Before she could backtrack, Halo snaked an arm around her waist and dragged her closer. Her breath hitched. The desire to wrench free...did not spark. The multicolored striations in his irises spun, luring her closer.

  The air thickened with sandalwood and smoked cherries. Her inhalations quickened, but so did his.

  “You will cease using your pheromone on me, Ophelia.” His modulated tone persisted, but his intensity jacked up another thousand degrees. A warning of incoming danger; she knew it.

  She wanted to care. She needed to care. But he was cocooning her with that incredible warmth. A sensation she’d craved her entire life. To finally feel no hint of cold? The stuff of dreams.

  “I told the truth before, Hay-low. I’m not using my pheromone on you.” She didn’t mean to purr the words, but she freaking purred the words. And she’d spoken true. Her harpy side constantly battled her nymph side, making the release of the infamous pheromone difficult for her. She had to work to do it. So unleash it by accident? Not likely.

  Besides, she loathed the result. A heartsick sap willing to commit any deed, if only to be near her, or a sociopath determined to own her, no matter the cost. Sexy, yes, but so annoying.

  “I didn’t believe you before, and I don’t believe you now.” He stared at her lips—and licked his own. Was he...could he be considering...kissing her? “Stop it.”

  “Sorry, warlord, but truth is truth. No pheromone.” Did she sound smug? “You want me because you want me.” Yes, she sounded smug.

  Tension poured off him. “You will stop this.” He maintained his hold and stalked forward, forcing her to backpedal, until they reached a bedpost. “I will make you.”

  Her every pulse point fluttered, leaving her breathless. And angry. Mostly angry. Surely! Smirking at him, she asked, “Are you planning to club me with your meat stick, Astra? I feel it expanding, even now.”

  The barest hint of a scowl. He adjusted his hold, clasping her wrists and anchoring her arms over her head. “You are using your pheromone. Admit it. Do not lie to me again, female.”

  “In order to lie to you again, I’ll have to lie to you a first time. Which I haven’t done.”

  “You will stop, or I will... I...” The scowl returned and stayed put. He gave a quiet growl before flickering in and out of view.

  An icy sensation registered on her upraised wrists, and she frowned. She dragged her gaze up—Douchebag! He had shackled her to a metal beam.

  Fury defeated her desire with a brutal slash. Ophelia yanked up her knee to nail the Astra in the groin.

  He fled striking range, smoothing his shirt as well as his features. “I have much to do today. Until I know what part you play in my task, you will stay here and consider the dangers of attracting a male like me.”

  She barely heard him; her mind got stuck. He’d chained her, and she couldn’t chase him.

  He thought she had episodes? She would show him episodes. With a shriek, she lunged in his direction, willing to rip off her limbs if only to headbutt his face. But the links had little give. When the tendons refused to part with her shoulders, she rammed into air.

  “I’ll gut you for this,” she hissed at him.

  “Behave,” he commanded, unperturbed. Then he disappeared.

  Shrieking louder, Ophelia spun and attacked the bed with crazed fervor. But the initial round of punches and kicks knocked some sense into her, random strikes turning into a planned ambush. If she could break the bedpost in half, she could slide the shackle free. But any time she made a dent, the wood mystically reinforced.

  Bones cracked and shattered. Muscles tore. Refusing to surrender, she kicked and punched harder. Surely the column would splinter. Any second...

  No one kept Ophelia Falconcrest bound to a bed without permission. No one! Punch, punch, kick. She threw her entire body into the beam, different wounds throbbing in protest.

  “I must say, you are even better than I expected.” The sinister voice registered at the same time as a frigid breeze enveloped her. “Brava, harpy. Brava.”

  Ophelia whirled around, the chains rattling. Two realizations gelled at once. Erebus looked just like his sketch—and the enemy was here, within her reach. She crouched, preparing to attack while taking stock. He was taller and wider than she’d realized, with a mop of pale curls. An obsidian robe draped a muscular frame, with very little of his pale, frost-glazed skin revealed.

