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)
Somehow, he found the strength to tear his attention from Blythe and face the other female. He arched a brow while tilting his head to the side. With an eerily quiet tone, he asked, “You have the means to force me?”
“Well, yeah.” A flush stained the harpy’s cheeks. “Your oath. Between courses, we’ll be discussing round nine, which definitely, positively requires your input to ensure no rules are broken. And, because you can’t interfere with the tournament, you can’t refuse to listen to our questions.”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Maybe his oath would force his involvement in this, maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, he wished to hear more about this round nine.
“I’ll be there. Make sure there’s dessert.” He hadn’t forgotten Blythe’s request for the cake. “Something chocolate, preferably.”
A relieved sigh gusted from the harpy, and she grinned. “Okay, that was easier than I expected. Heck yeah, there will be dessert. If you’re lucky, we’ll serve the sweet treats on our bodies. Oh, and first course will be served in an hour. That way, we’ll be sure to finish up before you’re due at Wraith Island.”
That, he highly doubted. Perhaps they intended to poison him and keep him from fulfilling his vow to Penelope? Too bad. His immunity to poisons, toxins, and venoms hadn’t weakened. Or maybe they hoped to poison Blythe? Again, too bad. He would act as her taster. And probably feed her by hand.
The idea struck, and there was no negating it. He would feed her by hand. And probably love-hate every second of it.
Blythe flashed to his side, startling Tonka, who backed up a step. “You ready to go, babe?” The harphantom leaned her head against his shoulder while gliding a palm up his chest.
Staking a claim? He almost grinned. And would have, if his doubts hadn’t returned. Scowling, he slung an arm around her waist and transported her to their chamber.
He released her, stalked to his chair, and sat. “We’re attending a dinner in an hour. Wash up and change,” he said. “Then we talk.”
She stood where he’d left her, her arms hanging at her side, her expression lusty and yet almost vulnerable. “Why don’t we take off our clothes and see what happens instead?”
He bit his tongue to stop a swift agreement. “Stay bloody, if you’d like, but we will talk. We approach the end of our time here, and I want things settled between us.”
Moments passed in silence as she searched his face. Maintaining a blank expression required work, but he did it. “Guess I’ll be washing up,” she quipped, sauntering to the closet, where she withdrew multiple garments so sheer, he broke out in a sweat.
“We’ll be flashing to Wraith Island straight from the dinner, so dress accordingly,” he instructed, gripping the arms of the chair.
“Sir, yes, sir.” A sassy tone, filled with determination. Blowing him a kiss, she strolled into the bathroom without exchanging the sheer garments for others and sealed herself inside.
He lurched to his feet and paced. Back and forth, back and forth. Did she plan to betray him or not? What would he do if she did betray him? A denial roared in his head.
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.