The Warlord

by Gena Showalter

  Apprehension prickled her spine. “The weather in Harpina is weird, but it’s never gotten so cold so fast.”

  “Phantoms approach,” he said, palming a blade.

  A curse exploded from Roc as great gray clouds filled the sky, blocking the dueling suns. She glanced up. No, not clouds. Her heart thundered. An army of embodied phantoms whirled through the air and descended over the garden.

  27

  Phantoms. Thousands of them. Aggression charged the atmosphere, inspiring the first flame of anhilla. Frost grew over Roc’s skin, but that flame melted it away.

  A thought streaked across his mind, a mental asteroid, leaving destruction and ruin in its wake. Threaten his wife? Die.

  He could deal with anything but her loss.

  He prepared to flash Taliyah to their bedroom, as promised. She might hate him for a time, but she would live. Nothing else mattered right now. But, though he strained, the ability to flash failed him. No time to figure out why. Collision was imminent.

  Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her, shielding her as the hordes of phantoms descended en masse.

  Whoop, whoop, whoop. The noises registered first, and he braced for impact.

  Wham, wham, wham! Repeated blows shoved him left and right, but he held steady. Bones fractured and broke. A myriad of claws raked him. Lips attached to him and sucked. Cold invaded his veins, threatening to weaken him. The anhilla flooded him with new strength, keeping him on his feet.

  As every inch of his body was battered, he shouted information at his men. How had an army this large gotten past the trinite without notice? Why couldn’t he flash?

  —The army at the wall attacks. Silver’s men approach on foot; they can’t flash. Neither can I.—Halo threw the words like daggers. —Ian, if you can, put my men behind the army and yours in the garden.—

  If only Ian could flash phantoms in large groups. But they didn’t bear the mark of the Astra.

  —I’m unable to flash myself or anyone at the moment, so I’m on foot myself. I’m headed for the garden.—Ian had slipped into battle mode.

  His brother would show no mercy.

  “Roc?” Taliyah shouted over the commotion, more and more phantoms crashing into them.

  He knew what she requested. With great effort, he worked a hand under the wing-pinner to unhook the two pieces of metal. Metal malleable only to the touch of an Astra. Though he tried, he couldn’t do the same with her wrist shackles, the phantoms repeatedly knocking her arms from his grip.

  Stomach turning over, he told her, “I need you to fight, Taya. Fight as you’ve never fought before. Don’t stop until the last phantom is dead, and don’t you dare die.” A battle loomed. There was no avoiding it.

  He should have freed her from every bit of metal when she’d asked. He hadn’t. He’d held on to his fears instead, for reasons he hadn’t wanted to admit or accept. Fear of her motives. Fear of what his men might think. Fear of what he would think. Now he and Taliyah would both pay a steep price.

  As he well knew, a warrior’s unused strengths became their biggest weaknesses. His woman wasn’t used to fighting without her ability to disembody.

  He told himself it didn’t matter. She had many other skills. She would survive this. More than being a deathless phantom, she was a centuries-old harpy-snake who had outlasted a multitude of wars, betrayals, tortures and ambushes. This was nothing.

  This had better be nothing. She had better survive.

  “Do you understand me?” At some point in the coming fray, Roc and Taliyah would be separated. She would be without his protection. She would be weakened without full use of her abilities.

  “Not my...first rodeo...baby.” The newest round of hits jostled her as she spoke. “No worries. I got this.”

  The ice that had spread over his skin had somehow spread to hers. The brand on her nape flecked with frozen crystals as his mind whirled with plans. “I’m going to count to three and release you. When I do—” A frigid wind slammed into him, tossing him across the garden, wrenching Taliyah from the shelter of his arms prematurely. A phantom clasped her wrist and yanked her in the other direction, ensuring they parted.

  Air abandoned his lungs when he crash-landed a dozen feet away. With a roar, he sprang to his feet. Dizzy. Inhale, exhale. He took stock. Shattered ribs. A bone fragment had punctured his lung. Limbs had sliced his side. All insignificant. Where was Taliyah?

