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)
Having spent his childhood hidden on a distant planet, raised by servants, he’d longed for family of his own. His mother had deigned to visit him upon occasion, but only to compare him unfavorably to the father who hadn’t wanted him. With Lore, Rathbone had gotten his wish, and it had been far superior to anything he’d imagined.
“And then?” Neeka encouraged.
“And then someone killed her.” Someone he had yet to identify. Unless Erebus had told the truth. When Lore awoke, she would explain what happened, and Rathbone would proceed accordingly. “After I revive her, we’ll rule this kingdom together.”
“You’re right.” Neeka popped a bite of squash into her mouth. “Your story is the same as everyone else’s. There’s no pizzazz. Nothing to regale your future brats with—yet. Thankfully, I’m on the case. And because I’m such a giver, I’m gonna gift you with a freebie and spice things up. By the time I’m done, you’ll have the grandest tale to ever grand!”
A ridiculous claim undeserving of a response. “What do you know of love stories? Do you have a companion?”
“Nope. Well, yes and nope.” She hiked her shoulders. “A few years ago, I married the Phoenix you just poled. I filed for divorce by killing him, but he re-alived, as he always re-alives, and injected me with the turning toxin.”
Rathbone frowned. Harpies didn’t do divorce. Not with their consorts. “Why did you wed him if he isn’t your fated?” What was her meet cute?
“Well, my father is an oracle and he told me I’d find my consort in the flames. Since I owed a friend a favor, I decided to pay up and be a hero at the same time, taking her sister’s place at the wedding. I hoped Ahdán was my Inferno Man. He wasn’t.”
Rathbone detected a note of sadness. Like any good king of the Underworld, he pounced on a perceived weakness. “Help me bring my wife to life, and I will slay the Phoenix again and again until he stays dead. Consider it another bonus.” His suspicious nature forced him to add, “But if ever you betray me...” Several of his mátia opened, glaring at her. So far, she hadn’t shown a hint of fear concerning his promises. But she would. “Lest you think I’m someone willing to forgive the slightest duplicity—” He whipped out his arm and caught her by the wrist.
Flash. They materialized in the foyer of his dungeon. Voted the destination to avoid when visiting the Underworld for three centuries running. The scent of blood and terror lingered on the walls. Which made sense. Every partition was built from the remains of previous guests.
“Understand me,” he announced. Around them, immortal beings of varying species were chained to different torture devices, begging for help. Moans of anguish and desperation provided the chorus. “This is what happens to those who work against me. And do you know who works against me, oracle? Anyone who isn’t working with me.”
* * *
Neeka traversed a wide hallway minus her host, exploring the luxurious but abandoned palace. She must have gotten trapped in her own little world after their side trip to the dungeon. Now, she had no idea where she was or when and how she’d lost the guy.
Such a curious fellow. He had all kinds of extra flavor. Her favorite kind of immortal. They kept things interesting. Add in Rathbone’s überprotective streak and unwavering determination to guard what belonged to him, and he skirted the edge of perfect.
She came upon a spacious sitting room with velvet settees, porcelain side tables, and portraits of the Crimson King contorted in the most ridiculous poses while wearing next to nothing. A smile bloomed as she examined each masterpiece.
Pretty sure she recognized the artistic style, she checked out the artist’s signature. Madame Anya. Yep. Sure enough. Neeka snickered. Anya, goddess of anarchy, was a party buddy. Anya loved to gift her “artwork” to anyone who miffed her. That Rathbone displayed the collection, rather than burn it, spoke of a delightful sense of humor Neeka appreciated. An unexpected trait from a hardened warrior who enjoyed dishing threats.
What would he say if she demanded his kingdom as payment? Because dang. The gem-covered walls in his secret throne room extended here, and they were totally to die for. So sparkly!
He might actually agree, considering he was head over heels, fallen into the abyss obsessed with a skeleton he planned to resurrect.
Strangely enough, Neeka was maybe kinda sorta envious of the corpse. Oh, to be loved in such a way. Thanks to Grenwich’s chosen moniker, Neeka herself was forever cursed to be, well, unwanted. Her lack of male companionship had nothing to do with her personality, she was certain of it. She slapped!
Though she’d lived for centuries, her first official “date” was her wedding. No one else had ever asked her out or accepted an invite when she’d done the asking. In fact, the only romantic encounters she’d experienced were the nights she’d thrown herself at a guy, practically begging for affection. Many had taken her up on the offer. Too many. Before each instance, she’d hoped against hope that her fate had changed. That she had scored an adoring significant other. But the guys had bailed immediately after nailing her, energizing her secret insecurities and activating pure devastation. Nowadays, she admired gorgeous males from afar and pretended she appreciated being single. Sometimes she even believed it.