The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

Flabbergasted, she dissolved contact by small degrees. Somehow, this big, beautiful slab of power had blocked her. While sleeping!

He deserved... She was going to... Argh!

Fuming, she returned to her bedroom and reentered her body. As the different parts of her reconnected, limbs tingled and chilled. Mind racing, she eased into an upright position.

Okay. All right. Forget feeding. With so little time before sunrise, she couldn’t hunt his army to consume a soldier. She’d have to go another day without a meal. Perfectly doable. Tomorrow night, she’d visit the army first thing.

Today, she’d settle for striking at Roc in other ways. She had the gun and crossbow. Why not set a trap? At the very least, she’d learn how he reacted to bullets and arrows and how quickly he healed.

Decision made, an idea already taking shape. Taliyah got busy arranging a very bad morning for her husband.

Once she’d figured out all the kinks, she grinned. He wasn’t going to like this at all...

11

As soon as sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows, Roc rose from bed. He’d gotten no sleep. First, he’d stalked the streets of Harpina, on the hunt for phantoms. From there, he’d tossed and turned, plagued by dreams of his sisters, reliving the day his parents sold the girls to the highest bidder. The helplessness of fighting and failing to save them...the sheer terror etched into their little faces... Ian’s tears as the two were carried away...

At some point, Roc had lost himself in a vision of Taliyah. A memory of her flawless body splayed across a bed, flushed and panting, daring him to do whatever he desired as he slid the chastity belt up her legs.

From there, he’d battled a raging hard-on.

Roc glared down at his hands. As expected, no evidence of stardust glittered there. “She isn’t my gravita.”

Chaos sought to teach him a lesson, that was all.

And what would that lesson be, eh? How to obsess over a woman?

Sullen, he grabbed a dagger and stomped into the bathroom. Needful of a distraction, he sent a command to Ian, rather than the other warlords.

—Report.—

Only seconds passed before his brother obliged. —The bride used the crystal for most of the night. I lost track of her multiple times as I framed windows, but I know she had a run-in with the concubines. I don’t know what was said.—

No telling what the unpredictable Taliyah would do to the women in an attempt to hurt him. —Move the concubines to Halo’s quarters near the wall.—A pause. —Anything else?—

—Why? Do you want there to be something else, brother?—

—Never mind. Forget it.—Conversation was a bad idea.

Roc stripped out of his underwear and entered the shower stall with the dagger clutched tight. Cold water sprayed from the overhead spout, quickly warming. Steam filled the enclosure and coated the glass.

As warmth rained over him, he glared at the spot just over his heart. The alevala had regrown, his most hated memory on display. How he wished he could remove the mark permanently. The best he could do was forget for a little while.

Eager, Roc pushed the dagger into the image, into muscle, and slowly rotated the blade in a wide circle. His lips pulled tight over his teeth. Rivers of crimson trickled down, down, joining the stream of water and whirling into the drain. Inhale. Exhale. Good. Some of his tension drained. He’d done this every day for centuries, the pain now a welcome part of his day.

What would Taliyah think, if ever she spotted—

He shut down the thought before it fully formed, the answer moot. She’d never view this particular memory, and that was that.

When a bloody, fist-size flap of flesh plopped to the floor, Roc sighed with relief. Better. Within minutes, he grew new skin unstained by alevala.

He tossed the dagger to the side, the metal clinking against another dagger. With quick efficiency, he washed up and exited.

His gaze strayed to the door to Taliyah’s room. What was she doing in there?

He scowled. He had a thousand things to do today, and none of them involved seeing the snarpy.

“Not my gravita,” he snarled. After dressing in a plain black T-shirt, leather pants and spiked combat boots, he collected his favorite set of chisels. Perfectly constructed altars didn’t grow on trees. He had twenty-nine days to create a masterpiece worthy of his god—and the sacrifice herself.

What was she doing? Didn’t he have a right to know? He was her husband. Her master. Depriving himself of the information only helped her cause. Since she hadn’t ambushed him yesterday, he assumed she’d do so today.

Why not get their next clash over with?

Roc flashed into her bedroom, not bothering to knock and announce his intentions.

The bed was made, nothing out of place.

His hands balled into fists. “Tali—”

A tendril of aggression brushed his skin, his body burning in seconds. He braced for a strike. A split second lasted an eternity as he noticed his crossbow anchored to the wall, a cord wrapped around its trigger. Taliyah braced herself in a corner of the opposite wall, a set of claws embedded in plaster, an arm extended. She’d tied the opposite end of the cord to the trigger of a semiautomatic, the barrel aimed at him.