The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens Book 7)

by Jovee Winters

  My nostrils flared, and I grit my teeth as I imagined said comely lass.

  “But...” His grin brightened. “Lately I’ve discovered that the mind can be just as rousing as the body. In fact, maybe even more so.”

  My mouth felt suddenly dry, and I had to swallow twice. “How... how so?”

  “Lust is simply lust, Ty. It quickly burns and quickly fades. But feelings go far deeper, beyond the body and into the soul.” He gently placed a fist against his heart. “It is a heady experience.”

  Brows twitching, the words resting on the tip of my tongue, I desperately wanted to ask him what he meant by that. Was it me? Was he thinking of me when he’d said it? But then I thought of his Myra and realized it couldn’t possibly be me.

  He had known love before, with his twin.

  “Anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We should sleep. Tomorrow we arrive at Gnósi.”

  Nodding as I pulled a vial of healing salve out of my pouch, I rubbed it on my tender and aching feet. By tomorrow, they’d be like new again. I felt his eyes on me and knew he watched.

  I couldn’t help but wonder whether I reminded him of one of his nymphs in this form. A twinge of disappointment settled on my lips. I suspected the feelings I was having lately might be something akin to infatuation, which meant I would need to be careful. I’d been trapped in a game with him for a month. We continued to travel together. It was only natural that, after so much time spent in one another’s company, I’d begin to develop... an attachment. But this couldn’t last. It wouldn’t.

  I wanted us to part as friends when it was all said and done. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, I squared my shoulders and looked up at him. But he surprised me by speaking first.

  “Thank you for earlier.”

  I frowned.

  “When we ran. You did not need to do it.”

  Fluttering a wrist, I shrugged and shook my head. “It was nothing. Not like what you did tonight. I would rather die before admitting this to anyone else, but that hike almost killed me.”

  He laughed softly. “I’ll never tell, álogo.”

  A warm glow flowed through me. I did not know what to say, so I said nothing at all. He nodded, as though he understood, and I thought perhaps he did.

  Chapter 7

  Petra

  Ty and I didn’t speak about what we’d said during the night, but something had changed between us. I felt it. Currents of tension now flowed where none had before.

  We had run for several hours straight, stopping only when forced to, both of us focused on getting to our destination. At each stop, Ty would pull out a leather-bound journal, documenting the changes to the landscape we encountered along the way.

  But the farther we moved from Kingdom proper toward the gateway between the worlds, the more constant things seemed. The biggest changes had occurred at the stone dwarf mountains. Beyond that, the terrain seemed to be returning to normal. The sky was even more blue.

  We now ran through verdant and grassy plains bursting with wildflowers and full of forested ranges off in the distance. Tymanon had returned to centaur form and was several steps ahead of me, keeping a grueling pace, not resting as she had the day prior. Though keeping to a run, I was able to maintain, if only just.

  I sensed her thoughts were in turmoil and chaos, and I wanted to give her the distance she so obviously craved. But I missed her too, her easy smiles, the lighthearted way in which she teased me.

  She was dreadful at it, the teasing, but that was part of her charm too. There was nothing coy or flirtatious about Tymanon. She was blunt and far too observant, and yet when she tried clumsily to step outside of her comfort zone for me, rather than being strange, I found it to be endearingly quirky.

  When she was with me, I forgot about the heartache, even if only for a while. But when my thoughts were my own, I remembered Myra, remembered my rebellious, beautiful sister who’d refused to heed my warnings when it came to matters of the heart.

  I’d told her not to fall in love, ever. Told her to only chase after nymphs. There were male nymphs who’d have pleasured her until she screamed from it and would have been glad to do it.

  But she’d been flawed right from birth, and a part of me had been ashamed of her for it. Satyrs were never to feel the sting of love. Lust, yes, but never love. It was a weakness, and my kind was intelligent enough to stay far away from it.

