Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Here goes another dose of honesty. “I can’t shake the impression that you’re the one I’m supposed to aid.” She rubbed the spot between her breasts, where the knowledge burned. A familiar sensation. “If I override a knowing, bad things will happen.” Maybe not at first but eventually.
The real conundrum: Being unable to explain her choice to the Astra or Taliyah. Whom she would not be betraying, by the way. Somehow, she’d find a way to help them, too, without alerting Rathbone. In fact, aiding Mr. Red was the only way to stay in the know and benefit her friends. But. Neeka didn’t need mystical foresight to understand her friends would consider her new partnership a huge betrayal. And because she’d have to pretend to side with Rathbone to keep his suspicions under wraps, she’d probably be labeled a traitor. At least until the truth came to light.
Oh, how that would hurt. Just not enough to alter her course. Besides, emotions were fleeting and always subject to change.
“Your assurance does nothing to assuage my misgivings,” Rathbone said without a shift in his expression. “If I agree to hire you, you won’t leave my realm unless we are together, and you will have no contact with the Astra.”
“I’m good with that.” Especially the stay together part. Ahdán would revive in the coming days and recommence his quest. He existed for nothing else. “So.” She spread her arms. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Rathbone stared at her, silent.
Neeka held her breath. Impatience warred with uncertainty as seconds ticked into minutes.
Petting Skeletoria’s arm, he finally nodded. “We do.”
Relief washed through her, and she grinned. “Congrats! You’ve got yourself a world-class partner. Let the adventure begin!”
3
Rathbone studied the oracle he’d hired, unsure what to make of her. A curious creature. Forgetful but intelligent. Vague but also blunt. Brave enough to admit a connection to the Astra, but cunning enough to try to hide the information at first. Maddening. Sexy. Not quite sane, as advertised. Nothing seemed to intimidate her.
Whistling under her breath, she skipped around the room, touching this, poking that. The scent of sugared cherries and sweet almonds trailed her, soon infecting his every breath with its delightfulness. He hated it!
What he hated more was sprouting wood schoolboy style anytime she neared. A spontaneous reaction he hadn’t experienced in centuries. But then, the fae prince had mentioned Neeka’s appeal. Something she had in spades. Flawless dark skin complemented bright amber eyes, curly black hair, and the most adorable indentation in the center of her chin. A red bra and matching panties flaunted a lush, hourglass figure.
Why had she written he-licks-her on her arm? To torment him? Because now, no matter how valiant his efforts, Rathbone couldn’t stop imagining licking her.
Was she the answer to his dilemma? Would she find the rest of his goddess, succeeding where he had failed? If so, he might consider adding Neeka the Unwanted to his stable. Mistress number one hundred and one. At least until he ceased reacting to her. Or not. He preferred his females less vexatious.
“This is how you familiarize yourself with my vibe?” he asked as she traced her blunt-tipped fingernails over a row of cushioned chairs lining the back wall.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she jumped on a chairback, rose to her tiptoes and waved her fingers over a spear of eternal torchlight. Somehow, she remained perfectly balanced.
Annoyance frayed already razed nerves, pouring petrol on the inferno of impatience burning in his gut. “Have you sensed anything yet?”
Again, there was no response. She didn’t even bother to glance in his direction. Unacceptable! He would tolerate many things from this female, but allow her to ignore him? No.
Rathbone flashed over, kicked the legs of the chair out from under her, and caught her as she fell. With a shriek, she sank her nails into his shoulders, clinging to him as she darted her gaze in every direction, on the hunt for a threat.
He expected a slap as soon as her alarm wore off. A dagger to the throat perhaps. Harpies were recognized by their violent tempers and gift for dishing instant payback. But this warrioress merely gazed up at him, as if he’d ripped off the head of her favorite doll.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused.
“Yes,” he responded without guilt. He’d paid a high price for his crown, and he demanded to be treated with the respect his position deserved. “When I ask you a question, you will give an immediate response.” He didn’t bother with an “or else.” She would do what he demanded, and that was that.
How could the King of Agonies allow anything less?
She smiled sweetly, baring tiny harpy fangs. “Just so you know, the first startle is free. The second will cost you dearly.”
Enjoying the feel of her far too much, he dumped her on her feet and stepped back. “You expect another ambush then? Have you no plans to protect yourself?” Was she without self-defense training?