Forging ahead, he explained, “Things will go smoother if you keep your attention on me.” Considering how well he was paying her, she owed him that and more.

  “Cater to your every selfish whim. Got it.” She faked a grin and batted her lashes. “But you should get real fascinating real fast, or my mind will wander, and it won’t be my fault.” Aaand yes, she skipped off to study a tapestry depicting his final battle against Styx. “Is this you? I bet it’s you. Be honest. You executed its creator for depicting you as a red marshmallow man, didn’t you? Oh! Did we just discover your superhero name? The Marshmallow Man. Cherry Marshmallow?”

  This must be retribution for the chair. Because he in no way resembled a marshmallow.

  Stiffer than a board, Rathbone flashed in front of her to guarantee she read his lips. “I’ll grant you a fourth payment—an unspecified boon—if you find at least one of Lore’s bones today. Proof to me you possess the skills you bragged about.”

  “Well. Consider me properly motivated,” she replied with a genuine grin, far superior to the fake. She hooked her arm through his, acting as if she hung on his every word. “Take me to dinner and tell me more about you and your lady love. I learn better when I’m fed.”

  How was he supposed to deal with a being like her? Cave in? He had to cave in, didn’t he? “Are you a typical harpy, only able to eat what you steal or earn, or you sicken?” She struck him as more of a flighty seer than a bloodthirsty murderess.

  “I am. So be a dear and explain how I’ll be earning each of my six daily meals and assortment of snacks.”

  “By breathing.” For now, she was the most important person in his life.

  “That I can do.”

  He flashed her to his private dining room. A massive space consumed by a long table piled high with both sweet and savory dishes. The spread remained available twenty-four seven, the dishes exchanged every hour and always the right temperature. A mystical amenity already in place when he’d overtaken the kingdom.

  “In contrast,” he added once he’d gained her attention, “if you fail to procure my property, I’ll unleash my wrath upon your loved ones. My bucket is hungry for entrails.”

  “I thought we’d already agreed to that.” Neeka dismissed him to “ooh” and “aah” over the dishes as she loaded a plate. Munching on steamed broccoli, she claimed the spot at the head of the table. “My compliments to the chef.”

  With a sigh, Rathbone picked her up, set her in the adjacent seat, and plopped into the vacated chair.

  She continued eating, unbothered. “I can’t help but notice we’re alone here. Where are your servants and subjects?”

  “Their loyalty belonged to the previous sovereign, so I killed them.”

  “And you couldn’t find anyone willing to work for you after that? Weird.”

  “My wife will select our servants.” Also, he’d been busy assisting Hades the past few centuries. The other king had warred with Lucifer, a hell prince currently impaled and in lock up, guarded by winged warriors known as Sent Ones.

  “As far as excuses go, it’s threadbare at best. You were too lazy, admit it.” She devoured a spear of asparagus. “So? Delight me with the story of your romance with Skeletoria. Help me understand the fairy-tale romantasy I’m soon to rekindle.”

  A harsh rebuke reached the edge of his tongue. For the sake of the partnership, Rathbone swallowed it. “Her name is Lore. Lorelei the Incomparable. She’s a goddess of desire.” He tapped a claw tip against his empty plate. Clink, clink, clink. “I will permit many leniencies with you, oracle, but not this. Not disrespect to my wife. Consider this a solo warning. Next time I act.”

  “Ten-four,” Neeka replied with a jaunty salute. “Only say nice things about the nasty bag of bones. Don’t worry. I’ve got it plugged into ole faithful now.”

  He swiped his tongue over an incisor. “Lore is my everything. My fated.” No use trying to pretend otherwise. Let this female comprehend the depths of his feelings. His willingness to cross any line, no matter how objectionable, to accomplish his goal. “I won’t compromise her well-being.”

  The oracle shrugged, unimpressed. “As long as your check is good, so are my services. Now, then. Tell me the important stuff. Explain your meet cute.”

  What an odd, exasperating creature. “We met the same as anyone else, I suppose. I visited the Realm of Agonies to decide whether to contend for it or not.” Back then, he’d been a fresh-faced soldier full of determination and dreams. “She belonged to the former king. I took her from him, then claimed his lands as my own.” From the beginning, Rathbone had striven to prove himself worthy of the gentle beauty. To be the male honored to pamper her as she deserved. She had rewarded him well for it.

