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)
“Yes!” he and Isla shouted in unison when Blythe dodged Lucca’s strike while swinging a sword she hadn’t held a moment ago. Suddenly the harpy’s head flew across the arena, minus her body.
His jaw dropped as realization dawned. Somehow, she’d misted the weapon without misting herself, hiding it from view. Not something he could do. Pride flooded him.
Carrigan bellowed her rage and anguish, wings bursting from her back as the headless body hit the sand, spurting blood. Flap, flap. Those wings produced a gale force that knocked the harphantom to the other side of the arena. As Blythe came to her feet, the Phoenix strolled forward, hips swaying.
“You will pay for what you did to Lucca. One life for another.” Without a pause in her step, Carrigan held up a dagger. Flames spread over her hand. The hilt. The blade. Metal melted, dripping down her arm.
A curse exploded in Roux’s head. The trinite blade, hidden beneath the metal now hardening over her flesh. Beware of the monster underground. Hello, monster.
The Phoenix had never found a way out, had she? Instead, she’d hoped to trick Blythe into trusting and sparing the harpy, allowing Carrigan to end the harphantom without much of a battle.
No wonder the worst of Blythe’s wounds had yet to heal. If the Phoenix sank that blade into the harpy’s heart...
At his knees, his claws cut through his leathers. His skin. Muscle. The tips embedded in bone.
“Well, well,” Blythe said without fear. “Aren’t you the tricky one? I’m going to enjoy burying you in a grave of your own making.”
“As final words,” the Phoenix replied, “those are pretty terrible. Care to try again?”
“I’d rather show you my final words.”
Both Blythe and Carrigan picked up speed, jogging...running...sprinting at each other. Slammed together. Exchanged blows and sprang to their feet. Ducked and dodged. Moved at speeds he struggled to track. He knew when Blythe attempted to ghost inside Carrigan because she bounced back.
The Phoenix possessed a block, similar to Roux’s, though surely not as strong. Bet she’d paid a witch good money for hers. Too bad it wouldn’t save her in the end.
“Do you think we can stop for donuts or something on the way home?” Isla asked him, her calm unshakable. “Momma loves sweets.”
“Victory first, home second, sweets third.” How he maintained a composed facade, he might never know. The combatants fought on with skill and cunning, and completely without mercy.
Isla wiggled in her seat. “Have you talked to your secret prisoner yet?”
He stiffened. Of all the topics to bring up... “I have not.”
“You should.”
He wouldn’t ask if that secret prisoner happened to be her father. He refused to get her hopes up, just in case he was wrong. Please be wrong.
“I knew you brought a child here!” Penelope’s gasp hit his ears, and he growled. The wraith hovered off to the side, staring at Isla as if she’d finally found her holy grail.
Isla regarded the spectral without fear. “Who are you?”
“She is our chosen one. Our key. Give her to me.” The wraith jerked her attention to him. “Give her to me now, Astra, or I drain your gravita.”
Chosen one? Key? He knew of no such lore among the wraiths. Especially considering a young phantom-goddess from Chaos and Erebus’s line.
A cry of distress rose from the battlefield, claiming his focus. He swallowed a roar. A pale Blythe stumbled, without taking a blow. She was being drained right this second. He leaped to his feet, grating, “The girl is mine. So is the mother. You will keep our bargain, wraith, or I will—”
“What?” Penelope demanded. “Time is running out, Astra. You can have mother or child, but not both.”
“I don’t like you,” Isla remarked easily.
“Kill her, kill her, kill her,” the councilmembers chanted.
“Last chance,” the wraith spat at him. “I’ll do it. I’ll let your woman die.”
Rage boiled in his chest as Blythe wobbled on her feet. “Mistake, wraith.” He might not be able to touch her, but he could reclaim what was his. He flipped a switch in his mind, and the hatred she’d stolen in her nightly feedings—what she hadn’t burned through—ripped free of her, slamming into him.
Suddenly Penelope was hit by weakness. Her mask of beauty slipped, revealing the skeletal creature beneath. Another underground monster unearthed.
Too late. Laughing, the Phoenix cut Blythe’s throat with a brutal slash of trinite as she spun—the roar barreled from Roux as one of Carrigan’s fiery wings sliced through the harpy’s belly, cauterizing the edges of the wound at the same time, slowing the healing process.
As Blythe dropped, hitting her knees, the Phoenix executed another spin, clearly intending to use the other blazing appendage to remove her head. But Blythe misted in and out again, avoiding the blow.
Penelope bellowed, rallying. “You think this stops me? Say your goodbyes to your gravita, Astra.”
Breath congealed in his throat as Blythe shot to her feet. She punched the Phoenix, nothing more, but Carrigan wheeled back as if she’d been gutted. A bright gleam of red glittered from her throat as she toppled. The ruby! It had come off the harpy, who had adhered it to the Phoenix. Now Penelope had no idea she drained Blythe’s competition.