He pulled back before peeling aside her shirt, for he was unwrapping this gift of the gods. His hands shook with desperation as he slid the garment from her shoulders. Her creamy skin and lush feminine curves dried his mouth, and he swallowed hard. Her pebbled, rosy nipples perked, awakened by his touch. Hell, he could release in his breeches just from gazing at her. Coupled with the way she offered herself to him and…
Damn, he was lost. Coherent reasoning drained from his body as his fingers brushed her flat belly. He stopped short of her smooth sex, making a detour around her hip and down her thigh. His mouth teased her other breast like he had the first. No, devoured. As though he’d been wandering in the desert for centuries and Kyme was his oasis.
He growled against her skin, his tongue lapping up her exotic taste. His fingers roamed, once more circling where they ached to pleasure. Kyme arched and whimpered. In invitation.
As his finger slid into her folds, he nearly spilled his seed at how wet she was. He groaned into her breast. His thumb circled upward until he glided across her bud, swollen for him.
Without warning, she cried out his name, her body shuddering in his arms. He clutched her, his hands easing the last pleasures from her body.
“Damn, Kyme, you’ve got to make me work harder than that.” If he wasn’t so tense with lust, he might have laughed. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled her neck and savored her whimpers. She clung to him as though he would guide and protect her through this new storm of sensations.
He eased his lips lower, desperate for a taste of her, and kissed a path down her stomach. At her middle, he lifted his lashes. A smear of scarlet slashed across her abdomen, blood from his lip when she’d nipped it earlier.
No. No! A thunderbolt stabbed his body. His right side flared, the markings penetrating his skin. Nay, not blood. Damn, especially not his own blood. He drew his lip into his mouth to seal the wound and slammed his eyes shut. Bloody hell, it was too late. His gut dropped as though he’d swallowed a twenty-pound stone. A tremor jolted through him, wrenching his eyes open.
Crimson clouded his vision.
He sank to his knees and roared.
***
Kyme blinked away the white-hot blast of ecstasy fuzzing her mind. “Arsenius?” As she grasped for him, he tilted his head up. His eyes. Gods, his eyes. She recoiled, drawing the shirt around her. It was not a man staring back at her.
He dropped his head and shook it hard. She reached for him again, but he snarled, “Get away from me.” He leapt to his feet, slammed open the door, and stormed from the cabin.
Her mind spinning and her pulse thundering in her ears, she padded to the open door. Arsenius fled toward the mainmast, his arms wrapped around his body as though trying to hold himself together. Charging like a bull, he closed in on the mainmast and rammed into it. He howled in pain and stumbled. Several burly sailors rushed to his side. He tossed two of them to the ground before one managed to lock a manacle around his wrist. More men shot forward to help, and they subdued Arsenius enough to close the other chain. The feral snarls escaping his mouth were like those made by some beast of Hades.
As she was about to tread outside for a closer inspection, Thereus stepped forward and blocked her view. “Get back inside, Kyme.”
She struggled to pass him but he wouldn’t budge. “Why?”
He shook his head and closed the door. The lock clicked. This was one secret the centaur wouldn’t spill.
Damn.
What was wrong with Arsenius? What had happened between that blissful moment and now?
Had she done something wrong? No, she didn’t think so.
Think, think, Kyme. She pressed her ear against the door, but all was quiet.
He was Ares’s son. Had the god cursed him somehow? She nibbled on her lower lip. One thing was certain, those chains had to have been fashioned by Hephaestus, the god of the forge.
Only Hephaestus could fashion restraints capable of containing such a monster.
Huffing, Kyme draped herself across the bed. Her body thrummed with awareness, her mind was hazy from the after-effects of Arsenius’s kisses.
What have I done? She lifted her head from the mattress. What had possessed her to kiss the slaver? The only point she had proved was that when they touched, it was as if gunpowder ignited between them. Neither of them were able to escape the blast.
Time to assess the damage.