  Having spent his childhood hidden on a distant planet, raised by servants, he’d longed for family of his own. His mother had deigned to visit him upon occasion, but only to compare him unfavorably to the father who hadn’t wanted him. With Lore, Rathbone had gotten his wish, and it had been far superior to anything he’d imagined.

  “And then?” Neeka encouraged.

  “And then someone killed her.” Someone he had yet to identify. Unless Erebus had told the truth. When Lore awoke, she would explain what happened, and Rathbone would proceed accordingly. “After I revive her, we’ll rule this kingdom together.”

  “You’re right.” Neeka popped a bite of squash into her mouth. “Your story is the same as everyone else’s. There’s no pizzazz. Nothing to regale your future brats with—yet. Thankfully, I’m on the case. And because I’m such a giver, I’m gonna gift you with a freebie and spice things up. By the time I’m done, you’ll have the grandest tale to ever grand!”

  A ridiculous claim undeserving of a response. “What do you know of love stories? Do you have a companion?”

  “Nope. Well, yes and nope.” She hiked her shoulders. “A few years ago, I married the Phoenix you just poled. I filed for divorce by killing him, but he re-alived, as he always re-alives, and injected me with the turning toxin.”

  Rathbone frowned. Harpies didn’t do divorce. Not with their consorts. “Why did you wed him if he isn’t your fated?” What was her meet cute?

  “Well, my father is an oracle and he told me I’d find my consort in the flames. Since I owed a friend a favor, I decided to pay up and be a hero at the same time, taking her sister’s place at the wedding. I hoped Ahdán was my Inferno Man. He wasn’t.”

  Rathbone detected a note of sadness. Like any good king of the Underworld, he pounced on a perceived weakness. “Help me bring my wife to life, and I will slay the Phoenix again and again until he stays dead. Consider it another bonus.” His suspicious nature forced him to add, “But if ever you betray me...” Several of his mátia opened, glaring at her. So far, she hadn’t shown a hint of fear concerning his promises. But she would. “Lest you think I’m someone willing to forgive the slightest duplicity—” He whipped out his arm and caught her by the wrist.

  Flash. They materialized in the foyer of his dungeon. Voted the destination to avoid when visiting the Underworld for three centuries running. The scent of blood and terror lingered on the walls. Which made sense. Every partition was built from the remains of previous guests.

  “Understand me,” he announced. Around them, immortal beings of varying species were chained to different torture devices, begging for help. Moans of anguish and desperation provided the chorus. “This is what happens to those who work against me. And do you know who works against me, oracle? Anyone who isn’t working with me.”

  * * *

  Neeka traversed a wide hallway minus her host, exploring the luxurious but abandoned palace. She must have gotten trapped in her own little world after their side trip to the dungeon. Now, she had no idea where she was or when and how she’d lost the guy.

  Such a curious fellow. He had all kinds of extra flavor. Her favorite kind of immortal. They kept things interesting. Add in Rathbone’s überprotective streak and unwavering determination to guard what belonged to him, and he skirted the edge of perfect.

  She came upon a spacious sitting room with velvet settees, porcelain side tables, and portraits of the Crimson King contorted in the most ridiculous poses while wearing next to nothing. A smile bloomed as she examined each masterpiece.

  Pretty sure she recognized the artistic style, she checked out the artist’s signature. Madame Anya. Yep. Sure enough. Neeka snickered. Anya, goddess of anarchy, was a party buddy. Anya loved to gift her “artwork” to anyone who miffed her. That Rathbone displayed the collection, rather than burn it, spoke of a delightful sense of humor Neeka appreciated. An unexpected trait from a hardened warrior who enjoyed dishing threats.

  What would he say if she demanded his kingdom as payment? Because dang. The gem-covered walls in his secret throne room extended here, and they were totally to die for. So sparkly!

  He might actually agree, considering he was head over heels, fallen into the abyss obsessed with a skeleton he planned to resurrect.

