The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

“I know what the harpymph is to you, and why she isn’t frozen like the others.”

The words stopped him cold. A terrible suspicion rose inside him. The god had evinced the same satisfaction after Roc met Taliyah, the course for their defeat already well established. “Do tell.”

“With a little effort, I’m sure you can put the puzzle pieces together on your own.”

Instincts dinged. Say nothing. Reveal nothing. He knew better than to converse with an adversary. Especially this one. But he said something. “Why should I bother? We both know you’re happy to do it for me.” If there was one thing the god enjoyed more than inciting an Astra’s misery, it was taunting him with the truth—a nugget of information Halo desperately wished to confirm.

Why did her intoxicating scent coat the breeze, even now? He tensed. Had she escaped her chains?

Oozing satisfaction, Erebus grinned. “She is your gravita. A part of you and therefore exempt from the freeze. Consider it a loophole.”

He bowed up in pride as much as denial. Ophelia, the female made for him alone? The treasure he was to protect with his life? The sun able to hold him in orbit?

No. He shook his head. Someone as emotionally stunted as Halo wasn’t meant to have a gravita.

Was he?

He shifted from one foot to the other. An Astra recognized his gravita when he produced stardust for her. A powder released by his hands, and a claim no other warlord could refute.

“Oh, and before I forget,” the god added, gleeful. “Allow me to thank you for restraining your female. The little filly is all fury, isn’t she? Without those chains, I might have gotten hurt. I wonder if she’ll tussle harder tomorrow.”

He recoiled inside. “You lie. You are unable to enter my bedroom.”

“Am I? Let’s just say there’s wiggle room and leave it at that.” The god laughed at his own joke as he and his army vanished.

Heart banging like a war drum, Halo flashed to his bedroom. Ophelia wasn’t dead. The Astra’s master strategist had not left an innocent female vulnerable to an enemy’s attack.

His muscles felt like rocks he was attempting to smuggle underneath his skin as he scanned the chamber. A coppery tang tainted the air, no sound forthcoming. Oxygen congealed in his throat when he spotted her, choking him. Her mangled body was sprawled on his bed and shockingly still. So much blood. A dagger protruded from the top of her sternum.

His own chest constricted. Erebus had done it. The god had entered the bedroom despite its defenses, and brutally murdered a little beauty with soft curves and a delectable scent—and he’d done it the same way Four had once killed Five.

Inhale deep. Exhale slow. He expected a measure of calm, but the breathing exercise did him no good. Embers of rage created flames. Fuel. Coils and gears cranked tighter than ever.

He yanked his gaze to Ophelia’s face, to the delicate features now fixed in an expression of fierce determination. Work with Erebus? No. This female had fought for her life with everything she had.

No doubt she had died cursing his name. And he had deserved it. Gone forever. Halo stumbled back.

Something the god said prodded at his mind. I wonder if she’ll tussle harder tomorrow.

The dead couldn’t do battle. Had Erebus hinted at a possible resurrection? Or something else? According to Chaos, tomorrow was also today—and today Ophelia had lived.

Halo’s heart leaped. Would the day repeat until he completed his labors? Like a game.

Are you ready to play?

Would he have a second chance to protect the harpymph? To figure out their connection, whatever it was? Would Halo remember her in the morning? Would she remember him?

So many questions, and only one way to obtain answers: wait.

He trembled as he lay beside the body. He clasped her cold, limp hand and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come...

6:00 a.m.

Day 2

“Get your lazy butt out of bed. Operation Lady O Be Good commences in twenty.”

Ophelia’s eyelids popped open as soon as Vivi ripped away her comforters. Survival instincts roared to life before thought. Fight!

Heartbeat emanating to her throat, she came up swinging.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vivi said, ducking. Straightening, she raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I expected resistance, not insta-combat. Although, yes, this might deserve a new award for your wall of accomplishments. Woke Up Wearing Big Girl Panties.”

Ophelia was panting as she searched the bunkroom. Her room. Hers. Not the Astra’s. There was no sign of Erebus. No dagger being shoved into her airway.

Okay. All right. But what did this mean? She’d merely dreamed—vividly—of dying? She hadn’t met either male?

Stomach roiling thanks to her hangover, she scooted to the edge of the bed and met Vivi’s curious stare. “What happened last night?”

Her friend approached, dressed exactly as before and ready for another early morning workout. “You mean the part where General Taliyah called you personally to schedule a meeting? Or the part where you panicked and stole my secret stash of vodka?”