A trembling banshee stands before a massive black altar. A savage wind gusts, dancing locks of red hair before her face as the hem of her ivory gown billows. Tears well in her beautiful eyes. She bows her head, defeated, and climbs atop the altar, where she stretches out. A sob leaves her.
Behind the altar is a silent crowd. The black-robed man occupies the center, set apart from the others. The same two females stand at his sides. Erebus is feet away, seething with fury, an army of phantoms fanned out behind him. Each embodied female wears a somber black gown.
Alaroc approaches the banshee and places a hand just over her heart. “You have served me well, female. Worry not. Your death will be painless.” Apologetic words, monotone voice.
The banshee sniffles and croaks, “Please, don’t do this.”
“You were dead the moment you wed me. You knew this. I made no secret of it.”
In the distance, a bell tolls the midnight hour. Ding.
He maintains his stance, his hand pressed against her, and the banshee whimpers. Then... Black lines spread through her pale skin. Ding.
She goes quiet. Her eyes close, and her head lolls to the side. Ding.
A strange blue glow shoots from Alaroc. A near-blinding pulse that blasts from his being. Ding.
The light fades, revealing—
Taliyah gasped. The banshee had turned to stone. That stone crumbled into ash. Handfuls of it floated up and twirled away.
As the memory dulled, a final ding sounding, she tightened her grip on the dagger. Did Alaroc plan to ash Taliyah at month’s end? She knew she’d recover from the loss of any limb or internal organ; she’d survived a myriad of poisons, starvation and any number of other horrors. But stoning and ashing? Could she recover from something like that?
Yes, yes. Of course. She’d even survived a beheading!
Reveal nothing. Batting her lashes, she asked, “Do the Astra Planeta ash all their wives, or did I luck out and marry the best one?”
“Release. The. Blade.”
“Why do you stone and ash your wives?” she asked, resting her free hand over the other. A double hold. Take that!
He scowled. “Stone and ash prevent anyone from coming along and reviving the body or spirit, undoing the sacrifice.”
She gulped. “How do you kill non-wives?”
“With a three-blade. A weapon made of trinite. Most of my enemies are phantoms.”
Trinite? The special weapon, most likely. She could guess the trio involved. Fireiron, demonglass and cursedwood. “And what does trinite do to phantoms? Because I’ve never heard of it, and I’m something of a weapon aficionado.”
“Trinite bestows the final death to phantoms, causing their bodies to evaporate into nothing.” Without a pause, he added, “Release the blade.”
The fingers curled in, a defensive action to guard her enchanted ring. Alaroc could never learn she was a phantom.
Had she come back from the dead after tangling with the toxic trio? Yes. The first time. Would she revive a second time? Her mother didn’t think so.
Dude. “So how long have you been getting your little Rocs off by murdering brides?”
A flicker in his irises. “My brides died for a purpose, with honor.”
Had she struck a nerve? “Dying with honor cannot trump living with it. Soon, I’ll prove it to you.”
Another flicker in those golden eyes. “Each death saved countless lives. Without the Astra, phantoms would roam the worlds unchecked, feasting on everyone they encounter.”
“So the sacrifice to your god and your survival are connected. Good to know.”
Oh, he didn’t like that he’d revealed more than he’d intended, she could tell. Once again, he tightened his grip. “My patience wears thin, harpy.”
Ripples of pain shot up her arm, each stronger than the last. Inhale. Exhale. “Why do you hate phantoms so much? Word is, they’re just mindless spooks controlled by a master.”
Malice contorted his features. “Phantoms are parasites. Being fed on...” His lips curled in disgust. “Pray you never experience such a horror. There’s no worse sensation.” He squeezed with more force. “Although, losing a hand might come close.”
Ouch—in more ways than one. He hated phantoms beyond reason. So much he might kill a phantom bride before her time was up...
She had to go at him with her biggest guns, then. Her own phantom abilities.
Astra hunting season kicked off today. Duration: thirty days. Method: any available weaponry. No daily bag limit.
A game plan formed. Tonight, she would feed on Alaroc. Mindless phantoms couldn’t hide their feeding. Taliyah could. She could drain him to death while he slept, unaware of his impending doom. Or try to drain him to death. He was a big guy with a lot of power, and her body had a threshold. She could only contain what she had room to contain. If she failed to drain him to death, she’d have to settle for weakening him. Let him fade slowly without ever understanding why.
“That’s it?” Ignore the pain. By strength of will alone, she maintained an uncaring expression. “That’s your big beef with phantoms? They sucked your soul a little too hard? Wow. Sensitive much?”
He ran his tongue over straight pearly whites. “Phantoms are an extension of their master, a god who has overseen the Astra’s suffering for more than twenty thousand years. We’ve endured ambushes, losses, abuses and untold agonies.” He bent down, putting the tip of his nose against hers. “I’m done answering your questions. I’ll tell you about myself instead, for you should know the beast you provoke. I’ll put myself and my men first in all ways, at all times. If that means burning a world and everyone in it to the ground, so be it. I’ve never been a hero. I’ve never wanted to be. I make a better villain. To me, women are receptacles, one the same as another. Sometimes a female isn’t even as good as my hand.”
Unfazed, she told him, “I’m certain bad lovers everywhere agree with you. No wonder you have to pay for it.”
He huffed a breath. “You’ll find it difficult to push me to my limit, but woe to you if ever you near it. I can cause you pain in any way imaginable. I won’t constrain myself to your punishment, either. I’ll visit your crimes upon your loved ones. So, now that you know me better, do explain why you continue to hold a dagger on neutral ground.”
“Because I can.” If he wanted the dagger out of her hand, he’d have to break her wrist and pry it out. And even then he’d have a fight.
“Taliyah—”
“I’d rather die,” she snapped.
With an animalistic snarl, he released her.