Her mouth grew dry and her hands trembled as the true ramifications of her actions lashed against her.
She was permitted no male. Cursing, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and straightened. “Please do not be angered, please do not be angered,” she whispered as she focused on her hands. In retribution for one moment of passion, would the goddess revoke her gift? She squeezed her eyes shut.
Gradual warmth spread from the tips of her fingers up her arms. She opened one eye. Her hands were bathed in an iridescent amber light, which flickered, thanks to her unsteady meditation. Kyme fell back on the bed and sighed. The goddess cared only about her virtue.
She had permission to indulge in intimacy with Arsenius.
A kiss, a touch, but nothing more.
***
“Wake up, Arsenius.”
Frigid water struck him like a slap in the face. Arsenius snarled and whipped his head from side to side. The owner of the cheerful voice had dumped a bucket of icy sea water on his head.
“Easy, easy there. It’s passed,” the centaur’s voice soothed. Thereus released both of the manacles around his wrists.
Arsenius staggered forward and groaned as he sank to his knees. He swiped the water from his face and slicked back his hair. Rubbing at his swollen wrists, he worked his hands around to his aching neck and stiff shoulders. Gods, he hated being chained. He grimaced at the irony. The curse which had freed him from his human masters forced him back into chains.
“Care to share what happened?” The centaur sank down beside him.
Arsenius shot him a scowl that proclaimed, Not bloody likely. He staggered to his feet, swatting at Thereus’s attempts to aid him.
His frenzy had consumed him countless times since his morphos, but never once had he been on the receiving end of its terror. Not until last night.
For two years, before he’d bargained for the chains, he’d been used to awakening in a field of carnage. When his frenzy struck, he was helpless to stop it. He didn’t deny sometimes it was useful. No creature was able to withstand his frenzy, the mindless bloodlust of violence.
More often than not, it was a curse.
Thereus believed that on the eve, five years ago, when Arsenius had saved him from a group of thugs, he’d done so on purpose. That he’d somehow been able to control the darkness inside. Thereus was a fool. The horrible truth was, had not the beast been sated, he would have torn the centaur to shreds.
Just as Arsenius had almost done to Kyme last night. That awareness sobered him better than any bucket of ice water.
“Ah…” Thereus smirked at him. His nostrils flared. “You carry her scent.”
Arsenius barely controlled the rumble in his chest. He should never have listened to the bloody centaur. Grunting, he switched the topic of their conversation. “Were you able to procure a decent price for the Lamiae ship?”
“Agh, you know Gaspard.” Thereus dusted off his flanks as he rose, apparently accepting the change in the course of their discussion. Thank the gods. “Any descendant of Hermes will never offer a fair deal if they fancy they can cheat you and get away with it. Even after three years, he pretends I don’t know what a Caravel is worth, or the market price for a new mast. The ship was in need of its share of repairs, but she was sea-worthy.”
“Aye, true. And?”
He shrugged and a wicked grin curved his mouth. “I threatened to sell him the ship with the Lamiae crew if he didn’t offer a decent price.”
Arsenius laughed. No one was better at negotiations than Thereus. “You divide the spoils yet?”
�
�Nope, assumed you’d like to have a look first.”
“Good.” He nodded in approval. “Tell the men we’ll meet at noon.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Folding his arms, he stared out at the vast blue-green expanse before him. He loved the ocean. Loved the waves, the smells. Most of all, he loved the freedom. Here, he was his own man, in charge of his destiny. “How long until we reach Krete?”
“A day, mayhap two. Depends on how charitable Poseidon’s feeling.” Thereus raked a hand through his hair. “Are you certain we shouldn’t visit those other coordinates first?”
Arsenius swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure how to answer his friend’s question. Truth was, there was no reason to rush the minotaur’s capture. He ought to complete his first mission before he took on another.
His mind argued that Krete wasn’t too far of a detour. His heart protested otherwise, craving more time with Kyme. Mayhap, a small, cowardly part of him feared discovering the truth about his sister.
