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

his palm. He realized what he’d done, however, and fisted his hand. Slowly, he lowered his arm and gripped the arm of the chair.

Taliyah strove for an encouraging expression as she studied the area. No longer a blank canvas or dotted with the beginnings of an image. The alevala writhed in all its horrifying beauty.

An expected spike of dizziness, a shroud falling over her mind. A memory weaving into her thoughts, taking shape... Here we go...

Roc stands before a lovely woman with hair as black as night, skin a magnificent shade of umber and eyes a rich brown. A sheer white dress billows from her slight form. An exact replica of what the Amazon wore in the first vision. A vision Taliyah had seen from Roc’s point of view. This time, she was removed from him and purely a spectator. Did he feel that way, when he thought of this moment?

“Please don’t do this,” the woman cries, clutching her belly. The altar blocks her escape, the usual crowd in attendance. The man in the black robe, a smiling Erebus and an army of motionless phantoms wearing widow’s weeds. “I’ve done nothing but love him.”

Taliyah almost felt the frigid bite of wind past, almost scented the array of roses blooming from surrounding shrubs. They occupied a garden similar to the one in Harpina, with four full moons twining eerie pink light with gray shadows.

“We won’t lose our Commander because of you,” Roc bellows.

Beyond them, pained grunts and groans mixed with broken cries—war’s melody.

Taliyah scanned the scene. There. Eighteen other Astra battled a single male. She recognized the four she’d seen with Roc, plus three she’d spotted in the crystal. The others were new. They fought a madman willing to strike anyone in his path. Rage and desperation accompanied his every blow.

This was combat at its most brutal. Brother against brother. Swords and other weapons swung. Flesh ripped. Limbs got hacked, while organs were sliced and diced. Blood arced through the air, creating ribbons of crimson.

Some of the warlords glowed, reminding her of stars. Others possessed iridescent rings around their bodies. Weapons? A type of armor? Two warlords blazed with literal flames, while a few spewed blue-tinged ice from their fingers. The rest cloaked themselves in some kind of thick cloud.

“Solar,” someone calls to the one fighting so fervently. “Stop this!”

He—Solar—screams, “Don’t touch her, Roc! She’s mine. Do you hear me? Don’t touch her!”

A warrior pivots into Solar, blocking his view of the bride. He sinks his teeth into the male’s throat, shakes his head and wrenches back, taking the jugular with him. As his opponent drops, he spits out his bounty.

Taliyah pressed a hand to her churning stomach. She’d witnessed countless horrors on the battlefield before, had participated numerous times, but this...

From the sidelines, Erebus taunts, “Time ticks away, Roc. Do you wish to acquire the blessing or the curse? You decide...”

Her stomach churned faster as she zoomed her gaze to her husband.

Roc lifts the bride off her feet—by the throat. She flails and kicks, fighting for freedom, for life.

“You have pitted us against one another, making our Commander—our brother—despise us,” Roc snarls at the woman. “You aren’t his family! We are.”

Her eyes bug, her face molting. “Love...him.”

“How can you love the man who once planned to kill you?”

Similar to the words he’d spoken to Taliyah only minutes ago.

From somewhere in the battle zone, Ian shouts, “Ten seconds remain, Roc. Strike!”

“Roc! No! Please! Do not do this,” Solar screams.

“Do it,” Erebus urges. “You know what happens if you fail. You activate the curse—you activate me.”

“Five seconds,” Ian yells, panicked.

“Roc! Please. I beg of you. I love her.” Solar’s hoarse voice cracks. Realizing he cannot fight his way to his woman in time, he drops to his knees, uncaring what becomes of him. “I love her. Please.”

Still Erebus taunts him. “Three. Two...”

Roc grips the woman’s neck so tightly, blood vessels burst in her eyes. The molting worsens as her mouth flounders open and closed. Gray spreads over her skin. Before she finishes turning into stone, he roars, grips her hair with his free hand and yanks. Her head detaches, taking her spine with it.

“Nooo!” Solar shouts, reaching for her.

By the time her pieces hit the ground, she’s fully stone and already ashing.

Erebus laughs and laughs and laughs. “Her death came too late. She died, and you’re cursed anyway.”

The other Astra focus on the jubilant god, raising their weapons. But as they rush for him, the phantoms come alive, swarming the entire group of warlords. Their weapons fail, swords break and daggers shatter before contact. The men trip over their own feet, barely able to remain upright. Solar is swarmed.

A blood-coated Roc rushes toward his Commander. As soon as Solar notices his approach, he jumps up, swinging a sword.

Roc dodges and unsheathes a sword of his own. Metal clangs against metal as he meets Solar’s next strike. There’s a wild, grief-stricken glaze in the male’s eyes.

“You killed her,” Solar snarls. “You killed my Allanah.”

“I thought to spare you from... I hoped to spare us all. I...”

Solar launches a second attack. Roc blocks and returns a blow. They are predators, and they make no mistakes between them. Unlike the others, they encounter no problems with faulty weapons, every strike true. They fight with sublime skill, exuding a rare mastery of their bodies, each able to predict his opponent’s every move and adjust his stance accordingly.

Two bears locked in a cage, neither willing to retreat.

“I don’t wish to kill you, Solar.”

“If you hope to survive this day, you’ll have to.”

“I did what I thought was right!”

“Because you saw no other way. But I did! Why didn’t you trust me?”

They scream the accusations at each other, Solar’s combat growing more vicious. They move so quickly, wounds seem to appear out of nowhere. A gash here. Swelling or a bruise there. Neither male heals. Because of the curse?

Roc releases his weapons long enough to slash with his claws, then crouches to catch the daggers before they ever