The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

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?

He waited at the edge of his seat, his heartbeat quickening.

The doors parted at last, the harpy-snake strolling into the dining room, her head high, her shoulders squared. The moment her gaze found his, she paused. He drank her in—in gulps. Gone was the traditional war garb. Two pieces of ice-blue material clung to her curves, leaving her midriff bare. The top offered a deep V between her breasts, while the bottom cinched her waist and free-flowed to her ankles in varying lengths.

She had bathed, her white hair unbraided, the glossy waves like a waterfall, framing her exquisite face. The viper had added thicker slashes of kohl around her eyes, making them appear sleepy, as if she’d just roused from bed and desired a lover immediately.

He didn’t shoot hard as steel this time. He shot harder. All that pale skin...

Hot before? No. Sweltering, Roc pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

A deep shade of red stained her lips. Lips she’d slanted over his only an hour ago. Soft lips. Luscious. The kind a man craved wrapped around his—

Enough!

As she glided forward, locks of hair swished over her breasts, playing hide-and-seek with her nipples. Nipples puckering beneath the fabric of her top. Did he detect the ridge of a piercing?

He swiped his hand over his mouth and willed her dress to burn away. Must see.

Must? The word echoed in his mind,