He forced himself to focus as Thereus rambled on, now about the lad, Demetrius. “He’s adjusting?”
“Sort of.” The centaur clasped his hands behind his back and whistled. “Lad refuses to sleep with the other men. Or even rest. Bloody hell, he knows nothing about ships or sailing. Going to take me forever to train him—green as a leaf.” Thereus snorted.
Arsenius chuckled. The centaur made a great pyrate, but he had no patience for those without skills. Perhaps because he was so hard on himself.
“Assign Nestor to him for the day. Tell the boatswain he’ll have two recruits to train.”
“Two, sir?”
He grinned. “Time for the Amazon to haul her weight.” If she was no longer his slave, he’d treat her like a member of his crew.
Thereus laughed. “Ah, so should I free the other slaves as well, Captain?”
Arsenius replied by jabbing his elbow into his friend’s gut, causing him to sink back onto his hind legs. He shook his head at Thereus’s chuckling and returned his attention to the ocean. What game was he playing with Kyme? She’d agreed to help him locate Lena, but afterward he’d send her on her way. Until then, if he possessed any intelligence, he’d leave her the hell alone.
And never risk touching her again.
***
Rap-pa-tap-tap. Kyme yawned into her pillow and stretched on the bed. From the tune of the knock, Jason waited outside. She’d have to ask Arsenius why pyrates were so musically inclined. That was, if she could face him after the way she’d behaved last night. The anticipation of seeing him again jolted her to full consciousness.
Had she actually cried out his name loud enough for the entire crew to hear? She ought to be mortified, but the heat flushing her skin wasn’t from embarrassment.
She wanted more.
The door creaked open and instead of shoving a tray of food at her, Jason smiled. “Will ye follow me, Miss?”
Kyme groaned. Not again. She refused to sneak off to another island with Thereus. She grabbed Jason’s arm. “Where are you taking me?”
“Captain says you’re to learn how to be a sailor.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” The captain must have had a change of heart regarding her slave status. She smiled, happy to work any position on the ship so long as it meant getting out of the stifling cabin. With the wind in her face, she could inhale fresh, briny air.
That long-dreamed of breath turned into a gasp as Jason directed her to the Adrasteia’s other newest recruit.
The slave boy. What was he doing here? Her heart jolted a series of rapid thuds. Had the slaver freed him? Despite her reservations about the slaver’s profession, thus far she’d only discovered evidence of his propensity toward mercenary. Which was slightly less reprehensible.
“Hello.” The youth extended his hand along with a tentative smile. No doubt after her display at the symposium he would be unsure of her.
The stares of the crew burned into her back. They’d accepted her presence as a slave, but as one of them? Not likely. Even considering her role in the Lamiae battle a few days before, men didn’t like women aboard their ships.
New initiates were always held to higher standards. Even in her Amazon camp, her sisters would prey upon any perceived weakness. A slow smile spread across her face. These pyrates were not so different.
Both Kyme and this lad fell under the crew’s scrutiny. He would have to prove his skill as much as she.
Show no weakness.
She accepted his hand, and with her other, struck him a hard punch in the gut. The air flew out of his lungs with a giant whoosh. He buckled, but to his credit, didn’t stumble. Not to his credit, he didn’t return her blow.
She marched up to him and scowled at his wide eyes. “If you want to live, you’d better fight me.”
He gulped, but as he glanced at the crew gathered around them, his gaze narrowed on her. His large arm swept out at her. She easily dodged his clumsy blow, spun behind him, and landed a kick on his lower back. As she righted herself, he twisted around and tackled her. His colossal weight crushed her against the ship’s deck. She kicked and shoved at him with every ounce of her strength, but, well, even half-giants were built of lead.
“Do you yield?” His voice betrayed a depth beyond his years, and she peered into the warmest blue eyes. Coupled with his strong, rugged jaw and strikingly etched cheekbones, he would no doubt steal dozens of hearts.
