The Warlord

by Gena Showalter

  Silver Stilbon, the Fiery One, was a merciless metalworker, with an ability to read hundreds of minds at the same time. Though it cost him dearly.

  Roux Pyroesis, the Crazed One, was their torture master. The horrors his broken mind cooked up for their foes... Roc shuddered.

  Some men had a moral compass. The Astra Planeta lost theirs long ago.

  —How much did the prisoners protest their new accommodations?—Roc asked.

  —They screamed insults, vowed to wipe out our entire familial line and clawed Roux’s face when he stepped too close to the bars, so nothing out of the ordinary.—

  He sighed as he eased onto his newest throne. The women would act as an insurance policy, keeping Taliyah tied to the palace.

  —I have a job for you, brother. I told my bride that we’ll be eating dinner in an hour. Therefore, you must plan and prepare a dinner. In less than an hour, in case that part wasn’t clear.—

  Ian sputtered for a moment. —Your black heart is showing. You know that, right?—

  —Make it a feast. I wouldn’t host anything less.—

  Grumbling filled his head before the connection dropped.

  Roc loved his men, but he loved his brother. Teasing him provided endless entertainment.

  He and Ian were sons of Dawn and Dusk, both born at the moment night crashed into day. Mostly ignored by their parents, they’d spent their days with Aurora and Twila.

  Raised by unconcerned, often cruel nannies, the siblings learned to rely only on each other.

  After Dawn and Dusk had sold the girls, Roc had been racked with more guilt and rage than any man could bear, much less a little boy. He’d frothed at the injustice, the helplessness, desperate for change. The moment Chaos entered the picture, he’d gotten his wish.

  At first, Roc hadn’t just despised the god. He’d despised the god as much as Dawn and Dusk. The male had touted daily beatings, endless trials and constant battles as training. The moment Roc defeated his first opponent, however, he’d understood the god’s methods. Hardness bred strength. The stronger you were, the less you lost.

  Never, for the rest of eternity, would Roc be weak, unable to protect and defend what belonged to him.

  Ian’s voice cut into his musings.

  —I have an army of chefs installed in the kitchen. Your bride will have her feast.—He paused before asking, —You reacted to the harpy a bit strongly, eh?—

  His mouth turned down at the corners. —What do you mean?—

  —You’re going to make me say it? Very well. Your hard-on nearly busted your leathers open.—

  —It did, didn’t it?—Wasn’t like he could deny it. —That kiss...won’t happen again.—Taliyah’s virginity didn’t just purchase Roc a weapon. Her untouched state prevented Erebus from receiving it.

  Any and every loss came with consequences of the worst kind.

  In all his years as leader, Roc had only parted with a lone weapon. The Blade of Destiny. A dagger able to cut into the threads of fate, helping the wielder advance his agenda. The forfeit rankled even now.

  Roc wasn’t sure how Erebus had used the blade against him throughout the centuries; he only knew the god had used it.

  He drummed his claws into the arms of the throne, a habit he’d developed since coming to Harpina, and cast his voice into Silver’s head. —How is the chastity belt coming?—

  Oh, yes. He planned to lock Taliyah in a belt by morning.

  He’d lost the Blade of Destiny when Erebus sneaked in and secretly slept with his bride. The male could’ve killed her instead, as he’d attempted to do to so many others, but he hadn’t. He’d allowed Roc to complete his task, discovering the truth after her death.

  At the time, Roc hadn’t understood the man’s motivation for such an act. Why settle for half when you had the means to enjoy the whole? Only later had the answer become crystal clear. Erebus wanted Roc defeated—but only after he’d ensured his misery.

  Now Roc kept his brides in belts. As soon as Silver finished fitting the device to her species-specific strengths, she would sport one.

  How would Taliyah react when Roc sealed her up?

  And once again, he shot harder than steel. His blood heated, his every nerve pulsing with arousal.

  —How do you feel about lemon tartlets?—

  Roc focused on his brother’s ridiculous question and inhaled. Exhaled. Some of his tension ebbed, but not all. Not even close.

