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.”