The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

Pensive, Roc replied, “You aren’t gifted, special or a new breed of phantom. A husk without a soul is always a husk without a soul. You aren’t his daughter, either. Erebus is the essence of death. He has no life-giving seed.”

Gross. Taliyah vomited in her mouth a little. Roc had no idea he spoke about her father’s—No, she couldn’t even think it. But no wonder the Big E had possessed his brother to impregnate Tabitha and Tamera. He couldn’t get the job done on his own.

Roc continued. “Phantoms are made the way phantoms are made. The method of creation cannot be altered.”

“Are you sure? Mortals have babies the old-fashioned way,” she said, “or with the help of science.”

“Even with science, the same ingredients are used.” He stroked his beard, then flipped his gaze to Mumbles. “Visit the Hall of Secrets. I want a report of any whispers involving phantoms like Taliyah.”

Hall of Secrets. Never heard of it.

“I will do this.” Mumbles struck her as lucid, until he added, “Why don’t I remember? The battle raged. She and the girl were in front of me. Then the battle was over. What don’t I remember?”

Hold up. Could she and the girl refer to Blythe and Isla? Blythe’s victims experienced blackouts all the time...when she possessed them.

Blythe might have possessed the Astra to round up Isla and escape unnoticed. But how had she possessed the Astra in the first place?

And, if Blythe got in...when had she gotten out?

Why am I happy to see you? A question Mumbles had asked on Taliyah’s first trip to the dungeon. Had he felt Blythe’s emotions? Was her sister inside him still?

Hope flowered, and Taliyah leveled her gaze on the male. Argh! Roc positioned himself between them.

“What did Erebus order you to do?” he demanded.

Mind on the problem at hand, T. She couldn’t help Blythe until she’d gotten out of this mess.

Her neighbors upped their whispers and speculations. Taliyah tuned them out, concentrating on the warrior who was rubbing the bare patch of skin above his heart. Around it, the alevala churned, more agitated than usual.

“Taliyah,” he snapped.

“Oh? Were you expecting an answer from me?” His scent infiltrated her awareness, and she dropped her gaze to his mouth. Her shackles clinked as she slinked forward. “Come closer, husband, and I’ll tell you.” Her raspy voice embarrassed her. Onward and upward. “Just a little closer, Roc.”

He did move closer, shooting out his arm, wrapping his fingers around her throat to slant her face up to his. “You would drink me down if I let you. You would drain me dry.”

“I would,” she confirmed. Why deny it? “That was plan A, and it was an abject failure.”

His fingers flexed on her. “You tried to suck my soul?”

“Oh, yeah. Big-time. Last night, actually.”

He stiffened further, even as he oh-so-gently traced his thumb up the column of her throat. The tenderness was a shocking contrast to his ferocity. “I felt your attempt. For a moment, my dreams changed.” He offered the words softly, for her ears alone. “Were those your orders? To drain me and keep me weak? Your master should have known better.”

“Or I acted—act—on my own? I’m so different from the others...”

A flash of uncertainty, there and gone. Enough to catch her attention.

She pressed her advantage. “I don’t work for Erebus, Roc. I’m a free agent. How can I prove this to you?”

“You can’t.” His grip tightened. “You will stay here until I decide what to do with you.”

Hardly. “If I can mount an escape, I promise you, I will mount an escape.”

He scowled. “You are defeated, phantom. Accept it.”

“I’m not defeated until I’m dead, warrior. And even then I’ll keep fighting.”

A storm cloud of fury, he vanished. His men lingered, projecting varying degrees of concern, before following him.

Taliyah deflated against the wall. Had she detected a thrum of heat before Roc’s disappearing act? What did it mean?

Ugh. She was too hungry to process her own emotions, much less his.

The harpies erupted into rapid-fire questions, going silent when the handsome warrior reappeared. Dark from head to toe. Looking at no one, he claimed a post between the two cells.

My guard for the night. She sat up, saying, “You’re the repairman, yeah? I caught sight of you a few times when I made my rounds.”

To her surprise, he replied, “I am.” She’d expected to be ignored. “I bear the ninth rank.”

“So, last place?” She offered her favorite exaggerated wince while drawing her knees behind her. “That’s gotta sting.”

“It’s deserved. Once, I led the army. I was the first.” He delivered the information with a tinge of shame rather than pride. “My brother acted as my third.”

“You’re Roc’s brother?” Well. Sure enough. They shared similar facial features. Did this man love his brother as much as Roc loved him, or did he harbor secret jealousy? “Pro tip. Your bragging needs work.”