“Not me. All of us.” Grinning at last, she swooped back in, feeding once again. This time, however, she stumbled away with a gasp, her eyes wide with astonishment. And perhaps envy? “You carry the scent of a child on your skin. A girl. Why? How? Tell me!”
“You are done,” he stated flatly. As she sputtered, he flashed to the bedroom.
A quick scan revealed mother and child lay on the bed. Heart pounding, he padded over as quietly as possible. Their eyes were closed, with Isla curled into Blythe’s side. The sight left his chest clenching worse than ever...and inspired his mystery prisoner to issue a high-pitched scream.
He bit his tongue, tasting blood, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and gently smoothing a lock of hair from Blythe’s brow. Protective, possessive instincts clawed at him.Will never give her up.
Thinking to take a post in the center of the room and remain on guard all night long, Roux straightened and stepped away—Blythe shot out an arm and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, stopping him.
He craned his neck to meet her gaze and nearly lost his breath. With one gentle tug, she drew him toward the bed. Understanding, he crawled onto the mattress and molded his front to her back.
The protectiveness and possessiveness sharpened. And yet, at the same time contentment spread through him, the scream tapering off.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
We. He liked that.
Roux told her the truth. “Whatever it takes.”
The day came. The final round of the tournament. Blythe opened her eyes to find Roux standing sentry in the center of the bedroom, framed in the golden outline of dawning sunlight. A sweet gesture, but she’d rather have him molded to her.
The Astra sensed her awareness and cast her a burning glance. Heart drumming, Blythe gently extracted herself from her sleeping daughter and padded to her consort. They had much to discuss, but now wasn’t the time. Hungry for contact, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.
Immediately he settled his hands on her waist and yanked her closer. Warm shivers rained over her spine. The desperation in his spinning eyes thrilled her...and it had nothing to do with Laban. It wasn’t the manticore she considered when she breathed in his spicy, sweet scent.
“I think I should be gone when Isla wakes, to keep my mind on the coming battle,” she whispered. A barbed lump grew in her throat. “Whatever happens to me, get her home.”
His fingers flexed on her, a thousand emotions flashing over his face in a split second. The one she savored? Tenderness.
“Nothing will happen to you,” he told her, low and fierce.
Deep breath in. Out. “Make sure nothing happens to you, either. I’ll be very upset if my victory peach is bruised. I have plans for him.”
“Do you now?” He flashed her to the private bathroom, spun her around and molded his body to hers. His tantalizing heat engulfed her. “He has plans for you, too.”
A soft cry parted her lips as he ran her earlobe between his teeth and ground against her backside. “By all means,” she rasped, “proceed with yours.”
“Very well. I’ll do as I’m imagining and get you good and frustrated so you’re extra mean on the battlefield.” He dragged his fingertips up her thigh and tunneled his fingers under the large shirt she’d worn to bed. Under her panties.
“Yes,” she mewled, arching into his touch. She lifted her arms and combed her curling claws through his hair.
Playing, playing. His warm breath fanned her cheek as he brought her to the brink of climax. “After you kill everyone, I’ll finish you off.” With that, he flashed off, leaving her throbbing with need.
Argh! Bad Astra. Bad. But good and frustrated? Check.
What was she going to do about that male?
Vibrating with aggression, Blythe cleaned up to wake up and strapped on an array of weapons. Then she flashed to the underground arena, at the edge of the battlefield.
Two hours till showtime.
The four other combatants had beaten her here. Of course. Each stood on one of five small round pedestals forming a circle in the center of the sand.
Blythe claimed the only free pedestal for herself. The one that put her back to the royal dais. Spectators—the few who hadn’t participated in the tournament—trickled in.
“Nice of you to join us,” Lucca offered with a jaunty salute.
“It’s to be a straight-up battle to the death, then?” Blythe asked. A clash between a gorgon, an Amazon, the Phoenix, and the harpy. Anticipation acted as boiling fuel.