Until she didn’t.
A trumpet sounded. Then another. Only a feat of strength or cunning, not death. He breathed easier, calling, “Halo Phaninon.”
Ophelia smiled at him encouragingly from his enemy’s side, doing her best to offer comfort. In the smaller throne, she was a queen unfazed by what happened around her.
Erebus smirked, gleeful. “There were so many ways to twist this task. In the beginning, I considered a time-sensitive challenge. An impossible puzzle. But in the end, I opted to amuse myself. All you must do to win is shovel the stalls and haul your bounty here. We’ll watch. I’ll charm your female with my wit and candor, and you’ll fume. Good times will be had.”
“Well, if good times are to be had, I might as well kick things off.” Ophelia struck without any other warning, clawing out the god’s throat.
Halo’s chest swelled with pride.
As the Deathless gasped and gurgled and healed, she lifted his bloody trachea like a war prize. “Well. I think it’s safe to say some of us will be having a better time than others.”
25
Ophelia fluctuated between fury, admiration, and more fury. In seconds, Erebus mended from his dethroating, leading to hours of manure shoveling for Halo. Back and forth between the stalls and the arena he went, his wheelbarrow either full or empty, depending on his direction. He was dirty, sweaty, and utterly hot, his huge muscles constantly flexing. He watched her as much as possible, gazing up, always ready to pounce if things got dicey.
She and Erebus observed from the dais, his phantoms continuing to float around the metal fence, encircling Halo.
“I’m glad we have this time together,” he said, playing the part of delighted party host. He never shut up, his unwelcome commentary acting as a cattle prod to her nerves.
“That makes one of us.”
He wasn’t a handsome man, but he wasn’t ugly, either. With his broad shoulders and powerful presence, there was something inherently sexual about him. The mop of pale curls might lend him a false air of innocence, but eyes as black as an abyss couldn’t hide his arrogance.
An idea unfurled. Hmm. It was definitely dangerous and probably stupid, with a high likelihood of boomeranging back. If it worked, though...
She grinned. She had wiles not even a god could resist—the pheromone.
Should she test it on him, see how he reacted? What could she force him to do? Shouldn’t she find out? She slid her gaze to Halo. What happened if Erebus became hyperfocused on sexing her? If she had to fight him off—or Halo did? What then?
“One of the upcoming challenges involves an Amazon.” Erebus leaned closer. “Know of any Amazons in the area, harpy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. I’m supposed to get jealous and make Halo miserable in between labors? Sorry, but I don’t function that way.”
To be honest, Ophelia was kind of excited to meet the Amazon and exchange notes. If the other woman had no romantic aspirations toward Halo, they had no problems. Maybe they’d even become friends. Amazons tended to be more stoic than harpies, and yeah, okay, a bit self-righteous, but they made awesome sidekicks.
“Worth a try,” the god said, and shrugged. “Hercules had to convince an Amazon queen to part with a mystical girdle, and I’m considering my options. Decisions, decisions. You are learning our Halo better than anyone. Any recommendations? I could make him remove the heart that belongs to the queen who holds his heart. Put him through another battle to the death. Perhaps I should demand he satisfy his former Amazonian concubine sexually.”
The very jealousy she’d denied decided to team up with fury and denial. The trio quickly slaughtered her inner calm. My Halo!
But. Allow the god to know he commanded her emotions with his taunts? No. “I’ve got a recommendation all right,” she said, flashing him a sharp grin. “Make the prize your internal girdle. Prevent Halo from disemboweling you—if you can.”
The god seemed to give her suggestion some thought. “If I believed the act would be distasteful to him in any way, I’d do it.”
Wait. “You seek the Astra’s misery more than your own victory?”
“I do.” He appeared sincere. “Without his misery, a win is worthless to me. I owe the Astra much.”
More evil than I realized. He didn’t care who got hurt in his quest for “victory.” So, yeah. Okay. He deserved to experience his own suffering. Which meant it was absolutely time to unleash her pheromone. He’d made the decision for her.
There were only two types of males when her pheromone came into play. The stalkers willing to commit any deed, fair or foul, no matter how dangerous or humiliating, if only to near her. And sociopaths determined to bed her, no matter her opinion about it. Either way, Erebus wouldn’t be walking away from their encounter today; he was going to crawl.