  He scanned... Phantoms, phantoms, everywhere. No sign of his snarpy.

  Racing forward, Roc slashed and clawed anyone in his path. He attempted to flash once more, desperate to reach Taliyah’s side. Nothing kept him from his wife. But again, he failed.

  Where was she? Where, where? “Taya?” Raw panic engulfed him, anhilla snatching it up to use as fuel.

  His next roar made a mockery of the first.

  Going low, he crouched and spun on the balls of his feet, withdrawing two three-blades stashed in his boots. As he straightened, he slashed in a crisscross motion, killing two phantoms with ease.

  Destroy them all. The words filled every corridor of his mind, every cell in his body, becoming an eternal battle cry. The beginning of the end.

  Roc utterly unleashed, tearing through his enemy. He stabbed with new vigor. Slashed with crueler purpose. Clawed, punched and kicked. Black blood spurted over him. Each kill strengthened him and powered another. A stream of thought refused to die, even in the heat of battle. Protect my Taliyah. Must protect my Taliyah.

  Heads toppled and limbs thudded to the ground. The plop of organs followed. More blood sprayed in continuous arcs. He killed with abandon, with joy. Bodies and their parts piled around him, soon to vaporize. Carnage littered the battlefield.

  The Astra Planeta, creator of worlds, were often touted as the essence of life. Now Roc existed in a haze of death, the scent of it pungent. His limbs shook with exertion, but he didn’t slow until—

  Had he just heard a woman’s pained grunt? Where was Taliyah? He needed to see her. He needed to see her right now.

  “Taya?” He prepared himself for what was soon to occur. Finding her. Seeing injuries. Blood. He reminded himself she would heal, no matter the injuries she received. She must. That’s what phantoms did. They fed, and they healed.

  How often had he lamented a phantom’s regenerative powers when struck with anything but trinite? Now he relied on the ability.

  Get to her! He swung his arms faster, every strike true. Blood splattered his face and dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. He suspected he looked like an animal. He felt like one, emotion beyond him.

  In his world, you killed or you were killed. So he killed. Again and again and again. Phantoms screamed and phantoms died, but their numbers never dwindled. More arrived, each new group ignoring him completely. The entire horde swarmed in one direction—Taliyah’s.

  To feed on one of their own or to kill? Either way, she would hurt.

  Aggressive noises left him as he fought with new purpose. Slash, slash. Kick, slash. Different fiends and their various severed parts evaporated after death, a cloying fog coating the air.

  New arrivals. Thicker layers of ice spread over his skin. His joints hardened, but he refused to slow.

  Just get to Taliyah. The words were a mantra. More fuel for his anhilla.

  If she died and failed to revive... “No!” More maddened by the second, Roc swung his arms in opposite directions: one descended at his left and one at his right, each stabbing a phantom in the top of the skull. Kick. Elbow. Hip-bump, slash. Claw. Rip. He utilized his entire body, felling opponent after opponent, steadily moving forward. A man obsessed, he remained in a constant state of motion.

  Movement behind him. He spun, a soulsucker slamming against him, ignoring him as much as the others, reaching beyond him to make grabby hands at Taliyah.

  A flick of his wrist, an
d the phantom died.

  He fought on. Finally a path opened up, granting him a first glimpse of Taliyah since their separation.

  He wasn’t prepared, the sight nearly sending him to his knees. Though she fought with expert skill, the sheer number of phantoms overwhelmed her, the fiends landing multiple blows. They battered her with their fists. Others tore at her with their claws. Blood poured from countless gashes, soaking her precious skin.

  With Roc on twenty-four-hour watch, Erebus had no more use for her. Had the god settled on overseeing her murder?

  When a set of claws raked through Taliyah’s throat, tearing out her trachea, a helpless Roc could only watch in horror.

  “Taya!” At the sight of her blood, her fall, his anhilla redlined. He roared at the sky as a bright, blazing light burst through his pores. His eyesight dimmed, the world around him slowing. His own blood rushed and boiled. Muscles bulged with new power.

