“Speaking of Erebus. I have an idea...” Roux trailed off as his gaze flipped to the chandelier, as if drawn by an invisible force.
A harpy was crouched there. Blythe the Undoing. The lithe beauty glared at Roux.
As the warlord bowed up, Halo finally understood the woman’s moniker. With zero effort, she was undoing centuries of Roux’s civility, her hatred battering at his hard-won calm.
Did the male desire her the way Halo desired Ophelia?
And I thought my courtship was ripe with hardships. Theirs might get...rocky.
“Your idea?” he prompted absently. The harpymph was laughing at something someone said. She swiped a shot from another female and drained the contents. Others cheered as she raised the empty glass.
“We have the power to be our own worst—and most powerful—enemy,” Roux said. “Do you think Erebus decided to pit you against yourself?”
He worked his jaw. “It’s possible. In theory.”
In the beginning, Chaos had mentioned the lessons Halo must learn. So. What had he learned so far? That, just as soon as he decided he understood something, new information came to light, proving he knew nothing. He’d discovered he had limits. Lines he wouldn’t cross, no matter the provocation. He had discovered old desires, passions, and yearnings buried deep. He’d uncovered a shocking goal—a life with Ophelia, doing what he was born to do. Protecting and pleasuring her. He wasn’t a machine, after all. He owned a heart, battered though it was, and it required his gravita to function properly.
But what would fighting against himself entail on a battlefield? What would it mean in the end?
Ian thought for a moment, frowned. “If you are your own opponent, Halo, one side of you will win. But the other side will lose.”
Yes, and either way, Halo would have only half a life. Victory for the Astra meant defeat for Ophelia. Victory for Ophelia meant defeat for the Astra.
“I have much to consider,” he muttered. But not here. Not now. Not until he’d taken every “test.” Only then could he have a complete picture of his “lessons.”
Magical laughter drew his gaze to his female. His mouth curved up and things loosened in his chest. Ears twitching, he homed in on her current conversation with Vivian.
“He can’t take his eyes off you,” the harpire whispered. “Be honest. You do weird tricks in bed to keep him this way, don’t you?”
“Probably the weirdest,” she whispered back.
“You’re smiling. And smug!” Ian burst out, stealing his focus yet again. “You couldn’t be prouder of your female.”
No, he really couldn’t.
Waiting for the freeze—the end of the party—to whisk her to their bedroom proved difficult. Somehow, he managed it. Let her enjoy this time without worries.
Finally, the freeze came. Ophelia wove through the stationary bodies, racing toward him.
He opened his arms and she jumped onto him, winding her legs around his waist. “I missed you.”
“So much.” He clasped her tight.
She framed his face with her hands. “Give me your mou—” Her brows drew together. The color drained from her cheeks. “My chest. The brand thingy. It’s burning as if Erebus and the Bloodmor are nearby.”
He frowned. A labor tonight, though they hadn’t sensed it?
“I don’t want to fight you, Halo,” she said, nearing panic. “And I don’t want to watch you kill yourself to save me. Put me in hibernation. Please! I’ll steal the dagger next time.”
Not if Halo stole it first. “Be at ease. I will do as you wish.” He flashed her to his bedroom in the duplicate realm and willed her to sleep. Gently laying her upon the mattress, he whispered, “Dream of me, sweetheart. I’ll return shortly.”
Her eyes remained closed, her head lulled to the side.
Tension coiled in him but he hardened his heart and summoned the trinite case, trapping the harpy within. Without his brand. No way to communicate. A worry for later.
The black stone slab reminded him of a coffin. He didn’t like the thought.
He forced himself to return to Harpina, to the coliseum, and took stock. Dark sky, no stars. Bright moonlight. Inhale deep. Slowly exhale.
A trumpet blasted once. Twice. A test of cunning then.
He breathed a bit easier, calling, “Halo Phaninon.”
Erebus appeared at the far end of the field, already strolling toward Halo. The hem of his black robe dragged over sand.
Three dark-haired harpies flanked his sides.
Systems overload. Halo’s mind was unable to compute what his eyes claimed to behold. He did not see three versions of Ophelia, each wearing the same white gown, eyeing Halo as if he were a banquet of sensual delights. Unless...
They were illusions? Transformations courtesy of the Bloodmor? One real, two fake? All fake? All real? Had the trinite case failed to do its job?
No, no. Surely not.
“Quite remarkable, aren’t they?” the god boasted. “The original and the carbon copies, each bespelled to notice you alone.”
The original? A lie. Please be a lie. Ophelia remained in hibernation, safe.