A sweet thing to say, right? Until he’d added, “Why is having a gravita so difficult?”
Did he think he’d be better off without her?
Last night, Roc had lain on his side of the bed, and she’d lain on hers, each facing a different wall, a great divide between them. For the first time since their date, neither had reached for the other.
Did he fear they were going to fail at crunch time? She had to admit, holding on to her optimism required a Herculean effort. The struggle was compounded by her refusal to sleep. Oh, she’d caught herself drifting off a couple of times, lured by the sweet scent of Roc’s stardust and the heat emitted by his furnace of a body, but Taliyah had continued to resist the urge.
If Roc was her consort—and she dared to admit it—she might do as Blythe and abandon her dreams. Already temptation whispered, Enjoy the moment.
Choose a temporary pleasure over a future dream? Foolishness! But what if Roc was right? What if they could have everything they wanted? Roc, free of the curse. Taliyah, leading a new, modern regime as harpy General.
What if they couldn’t? No closer to a solution.
Bottom line: Taliyah and Roc had no business being together. If he spared her life, they were doomed. If he didn’t spare her life, they were doomed. If she saved herself, they were doomed. If she didn’t save herself, they were doomed. And yet...
Still she hungered for him. Desperately. Her dissatisfaction had returned with a vengeance. Even the nights Roc filled her with his fingers and loved her with his mouth, she felt empty.
With increasing desperation, she yearned to say yes to his possession. But how could she? Her people needed her more than ever.
Nissa had lied to everyone. Warriors and hard workers who deserved only candor. How many other Generals had done the same? Taliyah vowed to never lie or mislead her harpies ever. Sacrifice their happiness for her own? No. She would fight for what was right, and she would never accept a picture of defeat for them.
What other contender for General could say the same?
But.
Was denying Roc what he craved, what she craved, an admission of defeat?
With a grunt of disgust, she closed the book she was not really reading and stood. She headed to the dungeon to check on both her harpies and her phantoms.
Though it had left them exhausted, Taliyah and Roc had corralled the phantoms she’d fought. Well, the harphantoms. They now wore cuffs, as Taliyah once had, to prevent them from disembodying.
With three harphantoms per cell and new members added every day, the dungeon bustled with activity.
As Taliyah passed, old and new harphantoms did their best to fit their bound hands through the bars. Any messages had been delivered, the women able and eager to feed.
Roux stood guard near the harpies, staring her down as she approached. In front of him, she held his gaze, new hope stirring, but...no. Again, she found no sign of Blythe. Where had her sister gone?
He said nothing. Neither did she.
Taliyah pivoted, relocating the bulk of her attention to a new captive. Someone she recognized from drawings in history books. An infamous warrior named Dove who’d once fought alongside Tabitha Skyhawk, counted among the number to die by Erebus’s hand.
Another of Taliyah’s research projects: find a way to fix the harphantoms. If father had broken them, surely daughter could patch them.
“Hello,” she said with a gentle tone. As always, the harphantom paid her no heed. “I’d like to help you. Soon, Roc will cave, and you’ll dine on immortals.” Truth. So far he’d refused, unwilling to give anyone under Erebus’s control added strength. Which was understandable. She kept pushing anyway.
Nothing. No flicker of intelligence inside Dove’s milky eyes.
“T-bomb,” the harpy named Athena called. Miss Four-stars herself. Taliyah had finally learned everyone’s names. “We demand to speak with your manager. Our new neighbors suck.”
“I’m working on it,” she vowed. And she was. Harpies could assist Roc with his war, if only he’d let them. She’d revisited the topic twice, but he had yet to soften.
“You think you can fix these phantoms,” Roux said, speaking up for the first time. “You are wrong.”
She knew his words conveyed a double meaning. You cannot fix yourself, either.
“Roux,” she said, turning away. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t bet against me. I tamed the Commander of the Astra. I can do anything.” Maintaining a sedate pace, she left him stewing.
Do you truly believe that? She must. The alternative was intolerable.
Taliyah stalked to the master suite, where she crouched on the balcony railing to watch Roc. A chilly wind blew her hair around her face, and she shivered. Another storm brewed in the distance, approaching steadily. The sky had already turned a deep gray.
Energy charged the air as the Commander chiseled at a furious pace. Any vestiges of civility had been removed from his features. He was a man overcome by frustration, strain and anger, his control in tatters.
The steps were complete, the platform set. Only the altar remained. Already he had repaired the cracks he’d caused in the midst of anhilla. Huh. Maybe the deepest, most primal part of him considered the meteorite an enemy?
An acute pang left her panting.
Lightning flashed, and for a moment, Roc looked like a possessed man battling all his inner demons at once. Her heart raced, desire for him surging, never far from the surface. She longed for him, all of him. She always longed for him. Taliyah coveted every experience life offered, nothing held back. But...
But what? Never accept a picture of defeat.
The mantra beat through her head, unleashing a new flood of righteous indignation. Why couldn’t she have everything she wanted? Just because she didn’t have solutions for her problems didn’t mean those solutions didn’t exist. The problems were not insurmountable. Nothing was.
If she fought hard enough, she could forge a new army of harpies. And she should!
Want something different, do something different.
This was an opportunity for harpies to choose their own futures. To stick with the old ways, what they knew, or reset with different—better—rules. They knew what aided, and what hurt. Those who decided to follow her could. Those who opted out shouldn’t. She could rule her own army and have her man. Her...consort.
The truth infiltrated every cell, and she could deny it no longer. Roc Phaethon was her consort, her man, and she thought she might be falling in love with him. The unshakable warlord who shook from bad dreams and his woman’s touch. The Commander who’d always craved a family of his own.
Satisfaction took root inside her, no longer a fleeting thing but a permanent part of her makeup. It grew and grew, internal cracks quickly filling, broken things mending.