Why did that make her bristle?
His gaze was focused on Lanthe, and he looked frenzied to reach her. One of his wings was back to nearly normal, still gnarled. The one that’d been shredded had bits of flesh trying to grow.
“It took you long enough to wake,” Portia told her. “Exactly how weak are you?”
Lanthe made it to her feet, brushing leaves off herself. Why would the great Portia care? Lanthe had a sinking suspicion: maybe the fire demons hadn’t been targeting Thronos at all.
Despite her power, Portia never would’ve captured her in the past. Sabine’s reprisal was too feared. Now? Just because the sisters had helped assassinate Omort, the Pravus leader, Lanthe was fair game for Sorceri?
Still, she regretted nothing. Her brother had had it coming. “Did you have to attack me, Portia? You know I would’ve come willingly.” I never would’ve come willingly.
“We fortuitously found you on the ground, unconscious.”
Then who hit me?
Ember added, “As if someone had left you on our doorstep, like a cat with a savaged mouse.”
Lanthe cast a worried look at Ember. Both females were diabolical. But while Portia at least listened to reason, Ember was akin to the flames she wielded—volatile.
“What did I miss?” a male voice asked.
Lanthe turned to see a sorcerer in full gold regalia striding into the clearing, a man she’d hoped never to see again.
“Has my Melanthe arisen?” Felix the Duplicitor asked, his striking face lit with a smile, his gold gleaming seductively. His Sorceri ability enabled him to make anyone believe any lie he told. She would know.
Her face heated as she remembered his fervent vows to her. When he’d promised her a future together—with gold, his protection, gold, children, and more gold—light-skirted Lanthe had been a lock.
In the throes, she’d ceded her clairsentience and battle sorcery. She hadn’t possessed her portal power yet, and he hadn’t wanted her tainted soul.
Portia turned to him. “Your pet’s only just woken.”
His pet? Lanthe ground her teeth.
He turned the full wattage of his smile on Lanthe. “It’s been an age, Mel.”
After sex, when Lanthe had asked him about a wedding date, he’d released her from his spell, chucking her chin, and remarked, “Though you tempt me sorely, there’ll be no wedding for us, dear. But wasn’t the sex enough of a reward?”
No, Felix. No, it was not. She’d slunk away, burning with humiliation, dreading how to tell Sabine that she’d lost even more powers. I’m such an idiot, she’d railed at herself, such a dupe!
“You look as ravishing as ever,” he said now, but he hadn’t used his power, so she was free to disbelieve him.
Ravishing? Her recently broken nose was swollen like a balloon, and she probably had two glaring black eyes. “And you’re the same duplicitous male you always were, Felix.” Sorceri weren’t a forthright species to begin with; needless to say, Felix was a favorite among them. “Looking no worse for wear from your prison stay.” That gold armor really was to die for.
“I’ve only recently arrived. Had a vampire friend trace me to this island for the ‘sport.’ ”
Just as Lanthe had suspected.
“I’d found it yawn-worthy—until I heard about your capture.”
His interest put her even more on edge.
Portia said, “You have something we want, Melanthe.”
Why now? They’d had her, Carrow, and Ruby in their sights earlier when they were all escaping the prison. Yet they’d spared the trio, merely stealing the hand that Lanthe had harvested from Fegley—the grubby one that now hung from Portia’s gold belt.
The key to Lanthe’s freedom. “I’m all ears.”
“With so many helpless Vertas trapped here, we’ve decided to eradicate them, bringing more Pravus to the island. To get a jump on the Accession.”