The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Admit that she might belong to Halo, body and soul?

He ran his gaze over her curves once again and pulled at the neckline of his shirt. “When you collided with me yesterday—”

“Hey!” she interjected. “I didn’t collide with you. You collided with me when you flash-landed. Get your facts straight.”

“—the interaction caused my scent to coat you. Now, Erebus believes you are...mine.”

“Yours?” Her jaw went slack, and she halted, gazing at him with something akin to horror. “He thinks I belong to you because you suck at flash-landing? Did he forget you have a concubine?”

“There’s a difference between a lover and a mate.”

“You’re right.” The horror faded. Thoughtful, she tilted her head. “And I am a harpy. Of course, Erebus pegged me as the cherished mate and the Amazon as the forgettable lover. Yes, this logic fully tracks.” Seeming to forget his presence, she kicked into another pace and mumbled. “Think this through. Erebus wants to destroy the Astra. He’ll slaughter innocent, hardworking harpies to do it. He’s a foe, no ifs, ands or buts. The Astra are now allied with the harpies. And Halo didn’t mean to serve me up for murder. The poor guy is probably just as dumb as a box of rocks. Erebus is bad, no matter how you slice it. Halo might have a sliver of potential. Honestly, this might be my big break.”

Every word lashed as powerfully as the Headmaster’s whipping.

Ophelia faced him, determination etched into her exquisite features. “Fine. You talked me into it. I’ll do you this enormous favor and help you complete your twelve labors. But in return, you’re writing me a glowing recommendation letter. And ensuring I get my first kill.”

She thought to...bargain? “A recommendation letter? To what end?” A harpymph with no kills would not be taking down her first victim during a blessing task.

“A promotion. I’m due. And I expect gold embossing on the letterhead. Flowing script. A poem extolling my amazing amazingness could be a nice extra. But I’ll totally deserve it. I’ll let you decide how lyrical to be after you’ve partnered with me awhile.”

Put her on a battlefield with the Dark One and his phantoms? No. Halo did not lose what belonged to him, and a possible gravita most certainly belonged to him. But where was he supposed to stash his Lady O No while he handled things? Where would she be safest?

Only at my side. Where she could be a distraction to Halo. The very dilemma the god had intended to cause.

He worked his jaw. There was one thing he knew. The Astra—the blessing task—came first, always, a gravita second.

“Hear me well, Ophelia.” He kept his tone balanced between command and threat. “We aren’t partners or teammates. I am fighting for my brothers. I won’t bow to your dictates or make bargains. I will give orders, and you will obey without hesitation. You won’t even speak a word without permission. Do you understand? Say it. Say the words.”

* * *

“Do you understand?” Ophelia mocked behind Halo as he stalked through the palace, pride forcing her to follow. A good soldier obeyed a superior’s orders. “Oops. I didn’t have his highness’s permission to repeat the words a second time. Bring on the punishment. Or is my time with you punishment enough?”

She might not be a good soldier.

He offered no response, just marched ahead, checking different rooms. He’d done this for hours, seeming to catalog everything but Ophelia’s direct location, wherever she happened to be. He seemed to have forgotten her presence altogether.

Why not remind him? “Roc won his challenge by doing the opposite of what he normally does,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. “Have you considered doing the opposite, Halo? You know, doing the right thing and not ruining everything for everyone else?”

A muscle twitched beneath his eye.

Another hour passed in utter quiet.

“Ever wondered if people admire you?” she grumbled. “Let me save you the trouble. They don’t. You’re the literal worst! I mean, nymphs admire everyone, but I would rather bury myself in ice for the rest of eternity than spend another minute in your presence. I’m not even being dramatic right now.”

Silence.

Hanging out with a legendary Astra sucked so hard. But guess what? She. Said. Nothing. Else. Instead, Ophelia bottled up the remainder of her speech. Outwit, outplay, outlast. Tough times never persisted, but tough people did.

When they found an Astra frozen in a compromising position, she almost broke her silence. The one named Roux Pyroesis. Also known as the Crazed One, and the sixth ranked in the Astrian army. He was the torture master, known for excelling at his job—both with others and himself.

He was a big guy with pale hair and golden everything else. Seated on a pillow in front of a coffee table, he held a pink teacup. At his side was young Isla, daughter of Blythe the Undoing.