Rathbone flashed into the hallway, directly in front of her. She didn’t notice and smacked into him. As he caught her, she flipped up her gaze, meeting his. “I’ve been inside you, carrot. Nothing is too intimate now. But you will miss me,” he commanded. To guarantee it, he seized her lips in a fierce kiss.

  Just as she melted in his arms, he lifted his head, ending the exchange. Desire glazed her irises, and passion deepened the color in her cheeks.

  He gave her backside a teasing squeeze. “See? You’re missing me already,” he boasted, strutting to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, right in her stunned face.

  Amusement blended with anticipation. As soon as they returned, he would install her in his room. Before the end of the day, her clothing would hang in his closet alongside his.

  She banged on his door, calling, “Is the missing mutual?”

  “It is,” he called back, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

  He hurried through a shower, then donned a pair of leathers and combat boots. His version of “nice.”

  He was preparing to find her when she sailed into the bedroom. His heart stuttered against his ribs the moment he spotted her. This female...oh, this female. Both savage and sweet, and exquisite beyond measure.

  She wore the uniform of a decorated harpy soldier—a metal breastplate, pleated leather skirt and a dozen different weapon sheaths. But the metal was white, the leather pink, and the weapon handles bejeweled.

  My savage gum drop queen.

  “How am I supposed to function with a never-ending hard-on?” he asked, and he meant it.

  She flushed and pretended to fluff hair she’d twisted into a series of elaborate knots. “Learn.”

  He almost grinned. Oh, but he liked her confident like this. He liked her, period.

  Rathbone gathered her close and flashed her to Hades’s palace. They found the king in his throne room, perched atop his golden chair, presiding over a case between two citizens. A cat sat in his lap, and a raccoon played with the hem of a robe worn by the old man with a clipboard standing next to the throne. Pippen, Hades’s most trusted servant. His only trusted servant. Rathbone had no idea what the spirit had done to earn such a rare gift.

  The mirror hung on the wall behind the king, as if presiding over him.

  “May we interrupt?” Rathbone called, leading Neeka forward with an arm wrapped around her waist. Fear tinged the air, the usual reaction to seeing him in the kingdom. “Let me rephrase. We’re interrupting.”

  Hades studied their placement and smirked. “If I’m about to hear how right I was and wrong you were, you may.”

  “Your Majesty,” the defendant rushed out, nervously shuffling his feet. “Please give me a chance to—”

  “Guilty,” Hades interjected, waving Rathbone forward. Armed guards hauled the protesting defendant away. “Everyone out.”

  The rest of the crowd followed the same path as if their feet were on fire, disappearing beyond a set of double doors. Everyone but the old man and the animals exited.

  In his element, the king reclined, resting an elbow on the chair’s arm, and rubbing two fingers over his mouth. “My, my. Aren’t we cozy together.”

  “We are.” Rathbone gave Neeka a little squeeze. “Go ahead.”

  Her gaze remained riveted on the mirror, her expression glazing. “I remember now,” she breathed out. “If you wish to save everyone, Neeka, you need only speak with the girl in the mirror.”

  Rathbone blinked. The Goddess of Many Futures. She appeared in the glass, a delicate female with long, curling white hair, eyes like a starlit night, and dark skin. She peered at Neeka, both hands pressed against the glass.

  Hades glowered. “That isn’t happening. No one speaks with Siobhan.”

  “Let me,” the oracle demanded, unintimidated. “The fate of the world depends on it.”

  “Not my world.”

  She turned to Rathbone, flattening her palms on his pectorals and batting her lashes at him, expectant. “Go back to the palace and fetch my dueling pistols I’m stealing from you. Don’t worry. I’ll win.”

  Muscles hardened, and blood heated. He clasped her waist and squeezed. “You cannot challenge Hades. He’s our ally.”

  She slithered against him, saying, “Then he should have let me talk with the goddess.”

  He glanced at his uncle, who gave a succinct shake of his head. Rathbone sighed and flashed Neeka to his bedroom. “I will bargain with him.” He tossed her onto the bed. “After we negotiate terms.”

