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)
Her brow furrowed, as if he’d asked an unanswerable question. “Why would I be afraid of you? I’m, like, a powerful goddess or whatever.”
Yes, he supposed she was. “Does your mother know about this party for—”
“Nope,” she interjected, so much like Blythe he figured he’d be losing another kidney before this ended.
Where was Blythe? What was she doing? Yesterday afternoon, mere days after Halo’s triumph, she’d come to Roux’s bedroom. He knew she had. He’d caught a waft of her delectable fragrance—mixed with her father’s. But neither individual had appeared, or challenged him. Or approached him since. He thought he might, perhaps, miss the female.
Isla pushed a cup toward him, the action smooth. “I know your secret.”
“Impossible. I have no secrets.” He concealed nothing from the Astra, and they concealed nothing from him. Halo had even known about this tea party before Roux.
Apparently, this was his twenty-something time to attend it. Not that he remembered any but this one. The others had taken place during Halo’s blessing task. A challenge involving a repeating day, a mystical weapon in the form of a harpy-nymph, and twelve Herculean labors. Roux recalled only the final day of the challenge—when the tea party had not occurred.
He should have avoided it today, too. He didn’t belong in a chamber like this. He didn’t belong anywhere near a child. Any child. Especially the daughter of his victim. His past was too violent, his future expected to be much worse.
He sighed and met the girl’s gaze. Her mismatched eyes lacked the mischievous sparkle so many other harpy children possessed. A somber air cloaked her. My fault.
He deflated. “Why don’t we discuss your father?” Roux would issue an apology. Something! “There is much I—”
“No.” The flat denial forbade further comment on the subject. Her irises flashed black, reminding him of her mother. Little pink nails sharpened into ebony claws.
Different parts of his torso constricted. Very well. “You were telling me about my secret?”
“Yep.” She took a sip of her tea, then added a heaping spoonful of sugar. “It’s pretty terrible—for you.”
He drained his cup, simply to have something to do, surprised to detect no toxins in the liquid. “Enlighten me. Please,” he added.
As she daintily added more sugar to the pot and poured him more of the already too-sweet liquid, she said, “You won’t believe me.”
No, probably not. He drained his second cup. “Tell me anyway. That is why I’m here, is it not?”
“It is.” She propped her elbows on the coffee table, rested her chin in her hands, and stared at him. “You’re hiding a prisoner in your mind. Even from the other prisoners. Even from yourself!”
He double blinked. How did she know about his prisoners? Unless...
A roar nearly erupted from him. “You visited the dungeon in my mind while you and your mother inhabited my body?” Had seen the spirits trapped inside his head?
“Yep,” she repeated, remaining as calm as could be. “By the way, you are super weird. Probably the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But I’m thinking of opening a mind dungeon of my own. Any tips?”
“Yes. Don’t do it. And I hide no one, especially from myself.” He remained keenly aware of every inmate. Didn’t he? He might have forgotten who and what they were, might have failed to capture and reimprison the escapee, but he sensed their presence.
“You totally do,” she said, and how confident she sounded. How gleeful.
“Who is it, then?”
“I’m not telling.” Her focus returned to the tea. “I promised I’d keep his identity to myself, and I never break my promises unless I want to.”
She’d offered a clue, at least. This supposed secret prisoner was male. And there was a single reason she’d want to guard his identity. She knew him.
If circumstances were different, Roux might believe he’d absorbed her father, the manticore. But circumstances weren’t different and—Wait. “Did you speak with this prisoner?” The second the terseness of his tone registered, he inwardly cursed. Fragile little girl. Do better.
She added another dollop of sugar to the teapot, then poured more liquid into her cup and sampled the result. “Mmm. It’s perfect now. Care for more, Mr. R?”
“No, thank you,” he grated. “Why tell me about the prisoner without revealing his identity?”
Again, she flipped up her gaze. This time, she grinned, and in all the centuries of his life, no one had ever appeared more diabolical. An expression she’d inherited from her mother? “Now you’ll search for him. Hopefully, you’ll find him sooner rather than later. I’m eager for the two of you to chat.”
He didn’t know what to say. This must be a trick. Her version of revenge. A way to torment him with a supposition or distraction. She’d all but admitted it! So, no. He wouldn’t visit the dungeon to locate this supposed prisoner and solve the alleged mystery.