The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

Her sexuality worked before. Why mess with perfection? “Are you saying...” She flattened her other palm on his pectoral. “...that you don’t want me to touch you?”

The muscle jerked, drawing her gaze. Down she looked. Along the way, a moving tattoo snagged her attention.

Dizziness invaded, and she groaned. Not this again.

She tried to tear her gaze away. Too late. A new memory claimed center stage...

A trembling banshee stands before a massive black altar. A savage wind gusts, dancing locks of red hair before her face as the hem of her ivory gown billows. Tears well in her beautiful eyes. She bows her head, defeated, and climbs atop the altar, where she stretches out. A sob leaves her.

Behind the altar is a silent crowd. The black-robed man occupies the center, set apart from the others. The same two females stand at his sides. Erebus is feet away, seething with fury, an army of phantoms fanned out behind him. Each embodied female wears a somber black gown.

Alaroc approaches the banshee and places a hand just over her heart. “You have served me well, female. Worry not. Your death will be painless.” Apologetic words, monotone voice.

The banshee sniffles and croaks, “Please, don’t do this.”

“You were dead the moment you wed me. You knew this. I made no secret of it.”

In the distance, a bell tolls the midnight hour. Ding.

He maintains his stance, his hand pressed against her, and the banshee whimpers. Then... Black lines spread through her pale skin. Ding.

She goes quiet. Her eyes close, and her head lolls to the side. Ding.

A strange blue glow shoots from Alaroc. A near-blinding pulse that blasts from his being. Ding.

The light fades, revealing—

Taliyah gasped. The banshee had turned to stone. That stone crumbled into ash. Handfuls of it floated up and twirled away.

As the memory dulled, a final ding sounding, she tightened her grip on the dagger. Did Alaroc plan to ash Taliyah at month’s end? She knew she’d recover from the loss of any limb or internal organ; she’d survived a myriad of poisons, starvation and any number of other horrors. But stoning and ashing? Could she recover from something like that?

Yes, yes. Of course. She’d even survived a beheading!

Reveal nothing. Batting her lashes, she asked, “Do the Astra Planeta ash all their wives, or did I luck out and marry the best one?”

“Release. The. Blade.”

“Why do you stone and ash your wives?” she asked, resting her free hand over the other. A double hold. Take that!

He scowled. “Stone and ash prevent anyone from coming along and reviving the body or spirit, undoing the sacrifice.”

She gulped. “How do you kill non-wives?”

“With a three-blade. A weapon made of trinite. Most of my enemies are phantoms.”

Trinite? The special weapon, most likely. She could guess the trio involved. Fireiron, demonglass and cursedwood. “And what does trinite do to phantoms? Because I’ve never heard of it, and I’m something of a weapon aficionado.”

“Trinite bestows the final death to phantoms, causing their bodies to evaporate into nothing.” Without a pause, he added, “Release the blade.”

The fingers curled in, a defensive action to guard her enchanted ring. Alaroc could never learn she was a phantom.

Had she come back from the dead after tangling with the toxic trio? Yes. The first time. Would she revive a second time? Her mother didn’t think so.

Dude. “So how long have you been getting your little Rocs off by murdering brides?”

A flicker in his irises. “My brides died for a purpose, with honor.”

Had she struck a nerve? “Dying with honor cannot trump living with it. Soon, I’ll prove it to you.”

Another flicker in those golden eyes. “Each death saved countless lives. Without the Astra, phantoms would roam the worlds unchecked, feasting on everyone they encounter.”

“So the sacrifice to your god and your survival are connected. Good to know.”

Oh, he didn’t like that he’d revealed more than he’d intended, she could tell. Once again, he tightened his grip. “My patience wears thin, harpy.”

Ripples of pain shot up her arm, each stronger than the last. Inhale. Exhale. “Why do you hate phantoms so much? Word is, they’re just mindless spooks controlled by a master.”

Malice contorted his features. “Phantoms are parasites. Being fed on...” His lips curled in disgust. “Pray you never experience such a horror. There’s no worse sensation.” He squeezed with more force. “Although, losing a hand might come close.”

Ouch—in more ways than one. He hated phantoms beyond reason. So much he might kill a phantom bride before her time was up...

She had to go at him with her biggest guns, then. Her own phantom abilities.

Astra hunting season kicked off today. Duration: thirty days. Method: any available weaponry. No daily bag limit.

A game plan formed. Tonight, she would feed on Alaroc. Mindless phantoms couldn’t hide their feeding. Taliyah could. She could drain him to death while he slept, unaware of his impending doom. Or try to drain him to death. He was a big guy with a lot of power, and her body had a threshold. She could only contain what she had room to contain. If she failed to drain him to death, she’d have to settle for weakening him. Let him fade slowly without ever understanding why.