  So when she’d fallen in love with an ogre half-breed, of all the bloody things, I’d known our village would not stand for it. She’d been shunned, and I’d watched her go in silence. I was heartbroken because I did love her, but I was also relieved.

  That was the part that haunted me most—the absolute and total relief that no longer would I need to see the scorn and ridicule in the eyes of the others. No longer would I be forced to defend her honor, spouting nonsense I did not believe—that it was merely a passing fancy, that eventually she’d learn, that she was young and headstrong and silly, but that someday she’d fall in line like the rest of us.

  Three years Myra had been gone, living with her chosen mate, sending me notes on the winds every so often to let me know she still lived.

  Then came the day that changed everything for me. Acute misery, the kind that felt like a blade being plunged through my heart, stole my breath, covering me in a wash of cold sweat.

  If only I’d said something to her. If only I’d told her how I really felt. If only I’d shown her just how much I truly did love her, she might never have gone to the Fates.

  But I’d said nothing, like the coward I was.

  “Petra.” Tymanon’s voice cut through my dark musings, bringing me up short and startling me when I realized she was no longer running, but grasping onto my elbow and staring down at me with a frown on her full, lovely lips.

  I glanced around. “Why are we stopping? We’re close now.”

  “Aye, that we are, gída, but the sun soon sets. We cannot meet the Fates today. We need to rest.”

  I frowned, because she’d seemed so determined to finish this already.

  “Rest?”

  She licked her front teeth and pushed sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes. There were dark circles beneath them. She’d not slept well last night, and I did not like it.

  Pursing her lips, she shrugged. “I’ve read of a village not too far from the gateway to the worlds. A... a centaur tribe.”

  “Ah,” I said. But suddenly, I felt ill at ease.

  A tribe, meaning many. I would be an outcast among them. It was one thing to spend my days with Tymanon. I rather enjoyed her company. I did not, however, enjoy centaurs as a whole.

  On the heel of that thought came another, one more powerful than the last, one that actually got my hackles up and my pulse pounding. There would be males there. Why was Tymanon wanting to rest there? Why could we not sleep beneath the stars, just us two as we’d always done?

  Gazing long into the distance as she spoke, she said, “The centaurs of these hills are most familiar with what we can expect to see when we arrive.”

  “I’ve been there before, Ty—”

  “Yes, and you’ve also failed.”

  I clamped down on my back teeth, glaring furiously at her. Heart pounding with adrenaline and an emotion I did not particularly enjoy.

  Humiliation.

  Glancing toward me, she held up her hand. “Do not for a moment believe that I think you incapable, Petra.”

  I scoffed. “Oh, no? Then what would you call this? Do you not trust me, Ty? Is my word nothing compared to that of another centaur’s? Another male’s, perhaps?”

  Shock painted scrawling lines across her pretty face as she stepped back. “Do you honestly believe your words? I’d thought you rather smarter than that, my friend.”

  Trembling at the sound of raw hurt in her words, I wanted to kick myself. This was not me, this odious, spiteful, jealous beast. That was exactly the emotion chipping away loudest at me.

  I was bloody jealous.

&
nbsp; So damn jealous at the thought of another male prancing around her that it made my hackles rise, had me seeing red. It was wrong of me, because Tymanon wasn’t one of my nymphs. She wasn’t mine at all.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Forgive me, álogo.” My voice cracked on that word and I winced, hating myself even more. “I fear I am full of anxiety for what comes next. And you are right, I did fail my trial. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

  “No, Petra, I will always hear you. But I am who I am, and I cannot change that for anyone. I do not believe in running blindly into anything. I must count all costs first and try as hard as I can to be prepared for whatever comes. If there is the possibility of us learning anything from them, then I say one night’s delay is worth it. Don’t you?”

  Clamping onto her lower lip with her blunt front teeth, she looked tense, as if internally debating with herself before finally sighing and gently placing her hand over mine, squeezing only once. Yet, even when she let me go, I still felt the pulse of her beat against my flesh, the heat of her touch, and the strength in her callused fingertips from years of shooting a bow.

