The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

How he cursed the day he’d spotted Taliyah in the market!

Ferreting out her bedroom wasn’t difficult. Frostberries saturated every inch. A stench of betrayal.

Betrayal? When she has only fought to survive?

Yes!

As a matter of duty, he examined this room more intently than the others. What better way to learn more about his enemy? The tidiness of the space fit her personality, but not her origins. Phantoms never worried over making a bed or polishing weapons before hanging them in designated spots. Nor did phantoms care about touches of whimsy. A plaque on the wall read World’s Okayest Sister. A second wall decoration was a painting of stick figures framed in gold. The artist’s name was scribbled.

He stalked into the closet to assess the garments she preferred when she wasn’t tormenting foolish husbands. Combat gear and more combat gear. Nothing for seduction or relaxation.

How sad.

How foolish of him to care.

Phantoms had no feelings. Although...Taliyah might. Had she faked her love of family, her loyalty to the harpies? He had doubts.

So different from the others. Faster, stronger and, yes, smarter. Charming without effort.

How did Erebus command someone like her? Could he? What if she operated outside of the god’s orders, as claimed?

Did she choose to serve him?

Bile rose up in Roc’s chest. What if he won her from—No! He wouldn’t entertain such a temptation.

Obviously, she’d pretended to desire him. Was she truly his gravita?

He rifled through the dresser drawers, where he discovered sexy scraps of barely-there material he refused to imagine her wearing. Part of her arsenal against him?

His fingers curled around a pair of ice-blue panties nearly the same shade as her eyes. If Erebus sought to tie Roc into knots, mission accomplished. Roc hadn’t felt this conflicted since...

His most hated memory rose, and he pressed the panties against the alevala in development. A memory of terrible death, incredible loss and unforgivable betrayals.

He captured and cast out the thought before he was forced to relive every horrifying moment.

Though he wanted to shove the underwear into his pocket, he dropped the garment and flashed to his bedroom in Harpina. He eased onto the foot of his bed.

The trip to the Realm of the Forgotten had done him no good. What was he going to do with Taliyah?

Roc rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. Despite everything, he desired her still, his need burning as hot as ever.

While chained and splayed on a dungeon floor, she’d gazed at him with defiance. How could he not want her back in his arms?

He never should have flashed closer to her. Never should have clasped her throat as she dared him to act. Even now, he fought the urge to return. To splay her lithe body beneath him and touch and kiss until she fully surrendered to his will.

He thought he might do terrible things for such a thing.

What has she done to me?

Halo’s hard voice lifted Roc’s head. —At least forty phantoms breached the palace. Looks like they’re headed to the throne room. I don’t know how this happened. I never saw them approach the palace or the wall. There’s no sign of Erebus.—

He rose to steady legs and pushed Taliyah from his mind. War came first. War always came first, no matter how exhausting. The moment he exalted something above it, his past actions would cease to matter; horrors committed for the greater good would suddenly be mistakes.

Roc didn’t have to wonder how Halo spotted the invasion while standing on the wall half a mile away. The male used mystical binoculars acquired with Roc’s fourth bride, the lenses peering through every obstacle.

Had Taliyah brought the fiends here? She must have. But how had she done it?

He did his best to mitigate his anger and frustration.

—Hold your positions. I’ll take care of the problem myself.—

He palmed two three-blades and flashed to the action, finding forty-three phantoms. Females dressed in widow’s weeds and starved. They walked in circles in the center of the throne room, muttering, “Get to the throne room, embody, walk around, tell Roc. Get to the throne room, embody, walk around, tell Roc.”

Another message from Erebus. One he had no wish to hear. The god coveted more of his misery, nothing more.

Roc flashed to the two closest phantoms and rammed a blade in the underside of their chins. Both creatures dropped, soon to evaporate. In unison, the other phantoms turned toward him before freezing in place, preparing to deliver the missive.

“I know every move you will make.”

Roc didn’t hesitate; he struck again and again and again, thick mist coating the air. The phantoms spoke until the very end.

“I know every move you will make. I have the Blade of Destiny, after all, and you have—” The last phantom died before the rest escaped her.

The Blade of Destiny. He’d known the loss would haunt him.