  “Do you think I’ll lose a challenge?” she asked, eagerly stripping out of her breastplate.

  “I think I love him and want to keep him around.”

  “Fine. But you’re gonna owe me so big.” She shimmied out of the skirt. “More than just terms. I’m expecting more jewelry. And gold coins with my image.”

  “You’ll have them.” Rathbone kicked off his boots and unzipped his leathers. “But you are not issuing a challenge to him, Neeka, and neither am I. That’s final. He’s more than my ally. He’s raised me after my mother abandoned me.”

  “Gah! You can’t just drop an information bomb like that while I’m so hot for you. I can’t concentrate properly, so I can’t react properly.” With her thumbs hooked at the sides of her panties, she slid the material down her legs.

  “I’ll remind you. Now, about our terms.” He climbed onto the bed and pinned her with his weight. “I’ll return to bargain with him as soon as you admit you’re mine.”

  * * *

  Neeka petted Rathbone’s chest. He looked so cute when he snored, his hair mussed and his mátia closed. A startling contrast to the animal who’d taken her to bed. Oh, how she lov—liked the many sides of this complicated male.

  Though she wanted to do nothing more than cuddle with him, she forced herself to carefully maneuver from the mattress and rise. He didn’t want her challenging Hades—his beloved uncle/father!—so, she wouldn’t. But she couldn’t not speak with Siobhan. And deep down Neeka knew. Hades wouldn’t bend on this, no matter what treasure Rathbone offered him. That left one option: sneaking into Hades’s palace.

  The second she’d spotted the mirror, she’d remembered the words she’d heard in the Hall of Secrets. Though the speaker, whoever it was, could be luring her into a trap. Always a possibility. Also worth the risk. And this wasn’t a betrayal of Rathbone’s trust. Neither Rathbone nor Hades would ever learn of her actions. So. No harm, no foul.

  Fine! It was a betrayal. Wrong on every level. But she was still going to do it. Because priorities! Save her consort and harpykind or assuage Rathbone’s feelings? As quietly as possible, she dressed in her uniform, then strapped on as many daggers as she could hold and tiptoed from the bedroom. Without the ability to flash, she’d have to go on foot. And she’d have to go fast, or Rathbone would catch her. He’d have something to say about her no harm, no foul sentiment.

  Wings rippling, Neeka cast the arresting male a final glance. Her chest compressed.

  I do this to save him. Not herself. Not the worlds. Him. Was there any better reason?

  She hurried from the palace, entering a deserted nightscape teeming with overgrown trees, vines, and bushes. She hacked and chopped through them, tacking the scent of crisp, fresh water. Her mind whirled. If she and the Scarlet Tornado actually ended up making a go of things after this, she was totally taking over the landscaping of their kingdom. Because dang. This sucked.

  By the time she reached the outer edge of the overgrowth, coming upon a charred wasteland and the head of a river, she was panting and beating herself up. Perhaps she and Rathbone could make a relationship work? He seemed to really, truly want her. Like, big time. To keep. Forever. And dang it, she wanted him, too. Like, big time. To keep. Forever.

  He fit her, as if his intensity, ferocity, and charm had been tailor-made from a blueprint of her most secret desires. How he looked at her...smelled...moved... She shivered with desire.

  Trust was important to him. As it should be. Trust was important to her, too. A need like no other. With it came security, one of life’s greatest treasures. She’d broken Rathbone’s once, but he’d given her a second chance. Could she allow herself to hurt him the same way twice? Besides, his loyalty to his uncle should be rewarded, not punished.

  Neeka skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding an eruption of fire. The flames burst through cracks in the dirt. What was she even doing? Betraying Rathbone by doing the one thing he’d asked her not to? No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t do it.

  Resolved, she spun, intending to head home. A vibration in the ground jolted her, and she turned, ready to strike. A flash of red stopped her.

  Maximus! His mouth was open with a war cry as he rushed toward her, a hammer raised over his head. Bloody cuts marred his upper body and face.