  His craggy face boasted an array of prominent features. Arresting black irises and obscenely long lashes. A large, hooked nose. Full lips. A strong jaw covered by a braided beard.

  Adrenaline surged to new heights, dulling the searing pains throughout her body. “Why don’t you come a little closer?” she asked, batting her eyes.

  “I will. Soon.” He watched her as her breaths pitched. Unlike Halo, he smiled a little. “The warlord can do anything...but resist you. You, my darling, will give him everything he’s never had and everything he’s always wanted. And then I get to take it all away.”

  She didn’t know what the god referenced, but icy foreboding pricked her nape.

  Then he said, “You’re going to die, Ophelia Falconcrest. Again and again and again.”

  Panic rushed in, an ice storm threatening to overwhelm her.

  “I can make these deaths easy for you, or I can make them not easy.” His smile grew wider. “Don’t take offense if I root for the latter.”

  He swooped in, shoving her to the mattress.

  As she and the god grappled, a thousand thoughts rapid-fired. Trapped like a lamb at slaughter. No match for someone as powerful as this. Going to lose. Soon to die. As promised, he’s enjoying it. Fight! Too much to do. Too much to prove. Leave Vivi? Never! Still going to lose. Will perish on a field of battle at least. Every harpy’s dream. The stuff of legends. Just not the kind of legend I hoped.

  Here lies Ophelia Falconcrest. Basic damsel in distress.

  Fight harder!

  In the end, Erebus succeeded, driving a rigid dagger into the hollow above her sternum. Cold metal sliced her airway, and searing pain consumed her. Blood rushed up her throat and into her lungs, drowning her. Her vision blurred. So dizzy.

  “Poor harpy,” Erebus cooed, tenderly smoothing hair from her brow. “You feel your life slipping away. How terrible it must be to realize you aren’t as indestructible as you once believed. Immortal, but not. The younger you are, the swifter death sets in before an injury can regenerate. But I’m sure you know that.”

  Fighting...

  “Don’t hate me for loving this. You are magnificent.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re making me even more excited for what comes next.”

  Fight...

  He twisted the blade, giddy as he announced, “Get ready, little girl. Your second ending will not be as tame as this. But then, I’m not the male who will wield the blade—Halo is.”

  Figh... Death came as Ophelia expelled her final breath.

  5

  The little beauty might be a big problem.

  Halo stalked through the torch-lit catacombs beneath the coliseum, determined to root out any traps his enemy might have readied.

  A mission had never been more vital, yet again and again his thoughts veered to the harpymph he’d trapped in his bedchamber. A room with walls fortified by trinite, thereby limiting a phantom’s abilities. Ophelia wasn’t a phantom, the substance nothing to her—but Erebus was.

  Did she align with the god? Was the curvy seductress tasked with Halo’s distraction, perhaps?

  He narrowed his eyes. Though the bundle of energy struck him as a walking contradiction—defensive but inviting—Halo had enjoyed her company far more than he should have. Somehow, he’d tasted both the ease he’d sought for so long and a tension far worse than any other, and swung between the two.

  When she’d told him she wouldn’t bed him, she’d eyed him as if he were a slice of warm honey cake fresh from the oven. He’d throbbed then. He throbbed now, remembering.

  Despite her denials, the nymph pheromone must be responsible. No matter how powerful it was, Halo would not succumb. Rather, he would learn more about Ophelia Falconcrest and build stronger defenses against her allure.

  Return to her. Now. The unexpected, instinctual command jolted him, and he stumbled. Return to his distraction before the meeting with Erebus? Hardly. Halo wasn’t so foolish.

  He poured his energy into his mission, taking note of his surroundings. Eternal torches hung from posts on cracked stone walls, casting muted beams of golden light over high, arched ceilings and dirt floors. Different aromas layered cool, damp air. The metallic stench of old blood. A tinge of smoke and burnt wood. A collage of fading perfumes.

  Finding no sign of foul play, he flashed topside to the center of the battlefield. The sun was in the process of setting, painting sections of the sky with streaks of azure fire.

