The Darkest Surrender (Lords of the Underworld #8)(97)
Author: Gena Showalter

Tabitha stilled, blinking, those lids hiding and revealing distress. “I’m a good mother.”

Uh, what? That had struck a nerve? “If by good you mean you’re the world’s worst, then yeah, you’re at the top of the list.”

Amber eyes narrowed, the distress vanishing. “When you’re dead, another Harpy will take possession of your man. You know that, don’t you? And as your conqueror, I’ll have first rights.”

Ouch. Going for the jugular with words now, too, trying to elicit an emotional response. As Strider had said, Kaia was all about her emotions. She could feel the fire springing back to life inside her, heating…heating…

She could release the flames, end things now. They’d fought. There’d be no crying foul now. Kaia had held her own, but though there was no love lost between mother and daughter, she didn’t want to burn the woman to death.

What she wanted didn’t matter, however. Not now. Do what you gotta do to survive, Strider had told her.

It was time.

Finally she opened her mind to the heat, welcoming it, letting it grow, spread—consume.

Hotter…hotter… She didn’t know what to expect. Last time, the change had come over her so unexpectedly, she hadn’t had a second to stop and think about what was happening. What would she do if the flames refused to come?

Shock clouded her mother’s expression. There was a roar in Kaia’s ears, her body hotter, hotter, then all she could see was a cerulean haze. In less than a heartbeat, the flames had coiled from her pores, catching every inch of her in a raging inferno. Even her clothes burned away.

“Sorry about this, Mom,” she said. She leapt, closing the distance between them. Contact. They fell to the ground. Flames jumped from Kaia to Tabitha. She paused, waiting.

Where were her mother’s screams?

“You really think I would have slept with a Phoenix if I wasn’t protected against his fire? But I’m impressed. You fooled me. I had no idea you were capable of this.”

“I—I—” Had no response. Was too stunned.

Tabitha went on, “I can’t summon the flames, but I can withstand them. So, fight on.”

Once again Kaia was rolled to her back and punched over and over again. This she allowed, more from her own sense of astonishment than an inability to fend her mother off.

When her senses crystallized back into focus, she stopped trying to protect her face and neck. There was only one way to end this.

The punches continued to descend. As sharp pain exploded through her, her eyesight soon obliterated, her throat soon crushed—and knowing claws were coming next, and with them, the loss of her head—the heat was replaced by a return of her cold determination.

Do whatever it takes.

Kaia arched up, still taking the blows. Her mother suspected nothing, too lost in the rhythm of her fists, expecting Kaia to slip into unconsciousness at any moment. Kaia reached around her mother’s back and ripped. A shriek echoed through the air as warm blood coated her hands. Those fists finally stopped raining. The weight lifted from her shoulders.

Kaia brought her hands to her mouth and licked. Anything to survive, she told herself again. Blood, any blood, was medicine and she needed to heal. Her mother’s life force slid down her decimated throat and into her stomach. The effect wasn’t as powerful as when she drank from Strider, but her vision cleared somewhat and she sat up the rest of the way.

Her mother lay a few feet away from her, unconscious and naked from the blaze. She might have withstood a broken wing, but she couldn’t withstand a total loss of them. Her back was a mess, her wings completely gone. Kaia’s chest constricted. In sorrow that their feud had come to this, in pride that she had won.

She considered her surroundings. The rest of the fight had ended, as well. To her disappointment, she saw that the Eagleshields had defeated her sisters, who had in turn defeated the Skyhawks. Those who were still standing regarded her with stunned expressions. She only cared about her team.

Thankfully, every beloved member was alive. Held at bay by sword-point, but alive. One at a time, she met each of their gazes. They nodded in apology and appreciation. She didn’t care that they’d lost—only that they lived.

They would have a chance at vindication during the next competition. And perhaps she could have validation now. Unconcerned by her nakedness, she lumbered to her feet. No matter what happened next, there were now only three contenders for first place in round four. And whoever won there would win everything. Bragging rights and the Paring Rod.

Had Strider realized how close they were to ultimate victory?

Strider. Her sisters might be alive, but she had lost. By defeating her team, the Eagleshields had defeated her. Strider had just lost his own challenge.

No, she assured herself in the next instant. He’d only sworn to kill those who defeated her. Or was it hurt her? Either way, there’d been no time limit for his death-blow deliveries. Right?

She searched the cheering crowd, but caught no sight of him. There were Sabin and Lysander, who’d disappeared for a while, too, but had now returned. Both were tense, pale and agitated, clearly wanting to grab their women and leave.

Was Strider okay? Where had he gone?

Was he currently in pain?

She could have challenged the Eagleshields and continued the fight. But she couldn’t disable all of them at the same time. One of her team members would be harmed, maybe killed. So she had to decide. Save them, or save Strider agonizing pain.

Praying he would understand, she knelt, admitting defeat.

Three things happened at once. Their surroundings changed, the Coliseum no longer new and fresh but old and crumbling, man-made blockades and humans suddenly materializing around them. Juliette’s scream of rage and disbelief echoed from the walls. And, worst of all, Strider’s agonized shout cut through her soul.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ABSOLUTE, UTTER CHAOS surrounded him.

Winded, stricken to his knees by debilitating pain, Strider gripped the Paring Rod. Harpies, consorts and slaves raced in every direction, trying to get away before the cops arrived. And they would, bringing reporters with them. Countless laws had been broken and a national treasure desecrated. Even now, blood soaked the ground, pooling around Strider’s feet.

What the hell should he do? And why was his demon so agonized, moaning and writhing inside his head? They’d won. Hadn’t they?

The moment Lazarus lost his head, the artifact had appeared. Something shimmery had risen from his body and been sucked into the tip of the Rod as if a vacuum switch had been thrown. The warrior’s soul, probably, the rest joining the piece inside.