The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

His hands drew into tight fists. If not for Chaos... The god had saved the pair, winning them from the males who’d originally bought them, accepting them as acolytes.

Aurora wore typical acolyte garb: sheer scarves as black as a starless night, the hem dancing at her bare feet despite her stillness.

“Who are you?” Taliyah demanded, and Roc tensed. “Because I just watched you passively observe another woman’s murder.”

“You will watch your tongue, harpy, or you will lose it.”

His soon-to-be bride didn’t flinch at his harshness. No, she studied his sister with new intensity. Trying to put pieces of a puzzle together?

With a frown, Aurora removed the blade from his thigh. Oh, yes. He’d forgotten it was there.

“My thanks.” Dear one. When he extended his palm, she offered the hilt and a quick, private smile, and his stinging chest clenched.

Voice as wispy as wind, she said, “You may begin.”

“What?” the harpy shrieked. “This is happening now?”

“Now.”

A bit hysterical, she called, “But where’s my toaster? My barely remembered bachelorette party? Where are the strippers?”

She teases me? He clamped his large fingers around her small wrist, then lifted her palm to the light; she remained stationary, opting not to fight him. Not by word or deed did she react as he ran the blade from the base of her index finger to the middle of her wrist.

Blood welled and pooled. “You’ll regret that,” she said with a cold smile.

“Why? Because you are a venomous snake?” He sliced open his palm next, then linked their fingers, mixing their blood. “I’m immune.”

She gasped as if he’d singed her. Maybe he had, the difference in their temperatures startling. She tried to wrench away, but he held on, her strength no match for his own.

Determined to finish this, he gazed into her frosty eyes. “I take you as my bride, Taliyah Skyhawk, the Terror of All Lands. You are mine.” His voice had heft and carried throughout the room, lingering long after he’d spoken. As Commander of the Astra, he needed to say nothing more to cement this union. He merely required her acceptance. “Repeat the words,” he instructed, tightening his grip.

She didn’t repeat the words. Not right away. She glared up at him and huffed, “I’m going to enjoy killing you. So you know what? Yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s War-of-the-Roses this sitch. I take you as my bride, Alaroc Phaethon. You are mine...to murder.”

Aurora accepted the words, calling, “The marriage is acceptable to Chaos. The clock starts.” She cast Roc a final glance before vanishing.

He couldn’t halt a familiar pang of loss. Focus.

Taliyah smiled up at him, the tone of it different from her others, rendering him momentarily mute. If ever evil had a face... “This is the moment we kiss, right?” If ever seduction had a voice...

He dropped his gaze to her lips, the action automatic and unstoppable. So plump and pink. A heart-shaped masterpiece, with a center dip in the bottom one. Impossibly lovely. He cleared his throat. “There’s no reason to kiss. Our word is our bond.”

A gleam of calculation appeared in her eyes. “I disagree. I’m not married until I’m kissed.”

True in some cultures, but not his. “My blood runs through your veins,” he grated. “You are very married.”

“No kiss, no marriage.” All simmering seduction, her eyes swirling and mesmerizing, she glided her free hand up his chest. The snakeshifter had decided to work her wiles. “Stop me when it’s too much for you...”

Her temperature shocked him into immobility. That must be the problem. He did nothing to dissuade her when she freed her other hand from his and twined her fingers at his nape... nothing to stop her when she hauled her body against his, jumping up and winding her legs around his waist.

No, he reached up to ghost his fingers over her wings. They fluttered swiftly, brushing his knuckles again and again. His lungs squeezed.

He would set her on her feet. He would.

“Practically begging for it,” she muttered, leaning her face toward his. Slow, so slow. Giving him time to protest as her gaze challenged his.

His shaft throbbed harder. Rebuke her. End this.

He remained quiet. She had something to prove—but so did he. She expected him to turn away. He would not.

Would she?

Almost upon him... Contact. She pressed her lips to him, and he sucked in a breath. She jolted.

Wanting consumed him as they lunged in unison. Their mouths crashed together, tongues thrusting. A moan left him. How sweet she tasted. How sweetly she tasted him.

As the seconds, minutes, hours ticked on, neither willing to stop, he thought he might be losing his mind. When the first flame of a wildfire ignited, he fisted her hair. He loved the way the soft strands felt between his fingers. Angling her head, he deepened the kiss. She let him.

Want more of her. Must touch. His control wavered.