  Before invading Harpina, the Astra had spent a year traversing the realm, invisible to all. He’d observed hundreds of violent matches in this stadium as harpies settled their disputes in front of a roaring crowd. If Ophelia had attended, he would have scented her.

  What did she do in her spare time? Sex? As a nymph, she must have an insatiable sexual appetite.

  A fire of...something burned his chest, unnerving him.

  Recall your training or lose everything. The stark command had the deserved effect, and he snapped to attention. The other Astra counted on him. He would not let them down.

  A trumpet boomed from the stands. Frowning, he palmed two daggers and looked about.

  In a flash of light, Erebus appeared on the other side of the battlefield, wearing his customary black robe. The hem billowed in a soft breeze. Fresh blood wet his pale curls, splattered his face, and coated his hands. Behind him stretched an army of phantoms. Females dressed in widow’s weeds, slumped over and motionless, their feet hovering several inches off the ground. Eerie silence permeated the masses.

  With a single command from their creator, those lifeless phantoms would attack with mindless fervor, desperate to feed. To suck Halo’s soul from his skin. A revolting act that drained even an Astra’s strength.

  “Hello, Halo,” Erebus said. “Our first solo face-to-face in centuries.”

  The god’s deep voice inspired a tidal wave of hatred. An emotion Halo had never forgotten, no matter his training. “Consider pleasantries exchanged. Meeting adjourned.” He poised to flash to his bedroom—

  “I know what the harpymph is to you, and why she isn’t frozen like the others.”

  The words stopped him cold. A terrible suspicion rose inside him. The god had evinced the same satisfaction after Roc met Taliyah, the course for their defeat already well established. “Do tell.”

  “With a little effort, I’m sure you can put the puzzle pieces together on your own.”

  Instincts dinged. Say nothing. Reveal nothing. He knew better than to converse with an adversary. Especially this one. But he said something. “Why should I bother? We both know you’re happy to do it for me.” If there was one thing the god enjoyed more than inciting an Astra’s misery, it was taunting him with the truth—a nugget of information Halo desperately wished to confirm.

  Why did her intoxicating scent coat the breeze, even now? He tensed. Had she escaped her chains?

  Oozing satisfaction, Erebus grinned. “She is your gravita. A part of you and therefore exempt from the freeze. Consider it a loophole.”

  He bowed up in pride as much as denial. Ophelia, the female made for him alone? The treasure he was to protect with his life? The sun able to hold him in orbit?

  No. He shook his head. Someone as emotionally stunted as Halo wasn’t meant to have a gravita.

  Was he?

  He shifted from one foot to the other. An Astra recognized his gravita when he produced stardust for her. A powder released by his hands, and a claim no other warlord could refute.

  “Oh, and before I forget,” the god added, gleeful. “Allow me to thank you for restraining your female. The little filly is all fury, isn’t she? Without those chains, I might have gotten hurt. I wonder if she’ll tussle harder tomorrow.”

  He recoiled inside. “You lie. You are unable to enter my bedroom.”

  “Am I? Let’s just say there’s wiggle room and leave it at that.” The god laughed at his own joke as he and his army vanished.

  Heart banging like a war drum, Halo flashed to his bedroom. Ophelia wasn’t dead. The Astra’s master strategist had not left an innocent female vulnerable to an enemy’s attack.

  His muscles felt like rocks he was attempting to smuggle underneath his skin as he scanned the chamber. A coppery tang tainted the air, no sound forthcoming. Oxygen congealed in his throat when he spotted her, choking him. Her mangled body was sprawled on his bed and shockingly still. So much blood. A dagger protruded from the top of her sternum.

  His own chest constricted. Erebus had done it. The god had entered the bedroom despite its defenses, and brutally murdered a little beauty with soft curves and a delectable scent—and he’d done it the same way Four had once killed Five.

  Inhale deep. Exhale slow. He expected a measure of calm, but the breathing exercise did him no good. Embers of rage created flames. Fuel. Coils and gears cranked tighter than ever.

  He yanked his gaze to Ophelia’s face, to the delicate features now fixed in an expression of fierce determination. Work with Erebus? No. This female had fought for her life with everything she had.

