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)
An ear-piercing shriek ripped from her throat. Grief and rage boiled in the undertone. If the brute harmed such a defenseless child...
No! Can’t lose my child, too. Blythe teleported. Suddenly, she stood directly behind Isla, who stood directly in front of him, clutching the bejeweled dagger, ready to strike.
Had she stolen the weapon before Laban rushed off or had she lifted it from his corpse? A sob clogged Blythe’s throat.
Menacing red eyes glowed inside the shadows of the giant’s helmet. Those wild orbs locked on her, and something buzzed along her spinal cord. A sense of knowing. As if they’d met before. No time to unravel the mystery.
What happened next happened both at lightning speed and in slow motion. The enemy swung both arms, a split second away from swiping those blood-tipped claws through her treasured offspring. She grabbed Isla by the shoulders, forced her to dematerialize, and yanked her inside Blythe’s own body. Then she, too, dematerialized and dove into the perfect shield—the oversized frame of her consort’s killer.
In essence, she possessed him. An ability wielded by all phantoms. Most couldn’t hide their presence, but Blythe could. Without the warrior’s knowledge, she sank deep, deep, deep inside his conscious mind. A place to listen and learn while figuring out a safe time and place to exit.
A time and place she could slay her host in the worst possible way. After she toyed with him a bit.
Except, for the first time, Blythe lost track of the outside world. Even worse, thousands of voices screamed at her at once.
Echoes of his thoughts? Another first!
Sharp pains ripped through her mind. Could Isla hear this awful deluge? Feel this? But, but...too many layers! Too loud! Blythe couldn’t think; she needed to...she...
With all her considerable might, she attempted to slip out of him. Argh! She failed.
Imprisoned? Had she doomed Isla, too? Forever?
2
THE SIGHTING
Roux Pyroesis gripped hanks of his hair and tugged. One moment he’d glimpsed a black-haired, blue-eyed beauty on the battlefield, the sight of her like taking a hammer to the gut. The next she’d vanished, momentarily forgotten as thousands upon thousands of screams erupted in his head.
His prisoners had escaped their mental cells again.
He tugged his hair harder, hating the full-time penitentiary erected inside his subconscious—a consequence of his best and worst ability.
Roux could drain an immortal and utilize their life force as fuel. But. Anytime he did it, their soul ended up trapped within his own. All he could do? Hold the captives inside a mental dungeon, out of sight and out of mind.
Every so often, inmates fought their way free from the massive, shadowy labyrinth of cells, each frothing with fury and determined to punish him for his misdeeds.
Except for one. That one remained in solitary confinement. Roux ground his teeth. Upon occasion, he visited the male.
As usual, his world faded to black as he focused on the deepest, darkest corridors of his mind. A terrible thing to do while engaged in a realm-wide takeover.
Thankfully, well-honed instincts fired up anytime he shut down, creating a shield of energy around him. Any harpies or consorts who attempted to stab, claw, or hack any part of him dropped, out for the count.
Amid the chorus of screams, Roux confined his captives once again. Victim by victim. Beings who’d withered into shells of their former selves. No longer could he tell who was who or what was what. He only knew what they’d once been. An assortment of vampires, banshees, sirens, gorgons, sorcerers, gods, Amazons, and shifters.
How much time passed before a hand slapped his shoulder, bypassing the shield, he wasn’t sure. His eyelids popped open as the cacophony of noise faded into a dull whisper.
A fellow soldier stood at his side, patting his shoulder. Silver Stilbon, a son of Mercury and third in command of the Astra Planeta. A trusted brother-in-arms known as the Fiery One.
Details crystalized in an instant. Roux remained on the battlefield, exactly where he’d stood before. The conflict had ended, with sprays of crimson already drying on the trinite barrier he’d helped teleport into the world.
Around him, piles of dead consorts and sleeping harpies missing their hands and feet. The sleep came courtesy of the other Astra who must have forced the issue, changing the very atmosphere of the realm. On the horizon, the once glaring sun was in the process of setting. Hours had passed.
Was the black-haired female among the casualties, or had he imagined her? One second, she’d stood before him. The next, she hadn’t.
Had she flashed, moving from one location to another with only a thought? Unlikely. Flashing wasn’t an ability harpies usually possessed. More than that, Roux was able to clock the start and finish of any mode of teleportation, and she had stayed put. Like a phantom, but not like a phantom. There. But also not there, exuding a strange hum of power.