The Warlord by Gena Showalter (free ebook reader for pc .txt) 📕

to face him, he kicked the door shut, sealing the two of them inside.

“Okay, Mr. Drama Queen.” Was she supposed to cower now that they were alone? Why not test his reflexes? After all, he hadn’t even bothered to discard her weapons.

She strolled closer, grateful she’d taken Neeka’s advice and trained at the hands of a sensual master. Voice throaty, she asked, “Whatever do you plan to do with me?”

“Whatever I want.” He stalked closer, as well...only to bypass her without ever making contact.

Jerk! “I’m assuming the whatever I want goes both ways?”

He snorted. A starting bell. Taliyah didn’t bother pondering the best attack. She simply grabbed a dagger and slammed the blade into his brain stem. Except, he twisted and latched on to her wrist, stopping her before she made contact.

Their gazes connected, her breath hitching.

“There’s something you should know,” he told her, utterly calm and casual. “I sense the slightest thrum of aggression.”

“Are you saying I inadvertently broadcasted my intentions?”

Nod.

“Something to work on, then.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Drop the dagger.”

“No, thanks.” She gripped the hilt tighter.

“Drop it.”

“No. Obviously, I have a point to prove.” Nothing would stop her. Not now, not ever.

He squeezed her wrist, and it hurt. Tomorrow she’d wear his bruises. Still she held on with all her might.

“This bedroom is our neutral zone. Attacks aren’t allowed in here.” He punctuated every word. “I’m not angered by your actions—yet. You didn’t know. Now you do. Next time... Do not let there be a next time.” His tone sharpened into an audible blade. “Drop the dagger, Taliyah. Now.”

Not angered by her actions yet? Liar, liar. The man seethed. “Sorry,” she quipped, “but this is a therapy dagger. The law says I get to take it everywhere, no questions asked.”

He stepped closer, entering her personal space until the blade rested against his collarbone. Teeth clenched, he told her, “Listen well, harpy. From this moment on, my law is your law. If I must remove your hand to oversee your cooperation, I will.”

The most delicious warmth radiated from him, threatening to weaken her resolve. As a phantom and snake, she existed in a state of total cold, regardless of the situation. She didn’t like it, but what could she do? How did this man continue to heat her up, something Hades, a king of Hell, had never managed?

“Does anyone ever disobey you?” she asked conversationally.

“Never more than once.”

Arrogant male. Sexy. Too bad, so sad. I will make him concede.

Her sexuality worked before. Why mess with perfection? “Are you saying...” She flattened her other palm on his pectoral. “...that you don’t want me to touch you?”

The muscle jerked, drawing her gaze. Down she looked. Along the way, a moving tattoo snagged her attention.

Dizziness invaded, and she groaned. Not this again.

She tried to tear her gaze away. Too late. A new memory claimed center stage...

A trembling banshee stands before a massive black altar. A savage wind gusts, dancing locks of red hair before her face as the hem of her ivory gown billows. Tears well in her beautiful eyes. She bows her head, defeated, and climbs atop the altar, where she stretches out. A sob leaves her.

Behind the altar is a silent crowd. The black-robed man occupies the center, set apart from the others. The same two females stand at his sides. Erebus is feet away, seething with fury, an army of phantoms fanned out behind him. Each embodied female wears a somber black gown.

Alaroc approaches the banshee and places a hand just over her heart. “You have served me well, female. Worry not. Your death will be painless.” Apologetic words, monotone voice.

The banshee sniffles and croaks, “Please, don’t do this.”

“You were dead the moment you wed me. You knew this. I made no secret of it.”

In the distance, a bell tolls the midnight hour. Ding.

He maintains his stance, his hand pressed against her, and the banshee whimpers. Then... Black lines spread through her pale skin. Ding.

She goes quiet. Her eyes close, and her head lolls to the side. Ding.

A strange blue glow shoots from Alaroc. A near-blinding pulse that blasts from his being. Ding.

The light fades, revealing—

Taliyah gasped. The banshee had turned to stone. That stone crumbled into ash. Handfuls of it floated up and twirled away.

As the memory dulled, a final ding sounding, she tightened her grip on the dagger. Did Alaroc plan to ash Taliyah at month’s end? She knew she’d recover from the loss of any limb or internal organ; she’d survived a myriad of poisons, starvation and any number of other horrors. But stoning and ashing? Could she recover from something like that?

Yes, yes. Of course. She’d even survived a beheading!

Reveal nothing. Batting her lashes, she asked, “Do the Astra Planeta ash all their wives, or did I luck out and marry the best one?”

“Release. The. Blade.”

“Why do you stone and ash your wives?” she asked, resting her free hand over the other. A double hold. Take that!

He scowled. “Stone and ash prevent anyone from coming along and reviving the body or spirit, undoing the sacrifice.”

She gulped. “How do you kill non-wives?”

“With a three-blade. A weapon made of trinite. Most of my enemies are phantoms.”

Trinite? The special weapon, most likely. She could guess the trio involved. Fireiron, demonglass and cursedwood. “And what does trinite do to phantoms? Because I’ve never heard of it, and I’m something of a weapon aficionado.”

“Trinite bestows the final death to phantoms, causing their bodies to evaporate into nothing.” Without a pause, he added, “Release the blade.”

The fingers curled in, a defensive action to guard her enchanted ring. Alaroc could never learn she was a phantom.

Had she come back from the dead after tangling with the toxic trio? Yes. The first time. Would she revive a second time? Her mother didn’t think so.

Dude. “So how long have you been getting your little Rocs off by murdering brides?”

A flicker in his irises. “My brides died for a purpose, with honor.”

Had she struck a nerve? “Dying with honor cannot trump living with it. Soon,