The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2)

Halo found Ophelia again, his muscles seeming to expand. More heat emanated from him, sizzling hotter by the second, and she swallowed a groan.

Resist! Her word of the day. “What do you want?” she asked, wishing she were wearing armor.

“Tell me what happened yesterday,” he demanded.

Well. There it was. Confirmation. He didn’t know. She was cleared to proceed as planned. “I’m not telling you anything anymore. We aren’t partners, remember?” Another reason to keep her secret close. “Do us both a favor and flash yourself out of my space.”

He rooted in place, as stubborn as she was. “When you were taken from me, you appeared before Erebus, did you not?”

Why did the Astra have to smell so good?

What was he getting at? That she was working with his enemy? She spread her arms wide, announcing, “This is me, not telling you anything.”

“I believe he has a mystical tie to you,” Halo persisted. “Something he gave you after your stabbing. If I’m correct, there’s a way I can stop him from taking you from me a second time.”

A mystical tie—to Erebus? Oh...balls. A part of the equation she’d ignored. The Deathless could summon her on command, the same way Halo summoned weapons. Bile singed her throat. Give an enemy so much power over her? That, she wouldn’t allow for any reason. Not even for strength.

Ophelia tweaked her plan. Severe the connection to Erebus. Become a beast again. Grow stronger on my own terms.

“Do it,” she said. “Whatever it is.”

“Very well.” Halo appeared grim, and yet his irises spun with excitement. “Take off your clothes, harpy.”

8

Halo struggled to retain his calm facade. By a thread...

He had failed this female—supposedly his female—twice. At noon, everyone but Ophelia and Halo would freeze, marking the official start of the blessing task. There would be no more labors for the next seven days. But. After the freeze, Erebus could steal the harpymph from Halo yet again. Maybe. It was probable.

Muted emotions? No longer. For the first time in his remembrance, a pot of rage simmered in his mind, spiced with other things. Guilt. Shame. Concern. Relief. Desire. Oh, the desire. At times it eclipsed everything else, making him as restless as a caged animal.

Every time he imagined tossing this female onto a bed, an avalanche of other images invaded. Putting his hands all over her. Having her hands all over him. Kissing and rubbing. Things he’d never hungered to experience with another. But he hungered now.

Touch her. Mark her. Claim her. Save her.

How he loved and hated this. His strain grew worse by the minute, everything in his torso tight and stinging. And yet, as he breathed in the harpy’s luscious scent, the promise of relief had never seemed surer.

What if she’d told the truth yesterday? What if she drew him like this without the help of a pheromone? If she were his gravita...

What then?

“You did not just tell me to take off my clothes.” She sputtered for a moment. “Unless you assume you’re getting laid right now?”

“I do not.” But maybe he should try. Why not give them both a reset? He’d never attempted to pleasure his concubines, but he didn’t think he wanted to release the nymph until she had reached her own end. To see her climax...

Yes. At the very least, he should learn Ophelia’s full effect on his body as soon as possible. An uncompromised strategist would insist on it. How else could he mount a proper defense against the constant distraction she presented?

Rationalizing your way to defeat?

Perhaps. But he didn’t think he cared right now. “Take off your clothes, Ophelia,” he said. A softer request. “I’m going to check you for a brand.”

She sputtered a bit more, then pointed an accusing finger at him. “I’m perfectly capable of using my own two eyes and a mirror to check myself, thanks. There’s no reason for you to—”

He flashed a whisper away, crowding her personal space. Her scent saturated his being, razing already fried nerve endings, and he rationalized even more. Having sex with her would not equal defeat. It would be a temporary distraction, nothing more. The long-term results could sway in or out of his favor, but he wouldn’t know until he knew.

“Some brands can be etched into muscle or bone. So. I will peruse every inch of you, harpy, and you will let me.” With a quiet but lethal tone, he vowed, “One way or another, your clothes are coming off before we leave this room.”

Ophelia glowered at him...but she also exuded excitement. “You’re a secret pervert, aren’t you, H-bomb? You come in here, swinging front tail, thinking you can command a peek at my goods. The nymph is easy, right? Well, you picked the wrong nymph. This one is future General material.”

H-bomb? “Nothing about you is easy.” He traced his fingertips along a lapel of her flannel top, the action unstoppable. “Why is so much of you covered?”