  —Do you want to lose your tongue, brother?—

  Ian laughed, a nice sound to hear today of all days. —You seem on edge. Shall I flash your concubine directly onto your lap?—

  He pinched the bridge of his nose before grudgingly admitting, —I’ll be...seeing to myself this month. I gave my word.—

  His brother laughed harder. —You’ll want to tell the concubines you have no need of their services, of course.—

  Not particularly. Why bother? Concubines signed on for two hundred and fifty years of service, traveling the realms with the warlords. They were free to bed whomever they desired. Partners changed often.

  A grinning Ian appeared mere feet away. Like Roc, he’d removed his helmet, revealing long black hair, light brown skin covered in alevala, and black eyes that looked like stars anchored in an abyss. He stepped to the side and swept out his arm. The concubines appeared in unison.

  Roc glared at the scourge before focusing on the women. They were an array of sizes, colors and species, dressed in everything from tank tops and panties to formal gowns. Some of the concubines were in the midst of a conversation, others in the middle of some kind of action. As soon as they realized they’d been flashed—a common occurrence among the Astra—they quieted.

  Spotting him, they curtsied and awaited his command.

  In a mimic of him, Ian arched a brow. —Do you think your concubine looks like someone we know? A certain bride, perhaps?—

  He looked to the elf he’d chosen last year, mere weeks after visiting Harpina for the first time. Tall and slender, with long blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin. Frowning, he said, —I don’t see it.—Taliyah commanded attention. She...was here? He sniffed. Did he smell frostberries?

  Was she able to flash?

  He leaped to his feet, his hands fisted. Ian caught his aggression and palmed a three-blade. A minute passed in silence. Two. Taliyah never materialized, and his frown deepened.

  Roc shifted to the right. Had the fragrance of frostberries grown stronger in this area? It must have; he heated, his body suddenly determined to warm her. But again, the female never appeared.

  Had his shirt picked up her scent when she’d rubbed against him?

  He scowled and faced his elf...whatever her name was. “For the next thirty days, you aren’t to enter my room. Or approach me. Just stay away entirely.”

  Not the least bit bothered, she curtsied, saying, “Yes, Commander. Your every whim is my greatest desire.”

  He nodded with irritation. Which irritated him further. All of their so-called conversations flowed in this direction: he spoke, she agreed, and that was that, just the way he liked it. No part of him wished she would call his bluff.

  “Just...return them to their quarters,” he instructed Ian.

  Ian huffed before sending the females away. “How are you able to ruin my fun so quickly?” he asked before vanishing.

  Roc walked to a tall, arching windowpane bordered by stained glass and surveyed Harpina. The palace overlooked a garden maze filled with bushes and statues of past Generals. A meteorite graced the center. With it, he would construct Taliyah’s altar.

  Beyond the garden, in the center of the market courtyard, a massive tree bloomed with red flowers, shading every shop.

  When he’d first arrived, the streets had brimmed with chatty females going about their day. Now those streets were empty, his men stationed behind the wa
ll. By sunset, patrols would march about town.

  The scent of frostberries had faded, he realized with a jolt. Meaning, he didn’t carry the perfume on his clothing. Meaning...what? Taliyah was nearby, watching and listening?

  What ability did she wield? Was Taliyah here, casting an illusion of invisibility, as only the strongest of snakeshifters could do? If he could catch her...

  Excitement—

  —Commander?—

  —crashed. Roc sighed. He knew Roux requested an audience. The hunt for Taliyah must wait.

  —You may enter.—He glanced over his shoulder, nodding at Roux in greeting when the warlord appeared. A beast with pale hair, golden skin, and yellow eyes with striations of pink, gray and brown—until his temper sparked and red took over. He gripped a kneeling wolfshifter by the hair. The beast held on to Roux’s wrists with razor-sharp claws, but he didn’t fight.

  Well. The wolf had figured out the strategy to possibly surviving an encounter with the Astra: remain calm.

