Back and forth, back and forth.
With a growl, he plopped onto the bed; the mattress bounced with his weight, shifting something beneath him. He thought he sensed—Roux went still. The firstone dagger.Here?
Frowning, he scrambled to his feet and lifted the mattress. And there it was. The barest hint of a purple dagger, peeking out of a plain black sheath. Obviously a blocker designed to hide the dagger’s nearness. If that tiny portion of the blade had not worked its way free, he might never have known the weapon waited within his reach.
Realization struck. Blythe planned to kill him. And what better time to strike an Astra than in bed, distracted beyond reason? No wonder she’d welcomed his touch.
Fury and pain tore through him, setting off a chorus of screams inside his head. The murder plan, he understood. Accepted, even. Tit for tat. But the faked pleasure...
He tasted blood as he stashed the dagger in a hidden pocket of his bag. With one act, Blythe had tainted his favorite memories. Rousing her passion and giving her pleasure had affected him. Undone and remade him, offering life rafts of bliss amid an endless sea of torture. To learn those recollections were nothing but lies...
Roux beat his fists into his chest once. Twice. Again. Then again. One of his ribs cracked. Perhaps others. Difficult to tell when his insides felt shredded. How far would she take this ruse? At what point might she strike?
Most important, what was he going to do about it?
“The she-beast is ready for dinner and dagger hunting, Warden,” Blythe announced when she emerged from the bathroom exactly one hour later.
Roux reclined in his chair, firelight crackling behind him. With narrowed lids, he looked her over. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Um, did he not like it? Because, for the first time, he was looking at her the way he looked at everyone else.
She’d chosen her outfit with care. A scanty, scarlet dress reminiscent of the “bait” Penelope had forced her to wear, with off-the-shoulder spaghetti straps, a deep vee to showcase plenty of cleavage, and slits that stretched from her hips to her ankles. A bejeweled belt cinched the scandalously sheer material at her waist.
Eerily silent, he eased to his feet. His hands balled and opened, then balled again. Whoa! His eyes. They flickered with sparks of crimson. She gulped. Before, he’d been a volcano soon to erupt, with molten lava seething beneath his skin. Blythe had blamed sexual frustration. Now she wasn’t so sure. Never had he looked more capable of committing cold-blooded murder.
All this because she’d avoided having a chat about their expectations?
He flicked the tip of his tongue against an incisor. Finally, he spoke. “You look lovely, Blythe.”
His tone. It was one she’d never heard him use before. Not with her. It sent icy shudders down her spine. And why hadn’t he called her Lyla?
Disappointment set in. She’d expected heat from her Astra. Maybe a suggestive comment or twelve. A series of illicit touches, perhaps. Definitely a new application of stardust.
She tossed her arms up. “That’s all I get from you?”
“Yes.” He said no more but waved his fingers at her. “What more would you like me to say?”
So formal. She didn’t appreciate it one bit. Had he somehow learned of Erebus’s visit? Or discovered her father’s evil plan to use a fake Laban against her? She still hadn’t told him. Hadn’t known how to broach the subject in the short minutes between heats. Should she do so now?
Maybe he resented her for leaving Carrigan and Lucca alive. He’d asked about the pair after every round of the tournament. Except today. Blythe just...well, she didn’t want to murder the women who’d helped her until she knew beyond any doubt that they were working with her father.
Had Roux grown tired of her? In the space of an hour? Did she even want a consort so changeable?
Every day she’d felt herself soften toward the male. But what if the opposite were true for him and his feelings for her?
No. Surely not. The remnants of his stardust sparkled on her skin. He’d claimed her. For now, she’d claimed him. Whatever was going on, they would work it out.
Determined, Blythe strolled over, exaggerating the roll of her hips. His eyelids slitted further. Pressing against him, she glided her hands up his chest. She might not know how she felt about him, but she knew what she wanted—more pleasure. And she planned to get it.
“I crave you,” she rasped. “That’s what else I want to hear you say.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’d give you those words, but there’s no time to talk. You made sure of that, didn’t you, Lyla?” Suddenlycolderthan ice, he clasped her waist and flashed her to the third-floor conference room, the table piled high with a plethora of dishes. From a succulent bird stuffed with a mix of fruit and nuts to creamy potatoes and buttered vegetables.
Roux released her and stepped back at the first opportunity.
The savory scents made her mouth water, but her stomach only roiled in protest. All her life, she’d been confident in her feelings and her decisions. Become General. Give up everything for Laban. Lay the world at her daughter’s feet. Kill the Astra. Now she knew nothing, and the uncertainty sucked.
Focus on the party.The welcome party as well as the other combatants were dressed to the nines, too, and already seated. All conversation ceased as the crowd noticed Roux and Blythe.