  No doubt she had died cursing his name. And he had deserved it. Gone forever. Halo stumbled back.

  Something the god said prodded at his mind. I wonder if she’ll tussle harder tomorrow.

  The dead couldn’t do battle. Had Erebus hinted at a possible resurrection? Or something else? According to Chaos, tomorrow was also today—and today Ophelia had lived.

  Halo’s heart leaped. Would the day repeat until he completed his labors? Like a game.

  Are you ready to play?

  Would he have a second chance to protect the harpymph? To figure out their connection, whatever it was? Would Halo remember her in the morning? Would she remember him?

  So many questions, and only one way to obtain answers: wait.

  He trembled as he lay beside the body. He clasped her cold, limp hand and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come...

  6:00 a.m.

  Day 2

  “Get your lazy butt out of bed. Operation Lady O Be Good commences in twenty.”

  Ophelia’s eyelids popped open as soon as Vivi ripped away her comforters. Survival instincts roared to life before thought. Fight!

  Heartbeat emanating to her throat, she came up swinging.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vivi said, ducking. Straightening, she raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I expected resistance, not insta-combat. Although, yes, this might deserve a new award for your wall of accomplishments. Woke Up Wearing Big Girl Panties.”

  Ophelia was panting as she searched the bunkroom. Her room. Hers. Not the Astra’s. There was no sign of Erebus. No dagger being shoved into her airway.

  Okay. All right. But what did this mean? She’d merely dreamed—vividly—of dying? She hadn’t met either male?

  Stomach roiling thanks to her hangover, she scooted to the edge of the bed and met Vivi’s curious stare. “What happened last night?”

  Her friend approached, dressed exactly as before and ready for another early morning workout. “You mean the part where General Taliyah called you personally to schedule a meeting? Or the part where you panicked and stole my secret stash of vodka?”

  “Uh, I’ve already met with Taliyah. For all of three seconds. Then everyone froze in time or something.” Ugh. She’d dreamed that too, hadn’t she? She hadn’t woken up, sweated out her hangover, and smacked into Halo. “Never mind.”

  Too bad his furnace-like heat wasn’t real. She’d kind of enjoyed him. Or it. Only it. Before he’d chained her up, earning her eternal hatred, of course.

  Vivi pouted for a moment. “Why can’t people do cool things in my drunken reveries?”

  She rubbed the spot she’d been stabbed. Maybe the dream was a warning. “I should probably skip the meeting.”

  “No way.” The harpire hauled Ophelia to her feet, jostling her brain against her skull. “You’re attending, and that’s that.”

  “Then I guess I gotta sober up,” she grumbled, stumbling into the bathroom.

  “Look at that. My baby is wearing her big girl panties today! She knows when she’ll be out-stubborned and it’s best to give up.”

  “Oh, my gosh, shut it,” Ophelia mumbled, earning a snort. As she washed and dressed, a sense of déjà vu plagued her with increasing fervency. A sense that followed her to the gym, where the same harpies occupied the same machines. How in the world had a drunken dream predicted her day so accurately?

  Just as she remembered doing before, Ophelia threw elbows and exchanged insults to claim the perfect treadmill.

  She plugged in her earbuds and ran for an hour, but she failed to focus her thoughts. Again and again, her brain returned to the subject of Halo. Just how precisely had her dreams portrayed him?

  Why not ask others about him and find out? Assuage her curiosity and shutdown this line of inquiry.

  As she jogged at a slight incline, she muted her music to ask, “What do you know about the, um, nice Astra?”

  “Halo?” Vivi asked with a frown.

  “You guys talking about the Machine?” The girl on Vivi’s other side inserted herself into the conversation. “He’s the one who gives good hello, right? Sometimes smiles, and never raises his voice?”

  “If he’s so great, why does everyone call him the Anaconda?” another said. “Those things are mean, yo. Unless he’s the proud owner of a wild trouser snake, and it’s time for a good old-fashioned hunting expedition. I’ll report my findings tomorrow.”