The Warlord

by Gena Showalter

  He groaned.

  “Did I forget to mention it’s Topless Tuesday?” She wiggled out of the shirt and tossed it in his direction.

  He caught the garment with ease. As he stared at her, hard, she lay on the flat surface of the meteorite, stretching out.

  “Ah. Much better.”

  “Taliyah...”

  “What? I’m developing my wing-pinner tan line. A constant reminder to turn you down when I turn you on.”

  Did a muscle jump under his eye? “Put the shirt on before you burn.” He tossed the garment back to her.

  Taliyah caught it, smiled and threw the stupid thing over the other side of the meteorite. “The shirt stays off. It’s a million degrees out here and someone conveniently forgot to give his precious captive a bra. So, I think we both know this is a sorry-not-sorry situation for you. Complain one more time, and the pants go, too.”

  He unleashed a series of caveman-style grunts, but he said nothing else.

  “Tell me more about the blessing, and I’ll behave,” she said. “But only as long as you’re talking. Just so we’re clear.”

  She expected another refusal. Instead, he told her, “After the Astra ascended the first time, one after the other, we had a choice. Remain as we were, never gaining new power, or enter a door to great suffering and greater heights.”

  “A literal door?”

  “Yes. It appeared before us. We don’t know who made it, how or why, but it wasn’t Chaos. When we stepped through, we entered a world of darkness. We fought our way free, each killing a monster along the way. That kill decided our original rank, determining our helmets as well as our blessing task. Our rank has changed many times, depending on our performance during our battles and our tasks. Every five hundred years, we must repeat our specific task, in order of our rank, whatever it is. If we succeed, one after the other, we receive the blessing. We win every battle we fight. If even one of us fails, we’re all cursed to lose every battle.”

  That was a crap ton of pressure for each warlord to carry. “How does Erebus fit in?”

  “We’d been at war with him for centuries already. He ascended before us, and yes, he entered the door first. We couldn’t allow him to gain new power while remaining stagnant ourselves. As soon as we received our ranks, we found ourselves bound to him through the blessing and curse. He fights to complete his task—stopping us.”

  Ohhh. No wonder Roc remained confident in his ability to resist the ultimate temptation. No wonder he’d kept that tidbit hush-hush.

  Why tell her now?

  The answer marched itself into her head, and she gasped. “You’re reinforcing your first warning to me, aren’t you? Even though you’re sexual with me, something you’ve never been with another bride, you’ll kill me because I’m a phantom. That’s almost sweet of you. Know what would be sweeter? Saving everyone.”

  He flinched. “You think we didn’t try in the beginning?”

  What would she do if the situation were reversed and she fought to protect her sisters and all of harpykind?

  An easy question to answer, since she actually did fight to save all of harpykind. She would do whatever proved necessary.

  “You’ve never wanted to make yourself the sacrifice, sparing your bride?” she asked.

  “I can’t. Our first Commander attempted that.” His voice tightened. “The blade crumbled before ever making contact with him.”

  “So I can end you with a blade. Good to know.”

  He did the Astra equivalent of an eye roll—he got back to work. Chiseling once more, never glancing up.

  “What else have you attempted?” she asked.

  “Bargaining. Magic. Vows. There is nothing we haven’t tried.” He exhaled with force. “I wish there was a way.”

  Well, that was a huge first step. Definite progress. Would it help her in the end?

  “What is the Commander of the Astra going to do after he ascends again?”

  He blinked, pausing. “Enjoy peace. Start a...real family.”

  Her claws sharpened with...jealousy? Gross! She flinched. “You want peace, and you’re attracted to bloodthirsty females? Explain that.”

  “A man can’t have complicated, dueling desires?”

  He could, yes, but she thought Roc’s motivations delved deeper. “Maybe you admire strength rather than bloodthirstiness. A strong woman won’t die easily. You won’t ever have to worry about losing her.”

  He tensed but said nothing else. Because he didn’t relish a future without his gravita, even if that gravita was a phantom?

  A sudden crack of thunder boomed, shaking the garden. Frowning, she pressed the side of her hand to her forehead, shading her eyes, and scanned the area. A storm approached from the north, dark clouds sweeping across the sunny sky. Would Roc work through the rain?

  Cold blustered, wind whistling, cooling her off fast. Tossing her shirt had been a really bad idea or a really good one.

  “Have you ever lost a blessing and won a curse?” she asked, not yet ready to give up on the conversation.

  “Twice, with the two leaders before me. We were forced to hibernate, like the harpies are doing now.”

  “How does this forced hibernation work, anyway?” Another crack of thunder boomed, an icier blast of wind speeding past.

  “Astra are able to design and craft entire worlds. An original world takes centuries. A duplicate requires mere months. We can control what chemicals and gases are released into the air, where and for how long.”

  Another good thing to know. Her thoughts returned to his varying reactions to her, and she decided to switch gears. “If you aren’t letting me out of your sight, why do I need the chastity belt?” Yeah, he’d locked the stupid contraption in place, along with everything else. Another whistling wind stirred up fallen leaves as she asked, “Does someone require help resisting his magnificent phantom?”

