The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

An easy question to answer, since she actually did fight to save all of harpykind. She would do whatever proved necessary.

“You’ve never wanted to make yourself the sacrifice, sparing your bride?” she asked.

“I can’t. Our first Commander attempted that.” His voice tightened. “The blade crumbled before ever making contact with him.”

“So I can end you with a blade. Good to know.”

He did the Astra equivalent of an eye roll—he got back to work. Chiseling once more, never glancing up.

“What else have you attempted?” she asked.

“Bargaining. Magic. Vows. There is nothing we haven’t tried.” He exhaled with force. “I wish there was a way.”

Well, that was a huge first step. Definite progress. Would it help her in the end?

“What is the Commander of the Astra going to do after he ascends again?”

He blinked, pausing. “Enjoy peace. Start a...real family.”

Her claws sharpened with...jealousy? Gross! She flinched. “You want peace, and you’re attracted to bloodthirsty females? Explain that.”

“A man can’t have complicated, dueling desires?”

He could, yes, but she thought Roc’s motivations delved deeper. “Maybe you admire strength rather than bloodthirstiness. A strong woman won’t die easily. You won’t ever have to worry about losing her.”

He tensed but said nothing else. Because he didn’t relish a future without his gravita, even if that gravita was a phantom?

A sudden crack of thunder boomed, shaking the garden. Frowning, she pressed the side of her hand to her forehead, shading her eyes, and scanned the area. A storm approached from the north, dark clouds sweeping across the sunny sky. Would Roc work through the rain?

Cold blustered, wind whistling, cooling her off fast. Tossing her shirt had been a really bad idea or a really good one.

“Have you ever lost a blessing and won a curse?” she asked, not yet ready to give up on the conversation.

“Twice, with the two leaders before me. We were forced to hibernate, like the harpies are doing now.”

“How does this forced hibernation work, anyway?” Another crack of thunder boomed, an icier blast of wind speeding past.

“Astra are able to design and craft entire worlds. An original world takes centuries. A duplicate requires mere months. We can control what chemicals and gases are released into the air, where and for how long.”

Another good thing to know. Her thoughts returned to his varying reactions to her, and she decided to switch gears. “If you aren’t letting me out of your sight, why do I need the chastity belt?” Yeah, he’d locked the stupid contraption in place, along with everything else. Another whistling wind stirred up fallen leaves as she asked, “Does someone require help resisting his magnificent phantom?”

His chisel missed the stone and fell to the ground. He bent to pick it up, the storm clouds dancing closer, an electric charge crackling in the air.

If he controlled chemicals and whatnot, he might control weather, too. Was Roc causing the storm?

Someone does need help. “Say goodbye to my pants.” She stood and shimmied out of the fur-lined leather as he pretended to resume his work. Wearing only the wing-pinner and the chastity belt, she launched the leather at him.

He caught and dropped the garment without glancing up, lightning flashing. “Must you?” he inquired with a sigh.

“Yes, Roc, I must. I’m preparing for the wet-skin contest.” Resettling on the murder stone, she said, “Ah. That’s even better than better.”

“You lie. You’re already freezing. Your nipples are as hard as diamonds.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

The first raindrop splashed on her belly, and she gasped. He groaned. This might not be a terrible day after all.

* * *

Taliyah spent the entire night tucked against Roc, warm, relaxed and utterly miserable. Her eyelids weighed as much as boulders, but she refused to sleep. Which wasn’t easy. When he’d manhandled her into bed last night, she’d anticipated another orgasm. He’d drifted off instead. With a hard-on! She’d expected his bad dreams to return and keep her awake while granting her deeper insight into his personality. But the big lug slept soundly, one arm under her nape and the other draped over her belly. Basically, the giant spoon swallowed the tiny spoon.

What was she going to do about him?

When the sun dawned and chased away the remnants of yesterday’s storm, she crossed another day off her mental marriage calendar.

She needed to figure out a plan of action, fast, but a film of grogginess shrouded her mind. In this condition, she couldn’t possibly decide what to do about Roc.

Shucking off his arms, she lumbered to an upright position, then twisted to glare down at him. His chest! The spot over his heart had filled in.

She leaned down to inspect...

He slapped a hand across the writhing image and jolted from the bed. After swiping a dagger from the boot sheath he’d dropped on the floor, Roc stomped into the bathroom.

“Drama queen,” she called.

“Stay in bed.”

Hardly. She followed him. “You said we had to stick together at all hours of the day and night.” Why had the alevala appeared in his skin overnight? What did he plan to do with the knife? “What kind of captive disobeys a direct order?”