  A living wrecking ball, he heaved his big, shining body into the thickest midst of the phantoms, cutting through, sometimes three or four at a time. Soon he lost track. He killed, and he killed.

  His enemies must pay. Everyone must die. Destruction would reign. Will drown this world in blood and pain!

  In the back of his mind, he thought he heard his brother’s voice calling to him, telling him to cease. But he didn’t want to stop. He wanted only to slay more phantoms. He wanted to dismantle everything standing between him and his gravita.

  Hurt her? Hurt my woman? You won’t just die. You’ll suffer your worst nightmare first.

  A weight smacked into his chest. Cold. Slight. A familiar voice called, “Shut up, Ian. I’ve got this.”

  Taliyah’s voice. Roc slowed his swinging arms. She had revived?

  “See? Told you I’ve got this. Right, Roc? Babycakes? Because your sweet, perfect gravita is A-okay, honest. She’s all better, so the temper tantrum can end, all right?”

  Soft fingers petted his cheeks, his beard, and he slowed a bit more. “The phantoms are dead?”

  “Oh, yeah. You did so good. Everyone’s real proud. There’s talk of an award. MVE. Most volcanic exterminator.”

  Jumbled thoughts attempted to straighten out. “Everyone?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Just your brother and a few hundred soldiers. They arrived a while ago. I’m told the army at the wall retreated as soon as you finished off the last phantom here.” She chuckled. “When you decide to make a grand gesture, you really make a grand gesture, huh?”

  Roc blinked into focus and surveyed the battlefield. He stood at the altar, still punching one end. Cracks had formed. Taliyah clung to his chest. Around him, piles of phantoms lay in various stages of evaporation. Ian stood mere feet away, as shell-shocked as the few hundred soldiers stretched out behind him.

  “What’s up?” Taliyah called to someone over his shoulder. “I’m with him. He’s, like, claimed me or whatever.”

  Gripping her waist, he demanded, “You are unharmed?” He needed to hear the words from her mouth.

  “Mostly.”

  Not good enough! When he darted his gaze for a new target, she chuckled again.

  “No, don’t go trying to kill anyone else. I’ll be patched up in a matter of minutes, I swear. If you want to continue murdering the altar, though, go for it.”

  Was she nearly patched up? Roc cupped her cheeks with hands coated in blood. The sight bothered him. Release her, however? No. “You stayed and fought with me.”

  “Of course I did.” Those icy blues watched him, open and honest...and gleaming with irritation. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

  He scanned her face, searching beyond her expression, trust budding. He called for his brother. “Ian?”

  Knowing he expected a report, Ian wasted no time with incidentals, getting straight to the point. “We lost a handful of soldiers.”

  He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. A single loss was too many.

  “The altar—” Ian began.

  “I can fix it,” he muttered without conviction.

  Needing reassurance Taliyah was all right, he pressed her against the side he’d punched, right against the cracks. After bracing her weight, he looked her over thoroughly.

  She let him. Ocean-water eyes remained warm without a hint of ice, her gaze inviting him in. A soft smile stole his breath.

  A handful of gashes had yet to heal, and she was smiling?

  He glared. “How are you in a good mood? Before the battle, you hated my guts.”

  “Let’s be clear. I hated more than your guts. Then you had to go and prove your undying love for your most precious treasure, your darling Taya. You’re so whipped.”

  Too keyed up with aggression, he had no idea how to respond to her...teasing? Bragging? “I had to protect my investment,” he said, spouting words she’d once tossed at him.

  “Now, we all know better than that.” Her chiding tone bore a hint of her smile. “After such a magnificent display of manly prowess, you’re only embarrassing yourself with your denials. Well, you’re also embarrassing me, since I’m the object of your desire and all. Enough chatter. We’ve got cleanup to do.” She pressed a swift kiss into his lips, hopped down and pushed past him.

  He silenced a command—or a plea—for her return and faced his brother. “Assemble and prepare the armies for the next attack.” Knowing Erebus, he’d burned through a small piece of his army to make a point, proving he had other ways to reach the blessing bride.

  “There’s more of these things?” Taliyah wrinkled her nose. “After all that, we didn’t just save the day?”

