The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

to cage a phantom, it was this uncompromising Astra.

“Silence isn’t an option,” he said, pushing the statement through clenched teeth. “Yes or no. Say one or the other. Now.”

“Screw you. I’m fetching clothes. I’ve been ogled enough for one day.” She braced for battle. “To stop me, you’ll have to fight me.”

“Very well.” He removed his hand from her nape. He didn’t strike—he vanished.

Did she relax her guard? Not even a little. Wherever he’d gone, whatever he was doing, he planned to return fast. She knew it.

Taliyah lunged, sweeping up the dagger he’d discarded.

Roc reappeared with a shirt he tossed in her direction.

“Dress.” If he noticed the weapon, he made no comment.

Reflexes in better shape than the rest of her, she caught the garment without fumbling. “I don’t understand.” Had the danger passed?

As she worked the material over her head, Roc stated, “You are without excuses now. Answer my question.”

No, the danger hadn’t passed. This man was determined, intelligent and ruthless, and he’d already put some pretty solid pieces together.

“What I am,” she said, “is your gravita.”

“You are a thirty-day irritation.”

Ouch. Whatever. His opinion hardly mattered. Except, this one kind of...hurt. Only minutes before, he’d held her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And she’d held him right back, because part of her respected him. Maybe even liked him. He was amazingly strong, his battle skill unsurpassed. His intensity stunned. When he indulged his sense of humor, he charmed.

She couldn’t help what she was, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. Actually, she was tired of hiding her origins from everyone. Why should she?

Her mother had commanded her to do so because of the horrors Erebus had wrought in the past, and what he might do in the future. Because she’d worried harpies would be unable to separate father from daughter. Taliyah’s peers weren’t so simpleminded. Surely! Only the Astra would fault her.

“Are you a phantom?” Roc demanded.

“What does it matter?” she snapped.

He bowed up. “Phantoms are worthy only of death.”

A layer of calm cracked, an astonishing amount of pain spilling out. “Apparently the same is true of your bride.”

His lips thinned, and he dropped his chin. Though he remained in place, she sensed movement everywhere around her. Were his warriors appearing? Spinning to the side, she avoided capture... No! His men hadn’t surrounded her. Roc flashed in four poles. Two in front, two behind. Made of trinite and six feet high, those poles beamed pure energy, creating a cage without bars.

Hostility vibrated in her wings. Taliyah didn’t do trapped. She raced forward, planning to burst through the force field and deal with the damage. She bounced back, her knees buckling.

Unwilling to accept defeat, she fought her way up with sheer grit, shook it off and tried again. And again. Again and again and again. She. Would. Not. Stop.

Roc scrubbed a hand down his face, as if he couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. “You are. You are a phantom pretending to be a snake, sent by Erebus to ruin me.”

“You ruin yourself.” Wham. Wham. Still fighting...

“How are you able to act so independent?” The more he spoke, the harsher the inflection in his voice. “You cannot be my gravita. You tricked me somehow.” He scanned her entire form, and his eyes widened. “The ring.”

Full-blown panic took over then, and she shrank back. Not the ring. Anything but the ring.

This might be a good time to detonate her bomb. Would he simmer down if he learned of her kinship with Chaos? Or would he rage about Erebus’s potential influence over her?

Split-second decision, no thought. She kept her mouth shut. Too much time remained in the game. For now, she stayed the course. “If you want the ring, you’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hand.”

He vanished, reappearing directly in front of her, the force field having no effect on him. Already he clasped her wrist. Her stomach bottomed out.

Their eyes met. “Roc,” she said, a humiliating tremor in her voice, “don’t you dare—”

With a single jerk, he ripped the metal from her finger, screws and all. Frost spread over his skin.

Taliyah’s body bowed, a scream of agony leaving the mouth he’d kissed half an hour before. Roc stumbled from her. Blood poured from her finger, spilling down the pale, pale skin he’d caressed. She dropped the dagger and pressed her hands to her ears.

The sight seared his brain, and he nearly glanced anywhere else. He forced himself to stare at her. Forced his heart to harden. This was nothing more than a trick, courtesy of Erebus.

But her screams tolled on. “Make them stop, make them stop!”

“Enough,” he shouted, hating her. Hating himself more. “I’ll not fall for more of your deceits.” This must be a trick. Just like everything else. She’d hidden her origins so well.

His bride was a phantom. A soulsucker. Undoubtedly Erebus’s greatest creation. What other phantom could lead Roc to consider changing course?

Part of him clung to disbelief, fighting the mounting evidence. How was she so lovely to him, even now? Why were her eyes not milky white? How did she converse so easily, warming with his touch?

Why had Erebus alerted him to her heritage? Without a warning, Roc might have continued in ignorance, allowing Taliyah to spy. Or worse.

Realization: When she’d left the palace, she hadn’t visited her friend. She’d returned to her maker.

Rage stampeded him, trampling every other emotion.

“Make them stop,” she cried. Her knees gave out, and she tumbled to the floor.

Only doing her master’s bidding.

His heart hardened further. What was Roc to do with his treacherous bride?

20

The screams...so many screams. As if all phantoms from all realms stood in this very room. A phenomenon Taliyah had never understood. From everything she’d read, phantoms remained quiet when they gathered, unless and until Erebus issued a direct order otherwise. They didn’t even scream when starved.

She needed to... She should... Can’t think. Need to think! But oh, the noise! How could she ponder anything?

The screams grew in volume as the minutes