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)
Soon they would learn the error of their ways.
“Agreed,” he stated. Ten dates and ten days of the tournament. One night with the queen. Nine days to find a way into Harpina with Blythe and the queen at his side. Perfectly doable.
A celebration erupted, an assortment of high fives, whistles, and victory shouts. One voice rose above all others.
“Sausage for everyone!”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Let’s get this done.” With a thought, he teleported to the closest Oath Stone.
He had no need of a chisel. Not with his claws. Hand lifted, index finger poised over the rock face, claw extended, he announced, “As long as all females of this realm abide by our agreement—no harm comes to Blythe the Undoing, the harphantom in my care—I agree to the following. In ten days, a ten-day to-the-death tournament will commence, free of my interference. The winner will become queen. I will spend the night of her coronation with her. In return, I will remain near the palace unless I’m on a date, then I will remain near the date. As for the encounters themselves, I will spend six hours with each of the ten residents here, without committing murder. I will also escort the queen to Harpina.”
That said, he scraped his personal symbol into the stone. A circle with two smaller circles inside it, the pair divided by a jagged line. The same symbol was branded into his nape, though it contained marks added by Chaos and the other Astra. Their symbols. This allowed them to telepathically communicate with each other. Usually.
Now on to part two of his oath. Roux sliced his finger with a claw and sealed the vow with a bead of his blood.
The compulsion took root inside him in an instant, and he nodded. “It is done.”
His challengers celebrated with increased vigor, thinking they’d won some great prize. Think again. They should ask his concubine about his idea of romance. He usually polished his weapons while she cleaned his room or mended and washed his clothes. Sometimes, when they were both feeling particularly social, she complained about the difficulty of removing bloodstains and dried viscera, and he grunted a response.
Ready for what came next, he summoned his discarded backpack. The straps appeared in his hand. Excellent. He might not be able to teleport things from other worlds, but he could still call for what he’d brought with him.
Hanging the weight of it from his shoulder, he strode over, picked up the crystal crown, and hooked it to the side of the pack. He returned to the women. Many reached out, intending to trace their fingers over his chest. A fierce glare and low growl stopped them.
“Move,” he commanded, and they reluctantly backed up.
He crouched before the slumbering Blythe. The heat had never truly died and revived in seconds, reminding him of a low-grade fever. He swallowed a curse. No woman should be this lovely.
Scowling, he removed her shackles with a single tug, then tossed the metal aside. He had no need of such a restraint. Not when he had a better one in the pack.
As gently as possible, Roux gathered the beautiful harphantom in his arms and clutched her to his chest. Her slight weight barely registered, yet every inch of his body zeroed in on her. Her soft cheek pressed against his shoulder, her warm breath fanned his flesh, and her floral scent filled his nose.
The heat intensified until he felt engulfed by flames.
Teeth gritted, he commanded, “Lead the way.”
8
THE SHIFT
Hazy lights flipped on inside Blythe’s head, illuminating a cluster of waiting memories she couldn’t quite reach. Confused, she blinked open her eyes. Where am I? Where’s Isla? What happened?
Too-bright sunlight seared her eyes, leaving her blinking rapidly. As heavy lids slid shut for good, other details made themselves known. Warmth and power enveloped her. Magnificent power. Fierce and strong. Incredible! The fact that her wings were pinned? Who cared?
Tension seeped from her. This felt oh, so right. Perfect, actually. This was everything she’d been missing.
Did her consort carry her to bed?
Her consort... There’d been a battle. An injury. A harpy only rested and recovered with a fated mate, death the only exception. Blythe was very much alive, rested and recovered. Right? Or did she not have a consort?
She had a child. That much she knew. A precious little girl she longed to enfold in her arms. But... Why can’t I remember anything else?
Noises intruded upon her thoughts, coming from here, there, everywhere. Even in her head, where a haunting melody played without cease. A healing tune. That. That was what enveloped the cluster of memories. The vibration of sound created an impenetrable shield.
She wanted to work up a good mad about it...but mmm. The air smelled good. Really good. Really, really, really good. A shiver-inducing combination of cedarwood and spiced oranges.