The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

No thoughts of her!

Thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk. A larger section of rock fell, a crack forming in the piece left behind. He ground his teeth and switched his efforts to erasing the damage. Perhaps he should think of the snarpy. List the many ways he despised her.

Yes, he liked this plan. For starters, Taliyah Skyhawk, Terror of All Lands, refused to follow orders even to save her life. She turned everything into a contest of wills, forcing him to do the same. The excitement of those contests didn’t matter. The woman refused to bend, a trait only estimable in an Astra. With her presence, her scent, her everything, she made him burn. He loved—hated to burn. He valued control in every area of his life.

Control equated to power. Life without power equated to misery without equal.

Cursing, Roc dropped the chisel and resettled on the stool, his elbows on his knees, his head in his upraised hands. A petite temptress was walking all over the Commander of the Astra Planeta, and he was letting her do it. He invited her rebellions, because he liked the end result. His hands roaming over her body. His fingers inside her.

Even now, he panted for more.

Could he make her moan? Would she beg for his kiss, his touch—or Hades’s?

Roc’s claws shaded from gray to black, the tips becoming razors. For pride’s sake, he should make Taliyah crave him. He had something to prove.

Taking her to bed was practically a duty. He didn’t require her virginity, only her pleasure.

Yes! He jumped to his feet, certain of his brilliance. He’d make her come all night long.

Deny my effect on you then, harpy.

Before he’d taken a step, he recalled the day Solar used a similar excuse to be with his bride. He eased into his seat.

Back then, Roc had believed the idea smacked of “pure foolishness.” Did it?

Or did he know better now?

Better. Definitely. With Taliyah, the scales were unbalanced. In her favor! He desired her, but she didn’t desire him in return. She had power over him. An unacceptable situation. No one should have power over him, especially a bride.

Might equaled right.

Roc wasn’t some inexperienced youth who lost his mind in the midst of passion, forgetting his purpose. He had the skill to pleasure Taliyah as much as he pleased, without crossing that final line. As he released the worst of his tension, she would learn to never again taunt him.

The perfect plan. Flawless.

With measured strokes, he petted the key he’d hung around his neck before coming to the gardens. The only way to open the enchanted chastity belt. Taliyah didn’t know the skills he possessed in the bedroom. But she would learn. Laugh at him? No, oh no. She’d be too busy screaming.

Arousal singed muscle and bone. He wanted Taliyah screaming.

He would have the harpy in his bed tonight. By morning, the scale would tip in his favor.

—May I approach, Commander?—

Roc wasn’t in the mood for company, but his station came before his mood. Had phantoms been found? —You may.—

His brother appeared and leaned a broad shoulder against the meteorite. Rather than offer a report about phantoms, as expected, he said, “You look more tormented than usual.”

“That means I look better than I feel,” Roc grumbled. He picked up his chisel to eliminate what remained of the crack. “What do you need?”

“Lack of sex isn’t getting to you at all.”

He opened his mouth to lament the trials of being wed to the world’s most sensual bride, only to snap his teeth together. Soon, Ian would begin his assigned task. As the least ranked, he was forced to do something so horrific Roc shuddered at the thought. Let him have his fun while he can.

“I’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see.” Sizzling desire raged as he imagined Taliyah naked in his bed. “Much better.”

No reason to inform his brother of his plans. A worried soldier led to a worried army. A worried army was a defeated army. What’s more, their concern had no bearing on the situation. No matter how many times the snarpy begged and pleaded for Roc’s possession, he would refuse, his resolve steadfast.

Ian whistled. “You realize you’re stroking the key like a lover, yes?”

Again? He returned to his task.

“Perhaps I should retain possession of—”

“Mine!” The word burst from him, a command, warning and claim all at once. Realizing how crazed he sounded, he scoured a hand over his face. “My apologies.”

Ian blinked at him. “You’re...sorry? You?”

What if she is your gravita?

No! Roc had endured thousands of years without a fated mate. The odds of finding his gravita were low. Lower than low. And if not, well, Taliyah’s station still didn’t matter. He couldn’t divorce her and sacrifice another; the ritual prevented it. When the time came, Taliyah would die. Perhaps he would ascend immediately afterward. His dream of slaying his enemy and enjoying a happy, peaceful life realized at last.