  Roux muttered something about seeing and not seeing a woman, his gaze darting for a moment. Though he appeared somewhat crazed, he was the most intelligent Astra. Too intelligent. The way his brilliant mind worked often staggered everyone else.

  Once he’d figured out whatever mystery currently plagued him, the muttering would cease.

  Unlike other Astra, Roux didn’t possess moving alevala outside of battle. In fact, his alevala did the opposite. For some reason, the images moved only during battle.

  Face-to-face, Roc preferred speech to thought. “You’ve brought me a present?”

  “Yes.”

  Roux must have caught the shifter attempting to free the harpies from their cell.

  Wolves were a dangerous species. The essence of their beasts rose from their bodies, like a demon exiting a host, the thick shadow transposing itself over their features.

  “He’s a consort, I’m sure.” Roc faced the window again, peering out. Perhaps he’d keep this world after Taliyah’s death. “Put him with—”

  “What do you plan to do with the harpies?” the shifter demanded, cutting Roc off. “Tell me! They are—”

  Without turning his head a second time, Roc palmed the small crossbow sheathed at his side, extended his arm and nailed the male in the center of his throat, severing his vocal cords. Then he turned his head, his body following the new direction at a slower pace.

  As the shifter gasped for air he could no longer catch, his face darkened to a deep purple. Blood leaked from his mouth.

  “Had you let me finish speaking,” Roc calmly explained, “you would have heard me instruct my warlord to put you in the cell next to the harpies.”

  He watched, uncaring, as the wolf fell over, twitched, then sagged onto the floor.

  To protect your people, you maintained order. To maintain order, you took decisive action. Exactly as he’d done since dispensing with his first bride. Precisely what he’d do in thirty days.

  He met Roux’s gaze. “Before you return to the prisons, display his head on the front lawn.”

  * * *

  Roc ain’t here to mess around. He’s here to murder brides and slay wolves. And he’s all out of wolves.

  Taliyah gaped at the male she’d married. She’d entered the throne room with just enough time to scope out a couple of the concubines. Then he’d murdered someone’s consort without a shred of remorse—without even looking at the guy—because of an interruption. No, he’d struck because the shifter had disrespected him.

  Honor and respect mattered to Alaroc to an insane degree. And his power...

  Am I turned on by the thought of besting him...or by the man himself? Because hello, exhilaration. Her veins fizzed like never before.

  She had no business desiring the dude who planned to kill her. The “monster” who’d already conquered her world and imprisoned her people.

  Floating closer, she studied him more intently. He remained alert, his eyes brightening. Something had excited him, too. The kill? Or something else?

  What would the brutal male do next?

  What would she do?

  Alaroc wandered about the throne room, silent. Ugh. Did he have to move so seductively? Muscles flexed. Despite his incredible size, his motions remained as fluid as water.

  Again and again, he switched directions, closing in on her, as if he sensed her. Wait. What if he sensed her?

  To gauge his reaction, she gathered her resolve and walked through the warlord. Upon contact, he grunted and planted his feet.

  Oh, yes. He sensed her. Did he suspect the truth of her origins?

  A minute passed. Two. He scanned the room, looking past her. His excitement remained. Well. That answered that. If he suspected the truth, he would project hatred.

  Finally, he gave his beard a couple of strokes and flashed.

  Where had he gone now? Did it really matter? In thirty minutes, he’d be in the dining hall. Why not join him? The man clearly enjoyed a type, his concubine basically Taliyah’s doppelganger. She could resume her inquisition. He was too smug to guard his words. If she asked nicely enough, he might even tell her where he kept a key to the duplicate realm.

  Another win for the bride.

  Her exhilaration redoubled, keeping her usual dissatisfaction at bay as she raced to the bedroom reserved for special guests. There, a closet overflowed with garments of every size and type.

  My honey had a hard day at work, overtaking a realm. He deserves a delicious meal and a gorgeous companion at his side.

