He sniffed. Sniffed again. And again. The perfume filled his nose, his lungs. Rich. Sweet. Very sweet. Like pleasure itself. His head fogged, the gears in his chest loosening. His eyelids grew heavy.
“Is something wrong?” Roc asked, his brow furrowed.
Everything. Nothing. He didn’t know anything just then. No, not true. He knew he must find the scent’s source. Hurry! “I’ll return soon.”
On a new hunt, Halo stalked from the room. Aggression hardened his muscles, and he removed his shirt, dropping the garment without a thought. His alevala jumped about. Following the ever-strengthening fragrance, he traveled to the other side of the hallway, rounded a corner, and stopped at the edge of a balcony overlooking the foyer. Blood heating, he dropped his chin and narrowed his focus.
Below him was a wide-open area overflowing with harpies both coming and going. Scanning... Can almost taste the sweetness.
There! Her. The one who’d just flown through the entrance. A growl erupted in the back of his throat. Short and curvy, with light brown skin and long sable hair, the top plaited, the bottom tumbling in glossy waves.
Halo acted without consent from his brain, appearing directly in front of her—Impact! She plowed into him. As she bounced back, he snagged her and yanked her close.
Gasping, she slapped her hands on his chest, her adorable pink claws curling and cutting his skin. Fancied herself a predator holding on to her prey, did she?
Her touch...didn’t bother him. Which bothered him greatly! Then their gazes connected, and nothing bothered him. His thoughts dimmed, the rest of the world blotted out, forgotten. Gears ceased grinding. Pressure eased as sizzling heat poured out of him, as if stored for such a time as this. Her eyes. Exquisite. Light green, framed by a fan of jet-black lashes and topped by thick raven brows. A smattering of freckles. A plump upper lip with a plumper bottom boasting the sexiest little dip in the center.
He opened his mouth to demanded answers: Who was she? Where had she been hiding since his arrival? How dared she smell so intoxicating?
Must have more!
“Next time watch where you flash, douchebag,” she groused, wiggling free and sprinting off.
He watched, shell-shocked, as the little harpy headed for the throne room. She was equally spectacular from behind.
Must hold her again—will hold her again.
The thought seized him. He tensed to flash—
A frowning Roc appeared in front of him. “I would appreciate an explanation.”
Right. Their meeting. Halo shook his head, his blood cooling. As the perfumed fog dissipated, calm enveloped him. Mostly. The gears cranked on. “I am unsure what happened. There was a harpy.”
“Ah.” Roc reached out and patted his shoulder. “Say no more. I—” He went silent. Still. Too still. Was he even breathing?
Confused, Halo tapped the Commander’s cheek. “Roc?”
No response. Not even a blink.
He looked left, right. The harpies had stilled as well. In fact, some of the females had frozen midaction, their feet hovering inches over the floor. Every conversation had ceased. Quiet ruled the palace.
“My apologies for the theatrics.” The voice drifted from everywhere at once before Chaos, Ocean of the Dark, materialized a few feet away. “My new oracle Neeka has a flare for the dramatic. On that note, she has bid me to ask if you are ready to play.”
The god looked the same today as he had centuries ago, when he bought Halo from the Order. Wild, curly black hair, skin a shade darker and eyes like the night itself. Chaos stood at seven feet tall and wore a dark robe. Typical garb for a certain generation of deities. The strength of his power nearly drilled Halo to the ground.
It was the kind of power he would inherit with his next ascension.
He resisted the drive to sink as long as possible. In the end, he hit his knees. While he respected the male, he didn’t like him. Their interactions rarely ended well.
“I’m ready for battle,” he grated. The level of power lessened, allowing him to rise.
“Are you?” Chaos arched a brow. “You don’t even know whom you are to fight.”
“I am to fight Erebus. Who else?”
“Yes.” The god walked forward and circled him, the hem of his robe dusting Halo’s boots. “Who else?”
“Am I to slay his phantoms too?” Halo could think of no other being Erebus might control.
Chaos stopped in front of him and offered a smile of challenge. “You are to fight Erebus’s chosen champion, whoever it may be. You, too, are free to select a champion, of course.”
No need. “I choose to fight for myself.” Always.
The god inclined his head in acceptance. “In the coming weeks, you will go head-to-head with your opponent twelve times. Each battle will be inspired by Hercules’s labors. Consider the first eleven tests...of sorts. Learn from each. Grading counts. The twelfth decides the prize winner. The loser dies and will not be resurrected with outside aid of any kind.”