Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
His blank expression never wavered—but he did go still, as if arrested by the sight of her. She knew the feeling. Seeing him in the flesh after inhabiting his body...being face-to-face with the male who’d destroyed her family... Rage deluged her. Another dose of hatred. Frustration. Intrigue. Curiosity. Even more rage and hatred.
“Everyone else,” he calmly stated without glancing away from her. He dropped the rag inside the vampire’s gaping wound. “Go.”
The spectators shot off in varying directions. Someone carried the vampire away.
Blythe arched a brow at Roux. “What’d the vampire do wrong? Dare to breathe your air?”
“He did nothing wrong. He asked me how many times an immortal can lose certain organs before they cease regrowing. As one of his instructors, I decided to show him with a hands-on demonstration.” Roux flashed, appearing directly in front of her. “The answer isn’t twenty-eight.”
“Well, I’m interested in learning the answer myself. How about another hands-on demonstration?” Wings fluttering, bones humming with fresh strength, she struck. A swift swipe of her claws, and she held a kidney in her grip. She offered him a cold smile and tossed the organ into the pile, saying, “One.”
A stream of scarlet wet his T-shirt before the wound healed. The corners of his mouth turned down. “Your eyes turned black, a sign of aggression, yet I sensed no hint of it. How did you hide it from—”
Swipe. Again, she held a kidney in her grip. The sweet baby he’d just regenerated. “Two,” she stated, matter of fact before softballing the brand-new organ his way. “And Roux? Hot off the presses. I am aggression.”
Smiling wider, she stepped into a spirit realm and flashed to Isla for a quick check. Sleeping soundly. Excellent.
Blythe appeared in her private bathroom next, planning to clean up and figure out her next move. As she fiddled with the knobs in the shower, a movement toward the right caught her notice. Spinning, she prepared to attack.
Her gaze lit on familiar features, and she gasped. “Laban?”
“Hello, little love.” He occupied a corner of the spacious room, peering at her with a soft expression of total adoration. A black robe draped him.
Realization struck with the force of a spiked baseball bat, and Blythe half laughed, half groaned. Her first hallucination.
“What took you so long?” She marched over, reaching for him out of habit. Her gore-covered fingers ghosted through his beautiful image, and she swallowed a sob. “I expected to lose my mind long before this.”
“You aren’t losing your mind. I’m real. I promise you.” He, too, reached out, only to drop his arm to his side before contact. “Listen to me, sweetness. All right? Stop allowing your hatred to be your coffin. Live your life. Find happiness.”
Uh... “What do you think I’m trying to do?” As long as Roux breathed, happiness would forever dance from her clasp.
“Please, Blythe. You aren’t listening.” Disappointment radiated from him—and it was directed squarely at her, making her squirm. “I need you to let go of...”
The words tapered off, his image fading.
“Laban!” She attempted to clamp onto him, somehow, in some realm, but he was already gone.
Tears stung her eyes. “Bring him back right this instant,” she commanded her brain, slamming her fists into her temples. But Laban never reappeared. Her rage flared anew.
Forget the shower. Forget planning her next move. She knew what to do. Until she acquired the means to slay him, she must make Roux utterly miserable.
* * *
For days, Blythe secretly studied, researched, and followed her enemy, the Astraian torture master. She learned his habits. Searched out every rumor that mentioned his name. Collected details about him as if every tidbit were priceless in value.
Roux never knew. Yes, Astra were far more advanced than any other species she’d faced, but they weren’t all-powerful.
What she’d discovered so far: He was the son of the war god, Mars. If a job called for the swift extermination of an entire planet, the Commander summoned Roux. Like any Astra, he could change the very air around him with only a thought, filling the atmosphere with poison, sleeping gas, or many other substances. But he did it with a speed the others couldn’t replicate. A second preternatural ability allowed him to absorb souls into his mind. Something no one understood.
No one understood the reason his alevala writhed when he fought but stilled when he stopped, either. For the other Astra, the exact opposite occurred.
Though Blythe had tried to activate one, concentrating on an image with all of her might, she’d never relived a piece of Roux’s past.
But no matter. That was a mystery for another day. This morning, she planned to initiate contact again.
Blythe teleported to the chandelier in the hall outside his bedroom. A favorite spot to observe his comings and goings. As cold as ice, she waited. Several minutes passed. Roux didn’t appear. Nor did Laban. In fact, no other hallucinations of her consort had come.