guilt sparked, but he ignored it. For the success of his blessing task, there was no line he wouldn’t cross. He’d never lied about that.
A slight tendril of aggression brought him to an abrupt halt. Instincts buzzed. Someone approached, intending to inflict harm. The Phoenix, judging by the level of heat wafting from her. Roux rolled his shoulders. Let her try something.
“Hi,” she said when she reached his side, striving for a pleasant tone but failing. “My name is Carrigan.”
“So?”
“So, you had better watch yourself, Astra. That’s my best friend you’re eye-stalking.”
He cast the Phoenix the briefest glance. Tall and toned, with red hair, fair skin, and amber eyes. On the battlefield, power had sizzled over her skin, flames barely banked.
“Your best friend is the pale-haired harpy? Someone you willingly agreed to pit yourself against in a battle to the death?” He shook his head. Roux would rather die himself than harm a fellow Astra. “I highly doubt that.”
“I’m not surprised by that. You aren’t nearly as smart as I am. Like any true friend, I’m going to help that pale-haired harpy, as you call her, get to the end and kill me. I’ll revive, protect her from you, then force you to escort both of us home.” Unshakable confidence laced her every word. “What do you think of my plan?”
“I like it.” Few flaws. Phoenixes almost always came back from the dead, and when they did, they were always stronger. “I would have liked it better if you’d kept me in the dark and executed a successful ambush.”
She smiled at him, a sensual curve of her mouth that would have hardened him in an instant if he’d been another male. As usual, a lone female affected his body, and it wasn’t this one. “Do you think I’m destined to fail because you’re an Astra? Some kind of superman, right? Well guess what, Mr. Kent? Every superhero has a weakness, and you are no different.”
“Do tell.”
“Your ego will be your defeat. What your beefed-up brain cannot comprehend is that I will win any battle against you by superior intellect alone. I had the foresight to consult an oracle before purposely coming to this realm, you see. I wanted to make sure I had a way out. And I do. I happen to know something you don’t.”
“Isyourego a weakness?” he asked conversationally.
She acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “I was told I would be one of two finalists left in a tournament to the death,” she said, smirking at him. “That I and my friend would escape, and a phantom would die or not, depending onmydecisions.”
Blythe struggled to keep her attention on Lucca, the famed harpy she’d cornered not too long ago. At first, they’d exchanged half-hearted insults. Then they’d bargained, becoming allies who swapped information tonight and returned to being foes tomorrow. Finally, she had a chance to get her burning questions answered. Though, granted, she and the other combatant had only issued softball queries so far, feeling each other out.