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“Provocatively?” she asked, fluffing her hair. “Thank you for noticing.”
As if any male in existence had the power to do anythingbutnotice.
“I’ve found a bone. Well, almost.” She shifted on her sandaled feet. “I’ve perceived our starting place. A world called No—” She went quiet. Her brow furrowed, and she canted her head. “Uh-oh. Trouble comes.”
A world called No? Never heard of it. And what trouble? He sensed no approach.
Azar materialized directly behind Neeka.
Shocked, Rathbone palmed a dagger. The warlord wasn’t bound, injured, or in spirit form. Somehow, he’d bypassed the defenses and flashed in.
Bombs of fury detonated inside Rathbone.The—Astra—will—pay.
He launched forward. Azar slung arms around Neeka and yanked her against him, pinning her wings and using her as a shield. He rested the tips of his black claws against her throat.
Rathbone froze, his fury flaming into pure rage.
The warlord’s cold expression never altered. “She belongs to us,” he proclaimed in his deep voice. “Come for her at your peril.”
Rathbone prepared to do murder. He glanced at the oracle to reassure her, certain he’d see tears.
She sighed, decisively not terrified or even upset. “Can we do the throne room trash talk another day, boys? I’m currently all booked up.” How bored she sounded.
“No trash talk,” Azar said to Rathbone, “merely truth. Give me Lore’s bones, and I’ll allow you both to live.”
Rathbone palmed a second dagger, saying, “I will enjoy killing you.”
Save Neeka, gut Astra. He advanced, an attack strategy forming. If the oracle was harmed in the process, he’d fix it. But the pair vanished.
He worked his jaw. Neeka had provided him with her new location at least. A throne room. In Harpina, no doubt, where a trap must await him. Not that he cared.
Flash. Rathbone materialized as thread on a tapestry he remembered seeing hanging above the royal dais, giving him a full view of the chamber and everyone in it. A dark-haired, shirtless male with moving tattoos sat on a throne next to a pale beauty dressed in black leather. General Taliyah. In the center of the room, Azar kept Neeka before him, maintaining a loose choke hold, while seven other warlords stood in a half circle behind them. The infamous Astra Planeta.
Rathbone swallowed his emotions and focused. Erebus had spoken true. Azar had visited, and Rathbone had given chase. But he didn’t need the god or the oracle to explain his next move.The warlords die. The General, too.
“Let her go,” Taliyah demanded. “She isn’t our enemy.”
The words purchased a reprieve for her. Rathbone would merely inflict injuries upon her in the coming melee.
There was a beat of hesitation as Azar awaited his leader’s instruction.
Roc nodded. “Let her go.”
The warlord lifted his arms, freeing Neeka, who smoothed the wrinkles from her garments.
“I hate to get kidnapped and run, but I’ve got errands.”
“Tell Roc your plan,” Taliyah ordered. “How you were held hostage by a hell king and pretended to aid him to protect yourself.”
“Uh, you want me to lie to your consort?” The oracle shook her head, as if astonished. “Wow, Tal. Wow. If I were him and you weren’t so hot, I might lock you up and throw away the key. Or give you a very good spanking. Meow.” She pawed at the air.
Rathbone jerked. She’d told the truth? She aided him without reservation?
Shock radiated from each of the Astra, but it quickly morphed into anger. Azar took another step back from the oracle, as if he didn’t trust himself to be within striking distance. It was then, that moment, that Rathbone received an unobstructed view of the male’s chest. He went still, not even breathing. As Erebus predicted, Lore’s lovely face took up prime real estate in the center of the Astra’s chest.
Two urges consumed Rathbone with equal measure. To stare, and to attack. The ensuing tug-of-war left him momentarily immobilized. Then the image jumped to a new spot, nearly wrenching a roar from the deepest depths of his being, giving away his location. He chased the ink with his gaze even as he recalled Erebus’s warning. To peer at the image for a prolonged period would cause him to lose himself in the memory of her death.
Impatience whipped him. He needed to see what happened. Had wondered for centuries. And yet, now wasn’t the time. There was too much at stake. Neeka’s survival topped the list. Rathbone still needed her.