  Roc almost closed the distance. Almost dragged her into his arms. The need to hold and touch her refused to fade.

  Ian frowned at her, then Roc, then Taliyah again. His brother didn’t know what to make of what had just happened—what was still happening. Neither did Roc.

  Ultimately, Ian settled on Roc. Incredulous, he thrust a small purple stone in his hand.

  “What am I looking at?” he asked, rubbing the stone. Dense. Rough. Powerful. Familiar. His brows drew together as cold spread over him. “No. I cannot be holding what I think I’m holding. We destroyed the last piece thousands of years ago.”

  Ian’s expression acquired a grave edge. “Apparently, Erebus found more. He hung the stones from a leather cord.”

  “Someone tell the rest of the class,” Taliyah said, tossing up her arms.

  “This is firstone. What trinite does to a phantom, firstone does to an Astra. It’s the reason we couldn’t flash during combat.”

  Ian gaped at him. “Why don’t you make a list of the few ways to kill us and help your bride study it, brother?”

  “Because he isn’t a tool?” Taliyah asked calmly. “Not all the time, anyway.”

  Roc replied to neither of them, his mind whirling. Erebus had sent these hordes as a warning shot. He wanted Roc worried. Which meant Roc shouldn’t worry. He should enjoy his wife.

  His brother said something else, but Roc lost track, too busy observing Taliyah, who unabashedly amassed a sizable firstone collection in a matter of minutes, stuffing the pebbles in the pockets of her shorts. She wasn’t even trying to hide her actions. When she came upon the wing-pinner, she grew rigid before bending down to gather the pieces.

  She whipped around to face him, their eyes meeting. Pure defiance, she hurled the metal as far as harpily possible, daring him to complain.

  Hobble her again? No. Something had happened to Roc during the battle. Something significant. He didn’t yet understand the intricacies or complications of it, whatever it was, but he knew his relationship with Taliyah was forever altered. If he had lost her today...

  He stalked to her, removed the wrist cuffs and hefted her into his arms, carrying her straight to their bedroom.

  28

  As the Astra drew a bath, Taliyah remained in the
doorway of the bathroom, caught up in an unexpected quandary. She and Roc had reached new territory today. Like, serious couple territory. She knew it. The metal was no longer an issue. They were past it. Roc was choosing to trust her to keep her end of the original bargain and stay put to fight him.

  He had killed and bled for her.

  He desired her more intensely than anyone else ever had.

  He longed to save her. She knew that, too.

  The brutal way he’d dispensed of the phantoms to rescue her... Had any male ever looked so sinfully seductive while exuding such evil intent? The warlord had attacked their foes so viciously, so savagely, he’d morphed into the monster her mother had warned her about. More frightening than the hordes—and okay, yeah, the creepiness of the phantoms had taken her by surprise. Mouths with hundreds of tiny suction cups remained wide open, at the ready.

  The fiends had iced her brand, just as Erebus had. They’d attempted to feed on her. Her. One of their own. Well, almost one of their own. She was nothing like those ravenous shells.

  No, not true. She was absolutely, positively ravenous. Already she could taste Roc’s power...

  As soon as the number of invaders had dwindled, she’d had the distinct privilege of watching him. He’d awed her. The mastery he’d demonstrated over his body had been so complete, the fight appeared choreographed. He’d known when to go high and when to shift low, displaying the perfect ebb and flow of offense and defense.

  The way he’d used his claws and three-blade to tear his victims into too many pieces to identify had been a real eye-opener for Taliyah. As skilled as she was, she realized she stood no chance against him—yet. He was faster, moving at warp speed. He was stronger by leaps and bounds. Anyone who’d come into contact with his otherworldly glow had caught fire. Not with literal flames, but mystical. So, anyone who’d come into contact with his otherworldly glow had died in unbelievable agony.

  And this is the male I’ve challenged? She would have preened, if tears hadn’t welled.

  He didn’t know Erebus was her father. While she refused to lie, she wasn’t ready to tell him. Not yet. This—whatever this was—was too new, her trust not yet fully established.