  I was used to the softness of a nymph’s hands. Never having known a day of work in their lives, they were soft everywhere. I’d always thought there was nothing better, but now I knew how wrong I was.

  Tymanon wasn’t just my companion on this journey. Somewhere along the way, she’d become my everything—my sun, my moon, and my stars. I ached for Myra in a way I never had before because I had been so very wrong about her.

  Deep-seated shame filled me along with confusion, fear, all of it. I did not want to need Tymanon in this way, and yet the thought of any other male touching her as I wished to do filled me with a sort of manic desperation that I did not understand or fully know how to handle.

  Sex I understood on a visceral level. But this... this was altogether foreign territory for me.

  “Tymanon.” My voice was a heated burr. “I do not think I can go with you. I will camp here tonight and meet up with you in the morning. Learn all you can, álogo. I will not stop you.”

  A pretty blush stained her cheeks, and when she looked at me, I felt myself grow dizzy. All her emotions played through her pretty amber eyes.

  Tymanon looked at me like I was a puzzle or a curiosity, like I was something she couldn’t understand and yet desperately wanted to. No one had ever looked at me like she did. She didn’t just see me. She saw all of me, the good parts and the ugly ones too.

  Last night, when she’d spoken to me of a satyr’s needs being paramount to who they were as a person, I hadn’t felt the censure I had coming from others before her. Satyrs were often the butt of jokes in Kingdom, and usually we just shrugged it off, because often the jokes were steeped in truth. But I had changed. From the moment I’d discovered Myra’s fate, I was lost and honestly, a little afraid of what this might mean.

  But being with Tymanon made me feel grounded again, peaceful. She made me feel not so scared anymore, not so confused.

  So I didn’t think when I stepped toward her and brushed my knuckles down the petal soft skin of her cheekbones. Didn’t pause when she sucked in a sharp breath, looking at me with something like terror in her eyes. I moved closer to her. She was taller than me in this form, but not by much. Leaning up, I stopped thinking completely, and simply did what I knew I should never do with her.

  I kissed her.

  It wasn’t a frenzied, sensual kiss that promised more lust-filled delights come night. There was no tongue, no biting or nipping, no wet sucking noises filling the space between us.

  This wasn’t lust consuming me right now. It was so much more, so much deeper. I framed her lovely face between my large, heavy palms and breathed my soul into her.

  When I pulled away, she wasn’t the only one trembling. I was too, every inch of me. That one touch of her soft lips had done more for me than a night between a nymph’s thighs. My breathing was harsh, loud, and abrasive to my own ears. I was scared of what she’d say, or wouldn’t say.

  Tymanon stared at me, her fingers had covered her mouth and she was gently toying with her bottom lip. She swallowed hard, hooves nervously prancing back as she continued to stare at me like she didn’t know me at all.

  I should never have done that. Gods above, what had I been thinking? Sick to my stomach, and feeling like I needed to get away from her, I shot her a crooked grin.

  “Sorry. Guess I’m still just a satyr after all.” Then I laughed. The sound was loud and obnoxious, and I hated myself. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

  Ty’s nostrils flared and confusion clouded her eyes.

  Knowing if I said something else I’d only make matters worse, I turned on my hooves and ran for the large thicket of trees in the distance. I’d be damned if I watched the males of that herd make eyes at her, as they were bound to do. Tymanon was the prettiest thing that had ever been born. No nymph could compare to her beauty.

  She’d ruined me forever. Moaning and burning with shame, I ran as fast as my tired legs could carry me.

  Chapter 8

  Tymanon

  I missed him desperately.

  It was as though I was missing a vital piece of me, one I hadn’t known existed until he was no longer around. Logically, I knew he camped out in the trees, but that didn’t stop me from feeling, well... rather miserable.

  I’d trotted into the village and had been greeted warmly by all, or as warmly as centaurs were capable of, anyway. But my heart had thundered like hooves when I thought about his kiss, what it might have meant, and what those around me would have thought if they’d caught us.

