The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Her breath hitched, and her nipples drew tighter. “And your second?”

Holding her gaze, he slid his other hand to her breast and kneaded. “Here.” He grazed his thumb over the amber crest.

She cried out, a needy plea. “Guess what I just realized. You won me, but I won you too. That means I’m stronger than you. I took down the big, bad immortal. My courage is off the charts. Something you will be sure to note in your killer recommendation letter.”

A corner of his mouth quirked. He kissed her lips. “There is no one stronger or braver than my Elia. No matter the odds stacked against you, you forge ahead. If a path hits a dead end, you carve out a new one. When you fall, you fight your way back up. Time and time again, you’ve faced death head-on, even eagerly. To defend those you love, you stop at nothing.”

“Mmm, I sound amazing,” she teased.

“You are.” Naked and wet, Halo returned her to the bed, stretched her out on her belly, and paid homage to her delicate wings. To the elegant line of her spine. To the world’s most perfect backside. He imagined her skin marked in his stardust, and raw longing nearly overwhelmed him. Flipping her over, sucking her nipples, fingering her deep, he growled, “You like being claimed by your male, don’t you, Elia?”

“I do. I really, really do.” She thrashed, pulled his hair. Squeezed his shoulders. Pricked him with her claws, putting her mark on him.

“For your honesty, I’m giving you a reward.” More and more of his calm facade disintegrated. “Come hard for me.” He pressed his thumb against her swollen bud.

She screamed his name, as her inner walls clamped around his fingers. He let her thrash and ride it out. By the time she sagged against the mattress, his longing had sharpened into lust.

Spasms subsiding, she moaned, “More, Halo.”

Gladly.

He propped his upper body on one elbow, and positioned his erection at her entrance, sliding in just enough to madden himself.

Slowly she undulated, forcing him deeper. With each inch she gained, his pleasure escalated. Sweat sheened his brow. His heartbeat like a war drum.

When he could stand it no longer, he plunged the rest of the way. Crying out, she arched her back, then wound her limbs around him, clinging.

He pulled out. Pushed in. Lifted his head and held her gaze. In. Out. Long locks of damp, dark hair framed a flushed face. Those lust-drunk irises were shielded by heavy lids as he eased into a languid grind. No lovelier female. Lamplight cast a golden glow over her dusky skin. Plump breasts with those amber nipples razed more of his control. Scarlet lips bore little puncture marks from her fangs. Judging by her hungry stare, she longed to bury those fangs in his neck before they climbed from this bed. A harpy’s claim on her consort?

Must have this! Halo clasped her by the nape and yanked her face to his throat. “Bite,” he commanded. “Drink me.”

“Are you sure?” She hesitated, merely licking his fevered skin.

He hammered into her once, twice. Again. “Bite and suck like you mean it.” Again. Harder. Faster. “Give me what’s mine, Elia.”

“Yes...” With a whimper, she sank her fangs deep.

He loosened his grip until he was petting her hair.

“That’s the way. Fill yourself with me.” With his power. Was she right? Was this what Erebus had wanted all along? For Halo to cede his strength to a challenger, bit by bit? To aid in his own downfall? In the moment, he couldn’t make it matter. “Come on me. Squeeze my length. Steal my climax from me.”

He reached between them, grazing her clit. Her back arched again, her fangs withdrawing from his vein as her head fell back. A loud moan pierced his ears. Like music. Those tight inner walls clenched again and again as she came, searing his shaft.

Any lingering tension coiled in his chest until it finally, blessedly just...shattered. Halo roared and came, came and roared. The fragments of what had plagued him for so long—gone. It was the most incredible sensation he’d ever experienced.

For this, for her, he would have endured anything. Countless other centuries of misery? In a heartbeat. This was right. This was his right.

When he collapsed and rolled to his side, Ophelia fit over him. They panted in time, their hearts racing in sync. He wound his arms around her. His future had never been brighter—or worse.

If he could win the final labor without battling her, he could keep her. What could be better? But if he won the battle and lost her?

His chest stung. No. No! He’d lost too much already. He refused to lose his harpymph. They had another option. Possibly. The trinite cage and hibernation. Maybe he’d dismissed the idea too quickly. If that failed, he’d go another route—he just had to figure out what another route entailed.