A tea party for two.

Wearing a pink leotard and tutu, Isla was in the middle of pouring the tea.

The rumor mill claimed Roux had killed Isla’s father—Blythe’s consort—the day the Astra invaded Harpina. Was the girl learning to poison her enemies early? Because why else would she invite her dad’s murderer to tea? And how absolutely, utterly adorable was that?

Wow. Kids maybe weren’t so terrible all the time.

“I’m unsure what I’m seeing,” Halo muttered, circling Roux as he might a caged animal.

Ophelia held her tongue.

He glanced her way at last. His hands curled into fists—as if he’d just spotted something he wanted to grab. Had he?

Nymph senses said, Oh yes.

Heartbeat speeding up, she waved to the door, a silent command to move on. Might be better to encourage more snubbing.

He slitted his eyes, but he obeyed.

Again, she followed. Yeah, being ignored was best. She was part of a mission to defeat the great and powerful Erebus. What better opportunity to showcase her combat skills, proving she was a soldier worth keeping? That she was loyal to the cause, able to see past a personal wrong in favor of aiding harpykind. In other words, perfect General material.

If she resisted the urge to maim or sleep with Halo as warranted—often and in equal measure probably—this blessing task could mark her chance to ascend to a higher rank.

The problem was, he blasted all that delicious warmth.

He stepped into a beam of sunlight, muscles rippling with his movements. On his forearms, alevala jumped from here to there, attempting to lure her gaze and trap her in another haze of memories.

Look away!

She managed it—barely. A dozen times or so, she allowed herself one last fleeting glance at the alevala to glean as much info as possible without getting snagged. Most of the images were faces, and most of those faces watched her, tracking her every move. It was as eerie as it was sexy. What? She was part nymph, and she liked what she liked.

Mmm, mmm, mmm. Would the images taste as different as they looked?

Ophelia combated the urge to curl up against him and find out. To rub, just a little. Or a lot.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, harpy.” He whirled to face her, stopping her cold. And hot. Strong fingers wrapped around her biceps, trapping her body only inches from his.

Fight the needing.

Standing at attention, Ophelia broke her silence. “Sorry, sir, but that information is classified. Only halfway decent friends and above have clearance.”

The glorious muscles in his shoulders bunched beneath his shirt. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

Wait. He was huffy. Had he wanted her to ask stuff, despite his order to the contrary? “Should I respond or be silent, sir? Your orders are increasingly unclear.”

He released her and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just do one thing I’ve requested and tell me what Erebus said to you before he killed you.”

For a moment, she almost considered debating feeling sorry for him. But onward and upward. To cop to it all or not? The same logic she’d used before applied now. If Erebus was her enemy, and he was, and Halo was her ally, which he might be, she owed him the truth. Or some part of it, anyway. He should get the benefit of the doubt, not the other guy.

“Fine. The POS told me you’ll be the one to kill me next time,” Ophelia admitted.

Halo’s chest puffed up, the tendons in his neck pulling taut. The rings in those incredible irises spun. “He. Said. What?”

Man, the Astra was sexy when affronted. “Look. I’m sure he was just trying to make me paranoid or whatever. So you don’t have to worry that I’m spending every minute imagining all the ways I can rip out your spinal cord. I stopped doing that thirty minutes ago.”

He double-blinked at her. With a shake of his head, he marched off. Next stop? The theater room, where a handful of harpies lounged, most in the process of throwing popcorn at a mega screen.

The place for relaxation and entertainment made Halo’s rigid intensity a thousand times more noticeable, and the contrast was smoking hot. Of course, a slobbering troll would light Ophelia’s wick right now. But come on! When would the urge to throw herself into this male’s arms fade?

He surveyed the scene, stiffened, and swung his gaze to Ophelia. Spinning... “Do you have a sibling in Harpina?”

Careful. “No.” Not anymore. “Why?”

“You’ve been in this room before,” he continued. “Recently.”

“Yeah. So.” His point? “Even lowly soldiers get to take breaks.”

“But your scent. It’s the same but different now.” He canted his head slowly, his focus sharpening. “I think I comprehend how you were in the palace, close to me, and I didn’t know it.”

“Okay. So?” she repeated. “Dude, you’re making me tired. Just state whatever conclusion you’re failing to point at and put us both out of our misery.”

Tags: Gena Showalter Rise of the Warlords Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net