“Who knew the Machine could be hornier than a nymph,” she taunted when he kneaded her breasts before springing back. “Hey, Halo. Do you remember the time I sucked you off? I do.” She bounded to her feet, unwilling to stay down. “I’m considering it right now...”
Growling, he turned up the heat. No more defense only. He launched multiple assaults, but again, he always stopped short of wounding her.
“Not injuring me at every opportunity is dumb,” she told him, swinging for his groin. At the last second, he jumped out of the way. “It’s also your burden to bear. I won’t be extending you the same courtesy.”
She kept her word. Ophelia took advantage of his unwillingness to land a blow. Clawing. Punching. Kicking. He was fast, but he wasn’t always fast enough.
With each drop of blood she drew, the beasts snarled louder, demanding more. Aggression pumped through her veins, burning, singeing. Her bones vibrated, as if...no, surely not. But...maybe? Was she about to morph outside of a task, without the aid of the Bloodmor?
Ophelia wheezed, combatting the change. She was unprepared when Halo drove her to the ground.
“Elia?” he asked, radiating concern as he loomed over her.
Impact jolted her from the panic, her insides cooling, her mind quieting. Okay. All right. “I’m fine,” she said. In control now. Proof of her growing strength.
Master the beasts, master Erebus. I can do this.
Halo stood and helped her to her feet. Trembles coursed through her fatigued limbs, but she balanced well.
“You are sure you’re fine?” he asked, his concern undiluted. “You appeared to be in great pain.”
Ophelia punched him in the throat for a third time. “I’m. Fine.”
He rasped, “Sheathe the murder mittens, harpy. Practice is over.” His arm shot out, wrapping around her wrist and creating a shackle. He flashed her directly into his private shower stall, where he stripped them both.
They washed each other, lost in their own thoughts.
Her guilt flared anew, and she couldn’t stay quiet. “Let’s say you’re one hundred percent correct, and my blood is being used to summon the beasts. That means you need Erebus to approach me to complete your labor. That means you need me to hurt.”
Some of Halo’s tension faded, his posture easing. “He didn’t need your blood to summon the hind.”
“Yes, but the hind wasn’t a primordial.”
“It might have been.” He shook his head, flinging water droplets in every direction. “Erebus’s champion, Erebus’s problem. If he cannot get to you, the burden falls on him to provide one another way.”
Which put the fate of Halo—and harpykind—in someone else’s hands. No. Absolutely not. Not while Ophelia’s instinct was singing, I’ve got this. Not while her strength continued to grow leaps and bounds. This battle belonged to Ophelia.
“What if there’s a great reason I must be the one to work with Erebus? Me specifically?” she asked. “And what if that reason aids you, not him, while seeming to do the opposite?” Careful. Go too far, no turning back.
He maintained a blank expression, revealing nothing. His most annoying skill. “Is there? Does it?”
Was this the right time to admit the full truth? To blurt out, I’m the hideous beasts! You’ve killed me twice. Today, you might have to do it again. But stay focused, okay? Only everyone is counting on us.
In the end, she merely shrugged.
He pursed his lips. “My argument stands. The burden falls to Erebus. If he fails to supply a competitor, I’ll win the match by default, and you’ll stay safe.”
“I don’t want to stay safe,” she snapped.
“And that is your burden to bear,” he snapped back.
They finished the shower in uncomfortable silence. Just before he switched off the water, he pressed a brief kiss to her cheek. A gesture of affection. An apology?
Her chest clenched. He only wishes to protect me. That wasn’t a bad thing. Actually, she appreciated and applauded his enthusiasm. He cared about her. And caring was wonderful. A positive step forward.
But was it enough?
They dressed in clean clothes. Holding his gaze, nose in the air, she sheathed a three-blade beneath the skirt of her uniform.
Halo sighed. “Come here.” He sat at the edge of the bed, reached out and cupped her backside, urging her to stand between his legs. Pressing his forehead into her breastplate, he gruffly admitted, “You’re a good fighter. Crafty. You enjoy kicking your opponent when he’s down.”
“Yes. Well. That’s because it’s double the reward.” Trying not to puff up with pride or melt with vulnerability, she combed her nails through his hair. “You’re not just being nice again, are you? I mean, you didn’t utilize every opportunity to take me down, and I supplied you with plenty. I know that. But you really think I’m skilled?” Ugh! What was she doing? Begging for praise?
He lifted his head and smiled wryly. “You broke my jaw, harpy. Twice. I would have stopped you if I could have. You’re skilled.”