The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

She waited until Halo headed out of the arena to muck another stall, then turned her focus inward. Next to her Dumb-Dumb switch was a fragrant well of endless desires, aka the pheromone. As she turned a mental crank to draw a bucket up, up, up, straining more and more, she cursed her past self. Why hadn’t she treated the pheromone as the weapon it was and learned to wield it as nature intended? Had she done her due diligence, she could’ve summoned the scent so easily, perhaps even controlling the potency of the dosage.

A rallying cry echoed inside her head. For Halo! For harpies! Still cranking.

The bucket rose, higher and higher, and the innermost parts of her belly heated. Yes! Warmth and the sweetest, most delicious power spread through her, so different from the might she had received from the beasts. Softer, yet also somehow sharper. The pheromone seeped from her pores, a perfumed cloud enveloping the dais in seconds.

Erebus gripped the arms of his throne, his knuckles quickly leaching of color. “Knew you’d do this...thought I was prepared for it...but no matter. I will not give in to you, wench.”

“Oh, you will give in. You really, really will.” She smiled at him, languid and sure. “Even now, in the midst of your great turmoil, you long to please me. Admit it.”

“I do...not.” A vein bulged in his forehead. He panted. “I will...won’t...do whatever you command. Tell me. What do you command?” The question ended with a snarl.

Her smile widened. “Where to start?”

Halo entered the arena once again, the wheelbarrow full. Immediately his gaze sought Ophelia; finding her unharmed, he turned his attention to Erebus, glaring...frowning...slowing his pace. The warlord stopped and sniffed the air; his entire body jerked. His focus swung back to her. Their eyes met across the distance.

Sweltering desire radiated from every inch of him, and shivers racked her. Longing deluged her.

Steady. Control.

“Turn it off, Elia.” Halo clenched his teeth. The wheelbarrow’s handles all but disintegrated in his grip. “I’m not sure I can keep myself away from you much longer.”

“Forfeit the task,” Erebus advised. He reclined, as if carefree, but sweat trickled from his temple. His good humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Oh, no, no, no. Have Halo forfeit the task and lose to the god because of her? He wasn’t the type to forgive anyone for a crime like that.

“Do your part, and I’ll do mine,” she called. Her new mantra. Finally, she had Erebus where she wanted him—under her metaphorical boot. “Let me show you what I can do.”

“Yes, Halo,” Erebus said with a drawl. “Let her show us what she can do. A demonstration will be good for both of us.”

“I don’t need your help convincing him,” she snapped.

As Halo dumped the wheelbarrow’s contents, he hurled different silent messages her way. She thought she caught a vow for retribution, a curse upon her head, and a demand to mind him for once.

Having trouble resisting her pheromone, was he?

Well, well. The most delicious power went straight to her head, and she cast Erebus a look of haughty disdain. “Your mistress thirsts. Fetch me wine. Only the finest red will do.”

Lines of tension bracketed his eyes. “Your pheromone is potent, harpy, but not potent enough to force my hand.” He shifted in his throne, grating, “However, I thirst as well.”

“Sure you do.” Ophelia flashed him a crude hand gesture. “Go ahead and get comfortable, Bus. You don’t mind if I call you Bus, do you? We’re gonna chat.”

He clapped twice. An embodied phantom appeared from thin air, floating over with a goblet of wine clutched in each hand. Milky white eyes were unfocused as Ophelia accepted the glass. Her thoughts tangled. Could the god control the fiends without speaking? She’d thought he had needed to issue a verbal command.

“Tell me the truth.” She sipped the sweet drink. “You’ve never encountered a more powerful nymph pheromone, have you?”

“Once. Long ago.” Erebus drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, fighting her appeal.

Maybe because she’d used so little of it throughout the years, the pheromone’s potency had built up over time?

“Perhaps I’ll keep you chained to my bed once Halo is defeated,” he added. “The Astra can spend the next five hundred years dreaming of every filthy thing I’m doing to you. It is especially satisfying for me when he makes himself suffer.”

“Sit on a spear,” she told him, smiling sweetly, unleashing another tendril of the pheromone. “Do it. For me.”

“I. Will. Not,” he said, but it was clear he wasn’t convinced.

At the exit, Halo paused, tossing a sizzling glance over his shoulder. She pressed a hand over her stomach, suddenly breathless. His ferocity was barely tethered. He was in agony with want for her.

She didn’t mean to, but she dropped the mental bucket, everything inside her reaching for him. The pheromone faded. She scrambled to grab it, but alas. No go.