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“Where have you been?” he asked. Would she lie?
Tears glistened in her baby blues. “Doing my best to aid you. I sensed a new piece of myself and rushed to gather as much information as possible. But I was too late. Hera had already gifted the bone to the Astra.”
A plausible story. It made sense. So why wasn’t Rathbone convinced? Because Neeka had planted doubts...or because the oracle had opened his mind to truth?
“Are you playing me, Lore? Or should I call you Jezebel?” The flat questions lacked emotion. “Did you play Styx?”
A horrified noise left her as she reared back. “How can you accuse me of such a thing?” Her eyes rounded. “You have sided with the oracle. D-do you not desire me anymore, Rathbone?”
He...didn’t. There was nothing, no spark, no awareness, the sensual frenzy she once caused no longer stirring within him. The need to be near his ex-wife had vanished.
Ex. He considered Lore his ex, a part of his past rather than his present or future? He’d already accepted their end?
Relief seized him, and certainty solidified. Yes, he’d accepted their end. But did he judge her guilty of the crimes lobbed at her? Had she used him? Would she birth a new demon species?
“Whoever you are, whatever you’ve done,” he offered softly, “that part of our relationship is over. If you are innocent, I’ll bring you back, and you can live your life. If not...”
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if protecting an internal injury. “How can you hurt me this way?” she asked between sniffles. “Please don’t allow the oracle’s lies to sway you. She isn’t trying to save the world but the Astra. I’m the one who loves you, dearest.”
“Do you even know me?” he asked simply.
“Of course I know you! You’re my king, and I’m your goddess. We belong to each other.”
“I hate to interrupt such a heartfelt reunion,” a familiar voice announced, “but some things cannot wait, and this is one of them.”
Rathbone zoomed his gazes to Erebus, who stood bound and bleeding in the center of the room. The realm’s new defenses had held.
Gasping, Lore whooshed behind Rathbone for safeguarding. So unlike Neeka, who would’ve tossed daggers as an icebreaker.
“Well, well. Hello, beauty. So nice to meet you.” The other male smiled a hunter’s smile and inclined his head in greeting before refocusing on Rathbone. “I’ve never steered you wrong, Majesty, and I won’t do so now. You’ll either believe me, or you won’t. Succeed or fail. Ready? To defeat the Astra and save yourself, you must kill the oracle. Otherwise, she’ll kill you.”
Neeka crawled to shore and collapsed, dripping blood and water all over the crystal sands. Pain clouded her vision. She wheezed every breath. Her abdomen sported gaping wounds, and a leg ended in a gushing stump. She’d fed a shark her beautiful foot. A harmaid had lopped off two of her fingers.
She would’ve lost more if a kindly whale hadn’t swallowed her whole and carried her a mile from shore, where he’d spit her out. Healing was impossible, considering she wore the wing pinner. As soon as it was removed and she drank a gallon of blood, she’d be as good as new. Probably gooder. Or better. Whatever. Oh, she hurt!
A nest of harpies came from every direction, reaching her in seconds. Gentle hands rolled her over and began patching her wounds.
She blinked rapidly, her sight clearing. Concerned expressions morphed to horror as her helpers registered her identity.
“Do you know who this is?” one said. “Neeka the Unwanted!”
“Traitor!”
“The General will want the honor of slaying her.”
Yes, yes. Take her to the General. She tried to utter her agreement, but the words lodged in her throat.
Rough hands and sharp claws gripped her by the hair. She was dragged across the shore. Sand burned her wounds. Neeka persevered because what else could she do? Eventually, they reached the palace.
She darted her gaze over the growing crowd as her guards bragged about her capture.
“Death to Neeka!” the sisterhood chanted.
When the group parted, creating a gap, hope bloomed anew. Had Taliyah arrived?
The one holding her hair released her and stepped away, and Neeka’s head smacked into the floor. A flare of pain. She groaned. Too weak to rise, she could only lie still as booted feet approached.
Azar crouched beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’ve caused us nothing but trouble,” he stated, “and if you were anyone else, you’d be dead already.”