  I was glad he’d kissed me, and I wasn’t. I was glad because it had been better than I’d remembered it being the first time. And I wasn’t glad at all because now my feelings were in far greater turmoil than they’d ever been.

  Last time, I’d challenged him to kiss me. This time, he’d done it of his own volition, but then he’d laughed it off, had said it was nothing but a satyr’s lust, and my joy had quickly deflated to sickness.

  What would my peers think of me now if they knew my thoughts? Would I have been so kindly greeted if they’d seen him kiss me? I didn’t believe so.

  The sun had set hours ago. There was a bonfire going. The shaman of the tribe was telling stories. Usually, that was exactly the place I wanted to be. Much could be gleaned from hearing oral tradition. But I felt listless and nervous.

  I’d been handed a tankard of cold apple ale by a random mare a while ago, and I’d been sipping on it, watching the herd and feeling completely out of place. These were my people, my kind, and yet I did not know how to engage with them.

  I never really had, but never had I felt more out of place than I did now.

  So I sat on the outer reaches of the group, listening and observing. I had a meeting with the wise woman later. I would ask what questions I could. I’d planned on staying the night, but now I wasn’t so certain.

  “I cannot help but notice,” a male voice whispered roughly into my ear, “that you are all alone.”

  Heart tripping in my chest at his nearness, I turned. A male, roughly my age or a little older, stood before me, with long blond hair that fell past his shoulders in soft waves, cobalt-blue eyes, and strong nose and jaw line with the large, blunted teeth of my kind.

  His coloration spoke of a palomino heritage, and again, my heart tripped. I’d always had a soft spot for his sort. His coat was glossy, looking freshly washed and scrubbed, and glinting with a light tint of velvety cream.

  “I am not alone,” I responded honestly.

  “No? Is there someone to fight for you? Just tell me who, and I will pummel him into submission.” He laughed. The sound was rich, deep and pleasing to the ear, even as I suddenly found myself irritated by his forwardness.

  I nickered, a sound between a huff and a neigh. Gods, the hubris of a stallion. I’d nearly forgotten how forward they could be. It’d been some time since I’d been around
my kind, at least two years now, probably longer. I’d stopped counting.

  “And this is why I prefer to keep to my own company,” I replied archly, taking a sip of my tart brew.

  His chuckle was deep and booming, coming from deep within his chest. Then he held out his hand to me. It was big and strong-looking with blunted nails and thick corded veins on the tops.

  “The name’s Nigel.”

  I smirked, but ignored his hand. There was a glint in his eye that I did not like and did not trust.

  Full lips curved into a flirtatious grin. “Will you not give me your name, beautiful mare?”

  My heart squeezed at his innocent use of a name I now considered Petra’s alone. I missed my satyr. He was alone right now, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

  Why had he kissed me?

  What could it have possibly meant?

  I wet my lips recalling the press of his mouth on mine, and for just a second, my heart leapt at the delicious memory, at the friction of heat, at the phantom feathery feel of him still.

  A soft whimper spilled off my tongue.

  Nigel’s lips curled upward, and I damned my strange thoughts because his eyes glinted even more forcefully now, no doubt assuming my odd behavior was because of his presence.

  Hardly.

  “I know a place,” he said, all silky smoothness.

  Fingers reached out to stroke along my collarbone, but I felt none of the heat I had from the simple and tender press of Petra’s knuckles to my cheeks.

  The only thing I felt now was antipathy at Nigel’s presumption that I welcomed his advances. Not that he was in the wrong. Stallions were notorious lotharios, even if they were handfasted. It was an accepted practice amongst my people, encouraged even by most mates. Rare was it that a married stallion didn’t stray now and then. I had no issue with the fact that he wore a ring. None at all. My issue was another.

  “Your journey is long, beautiful mare, who knows when you’ll cross paths with another male.”

  I snorted. “Fairly frequently, I’d imagine, since I travel with one.”