  Strangely enough, Neeka was maybe kinda sorta envious of the corpse. Oh, to be loved in such a way. Thanks to Grenwich’s chosen moniker, Neeka herself was forever cursed to be, well, unwanted. Her lack of male companionship had nothing to do with her personality, she was certain of it. She slapped!

  Though she’d lived for centuries, her first official “date” was her wedding. No one else had ever asked her out or accepted an invite when she’d done the asking. In fact, the only romantic encounters she’d experienced were the nights she’d thrown herself at a guy, practically begging for affection. Many had taken her up on the offer. Too many. Before each instance, she’d hoped against hope that her fate had changed. That she had scored an adoring significant other. But the guys had bailed immediately after nailing her, energizing her secret insecurities and activating pure devastation. Nowadays, she admired gorgeous males from afar and pretended she appreciated being single. Sometimes she even believed it.

  And okay, yes, her lonesome, loathsome past might possibly be the real reason she’d jumped at the opportunity to marry Ahdán. More so than her father’s prediction. Neeka couldn’t not seize the chance to belong. To be part of a couple. United until death. She sighed dreamily. Then she glowered. As soon as she’d had her first conversation with the Phoenix, she’d realized he intended to chain her to his bed, whether she agreed or not. Without hesitation, she’d proceeded with the original plan: take the place of his long-promised bride, steal his money, and remove his head. Exactly what he’d deserved.

  But enough about Ahdán the Ash Bringer. Better to focus on the King of Agonies and a job well done. Winning that open-ended boon and impressing Rathbone with her skill by finding the biggest and best bone right off the bat was a must. Just boom, Look at me, I’m amazing. Now pay up.

  Piece of cake! Mmm. Cake. Carrot. Without frosting. Or any other ingredients. She moistened her lips.

  No, no. Concentrate. Despite Rathbone’s possible beef with the Astra, Neeka’s instincts sang. Aiding Red Ranger was right. Necessary for harpykind. And really, she maybe kinda liked him so far. Steadfast loyalty was another rare, ultrasexy quality she greatly appreciated.

  So. Time to earn more for a single job than Grenwich ever had. A bonus in itself! Neeka rubbed her hands together, mind whirling. If she were the skull of an ancient goddess of desire, where would she hide?

  A tap on the shoulder startled her. Heart thudding, she spun. A stony-faced Rathbone towered mere inches away. He held a gorgeous diamond necklace with stones almost as big as her fist.

  “This is for you,” he said, waving the jewelry in front of her face.

  Neeka snatched and donned the jewelry before he had a chance to change his mind. Before she registered how sensual his strong red fingers with their sharp black claws looked clutching the delicate gems. Before she got smart and thought things through.

  As she traced her fingertips over the cool stones dangling from her neck, her thoughts caught up with her actions. Big mistake, accepting his bribe. He’d tested her, nothing more. Just as she sought to learn him, he sought to learn her. Now he knew the truth. Like most harpies, she wasn’t immune to the pretty pretties.

  Might as well take this all the way home and reveal her raging possessiveness, too. “This is mine. If you attempt to steal it, you’ll lose a hand, at least eight eyes, and every piercing you may or may not possess.” What belonged to her belonged to her. Always. No exceptions.

  “They are mátia. The eyes,” he replied easily.

  Feeling a bit revengeful, she winced and added, “Great. But, um, do me a favor and remind me of two supersmall, minor details. Who are you, and what am I doing here?”

  His mouth floundered open and closed.

  She imagined choking sounds were leaving him and elbowed his abdomen. “Just teasing, Red Riding Wood. Or maybe Red Riding Woody. Professor Seesalot? We can always revisit Cherry Marshmallow.”

  “I prefer results,” he grated.

  “That’s a terrible nickname. But fine. Let’s see if I’m comfortable enough to tune my antenna into your future.” She focused inward and—boom! A vision formed in a burst of color, and she gasped. “Lore’s skull waits at the bottom of an ocean!”

  In her head, Neeka saw it so clearly. Lavender sand peppered with colorful coral. A school of polka-dot fish with horns. Two mermaids swam nearby, scrutinizing the symbols etched into the cranium.