  His chisel missed the stone and fell to the ground. He bent to pick it up, the storm clouds dancing closer, an electric charge crackling in the air.

  If he controlled chemicals and whatnot, he might control weather, too. Was Roc causing the storm?

  Someone does need help. “Say goodbye to my pants.” She stood and shimmied out of the fur-lined leather as he pretended to resume his work. Wearing only the wing-pinner and the chastity belt, she launched the leather at him.

  He caught and dropped the garment without glancing up, lightning flashing. “Must you?” he inquired with a sigh.

  “Yes, Roc, I must. I’m preparing for the wet-skin contest.” Resettling on the murder stone, she said, “Ah. That’s even better than better.”

  “You lie. You’re already freezing. Your nipples are as hard as diamonds.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  The first raindrop splashed on her belly, and she gasped. He groaned. This might not be a terrible day after all.

  * * *

  Taliyah spent the entire night tucked against Roc, warm, relaxed and utterly miserable. Her eyelids weighed as much as boulders, but she refused to sleep. Which wasn’t easy. When he’d manhandled her into bed last night, she’d anticipated another orgasm. He’d drifted off instead. With a hard-on! She’d expected his bad dreams to return and keep her awake while granting her deeper insight into his personality. But the big lug slept soundly, one arm under her nape and the other draped over her belly. Basically, the giant spoon swallowed the tiny spoon.

  What was she going to do about him?

  When the sun dawned and chased away the remnants of yesterday’s storm, she crossed another day off her mental marriage calendar.

  She needed to figure out a plan of action, fast, but a film of grogginess shrouded her mind. In this condition, she couldn’t possibly decide what to do about Roc.

  Shucking off his arms, she lumbered to an upright position, then twisted to glare down at
him. His chest! The spot over his heart had filled in.

  She leaned down to inspect...

  He slapped a hand across the writhing image and jolted from the bed. After swiping a dagger from the boot sheath he’d dropped on the floor, Roc stomped into the bathroom.

  “Drama queen,” she called.

  “Stay in bed.”

  Hardly. She followed him. “You said we had to stick together at all hours of the day and night.” Why had the alevala appeared in his skin overnight? What did he plan to do with the knife? “What kind of captive disobeys a direct order?”

  “The kind I’ve been dealing with from the beginning,” he retorted, sealing himself inside the stall and erecting two trinite posts to keep her out. It wasn’t long before the steam coated the glass, blurring his form. “Go away, Taliyah.”

  “What’s your problem?” she grumbled. “You got a good night’s sleep.”

  “I never slept. I communicated with my men. Since I’ve refused to listen to Erebus’s last two messages, he sent phantom hordes to visit my warlords every hour, telling them my stardust is genuine, you are my gravita, and they should lock me away until the day of the sacrifice.”

  “In all fairness, it is, I am, and they should.”

  “I can’t disagree. I...don’t want you dead, Taliyah.”

  Stunned, she faltered. He was falling for her. He must be.

  Mind. Blown.

  A squelching sound came from the stall. A sound she recognized. Was he removing that section of alevala?

  Her eyes widened when the metallic scent of blood wafted to her nostrils. He was. But why? What didn’t he want others to see?

  She opted not to ask him—yet. In his current mood, he’d only refuse to respond. Pick your battles.

  As she padded out of the bathroom, he called, “How are the phantoms getting past the wall, Taliyah?”

  She stopped, his flat tone sending a chill down her spine. Yesterday, she’d thought she’d made headway with him. That he’d accepted her claims of independence. At least partially. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

  “I don’t know. Want me to ask Erebus about it the next time he ambushes me?”

  A vile curse served as his answer. “How often do you need to feed?”

  The change of subject threw her, but she hurried to recover. “Usually daily. Why?”

  “Do you need to feed now?” He didn’t even try to mask the thrum of hope.

  Again, she took great satisfaction in telling him, “Nope. I promise you, I’m quite good.” Truth. Whatever she’d taken from him had done the job and then some.

  As he huffed with either relief or disappointment, Taliyah kicked into gear, leaving him to his shower. She had better things to do. Like practice removing her ring. Just for a second.

  A naked, soaking-wet Roc with a newly healed patch of skin above his heart materialized in front of her. He grabbed her and flashed her to the shower, where he removed all of her hardware before leaving her alone.

  Such an underhanded warlord. But oh, she loved being free!

  He remained in the bathroom, dressing as she soaped up and pondered what might drive him to remove an entire hunk of flesh. Guilt? He wasn’t the type. Fear? But fear of what? Embarrassment? But why?

  “What’s on today’s agenda?” she asked as she shut off the water and toweled off.

  “The same thing as yesterday.”

  Ugh. More altar-chiseling.

  “Out,” he commanded.

  “I can’t exit the stall until you remove the trinite.”

  “Why don’t I come to you?” Once again, he appeared before her. He was shirtless, wearing leathers and combat boots. The same as usual, mixed with a different expression: chilling determination.

  In his hands, he held all the metal, and an ice-blue tank with matching short shorts.

  “Hard pass,” she said, barely able to stop herself from retreating. “Metal is so last season. I’ll take the outfit, though, if you promise not to drool all over me.”