  “You can’t surprise me, Taliyah,” she mocked, brushing her fingertips over sheer silk. Watch me, warlord.

  7

  Roc sat at the harpy General’s table, in the harpy General’s hand-carved chair, his plate piled high with the harpy General’s food. The scent of roasted meat, butter-drenched vegetables and freshly squeezed lemons saturated the air.

  Colorful tapestries decorated the walls, depicting General Nissa’s victories, of which there’d been many. Those tapestries hung alongside cases displaying the skulls of her enemies. Vases and other ornaments sparkled in the light, each piece adorned with precious gems. The table itself was molded from solid gold. The floor possessed a pearlescent sheen. A room fit for the most beloved of queens.

  Would Taliyah show up?

  Anticipation shaped his every breath, honing molecules of air into razors, slicing at his calm. Because he had questions for his lovely bride, and the strength to insist on answers, not for any other reason.

  Three Astra occupied seats at the other end of the table. Halo, Silver and Ian. Roux had chosen to remain with the prisoners, social occasions often too difficult for him to navigate.

  “Is this supposed to be a celebration? Very well. To Roc and his new bride.” Halo lifted a goblet of mead, his eyes aglow as yellow, green and brown striations revolved around his irises. Over the years, the stubborn male with unflappable calm had proved to be an excellent second. There was no task he couldn’t complete in record time, no man he couldn’t break when the occasion arose. “May her death bring us new life.”

  Silver lifted a goblet, as well. “May she accept what she cannot change and never change what she cannot accept.” Roughly the same height as Roc, he possessed long black hair, bronze skin and eyes like mirrors. A scar bisected his left brow.

  The last one raised his goblet in solidarity. Roc merely bobbed his head once. As much as he loved these men, he rarely joined in their fun. At any time, any Astra had the right to challenge his rule. A battle would then take place. Whoever won earned the Commander’s helmet. If the loser survived, he received the bottom rank. A position none wanted.

  Ian, who sat at the foot of the table, proclaimed, “Five minutes past the hour.” He tsk-tsked. “The way the harpy challenged our fearless leader made me believe she would join us.”

  Same. Roc shot his gaze
to the double doors. Hopefully they would open any moment...

  He gnashed his molars.

  Earlier, as he’d stalked his prey through the throne room, he’d confirmed his suspicion. Taliyah cast an illusion of invisibility. Twice he’d brushed against her cold skin. Thrice he’d felt the graze of her hand on his body.

  What other illusions could she cast? What other abilities did she wield? Could she mesmerize with a glance, as so many snakes attempted? Could she tempt a man beyond reason? She must. Despite their separation, his veins burned hotter.

  Tone curious, Halo asked, “What do you think harpy history books will say about us in a hundred years?”

  Silver, the most cynical of the bunch, hiked his shoulders. “That we kill for entertainment, care about little and disregard the suffering of others.”

  “So the truth for once?” Ian deadpanned.

  Throughout the ages, many stories had been written about the Astra Planeta. Most were told by embittered descendants of those they’d conquered, the tales twisted. Many immortals believed the Astra to be extinct, bested by lesser beings like Cronus, Zeus and Ares. Please. Those so-called gods never ascended to a higher level, far too busy playing with mortals to care about power.

  His lip curled with disdain. Nothing matters more than ascension.

  With his next ascension, he would graduate from the blessing and curse. For his first deed, he would kill Erebus once and for all. Afterward, Roc would wed for real and experience peace for the first time in his existence.

  Until then, the cycle churned on. The Astra created realms at will and destroyed worlds as warranted, their conquests legion. And if Taliyah didn’t join them for dinner, she wouldn’t eat! Roc wouldn’t pander to her, just because he intended to kill her. He’d never done so with his other brides, and he wouldn’t start now.

  He glanced at the double doors before lifting his fork to his mouth with an angry swipe. The dish, whatever it was, had a decent flavor but—His ears twitched. He straightened with a snap. Did he hear the click-clack of a woman’s footfalls?