Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
He perched upon his seat, gazing adoringly at Lore’s remains. Something he’d done for the past twelve hours.
Twelve. Two more than ten. Eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes more than Neeka’s patience could bear.
Again and again, he’d issued a request for the goddess to return. Had the female deigned to respond? Not. Even. Once. It would’ve been sad if it weren’t so hellish.
His unhealthy obsession with a (potential) incubator of shadow monsters had to end. Thankfully, it might be dulling a wee bit, despite current evidence to the contrary. A couple times today, he’d sprung wood for Neeka. He’d also bantered with her. Had even acquiesced to her request and caressed her chin as if he were handling a valuable vase. And the way he’d looked at her...
Warm shivers brought a smile to her lips. He and his mátia had absolutely devoured her. That had to mean something.
Obviously, she didn’t reciprocate his attraction. Not in the slightest. She wasn’t a fool. But an idea percolated...
What if she seduced him, luring him away from the goddess? Sure, Neeka hadn’t cranked up the heat for a guy in centuries. And yeah, okay, her skills were rusty at best, as proven by the fact that she’d never won more than a quickie. But again, what if?
She traced a fingertip over the words on her arm. He-licks-her. Had Past Neeka given Future Neeka permission to accept the king’s kisses?
Wait. He-licks-her. Helikser. Elikser. Realization struck, stealing her breath. Elixir! That. That was the solution to her dilemma. Excellent job, Past Neeka!
According to ancient rumors, there was an enchanted substance able to create a bond stronger than that of fated mates. If Neeka located a vial of it, she could win Rathbone from Lore. He would reject the bones, letting the goddess fade into the ether of memory, preventing the destruction of harpykind.
Although, yes, Azar would still lose his task, earning a curse for the Astra Planeta and a blessing for Erebus the Deathless, who would ascend and acquire more power. Not the most amazing ending.
Fine! It was lackluster at best. And yet, with it a glimmer of hope remained. The Astra could slumber for a half millennium, as they’d done after previous defeats, except this time, harpies would guard them. Then, when they awoke, the warlords could defeat Erebus. It’d be tougher to do, but not impossible.
Neeka probed her intuition, on a quest for any red flags. A sense of danger bloomed, but what was new? Danger awaited her on every path. Until a better solution popped up...
I’m going for it. Decided, she relaxed and stretched her arms over her head, then shifted to her side. Her gaze landed on Rathbone for the thousandth time—she gasped, her eyes widening. Uh, he and his eyes were no longer focused on the goddess. He stared at Neeka. And he was smoldering again.
Dang, he gave good smolder. His red skin darkened, as if actual coals burned beneath the surface. Embers crackled in the mátia.
A tremor traveled from head to toe. She slid her gaze down his body, an action suddenly as necessary as oxygen. All those muscles. Another raging hard-on...
She fanned her overheating cheeks. Rathbone the Only was a total snack cake.
“Something on your mind, majesty?” she breathed out, sitting up. “Feel free to share with the rest of the class.”
“Change clothes and have a vision,” he growled. “I told you we weren’t leaving this room until you did, and I meant it.”
Okay, that was so not what she’d expected him to say. Why did he care so much about her outfits? She gave herself a once-over, confusion mounting. The shirt and shorts covered all her personal bits. There were no bloodstains. No embroidered message, either, because she hadn’t had the tools to sew a new one, but even still, his command made no sense.
“Where am I supposed to find these so-called clothes?” she demanded.
He waved his hand and a garment appeared at her feet. “I’m sure you’ll find something if you search,” he replied with the driest of dry tones.
Ugh. A long-sleeve, floor-length robe. She would rather die.
Neeka climbed to her feet and anchored her hands on her hips. With a little sass—okay, a lot of sass—she told him, “I will possibly consider thinking about considering wearing such a travesty of fashion, oh great one, after my boss issues my first paycheck. Go ahead and scattered my slain enemies at my feet.”
“A royal oracle should be covered from neck to toe.”
Uh... “Where did you pick up that gem?”
“Myself.” His gaze slid over her, burning hotter. “I am the only variable that matters in this situation.”
Wait. “Are you demanding I cover-up because you can’t stop getting steamed for good ole Neeks, no matter how much you try?”
His scowl sharpened enough to cut through steel. “Did you forget I spoke with Lore after spending centuries apart?”