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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He arched a brow. “If you’d done your research, you’d know I never reverse my decisions.”

She patted her mouth as she yawned. “I guess I hoped you’d make an exception since you cannot save yourself from battle by altering the atmosphere and putting anyone to sleep. Yes, I know about that.”

“I can manipulate the air in other ways.” Maybe. Probably. Creating airborne pain toxins required a whole different skillset. “You will remove the ruby or—there is no or. You have no other options.”

“Don’t be silly. I have all the options.” Penelope waved the parchment in his direction. “Are you sure denying me is the correct course? Even though I’ll rain more torment upon you than you’ve ever known?”

As if such a thing were possible. With a father like Mars, a mentor like Chaos, and a head full of mental prisoners who reviled him, Roux had already experienced the worst torments imaginable. His memories offered a fresh fileting every morning, and nothing anyone else did to him could ever compare.

In an attempt to prove it, the escaped prisoner screamed. Rage echoed through the chambers of his mind. So annoying. Who was this persistent male? Where did he hide, and why did he make himself known only at times like this?

“I’ll take your silence for a yes, you wish to deny me.” Penelope shrugged, resigned, and returned the parchment to its proper place. “Very well. I’ll allow you to enjoy the rest of your morning. But we’ll be seeing each other again real soon. That, I promise you.” With a wink, she glided to the wall of windows and whisked outside.

He waited several beats, lest she return, before concentrating on Blythe, who sagged in the chair, limp. Should he offer to feed her his blood? His soul? Other phantoms had smashed their lips all over his body. Why not her? Yes, it was a process he’d always detested. While souls regenerated and the pulling sensations were temporary, the memories lingered, festering with all his others. But. He had to admit he was curious to learn how he affected his charge.

If her mouth felt half as pleasant as her hand...

The fire reignited in his veins. Soon, he burned. Before he could make the offer, Blythe vaulted to her feet, her strength oh, so clearly returning. Well. Time to chain her to the bed, then.

Her eyes narrowed. Extending her shackled arms in front of her to ward him off, she snarled, “We both know Miss Murder just proved enemies can sneak up on you. Meaning, yes, you’re a terrible guard dog, and I’ve gotta be able to defend myself if I have any chance of surviving. Don’t you even think about—”

He flashed mere inches from her and clasped her by the biceps. Anger, irritation, and embarrassment collided within him. “I never make the same mistake twice. The wraith won’t succeed again.” He lifted the harphantom off the floor and hauled her to the bed, where he rehooked her to the metal links. “If you hadn’t guessed, she-beast, the breakfast and our bargain are over.”

* * *

Blythe fumed for the next four days while Roux lived his best life, going out with one beautiful immortal after another, completing his nine remaining dates as vowed. But, yeah, okay, sure. Those rendezvous had sucked for everyone involved. The guy had zero game. Like, none. Basically, he pretended he was alone while the women fawned or sexually harassed him. He never spoke a word. Not even when he spent quality time sharpening too-sharp weapons while sneaking searing glances at a certain prisoner who remained chained to his bed, making said prisoner wonder what thoughts wove webs inside his head.

But back to the dates. The hopeful females always arrived with winks and smiles, and they always left with grumbles of disappointment. No matter their species, lack of dress, or suggestion of activities, Roux remained gruff and utterly uninterested. Touching wasn’t allowed. Ever.

So why did he welcome mine?

Oh, she knew he liked the sight of her. But no ordinary attraction explained such an extraordinary exception. Not that he’d made another play for her.

The only time he truly interacted with her? When he unhooked her from the bed, and they shared a meal at the desk. They had exchanged no more questions, but they hadn’t traded other insults, either. It was just...he was so different than she’d imagined. Rough around the edges, yet also smooth. Withdrawn, but open. Cunning, but courteous.

Did she catch herself enjoying his companionship? Occasionally. But oh, how she abhorred those moments. They marked a true betrayal to the life she’d once shared with Laban.

Had Isla begun to heal at least, or did she worsen now that she was without a mother? Had anyone guessed Blythe’s whereabouts and told the little girl? Did the darling cry herself to sleep?



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