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)
His fingers flexed, his grip tightening. “You think you stopped me from doing anything that day? No, she-beast. You might be a warrior, but you did nothing. I’d already stopped myself. I spotted her. Was in the process of drawing back. Then you appeared. I would never harm a child. Never.”
Maybe true, maybe false. But it changed nothing, the damage already done. “You know what? I’ll go ahead and answer your original query.” She ignored the heat of his hands. The only source of warmth as cold wind whipped her water-dotted flesh. Rejected the decadence of his scent. Overlooked the delicious awakening of his body beneath hers. “I left her because you gave me no other choice. To allow you to live is a far greater insult to her.”
A firm shake of his head. “You lie to yourself. Your choice is always your choice.”
The response only fueled the fires of her rage.
Rage? No hatred this time? She jolted, surprised. Must be a mistake. But...nope. No mistake. The link to Penelope was closed. But, but...why wasn’t Blythe’s hatred engaged?
“All right, Warden. I’ve had my hand on you long enough.” One by one, she plucked her claws loose, desperate to be free of this male. “Consider today’s obligation met.”
Disgusted with herself, she stood and swiped up her dress. Working the material over her head, she scanned the area for any hint of a wraith. Another citizen of Ation. Someone! But no. A wasted trip then.
“Blythe,” Roux rasped, sounding even more forlorn than when they’d first arrived.
“No. Take me back to the palace. We’re done for the day.”
Bargain: Day 3
Roux castigated himself for ever mentioning Isla to Blythe. He’d ruined a peaceful, informative, and sensually charged interlude. A mistake he wouldn’t make again.
He arranged dinner on the desk and claimed his usual seat. “Come here and eat.” His tone registered, and he cringed. Perhaps he should be nicer?
The harphantom kept her back to him. Currently, she crouched in a window, her feet resting on the bottom ledge. Despite the windstorm whipping locks of that sleek black hair in every direction, she remained perfectly balanced. At ease but not.
She’d perched there most of the day, peering out at the surrounding village. Ignoring him. Searching for a way to escape him?
Only two nights remained until the tournament kicked off and their bargain reached its completion. There would be no more touches. No more brief moments of comradery. No other charged Q and A’s.
Could he bring himself to shackle the grieving widow again?
“Come here and eat,” he repeated softly.
“Not hungry,” she muttered.
He sighed, a common occurrence lately. She hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, either. Should he force the issue?
In the end, he merely picked at the food and watched her. Always he watched her, his desire for her only ever worsening. And now that he’d clasped her tiny waist in his hands, he thought of little else.
His fingers constantly jerked in remembrance. His skin rarely ceased tingling, and his blood always burned white-hot. The ensuing steam caused his muscles to bulge and the alevala to jump. He relished and resented every sensation.
If only he could travel back in time and spare her consort. The harphantom would hate him no longer. But even in this impossible fantasy, Roux had no chance with her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face as a familiar scream echoed inside his head. Last night, he’d searched his mind for the escapee. A failed expedition: he’d found no one out of place. No hint of an illicit—or secret—presence. But whoever it was only seemed to make himself known when Roux dealt with his feelings for Blythe. Which made him wonder...
What if he had absorbed the consort? Or, if not the consort himself, perhaps a part of Blythe’s grief over the male’s loss. No telling what was left behind when her spirit tore free of Roux’s. It was only fair, he supposed, since she’d taken some of his memories.
Outside, the sun began its swift descent, the light in the room dimming. Soon candles, torches, and the hearth blazed to life. The same thing had happened each evening, compliments of some sorceress’s enchantment. He’d noticed the citizens of Ation used both magic and technology to see to their needs.
In a sudden burst of movement, Blythe hopped backward, landing on her feet inside the room. She pivoted on her heels and tripped his way, crying, “What’s happening? My feet won’t stop moving.”
He jerked with realization. He should have expected this. “Fighting will do you no good. The vow compels you.”
Her eyes widened. His heart thudded. As she neared, he ripped off his shirt and swiped the food from the desk. Perfect timing. She climbed over the surface on all fours and slapped her hands on his pectorals. The softness! The connection!
Animalistic noises brewed on the back of his tongue, vibrating in his chest. The pleasure he’d experienced before? Nothing compared to this. His sensitized nerve endings hummed with relief for the first time since she’d last touched him.