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)
“You...find me handsome then?” In that moment, he wanted this female to like him. A dream destined to go unfulfilled. “Or perhaps you meant you can’t wait to crack my spine.”
There was something in the core of his being that only Chaos and the other Astra could tolerate. A fact Roux had accepted long ago. He doubted Blythe would have favored him as a compatriot even if her consort still lived.
“Put it this way, Astra,” she rasped, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You’re a first edition, and I’m a highly motivated collector with cash to burn.”
He had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Thoughts left his head and gathered behind his zipper.
“Astra,” she repeated with a frown. Her head tilted to the side, as if she were trying to work out a puzzle. She muttered, “Astra, Astra, Astra. Laban.” Her frown deepened. “Invasion. Betrayal. Ation. Wraith. Roux.” Her lids dropped, slitting.
Roux lunged in her direction, hoping to prevent what came next. Too late. She swiped and ducked, avoiding capture. He stumbled back with blood trickling down his side.
“Five,” she snapped. Then she gasped, the organ falling from her clasp. She rubbed the ruby while wobbling on her feet. “I remember the rest now. Hatred. Weakening. Sleeping. I’m going to kill—” Eyelids sliding shut, she crumpled.
He caught her before she landed, clutching her to his chest. As he carried her to the bed, his inhalations came in quick succession. She was just so soft. So sweet. With such an incredible scent.
Reluctant, he placed her onto the bed and retreated to his seat by the fire, where he sharpened the already sharp dagger once again. And once again, his gaze remained glued to her.
Anticipation slithered through him. What would the she-beast do next?
* * *
Bright lights flipped on inside Blythe’s head, bringing instant clarity. Laban. Invasion. Betrayal. Ation. Wraith. Roux. Flirting. Hatred. Weakening. Sleeping. Strengthening. Destroying the song once and for all. Waking. Committing murder—soon. Yep, all her memories were accounted for.
With a hiss, she popped open her eyelids and jolted upright, freeing her buzzing wings from confinement. She perched on an ultrasoft mattress, and she wore a clean, transparent nightgown. A spacious bedroom filled with amazingly detailed furniture surrounded her. The scent of cedarwood and spiced oranges saturated candle-lit air. Night had come. Roux sat by a crackling hearth, a pile of weapons scattered about his feet. He was as still as a statue but wide awake and staring at her, squeezing daggers in a white-knuckled grip. It would have been creepy if it hadn’t been so sexy.
His intensity clashed with her rage—and gained ground. From wild inferno to dying spark she went. A cloud of smoke lifted from her mind, revealing a waiting revelation. Night had come. Hours had passed. Time she’d spent sleeping, vulnerable to attack while her greatest enemy hovered nearby. Oh, the horror!
Blythe ran her tongue over her teeth. Harpies only slept with their consorts, yes, but this didn’t count. It couldn’t. Like Roux had said, she’d been recovering from a near death experience. Because of him. Go ahead and slice.
Reason abandoned her. She didn’t care that Penelope had taken possession of her firstone dagger and nothing Blythe did today would cause permanent damage to the Astra. Attack!
Unleashing a war shriek, she hurled herself at the blond giant. Swipe. She clawed out his throat. Tit for trach. “One,” she said, holding up her prize. New body part, fresh start.
He didn’t tense or gasp. Healing in record time, barely even bleeding on his chair, he set his daggers aside with slow precision. His yellow irises spun with striations of magenta, gray, and russet. There was no hint of red, despite the violence of the moment.
Her rage roiled on and on and on. Except, now there was something else mixed with it. Something hot she couldn’t identify.
He arched a brow. “Foreplay?”
Argh! “Absolutely not.” She tossed the bloody mess in his face. Crimson splattered his skin. Somehow it looked good on him. “I’m a vicious killer.” To prove it, she leaped onto his lap and attacked him with renewed force.
He let her do it. “For the record, vicious killers don’t have to tell their victims they are vicious killers.”
He was teasing her right now? “I will rain a thousand deaths upon your head!”
The beating continued.
“Are you done, she-beast?” he asked, almost sounding bored.
Oh, how she hated him! Hated, hated, hated. “I’m only beginning, wretch.” Blythe whaled on him with every ounce of force at her disposal, put her all in the blow. When that failed to satisfy, she shredded his shirt. His flesh.
Rather than protect any part of himself, he petted her hair. What the—She failed to land her next blow and swiped only air.
“There, there,” he said. Another stroke of his fingers through her tresses, and she failed to land her next three blows.