  He stumbled to a halt as soon as he clocked her identity. “You.” The arm with the hammer fell to his side, as if too heavy to hold up. “You’re the wench with my father.”

  She winced and waved. “Hi. The name is Neeka the... Wanted.” The boy looked like he’d been shoved through a wringer and beaten with a stick. What had he suffered to get here? For that matter, how had he gotten here? “Your dad and I are friends.” They were, weren’t they? Rathbone was tough but fair, insistent but generous. At least he was with her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in hiding out with your grandmother?”

  Maximus bared his teeth. “I came to meet my father, and that’s what I’ll do. I won’t be stopped. Not by you. Not by anyone!”

  “Hey,” she said, showing him her hands, palms out, “I won’t stop such a laudable endeavor. Do you know what that means? Laudable?” She was going to rock being a stepmother. “Why don’t I take you to him?” Rathbone would be over the moon!

  As the kid’s eyes brightened, she added, “Here’s the thing. If you pat my rear or compliment my boobs, I will break your face. Understand?”

  “I understand it’s Tuesday,” he remarked, regaining his former sass. “Why are you wearing a top?”

  “Hey! You don’t speak to your future stepmother with that mouth.” She jammed her fists on her hips. “How did you escape Hera?”

  “What? Like it was hard.”

  Were the two males really clones? Because wow. Neeka—hot prickles seared her nape, a sensation she knew well. Tension descended from her head to her toes, turning her muscles into stone. Ahdán neared.

  Heart jumping, she withdrew two daggers from their sheaths. Scanning the area, she told Maximus, “Listen up, kid. Run as fast as you can. The palace is beyond the thicket. Shout for your father and tell him the oracle’s ex-husband is here.” She didn’t need Rathbone’s help; she just needed the boy safe.

  Maximus nodded and shot toward the thicket, but he stopped before reaching the foliage and gaped upward. Ahdán hovered in the sky, flapping wings of fire. The flames spread to his entire body, turning the surrounding area into a smoke-filled oven.

  Neeka groaned. She wouldn’t emerge unscathed from the coming battle, that much she comprehended. “Go!” she shouted, waving Maximus on. He did not obey. Argh! To Ahdán, she called, “Here for another round of divorce court, baby?”

  “Here to settle this between us once and for all, wife.”

  “You’re planning to die permanently then?”

  Her ex threw back his head, releasing what must be his “power squawk.” Smiling with icy delight, he revealed a syringe in his hand. A snippet she’d heard in the Hall of Secrets teased her mind...

  Give her the remaining doses at once. If she dies, she dies. If she survives, she’ll be able to withstand your fire and you can bed her anytime you wish.

  Dread slapped Neeka. Ahdán intended to force her metamorphosis to Phoenix or kill her, and all it’d take was a single needle prick. Oh...crap.

  28

  Rathbone awoke with a jolt. Something is wrong. The knowledge burned through any vestiges of slumber, bringing instant clarity. He was in his bedroom, and Neeka was gone.

  He pursed his lips. Where was she? Was her absence the source of the problem? Had he grown accustomed to having her cuddled in his arms after a single night?

  He flashed to his feet and dressed. Sunlight streamed through the balcony window, highlighting a chamber he once believed he’d designed for Lore. She might have liked the gold furnishings, but she would’ve disdained the vivid color scheme, preferring a plainer palette. As she’d proven, she lacked the taste to appreciate the intricacy of the mosaic. If he’d truly known the goddess—the version of her she’d pretended to be, at least—he would’ve realized this space reflected his tastes...and Neeka’s.

  Had he understood he belonged with the harpy, even before he’d met her?

  As he flashed throughout the palace, on the hunt, eager to see her, to speak with her, to be near her and breathing her in, he imagined her redecorating every room to her specifications. Possessiveness grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go. Not just directed at the female herself, but the future they could—would—have together. He couldn’t wait to have pink walls, unnecessary beaded pillows, and velvet recliners she’d never allow him to utilize.

  The scent of sweet almonds and tart cherries drew him closer and closer. Muscles heated and hardened as he tracked her outside. A waft of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he stiffened. Fire? My female is in danger.

