The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

up. Even her surrender to him came with demands.

As he sifted his fingers through the silk of her hair, he halfway expected his men to interrupt, telling him of a new phantom sighting. A new message. Had Erebus foreseen this bedding? Did the god know he was soon to receive a new weapon?

Let him have it.

Taliyah had gifted Roc with her body, her future—her heart?—and there was no greater prize. He’d given up his place as Commander of the Astra for her, and he had no regrets. He would give up a thousand ranks for a moment like this.

The brand on his nape heated, and Roc stiffened. A royal summons now, just when he cradled a sated, naked gravita against him? After ten days of making inquiries and receiving silence? A curse exploded through his head.

For the first time in his life, he resisted the pull. The burn agonized, but he didn’t care. He stood and shoved his legs into a pair of leathers, then informed Halo of his upcoming absence.

—Guard her.—The command allowed no argument.

Sounding mildly offended, Halo replied, —I will die before I allow her harm before the ceremony, Commander.—

The warlord still watched the palace from the wall, and no matter what he thought of Taliyah, he would protect her until the day of the ceremony. Anything for the blessing.

Mired in resentment, tasks completed, Roc ceased fighting, letting Chaos’s power tug him through the realms. When he came to a stop, he found himself ensconced inside a throne room. One he’d never before visited. Gold...everywhere, from the ceiling to the floors and every wall in between. Chaos perched atop a golden seat, draped in a black robe.

Roc forced himself to bow his head.

Chaos didn’t speak. Testing his loyalty? Roc waited him out, the minutes ticking away.

Finally, a greeting came. “You come with many troubles. Mostly, you are disappointed in me.”

Yes! “Taliyah Skyhawk is your granddaughter.”

A dark brow lifted. “This isn’t news to me.”

Accusations detonated inside him, fury gaining new ground. “You let me wed her. You knew she belonged to your family line, that she fell under your authority and protection, and you did nothing to save her. Why?”

Roc comprehended he wasn’t to question someone of higher rank. He let the question stand, regardless. If he received punishment for his actions, so be it.

Silent, never looking away, the god waved two fingers. Within seconds, Aurora and Twila flashed onto the dais while already in motion, appearing from thin air. They took up posts beside the throne, both sisters wearing worried expressions and flowing gowns.

If Chaos hurt them...

“We spoke of this.” The god reclined into a more comfortable position, casual and at ease. Except for his gaze. His gaze leveled Roc. “When questioned about choosing your gravita—your family—over your men, you chose your men. You did that, not I.”

Guilt sliced him to ribbons. “I did, yes. But I’m not that man anymore.” Taliyah had changed him. “You were and are and will always be her grandfather.”

“Yes.” A nod. Chaos said nothing else.

“Is there a way to stop this?” Desperation plucked the words out of his mouth. “Is there a way to save Taliyah as well as my men?”

“What’s done is done and can’t be undone. You know this. If she dies, she will never return. If she lives, your men die.”

No. There must be a way around this. “Let me take her place.”

“Solar once issued the same request. I’ll tell you what I told him. You may die in her place, if you wish, but your men will be cursed.”

Frustration boiled over. “Release me from this! The blessing has become my curse.”

“You think I’m the one binding you to it. Did I walk through the door. Did I allow years to grind on without change. Did I fail to ascend before this moment.”

Every question was disguised as a statement, and every statement stabbed him with an invisible knife. “I can’t let her go. I can’t hurt my men.”

“Yet you must do one or the other.”

Unless he ascended. Which he couldn’t do until he presented an acceptable sacrifice. But how was he supposed to kill someone he...cherished? The very key to his happiness?

“Ah. Now you see the crux of your dilemma. You’ve never truly offered a sacrifice before. You created the appearance of giving without actually giving. While you killed the others, you never hurt afterward. To ascend, you must hurt like never before—and overcome it. With pain comes weakness or power. The choice is yours.”

“And you?” he demanded. “Will you hurt if she dies? If your Astra do?”

Chaos canted his head, his expression unchanging. “Never doubt that I love you.” He used the same unyielding intonation to gift this tender truth as he’d used to wound with the heart-wrenching ones.

“Help me save her.” His chest cracked wide open. No more fissures—no more shields. Hurt like never before? Already there. “Love without action means nothing.”

A heavy pause, tension thick. “We must all make sacrifices, Roc.”

The words reverberated in the space between them, a new truth crystallizing, upending everything Roc had come to believe and admire about this man. He stumbled back. “You seek your own ascension.”

Disappointment glittered in the god’s dark eyes. “If you are not gaining power, you are losing it. I taught you this. Yes, I seek another ascension. Something you should have realized long before now.”

Betrayal gutted him, the blow nearly knocking him off his feet. “I’m to be your sacrifice.”

“In part. I will lose you or I will lose the harpy.”

“Will you hurt?” he snarled. Roc didn’t think about his next actions. He strode forward. No, he ran. He sprinted across the throne room. Blood would flow.

“Don’t,” Twila called.

Roc hadn’t heard her voice in so long, he skidded to a halt, his gaze shooting to her slight form. The petite beauty who looked so much like Ian projected abject sadness—the same sadness he remembered seeing in her eyes the night their parents had sold her.

A tear slicked down her cheek, razing what remained of his calm.