“Yes.” She groaned as he eased off her.
“Care to tell me what that was about?” He offered his hand and as she accepted, he swung her to her feet as though she weighed no more than a babe. Sweet Artemis, what brawn. Make that hundreds of hearts.
She straightened and dusted off her tunic while stealing glimpses of the crew. Her plan had worked. The wariness in their frowns declared they would think twice before they approached her or the lad.
“My name is Kyme.” She craned her neck to peer at him. Gods, he was huge. “You’ll thank me later.” She winked and extended her hand.
He stuttered as he clasped her hand. “Dem… I’m Demetrius.”
Jason snickered from where he perched on a platform above them. “You’re in trouble.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the ship. “She’s Captain’s.”
The blood drained from Demetrius’s face. She followed his survey. Across the ship, Arsenius stalked toward them, fury rolling off his broad shoulders.
While Demetrius trembled next to her, Kyme’s body quivered with an entirely different anticipation.
“What the hell is going on?” Arsenius snarled at them.
Detecting the feral tint in his eyes, she stepped in between the two males. “Demetrius had a question about a certain technique, so I gave him a demonstration. He’s a most apt pupil.” She placed her hand on Arsenius’s arm to stay him.
He eased the moment she made contact, and softened as he peered at her. “She hurt you?” A smile tugged at his lips.
“N-No, sir.”
“Good.” Arsenius nodded. “Carry on, then.” He studied the half-giant for a moment and, suppressing his laughter, strode off.
***
The moment Nestor cast his attention to another matter, Kyme abandoned the bundle of ropes she’d been practicing knots on and slipped away to the mainmast. She fingered one of the manacles. The metal hummed with power—most definitely a creation of the gods. Turning it over, she examined the symbol of Hephaestus—a hammer and anvil surrounded by flames.
“Careful with those.”
She jerked at the timbre of Arsenius’s voice behind her. As he pried the manacle from her grasp, his hand brushed hers. The warmth tingled down to her toes. “What happened to you last night? Did your father curse y—”
“You and I would call it a curse. Ares claims the war frenzy is a birthright.”
A war frenzy. She’d misjudged him yet again. Arsenius was far more dangerous than she’d ever imagined. “What about those markings?”
“They form whenever the beast inside me i
s let loose. I cannot control it, Amazone, so for your sake, don’t ever draw my blood again.” He leaned closer and the heat of his large body caressed her.
Her breath hitched at his nearness, and her blood warmed as she recalled why she’d bitten his lip. The memory of his mouth upon her skin raised her blood to a full boil.
“Thereus said… He told me I am your mate.” She shuffled back and studied him, praying he would refute the claim. Such nonsense couldn’t possibly be true.
“The centaur means well.” He shrugged. “Do not fear, Amazone, Artemis would never permit such a union.” The corner of his mouth curled. Was he holding in laughter, or some other emotion?
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she scanned those charcoal grey depths. Attraction between them was acceptable, a bond was not. It was simply unheard of. She swallowed, her throat suddenly too dry. She’d half expected him to use the bond as an excuse for his behavior. Jealousy, intense attraction, and possessiveness were signs of a male bonding to his female.
Most obvious was the marking, a thin band circling the male’s left bicep. Once bonded, a male could take no other female. Females did not reciprocate the bond—one of Aphrodite’s little jests. The female half of the union was free to entertain as many other males as she pleased, while the male could mate only with her. Aphrodite’s son, Eros, countered his mother’s decree by ensuring the female found unrivaled pleasure only with her bonded male.
Which might explain her wanton reaction to Arsenius last night.
She squinted at his left bicep. The mark’s manifestation varied, depending on the species. The Wind Borne bore the mark once their two life forces joined. Centaurs performed a sacred ceremony after the first mating.
Arsenius belonged to no race. Ares’s descendants were bastards, half-breeds like Arsenius. What actions were necessary for the mark to appear on him?
Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) Page 10