After double-brushing her teeth for good measure, she splashed warm water on her face. Her headache faded and her stomach calmed as she dressed in a black sports bra and too tiny, matching running shorts. The same workout clothes as all the other good little harpies. Oh, how she wished full-body coverage was the style.
With her long, dark hair secured in a tight ponytail, she rejoined Vivi. They wore the same clothing, yet they looked completely different. Tall, slender ice versus short, curvy fire.
The vampy wagged a finger in her face. “You listening? You will run on a treadmill until you sweat out the very last drop of vodka, and you will remember that I do not, under any circumstances, hang out with losers. Meaning, yes, you’re a winner. So do it. Win.”
Friends were the worst and the best. “Why are you so terrible and wonderful to me?” she complained, swiping a pair of bespelled earbuds she’d paid top dollar for.
“Because you’re even better and worse to me.” Vivi folded Ophelia in a much-needed hug, softly offering, “Everything will be all right, O.”
Ophelia squeezed the amazing woman with all her strength. They’d met eleven years ago, during harpy training camp, where little girls learned to master their incredible power and hair-trigger rages. One day, Ophelia had rescued scrawny Vivi from a beating via other harpies. Of course, Vivi liked to claim she had saved Ophelia. Whatever had happened, they’d been inseparable ever since, their loyalty steadfast.
“Fine!” she cried when she finally eased back. “I’ll meet with Taliyah.”
Vivi beamed at her. “See? A winner.”
They made their way from the barracks to the gym, where everything from treadmills to boxing rings and weight stations abounded. In every direction, harpies worked out at level max.
Ophelia and Vivi threw elbows and exchanged a round of threats to snag the best treadmills. Ophelia inserted the earbuds. With the soundtrack of an action movie blasting, she set her machine to the highest incline and a moderate speed. Climbing. Warming up. Sweating. Thinking of everything that could go wrong today. But the more she marched, the more doubts she shed. Vivi was right. Why would Taliyah banish Ophelia? She was, in fact, a winner.
Flunk out? No! Try beast out. Ophelia cranked the speed, gliding into a steady 100 WTFs per hour. She wasn’t a disappointment or a waste of space. She would not leave a legacy of disgrace and dishonor. She had worth. Her temper was just as fierce as the next harpy’s. Probably fiercer! Her stubbornness couldn’t be beat. Ask anyone. If a harpy requested an assist, she provided brass-knuckle backup, guaranteed, and only ridiculed the other harpy mildly afterward.
Harpies today, harpies forever.
Outwit, outplay, outlast.
But, if General Taliyah did banish Ophelia, what could she do? What recourse did she have?
She slowed her pace. Where would she go? Where could she go? She had no blood kin, no friends outside the Harpinian army. But wherever she ended up, Vivi would follow her. That wasn’t even a question. Then, at some point in the future, they would sit on matching rocking chairs and discuss retribution for their exile. The torching of Harpina. Former friends would be forced to declare a blood vendetta against them. On her deathbed, Ophelia would realize she’d never been the good guy in the story; she’d always been the villain. The total ruination of a once great civilization rested entirely upon her shoulders.
You ruin everything, Ophelia. Nissa’s voice filled her head once again. You lack discipline.
Though she slowed her pace, her heart rate sped up. Her breaths turned shallow. No. No! Ophelia ruined nothing. She had plenty of discipline. And she would prove it. Outwit, outplay, outlast.
She let the soundtrack wash over her. In books and movies, superheroes faced terrible odds, but they always overcame. If anyone had reason to claim superhero status right now, it was Ophelia. Well, superhero adjacent. When she fell, she fought her way back up every time, eventually. She almost never allowed an insult to slide. And she was smart upon occasion. Those hot guys she so rarely allowed herself to approach barely gained her notice anymore. Except sometimes. Or most times. But she never failed to resist!
Mmm. Hot guys.
Arousal seared her, and she groaned again. Then she groaned. Not a needing. Anything but a needing. A temporary but insatiable hunger without any true, lasting satisfaction, when nearly everything provoked her lusts. Not that she had ever known true, lasting satisfaction. Most nymphs didn’t until they found their entwine, or other half.
During a needing, her Dumb-Dumb switch got flipped, and she forgot everything but orgasming.
Since the arrival of the Astra, she’d often felt as if she hovered at the cusp of her worst needing yet. Why, why, why did no one else seem so hot and bothered by them? Did they exude a nymph-specific vibe or something?