The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Whatever. Ophelia had bigger thoughts to mull. Like what did Taliyah want with her, and how did Ophelia convince the General to let her stay in Harpina and serve in the military? Harpies were in the middle of a war. Something she’d dreamed of experiencing since training camp. To get fired now? The horror! Especially when life had finally grown interesting again.

The Astra warred with a god named Erebus the Deathless. Father of General Taliyah. Biological son of the god Chaos. And creator of phantoms—vile creatures able to ghost or embody at will, raining destruction upon anyone in their path.

Every night on patrol, Ophelia yearned for another chance to strike at phantoms. Just one more. Perhaps two. If she sprinted a little faster or swung a little harder, she would totally accomplish her goal.

Movement at her right. She whipped her head—Huh. A freshly showered Vivi stood beside the treadmill, holding a thin, black cord and a squeeze bottle. No longer in workout gear, she wore the harpy uniform: a metal and mesh breastplate, a pleated leather miniskirt, arm and shin guards, and combat boots.

Her friend casually yanked the cord—the machine’s plug. As the treadmill screeched to a halt, Vivi drank from the bottle.

When Ophelia regained her balance, she plucked the buds from her ears. “Seriously?”

“You’ve been running for five and a half hours. You now have half an hour to prepare for your meeting with Taliyah. Just enough time to shower, dress and not overthink. But you’d better hurry or you’ll be late.”

What? Thirty minutes to shower and change and hustle to the palace? Her wings rippled with the challenge. Ophelia rushed off.

“I guess I’m supposed to clean the machine for you?” Vivi called.

In the locker room, Ophelia cleaned up and donned a uniform, then raced from the barracks. The palace was a mere mile away, an easy sprint through wooded terrain and beautifully manicured gardens. Past a marble water fountain and up a hundred steps, the only path to open front doors.

The opulence of the royal lodgings never failed to dazzle. Priceless vases. Gold-veined marble. Plush rugs and gilt-framed portraits of past Generals. Treasures acquired throughout the ages.

Ophelia avoided Nissa’s portrait, hanging just over the mantel between a set of dual staircases, and rounded a corner. The large, arched throne doors loomed ahead. Picking up speed—whoa!

She slammed into a brick wall of a male who hadn’t been there a split second ago. As she bounced back, he shot out muscular arms, capturing her in a hard grip and yanking her against him.

Their gazes met, and she gasped. For a suspended moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist for Ophelia, as if eternity’s time clock had just stopped. Well, why not? Her heart certainly had.

He was a brute with a faint smoked cherries and sandalwood scent—in other words, pure lust to her. His eyes were extraordinary, his brilliant gold irises circled by spinning jade and umber striations.

Hypnotic. She did her best to concentrate, her mind tossing out random particulars. An Astra. The second-in-command. Halo something. Supposedly the “kind” one. Never raised his voice and sometimes smiled. Gorgeous. Built. Sexy. Hot. Mmm. Very hot.

Generates heat like a furnace. Her entire body responded, going liquid.

Her gaze dipped to the plethora of tattoos that covered his upper body. Images she couldn’t make out as they vaulted from one place to another in his skin. Wait. Information clicked. The moving tattoos weren’t really tattoos but alevala.

When an Astra made a kill for his cause, the action stained his soul, which stained his skin. If anyone else peered at one of the images, they relived the Astra’s memory of the deed in full detail.

General Taliyah had recently issued a new realm-wide rule. Never study the alevala without permission.

Taliyah. Meeting! Late! With a scowl, Ophelia scrambled from the warlord’s embrace. “Next time watch where you flash, douchebag.” Flashers—teleporters—never considered the nonflashers they impeded.

Not waiting for his response, she dashed away. Can’t be late, can’t be late. What if Taliyah had already given up and left?

Lose the opportunity to explain all the reasons Taliyah was wrong to believe whatever she believed? No!

Ophelia flew into the throne room. Scanned. Thank goodness! The General hadn’t vacated her seat. The pale-haired goddess wore a gossamer ice-blue gown. A delicate creation at odds with her fiery glare. Her second, Dove, stood at her right. A harphantom with silver hair and white skin. The embodiment of an ice queen who had no softer side. A handful of harpies flittered about.

“Someone find Blythe now!” Taliyah bellowed. Blythe the Undoing, the General’s widowed sister. The second Ophelia was spotted, the General pointed an accusing finger her way and snapped, “You’re late.”

Ophelia cursed the Astra. “My apologies, General.” She offered a respectful incline of her head rather than excuses. “It will never happen again. You have my full assurance.”