  His eyes blazed. “This is happening, Taliyah. I can’t trust you, and I can’t watch you. I’ll be busy doing other things. Accept it.”

  Never! “Want to know something? Before this, I played with the possibility of us being a team. A real one. Me and you, out to conquer the world and save everyone’s day. That is now officially off the table. Do this, and I become your enemy, our truce over for good.”

  He flinched as if she’d slugged him. He also stood his ground. “So you plan to fight me again?”

  “What do you think?”

  Though he appeared resigned, he fought her until the bitter end. Once again, he treated her like spun glass, careful not to harm her as she used him as a punching bag.

  When her hand “slipped,” cupping his shaft, he growled. She couldn’t stop this, but she could ensure he regretted it.

  After that, his hands slipped on a regular basis, lingering on her breasts, stroking between her legs. When his eyes narrowed, his breath shallowing, Taliyah knew she’d have no trouble tempting him to keep her in bed, metal-free. And she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to! But she resisted. Why reward him for a temporary freedom?

  “Took you twice as long this time, huh, baby?” Let him stew in his desires. Since she must wear his metal all day, he must deal with a steel-hard erection. She lay on the floor, panting, every shackle in place. “Either your reflexes are slowing or you can’t keep your hands off your phantom.”

  He stood over her, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. “Yesterday’s time in the sun put freckles on your nose.”

  Oookay. He’d issued the accusation as if it were a treasonous offense, leaving her sputtering for an insult. Wait. Why was she feeling defensive about this? Obviously, he liked the freckles.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” She glided to her feet and traced a claw along each of his shoulders. “Are freckles your other fetish?”

  “I have no fetishes,” he said, letting her touch him without complaint.

  “Mmm-hmm. Freckles and submission. Yours, in case that wasn’t clear.” She melted into him. “In bed, you crave a woman unafraid to demand what she wants. You want to be dominated.”

  His entire body jerked, but he didn’t deny it. “We won’t be discussing fetishes.” He latched on to her waist and flashed her to the meteorite, where he released her and gathered his tools. “Unless you’d like to dissect yours?”

  “I don’t have a fetish,” she told him, confident.

  “So you don’t get wet every time you win a challenge?”

  “I...” Did she? “What can I say? I like power.”

  No response. A familiar clink, clink, clink rang out, his body evincing nothing but calm.

  That calm...stung. “Go ahead. Pretend to ignore me.” Taliyah worked her way to the top of the murder stone and stretched out. In an hour, she would sport countless freckles. He’d pay so bad then.

  Who are you? Her weapon of choice had never been beauty marks.

  As she relaxed, though, she realized she’d made a mistake, stretching out as she’d done yesterday. The rhythmic sounds of his chisel nearly lured her to sleep.

  Will not succumb. No way a man who hated her origins, refused to trust her and wouldn’t commit to searching for a way to save her life was her consort.

  As much as she enjoyed teasing and fighting Roc, she acknowledged that he wasn’t her friend. He’d pinned her wings, stealing her strength, and stifled her ability to mist, leaving her vulnerable to attack. And attacks were coming. If old phantoms breached the palace, new phantoms would breach the palace. What would she do if one attacked?

  “Be honest, Roc. You bored your other brides to death. You did, didn’t you?”

  “You’ve seen how the others died.”

  Yes, she certainly had. But did he really have to remain so calm
while they discussed matters of life and death?

  After a few minutes of silence, she groused, “I’m giving you such an amazing view, I should charge by the hour.”

  “By that logic, I should charge by the inch,” he muttered, never glancing up.

  Oh, no he didn’t. A small little laugh escaped her. She did like his sense of humor.

  His gaze flipped up, landing on her. As he searched her face, his calm veneer stripped away, the truth suddenly clear. He wasn’t calm. Not by a long shot. A seething animal lurked beneath the surface of his skin, scheming violent ways to escape.

  He looked fierce and furious, guilty and regretful. He looked...hungry.

  Her smile fell, her heart skipping a beat. Another truth revealed itself. I’m not seducing him. He’s seducing me.

  26

  Day five of Roc’s new marriage dawned just like the fourth: with the indomitable Taliyah curled against him after neither one of them had slept. All night, fatigue and frustration had pursued him like hellhounds who’d finally sniffed prey. Furious, frothing desire had become his constant companion.

  Holding the sensual beauty without pleasuring her proved an unmitigated torture and a true test of his strength. A test he’d passed—just barely. Would he pass again today?

  He must. How could he take pleasure from her, then lock her in the metal she despised immediately afterward? How could he take pleasure from her, then toil over her death altar? He was despicable, but he wouldn’t cross that line...not again. Not until she required sustenance from him. When she needed, he would give.

  Never mind that she breathed, and he grew aroused. Never mind that she challenged and amused him at every turn.

  He rubbed his tired eyes. Twice she’d mentioned saving herself and his men, compounding a sense of guilt he couldn’t shake. He hadn’t lied to her. The Astra had studied and researched and lived the situation countless times. There was no way out.

  He wished he could offer her hope.

  As soon as the sun filtered through the curtains, he pretended to sleep, just as before. How would Taliyah react to waking in his arms a second time?