  Rathbone clutched Neeka’s shoulders and gave a rough shake. “Which ocean? In which world? What era, oracle? Tell me!”

  “I don’t know, okay?” she grumbled. “Dang. Take it easy, gorilla grip. It’s not as though there’s a sign that reads Atlantis, six miles east of the queen’s stable.”

  “Atlantis?”

  One second she occupied a sitting room with lavish furnishings, the next she stood outside, warmed by a beam of bright golden sunlight. Before her, clear purple water lapped at moss-covered rocks. Behind her, lush trees stretched for miles, split by a pink waterfall spilling over an azure crystal cliff.

  He’d brought her to the entrance of the fabled land.

  “I didn’t mean we should visit—oh, never mind.” For all she knew, she had meant they should visit. What if her subconscious led them here on purpose? Besides, they were here. Might as well check things out.

  One You Impressed Him award coming up!

  “If you are wrong...do not be wrong.” Tension radiated from his taut frame. “Do hold your breath.”

  What! “Don’t you dare take me—” Frigid water engulfed her. Thankfully, Neeka complied with his instruction and didn’t inhale any liquid. Still. A quick burst of panicked flailing ended when Rathbone jerked her close.

  Mmm. His muscles felt good doused in water.

  As they scanned the area, strands of his semi longish hair twined with hers. A lovely, mesmerizing sight she enjoyed far too much. But oh, how she adored seeing something of hers connected to someone else.

  She forced herself to look away. Her gaze snagged on iridescent mermaid tails. Bingo! She tapped Rathbone and pointed.

  The king flashed her again. They reappeared between the mermaids. He elbowed both females aside without hesitation, reached out with his free hand, and snatched the skull.

  Awe lit his features. Triumph pulsed from him. He flashed a third time, whisking Neeka to the doorless throne room. They dripped icy water all over the marble floor.

  “You owe me a boon,” she said after sucking in a mouthful of air.

  “It’s yours with my compliments.” He released her, bounded up the dais steps and approached the smaller throne, where he dropped to his knees. Determination converted into supreme satisfaction as he slowly, reverently, anchored the skull in its proper place.

  Just like that, Neeka toppled straight into a new vision. Images blasted her mind, each a tornado of revelation. She viewed the harpy throne room, with Lore’s golden seat affixed in the center, ripped from its former residence. Saw the gloriously handsome Astra named Azar kneel before the skeleton as Rathbone had done and adhere the final piece into place. Watched as muscle and skin developed, a gorgeous brunette with baby blues and pale skin appearing. She was naked.

  The goddess smiled slowly and stretched, and oh, wow. No wonder Rathbone was obsessed. The chick oozed raw sex appeal.

  The remaining Astra and their harpy consorts observed the proceedings with trepidation, while Erebus bubbled over with glee.

  Rathbone stood among the group—in chains. There was no sign of Neeka. Why?

  The freshly formed beauty smiled at her audience. “Hello, Rathbone. Chains suit you.” Her smile grew as she addressed the others. “Azar is my puppet, and soon, the rest of you will be food.” She soaked up their reactions. Everything from rage to uncertainty. “Let’s give them a preview of the feats to come, Azar. Bow before me.”

  The masses quieted, awaiting the warlord’s reaction. Expecting him to erupt.

  But Azar sank to his knees. “Do not do this,” he whispered to the goddess. “Please, do not.” Dark irises beseeched her.

  For the briefest blip, Lore seemed to soften. Then she snapped, “No one asked for your commentary.”

  Rathbone fought his confinement, shouting, “I love you! There’s got to be another way. Please.”

  “Shut up,” Lore muttered, rubbing her temples. “Just shut up. I can’t concentrate, and I need to concentrate.” Glaring at Azar, she demanded, “Cut out his tongue.”

  The Astra rose, crossed the distance, and obeyed, then returned to toss the tongue at her feet.

  Ouch.

  “That’s better,” the goddess breathed out. “Only a few minutes remain until your defeat is assured. We’ll wait out the clock before I continue with the festivities.” And yet, less than sixty seconds later, she crooked her finger at the Astra. “Azar.”