The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

male in the center. He exudes supremacy. Two small women in sheer gowns stand at his sides. To the right is—

Taliyah gasped. Erebus. Her father looked just like the drawings she’d seen. Fair, with curling hair and black eyes.

Stretched behind him is an army of phantoms, each soldier motionless, silent and female, draped in an ill-fitting black gown.

The Amazon throws a panicked glance over her shoulder and chokes on a sob. When she reaches the altar, I—no, the leader clasps her by the nape with a large tattooed hand, his claws at the ready. She grapples with tremendous skill, but she loses quickly.

“Stop! Do not do this!” she pleads in an ancient language.

Without hesitation or guilt, he forces her to lie flat upon the altar.

“The first is startling, I know.” The now familiar voice sent ripples through the...vision?

As she struggled to escape it, her sight remained dark. Her other senses screamed to life, at least. Incredible heat engulfed her, and the most divine fragrance filled her nose. Notes of spiced rum and melted sugar—or foreplay—made her mouth water. But...

Why can’t I see?

“You are reliving my memory,” the male said.

Him. The leader. He was responsible for this. Air sawed in and out of her mouth as she continued to struggle, shudders working through her wings. “I’ll peel you from my brain if I must. I’m getting you out, whatever it takes.”

“Relax, and it will finish playing out, then dissipate.”

Relax? Around foes? Not happening. She fought with more force until finally, finally light came, the memory dying prematurely. The throne room appeared first, and so did the leader. He had closed the distance and now towered over her.

Taliyah’s jaw went slack. He wasn’t an average Joe or a hideous beast, that was for sure. No, he was all chiseled perfection and raw sex appeal. Prince Charming with a rap sheet.

His tattoo-free face boasted flawless, bronze skin, a proud, patrician nose and sinfully plump red lips. The softest-looking mouth she’d ever seen. He cropped his hair military-short, but he also sported a beard in need of a trim. Spiky black lashes framed magnificent gold irises with striations of gray.

Realization 1: the heat and scent came from him.

Realization 2: he was studying her just as intently as she studied him.

Even as oxygen lodged in her throat, she feigned nonchalance, canting her head to the side. “I call foul. You’re supposed to count down before you initiate a staring contest.”

“A countdown is your responsibility, harpy. When I turn my attention someone’s way, they should know they have five seconds to convince me not to kill them.”

Good one. She’d be using it. Offering him a bright smile, she said, “How adorable are you?”

Beneath his eye, a muscle twitched. “I am Alaroc Phaethon.”

Phaethon. Fey-uh-thuhn. Familiar. Where had she heard that name?

“You may call me Roc.”

Oh, she may, may she? “Thanks, but no thanks, Alaroc.”

He reached out and sifted a lock of her silver-white hair between two fingers. She let him, curious to know his game.

“Where are the rest of the harpies?” she demanded when the seconds ticked by and he did nothing else.

“Alive. At the moment, that’s all you need to know.”

“Alive? When their hands and feet litter the palace grounds?” Pairing a conversational tone with hate-filled eyes—was there a better combination?

“I killed your General. No other harpies, only consorts.”

Though her mother had already warned her about Nissa, shock and sorrow inundated Taliyah. She hadn’t been the General’s biggest fan, but her respect for the position had never diminished. Nissa had earned her spot.

For the first time in history, harpies were without a leader.

“Those who attacked us lost their appendages before being tossed into another realm,” he continued, “where they will stay and heal.”

That couldn’t be true. Could it? No one possessed the ability to throw others into another freaking realm. Right?

Uncharted territory...

A sense of purpose settled over Taliyah. The purpose for her birth was upon her. Her motivation to train without ceasing and forgo pleasures of the flesh. Her moment to shine.

My sisters need me more than ever.

“Prove my harpies are alive,” she demanded. “Take me to them. Let me see them with my own eyes.”

“I will. Once you earn the right.” He dragged his gaze over her body, his pupils expanding over those amazing golden irises. “You are the Bloodthirstiest Harpy, are you?”

“I am.” Truth was truth.

Phaethon... The name continued to poke and prod at her calm.

“And what gives you the right to bear this title, hmm?”

She leaned toward him, as if she had a secret to impart, while sneaking a dagger closer to his groin. “The fact that I’ll be using your testicles as a new coin purse, perhaps?” She shoved the weapon deep into...his thigh?

He’d guessed her intent and shifted his leg, the blade embedding in muscle. He hadn’t flinched or cried out.

She huffed with irritation. Centuries spent on the battlefield had honed her instincts, and right now those instincts were shouting, To win, you must use tricks you’ve kept secret.

“You were saying?” he asked, nonchalant.

“A girl’s gotta swing and miss a few times, right?” Shrug. “Next time I’ll hit your balls out of the park. Promise.”

He examined her, betraying only the slightest hint of eagerness. “You are a virgin, Taliyah?”

Whoa! What did that have to do with anything? With a forced smile, she asked, “Does playing just the tip count?”

He stood motionless, never broadcasting his intentions. Blink. He clasped her by the shoulders and spun her around. Suddenly, she faced their audience, his muscular arm slung beneath her breasts, locking her in place.

His body heat! This close, he threw off intense waves of warmth. His skin actually burned hers...and she thought she might like it. Humiliating!

She looked over the crowd, but no one peered her way. The warlords had forced the harpies to the floor, facedown.

The powerful warrior behind her let his mouth hover just over her ear. “Let’s make sure, shall we?”

That voice...the audible equivalent of a whorehouse. Capable of pleasuring every inch of your body, as long as you paid