The Phantom – Rise of the Warlords Read Online Gena Showalter

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
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Gnashing her teeth against a sudden onslaught of weakness, this one courtesy of Penelope, Blythe put down a crystal vase she’d lifted. “Why bother? Nothing you say can make things right.” An apology wouldn’t restore her consort. An explanation wouldn’t reunite father and daughter, returning Isla’s joy. “You did what you did, and I’ll make you pay for it. End of conversation.”

For now, while she dealt with the wraith, she should probably default to her original plan and do everything in her power to ruin Roux’s mission.

“Very well.” He resumed his dagger sharpening, as if he hadn’t cared about her response. “Allow me to catch you up on our situation.”

“Go for it. I’d love to hear your take.” Opening a door, she discovered a closet brimming with leather dresses reminiscent of those she’d seen on others. The garments hung alongside scantier outfits like the one she wore. “Lucky for you, I’ve got my listening ears on today.”

“We are in the queen’s palace, though there is currently no queen. In ten days, a ten-day tournament will begin. Winner becomes ruler. In the meantime, I will be dating the females who survived their introduction to me.”

“I see.” Irritation surged. And only irritation. Absolutely nothing else. Not in the slightest degree. But. If the Astra thought to satisfy a harem of eager lovers while waiting for the tournament to begin, he needed to think again.

“Tell me about the wraith who marked you,” he said, changing the subject. “Tomorrow, I’ll find her and have the jewel removed from your spirit.”

Blythe yanked a leather dress free from the rack, cracking the wooden hanger. Though it galled and stung her pride, she considered accepting his offer. To kill him, she required full strength. The best way to get it? End Penelope. If he wished to take out her other enemies, who was she to stop him?

“What do you require in return?” With the garment in hand, she eased to the bay of windows and peered out. They were at least twenty stories up, higher than any silo around them. Bonfires and torches crackled here and there, illuminating dirt streets filled with immortals. Fast-paced music thrummed in the background. Laughter rang out.

A slight hesitation from Roux. Then, “Would you agree to a truce until we return to Harpina?”

“Not even to spare my life.” Truth. He asked for too much. Looked like her pride won this round, after all, escaping a brutal battering.

He heaved a sigh. “How about a temporary cease-fire that ends as soon as the wraith is dead?”

Oh. Well. A more palatable outcome. Sorry, pride. You gotta take one for the team.

Before she could respond, a series of raps sounded at the door. A feminine voice with a tone so perfect it could only belong to a siren called through the block, “Yoo-hoo. Mr. Sausage Man. It’s go time!”

Blythe spun. She recognized that timbre. The one she’d heard inside her head when she’d first awoken in Roux’s arms.

Speaking of the Astra, he closed his eyes as his shoulders rolled in. A pose of dejection.

“Tonight’s date is here,” he muttered. “I had to pick the first contender while you slept. I went with the siren who sang to you.”

Why did he look and sound so disgruntled about this? Did he have no desire to use the women of Ation as his own personal harem?

An admirable trait. Not that it mattered. “That’s my cue to beat feet, I guess,” Blythe said, stepping in the direction of what she hoped was a private bathroom with a tub and running water. She’d change into something less comfortable and head out.

Her gaze caught on the crown anchored to his backpack, and she missed her next step. The urge to race to that gorgeous array of crystals, to hold it, to try it on and see how it fit drifted through her.

Focus. She reached the door, turned the knob, and peeked inside—yep, a bathroom with a wooden tub and copper pipes.

“You will stay here.” Roux’s lids popped open and narrowed. “In fact, you will remain within my sight at all times.”

I will, will I? “Aw, does little Rue and his Winky Boo Boo seek a chaperone?”

His lips compressed into a thin line. “Word of the tournament hasn’t yet spread far or wide enough. One rule should hold particular interest to you—you aren’t to be harmed. You are the sister of my Commander’s gravita, and I will protect you unless you attempt to compromise my task. Force me to choose between you and my mission, however, and I will. I’ll kill you myself, and I’ll do it without hesitation.”

That, she believed. Which meant she hadn’t detected reluctance a bit ago. On the contrary. She’d sensed resignation. He planned to bed his babes in front of Blythe. But so what? Someone make her a bowl of popcorn. She’d offer commentary from beginning to end. From the size of his penis to his inability to find a G-spot with a miner’s hat and a map.



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