Page 109 of The Wrath
Noticing his retreat, she wagged a finger at him. “Aah, aah, aah, Astra. Come here. I’m going to fix your little obsession problem and prove how much I don’t desire you.”
He approached as commanded, his combat boots leaving scuffs in the floor. Far too soon, he stood a mere whisper away. Now wasn’t the time to kiss her, but to spew vitriol at her. He had plenty on tap.
“What do you want me to do?” he grated instead. At one time, he’d prayed for this moment. The time he’d get to hold her in his arms.
All confidence and swagger, she reclined in the throne, kicking out her legs to display their length. “Kiss me.”
“Yes.” His hatred turned inward as he dropped to his knees without a fight, leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, thrusting his tongue past her teeth. Tasting the female he’d dreamed of bedding and killing for centuries.
She bit his tongue, wrenched free, and slapped his face, as if he hadn’t done exactly what she’d stipulated. But she was panting, her smile gone without a trace.
He bent his head and kissed her a second time. She let him do it for a fleeting moment before biting and slapping him once more.
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. She hissed at him. He growled. Then down he went again. He kissed her with all the ferocity that bubbled inside him—and she kissed him back. A hard tangle of lips and tongue. They ate at each other.
His fingers wandered, exploring dips and curves. Moaning, she molded herself into him. But seconds later, she wrenched away, shouting, “Stop! No! B-back off. Immediately!”
Raising his palms in a gesture of innocence, he flashed backward, putting distance between them.
His heart thudded as she rose to shaky legs. She had desired him. True desire, nothing feigned. And his hands. They burned. Blistered, surely. Frowning, he looked down. His skin...sparkled. He had produced stardust. Forher. Lore.
Incredulity hit him. Wonder and rage, too.
She noticed the stardust and gaped. “I...have things to do. I’ll... I’ll see you soon. For the ceremony.” She looked anywhere but him. “Where can I score a gown? Never mind. I’ll find one on my own.” Blushing like a nervous schoolgirl, she teleported.
Azar stood in place, unsure what to think. Or what to do. But he had three days to figure it out.
31
“Is he going to be okay? He’s going to be okay, right?” Maximus babbled the questions as he helped Neeka secure Rathbone and his two tons of muscle in bed. Thankfully, the kid had whisked them straight to the Kingdom of Agonies without incident, the realm defenses standing down, allowing him entry.
“He’s going to be amazing, and that’s my money-back guarantee.” Yes, Rathbone currently thrashed and snarled, trapped in the throes of terrible pain, but what better place to recover than their home with Nurse Neeka on the case? And hewouldrecover, thanks to the antidote already coursing through his veins. He wouldn’t need another dose. Her last vision promised. Besides, she would never allow any other outcome.
A grin teased her lips. He’d been willing to die for Neeka, and it was the most adorable, romantic gesture ever. The big lug had done the impossible and fallen in love with the Wanted. Her. Not Lore. Her.
“But of course,” she added, “we’re all dying in three days unless I figure out a solution to our Lore problem.” Because there was no way Neeka was letting Rathbone shift into the goddess. They had a future to enjoy as a couple. A family.
Maximus scowled at her. “You werenotsmiling when you said that.”
“Well, it’s hard to be upset when I know I’m heading to pound town as soon as your dad wakes up.” She wiggled her brows. “That means we’re going to have sex, in case you didn’t catch my meaning. He’s very good with his hands, your dad,” she added to be contrary. “And his mouth.”
Maximus pretended to dry heave. “Congrats, you just made dying in three days a relief.”
“What? You’re the one who told me to take my shirt off two seconds after meeting me. I thought you were on board with frank speech.”
“I’ll be out completing my bucket list. Do try to be quiet.” He stomped past the door, gone.
Alone with her male, Neeka fit the covers over Rathbone’s big, beautiful body and caressed his brow. “You better scream your love for me at the ceremony and not her. Because you do love me,” she told him, in case he hadn’t yet realized it.
He didn’t awaken, but his thrashing eased.
Prickles erupted on the back of her neck, and they weren’t the good kind. On instant alert, she spun, claws bared, ready to attack and defend. A female appeared, an ivory ball gown clinging to sensuous curves—Lore in the flesh, no longer confined to her spirit.
She was uninjured and unbound, and Neeka didn’t have to wonder how she’d bypassed the realm’s defenses. Long ago, Rathbone had tailored the place to her.
Dread slithered around Neeka. One of the three linked visions had come to pass, making the future of doom less likely to undergo change.
The goddess offered a smug smile. Glitter sparkled on her jawline as if—Neeka sucked in a breath.