  Rathbone balled his fists, urgency lashing him. He flashed into the cloud of gloom, materializing as a bird, scanning every direction at once. He squawked a denial. Neeka and Maximus, who lunged to strike at her ex. The very warrior Rathbone had killed on day one. The ill-timed and poorly executed assault failed, allowing the Phoenix to deliver a strike of his own. Neeka threw herself in front of the boy, taking the blow. Soot now streaked her breastplate.

  Rathbone dove down, down, shifting into a dragon. But the oracle got swept up in a vicious battle with the Phoenix, and though blood poured from multiple wounds and she wobbled on her feet, she held her own. Protective instincts saturated everything, demanding immediate action but he pulled back, flying a circle around the pair.

  The warrioress lacked self-assurance in some areas. If Rathbone stepped in and took over, he might bruise her hard-won confidence.

  As he watched, wonder and pride filled him. She took as many hits as necessary to protect Maximus. Again and again, the Phoenix made a play for the boy, but the oracle always stopped him.

  Rathbone scanned, aggression rippled through his feathers as he searched for any traps the Phoenix might have planted.

  What do we have here? Phantoms blocked every path of escape, forming a circle around the combat zone. The apparitions were as bad as demons, able to embody at will and constantly starved for immortal souls. Created by Erebus, they remained subject to his will, able to do what he ordered and nothing else.

  These particular phantoms were females dressed in black widow’s weeds. Their milky-white eyes surveyed the battle as they walked in a circle, chanting with monotone voices. “Watch the brawl, hurt anyone who interferes, give Rathbone the message, return to Father. Watch the brawl, hurt anyone who interferes, give Rathbone the message, return to Father.”

  Erebus had another message for him, did he?

  Anytime Neeka, Maximus, or the Phoenix got too close to the group of phantoms, they erupted into shrieking war machines.

  Rathbone flew a circle around the phantoms. Sensing him, they tilted their heads in unison to follow him as he circled above.

  Still monotone, they said, “Last chance to save yourself. Kill the oracle or suffer the consequences. The choice is yours.”

  Rathbone blew a stream of fire on the entire pack. Even doused in flames, burning to ash, the females walked and chanted. Those specks of ash vanished before ever hitting the ground.

  “Let me handle this, Maximus,” Neeka snapped, saving the boy from a fiery wing. When she tripped and crashed, she sprang up quickly. Fresh blood trickled into her eyes, blurring her vision.

  “If you were any good at battle,” the teenager snapped back while leaping to a stand, “the bad guy would be dead already.”

  She wasn’t in a spot to read his lips. Was too busy huffing and puffing, kicking a fallen syringe when the Phoenix reached for it. As it soared across the clearing, landing with a thump near a tree, she proclaimed, “You are so grounded when this is over.”

  “And you are tiring, wife,” the Phoenix said. “Surrender now. Take the injection like a good little submissive. Perhaps I’ll show you mercy. Eventually.”

  “This is an A and B conversation between family, Dan, so why don’t you C your way out.” Going on the offensive, she threw herself into the Phoenix and swung her body behind his, clawing out his throat.

  The lord healed swiftly. So swiftly he maintained his stance, reaching back to grip Neeka by the nape and yanking her overhead. As she landed with a heavy thud, Rathbone spotted her melted, blistered flesh, and the sight nearly undid him.

  “The remaining doses, administered at once,” the Phoenix promised with a toothy grin, earning her fiercest glare. She wasn’t healed yet, her flesh rejuvenating slower than usual. Too slow. She needed Rathbone’s blood.

  The Phoenix dragged her across the clearing, heading for the syringe. “We’ll know if you survive in a matter of minutes.”

  Rathbone flicked his tail. Step in?

  With a screech, Neeka ripped a wing from the male’s back while kicking his feet together. She hit the ground, and the howling Phoenix toppled beside her. Good girl.

  “Weapon me, Red,” she called as she clambered to her feet.

  With pleasure. Rathbone flashed midflight, appearing in her grip as a spear. The same spear the dragon shifter Kanta had used on Rathbone.