The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

welled, tinged with shame. —We will talk later.—

Roc prided himself on being available to his men. Today, he sought a mere hour of peace.

Taliyah crawled up his body, refitting herself against him as her eyes glittered with mischief. The cracking restarted in his chest.

“You said you might want me to feed on you for real,” she said, “so we can learn how I did it. Want me to feed right now?”

Now? Maybe she should. They absolutely needed to know what had happened.

“Yes. Do it.” Reluctant, he tilted back his head. Would he hate this, like he’d hated every other feeding before it?

Would a part of him enjoy it?

“Nah,” she said, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder. The mischief had dispersed, her tone hollow. “Changed my mind. I’m not hungry.”

He wasn’t disappointed.

He wasn’t.

25

Taliyah sat atop the meteorite she’d dubbed the murder stone. She swung her legs as if she hadn’t a care, watching as Roc got his chisel on. Meanwhile, she had a freaking care. He’d been working furiously for over four hours, completing the first step and working on the next. Soon, he’d chisel out a platform and the altar itself. For her death.

How easily he’d returned to planning her end. Why had she missed him before?

The more he worked, the more crazed he appeared. He was silent and shirtless, his biceps bulging with his every move, sweat trickling down his tattooed flesh.

At least she had a decent view.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. He’d asked every hour on the dot. Or so it seemed.

“Nope,” she said, taking great enjoyment in the refusal. Would she like to feed? Yes. Taliyah had no idea how she’d gotten so drunk on him. Had she truly stolen some of his soul without realizing it? She had been ravenous. But she’d never before reacted to a soul in such an undignified manner. She’d love to compare what happened in the shower with a true, non–lust tinged feeding. Well, as non–lust tinged as she could be with a man like Roc.

But, after glimpsing his dread as he’d canted his head for her... No. She wouldn’t be feeding on him anytime soon. Or ever.

Actually, her refusal to do so now stemmed from a whole lot more than the guy’s dread. Before flashing her to the garden, the awful man had picked up the wing-pinner.

“I’m not wearing that,” she’d spit at him.

Expression grave, he’d told her, “Harpy, I promise you—you are. I’ll take no chances with you.”

Not only had he won their grappling match, putting the pinner on her as promised, he’d secured thin metal bracelets around her wrists, too. The shackles looked like jewelry—nice. They also prevented her from misting. Not nice.

Taliyah wore every piece of metal like a mantle of betrayal. So he’d treated her body like spun glass while she’d pummeled him, fighting to avoid the application of her bonds? So what. So he’d pleasured her in the shower and played with her after? So what. So she still wanted him. So. What.

“I’m bored,” she told him, just to be contrary. She was irritable and horny and mad about both. Somehow, she needed to earn herself a little alone time. That way, she could practice removing her ring and resume her search for Blythe and Isla, just in case. “I’m unused to doing nothing.”

“Tell me about your father. That’s doing something.” His ears twitched with...eagerness? “Recount tales of your childhood.”

“Tell my captor about the childhood I spent in the land he conquered?” At this height, she spotted the moat that surrounded the palace grounds; a massive stone hand with moss-covered claws reached from the pink waters. How many times had she swum there? Flowers of every color bloomed from dew-kissed foliage, emitting the sweetest perfume she’d once breathed every day. Birds soared and sang familiar songs. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped. “I’d rather listen to tales of your childhood.”

His biceps flexed. “Before or after I was sold to Chaos?”

Her grandpappy C purchased him? Had she known that? At the moment, she struggled to remember how much she longed to punch his face...and the way his powerful body moved against hers. “Revealer’s choice.”

He shrugged. “After my purchase, I traveled from world to world with the other Astra, learning weaknesses, gaining strengths. Through pain and tragedy, Chaos taught us to value control and harness rage. To create and destroy. To overcome any situation.”

Oh, really? “How are you in control, yet shackled to a curse? If you can overcome any situation, why can’t you save your gravita and your men? Asking for all my friends.”

Roc chiseled a side of his finger and cursed. Blood poured from the wound.

He said nothing else, prickling her temper. When a bead of sweat trickled from her temple, she banged her fist in frustration. Though she thrived in cold—or she had, pre-Roc—she wore the suffocating garments he’d foisted upon her: a long-sleeved shirt and leather pants, both lined with some kind of fur. She wore these despite the warm temperature.

“To help you stay warm,” he’d told her with determination, as if he should get an A-plus for his thoughtfulness. “The ground is cold—”

“I know,” she’d snapped. “My homeland, remember? You’re the intruder here.”

Lack of sleep was getting to her, too. Since coming to Harpina, she’d slept a total of zero minutes.

“I told you not to bother me while I work, harpy.” Clink, clink. Clink, clink. “Yet there you are, bothering me. If you’re not going to tell me about your childhood, do nothing.”

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even say anything.”

“You breathed,” he bellowed. “Isn’t that what you told Ian?”

He’d heard her? Or had his brother ratted her out? Whatever. Truth was truth. Now she wondered... What if Roc, the mighty Commander of the Astra Planeta, was falling for his phantom wife?

What if he fell for her so soundly, he picked her over his men?

Would he? Probably not. But he might be inclined to help save her and the Astra.

She admitted it; she liked the idea. A lot. Why