The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Unfazed, he stated, “A nymph’s scent is known to change so quickly for a single reason. A needing.” His gaze dropped to her lips—and he licked his own. “Are you in the midst of one, Ophelia?”

Breath lodged in her throat, a spike of searing arousal catching her off guard. But anger wasn’t far behind it. Was the douchebag considering taking advantage of her weakening morals?

“Slow your roll, Immortal.” She brandished a condescending tone like the weapon it was. “I’m not that desperate yet, so you have no chance of getting lucky.”

The insult landed, and he flicked his tongue over an incisor. “Do you currently have a male?”

Would he keep his big, beautiful hands to himself if she did or would he feel challenged and up his smolder? Why risk either outcome when she could shut him down with a single question? “What does it matter to you?”

He bristled, somehow appearing angrier and softer at the same time. “Whatever I ask, you will answer.”

Swallow your retort. Be a (genuinely) good soldier. Too late. “Counterproposal. I answer only what I wish to answer. Which is nothing now. Because yes, you did it again. You made the wrong call and ruined everything for everyone else.”

“Harpy.” Expression thundering, he stepped closer and snarled, “You will give me what I want.”

“I thought we’d gone over this.” She squared her shoulders and stepped closer too. Furious, she snapped, “If you keep staring at me like that, I just might.” Wait. Those were not the words she’d planned to say.

They must have surprised him as well. He did that double-blink thing again. He was just so delicious. All powerful and growly. And at this particular moment in time, she kind of...wanted him. But she also didn’t want him. Except she did. Except she didn’t. Did. Didn’t. The tug of war never ceased.

His brow furrowed. “Are you asking me to...touch you, Ophelia?”

“I don’t know.” She was still snapping at him; she couldn’t stop. “Are you wanting to touch me, Halo?”

Blink-blink. He took another step forward, his countenance softening. “I want—”

Agony flared dead center in her chest, a sharp cry exploding from her.

“Ophelia?” He flashed to her side and—nothing. Halo and the theater room disappeared.

Suddenly cool, damp air chilled her skin, but her pain was fading. Fighting for breath, she looked around. The catacombs beneath the coliseum. Torchlight provided dim illumination of familiar dark walls—stationary phantoms hovered all around.

Danger! Ophelia reached for a weapon she didn’t have.

Too late. Phantoms awoke and swarmed, clasping her arms and legs. Living-dead chains.

A grinning Erebus materialized only a few feet away. As he approached, he twirled the hilt of the death dagger.

Ophelia fought the urge to shrink from him. Reveal a hint of fear? Not this girl. She lifted her chin. “Well, well. I see some evil villains can’t be trusted anymore. You said Halo will kill me next. Not you.”

“I’m wounded that you doubt me. Especially since I’m your best ally during this labor. A detail you will realize soon enough.”

Foreboding seized her. “Erebus. An ally. That’s rich.”

“Allow me to prove myself. Today, I happily give you what you seek most. Incredible strength. Unfortunately, it won’t be enough to win tonight’s battle.” He winced, as if he felt sorry for her. “But take heart. The more we do this, the stronger you’ll grow. We’ll charge you like a battery and you’ll overflow with every creature. You’ll be unstoppable. Yes. Soon, you’ll be ready, and we’ll do what’s needed. You and me. Together.”

What did he mean, every creature?

As she struggled to no avail, he pressed the weapon between her breasts, the blade flat. As the jewel-encrusted hilt glowed red above her sternum, he said, “The primordial Nemean lioness with certain augmentations.” He prattled on, listing things like “a mouthful of daggers” until his voice faded from her awareness.

A loud ring erupted in her ears, and she attempted to gather her thoughts. The Nemean lion she’d studied in history class. A beast Hercules once choked out. A terror of teeth and claws, with an invulnerable hide nothing could pierce. And the primordial Nemean lion, at that? The original, with defenses its progeny lacked?

Why—A high-pierced scream ripped from her being. No, not a scream. A roar. Golden fur sprouted from her pores as bones melted and re-formed.

A final thought registered before an insatiable bloodthirst consumed her. I’m becoming the lioness?

7

For the second time in one day, Halo chased after the harpy. Following her scent, he alternated between sprinting and flashing. Outside the palace. Into fading sunlight. Across the royal garden once again. Colorful flowers blurred at his sides.

All the while, the truth clamped his throat in a vise grip. Erebus was responsible for this. Somehow, the god had exploited an ability he shouldn’t wield—the flashing of another person without contact.

If something happened to the harpy... A growl brewed.