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)
He stumbled to a halt as soon as he clocked her identity. “You.” The arm with the hammer fell to his side, as if too heavy to hold up. “You’re the wench with my father.”
She winced and waved. “Hi. The name is Neeka the... Wanted.” The boy looked like he’d been shoved through a wringer and beaten with a stick. What had he suffered to get here? For that matter, how had he gotten here? “Your dad and I are friends.” They were, weren’t they? Rathbone was tough but fair, insistent but generous. At least he was with her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in hiding out with your grandmother?”
Maximus bared his teeth. “I came to meet my father, and that’s what I’ll do. I won’t be stopped. Not by you. Not by anyone!”
“Hey,” she said, showing him her hands, palms out, “I won’t stop such a laudable endeavor. Do you know what that means? Laudable?” She was going to rock being a stepmother. “Why don’t I take you to him?” Rathbone would be over the moon!
As the kid’s eyes brightened, she added, “Here’s the thing. If you pat my rear or compliment my boobs, I will break your face. Understand?”
“I understand it’s Tuesday,” he remarked, regaining his former sass. “Why are you wearing a top?”
“Hey! You don’t speak to your future stepmother with that mouth.” She jammed her fists on her hips. “How did you escape Hera?”
“What? Like it was hard.”
Were the two males really clones? Because wow. Neeka—hot prickles seared her nape, a sensation she knew well. Tension descended from her head to her toes, turning her muscles into stone. Ahdán neared.
Heart jumping, she withdrew two daggers from their sheaths. Scanning the area, she told Maximus, “Listen up, kid. Run as fast as you can. The palace is beyond the thicket. Shout for your father and tell him the oracle’s ex-husband is here.” She didn’t need Rathbone’s help; she just needed the boy safe.
Maximus nodded and shot toward the thicket, but he stopped before reaching the foliage and gaped upward. Ahdán hovered in the sky, flapping wings of fire. The flames spread to his entire body, turning the surrounding area into a smoke-filled oven.
Neeka groaned. She wouldn’t emerge unscathed from the coming battle, that much she comprehended. “Go!” she shouted, waving Maximus on. He did not obey. Argh! To Ahdán, she called, “Here for another round of divorce court, baby?”
“Here to settle this between us once and for all, wife.”
“You’re planning to die permanently then?”
Her ex threw back his head, releasing what must be his “power squawk.” Smiling with icy delight, he revealed a syringe in his hand. A snippet she’d heard in the Hall of Secrets teased her mind...
Give her the remaining doses at once. If she dies, she dies. If she survives, she’ll be able to withstand your fire and you can bed her anytime you wish.
Dread slapped Neeka. Ahdán intended to force her metamorphosis to Phoenix or kill her, and all it’d take was a single needle prick. Oh...crap.
28
Rathbone awoke with a jolt. Something is wrong. The knowledge burned through any vestiges of slumber, bringing instant clarity. He was in his bedroom, and Neeka was gone.
He pursed his lips. Where was she? Was her absence the source of the problem? Had he grown accustomed to having her cuddled in his arms after a single night?
He flashed to his feet and dressed. Sunlight streamed through the balcony window, highlighting a chamber he once believed he’d designed for Lore. She might have liked the gold furnishings, but she would’ve disdained the vivid color scheme, preferring a plainer palette. As she’d proven, she lacked the taste to appreciate the intricacy of the mosaic. If he’d truly known the goddess—the version of her she’d pretended to be, at least—he would’ve realized this space reflected his tastes...and Neeka’s.
Had he understood he belonged with the harpy, even before he’d met her?
As he flashed throughout the palace, on the hunt, eager to see her, to speak with her, to be near her and breathing her in, he imagined her redecorating every room to her specifications. Possessiveness grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go. Not just directed at the female herself, but the future they could—would—have together. He couldn’t wait to have pink walls, unnecessary beaded pillows, and velvet recliners she’d never allow him to utilize.
The scent of sweet almonds and tart cherries drew him closer and closer. Muscles heated and hardened as he tracked her outside. A waft of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he stiffened. Fire? My female is in danger.
Rathbone balled his fists, urgency lashing him. He flashed into the cloud of gloom, materializing as a bird, scanning every direction at once. He squawked a denial. Neeka and Maximus, who lunged to strike at her ex. The very warrior Rathbone had killed on day one. The ill-timed and poorly executed assault failed, allowing the Phoenix to deliver a strike of his own. Neeka threw herself in front of the boy, taking the blow. Soot now streaked her breastplate.