Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4)

by Rachael Slate

  She bucked against him, riding his hand until the crests of ecstasy building wouldn’t be denied any longer. Spears of pleasure spiked through her and she cried out his name, squeezing his length in rapid strokes to force him to join her.

  His release flooded through her, bolstering hers to continue until they both shuddered and collapsed together to the ground, heaving irregular breaths.

  He clutched her against his chest, those massive arms enclosing her in a security she hadn’t ever experienced. “Mine,” he purred sleepily, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

  She curled against him, praying to the gods he was right.

  Oreius glanced at the silver-haired female sleeping beside him. After their pleasuring, he’d gathered his sons, and together they’d stepped through the Portal to North Gate. He’d seen to the care of the twins, and then promptly carried her to his bed, where they’d both fallen asleep.

  His, the most peaceful slumber he’d had since Sarra’s death. Removing the false bonding had been a step forward in his healing. Seducing Nysa had been the next.

  She might not be his mate, either, but he cared for her. Something deep in his soul wouldn’t relinquish its hold on her.

  He’d been in love before, and he was falling again.

  Grinning, he swept the stray locks from Nysa’s forehead, smoothing them back to reveal her lovely face. That delicate nose and those petal-soft lips. She understood him so well and didn’t demand more than he could offer.

  Someday, he might be ready to offer her everything.

  He only prayed she would remain at his side until that day.

  She moaned against her pillow and scrunched her pixie nose.

  Yesterday, he’d been too anxious to explore their feelings for each other to ask what had happened with the King. He was certain she’d aided his father, just as she had him.

  Her selfless nature brought out yearnings within him, desires to become a better male. First, he should begin by thanking Agrius and Eione. They’d risked much to bring Nysa to him. His ungrateful, wretched self had better ensure they experienced his full gratitude.

  Nysa’s full lashes fluttered open and she cast him a bright smile. “Mmm, take care, centaur. I may grow accustomed to awakening in your bed.”

  He chuckled and grasped for her hand, but a sudden churning in his gut tossed him in the opposite direction. Slapping a hand across his mouth, he heaved and grimaced. Spiraling pains spread from his left arm down to his stomach.

  What madness was this?

  “Oreius?” Nysa peered over his shoulder while he shook his head, trying to reassure them both this would pass.

  “It’s your arm, isn’t it.” She slumped, sighing. “The reversal didn’t work.”

  What was she saying? He swiped the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand. Aye, the bonding prevented any male from intimacy with another female, but Oreius had never truly been bonded to Sarra. Though if he had been and this was the result of adultery, he could well imagine why any male would avoid it. ’Twas worse than after a night spent imbibing of too much liquor.

  His head pounded in time to the racing pulses of his heart. He didn’t wish to be sick in front of Nysa, so he gingerly rose and staggered from the chamber, clutching his head in his trembling hands.

  If he weren’t about to empty the contents of his stomach, he’d march straight to the village below Great Meteoron and have strong words with Antiope. How in the bloody hell could she have done this to him?

  She’d ruined every possible chance of a future with Nysa.

  One he hadn’t realized he craved so badly…

  Until it had been torn from him.

  ***

  Nysa sniffed and brushed aside a stray tear. Falling for Oreius had been a foolish endeavor from the start.

  Despite the conversation she’d had yesterday with his father, she had proof not everything was within the great King’s control. Oreius might have been willing to move on from his past, but perhaps his soul wasn’t.

  Mayhap this was the Fates telling them their paths weren’t mean to flow together.

  Heart clenching, she dressed and strolled down the stairs, out into the gardens. Cutting past the hedges, she wandered through the forest, seeking solace in the woods. The crushed leaves beneath her feet released their comforting earthy scents into the crisp morning air. The well she belonged to rested in a forest such as this one.

  She pressed forward, through an area littered with rounded, moss-coated boulders that resembled an ancient ruin. A forgotten temple?

  Hmm. The soil in the center appeared sunken. Almost as if… She treaded forward, digging her sandals into the dirt to get a closer look. Suddenly, the ground around her rumbled, the vibrations rolling up through her toes, and crumbled beneath her.

  Nysa tried to leap away, but the entire forest floor had disintegrated and she skidded down an earthen rockslide to the bottom. Oomph!

  She crashed into the crushed stone floor, winced, and flexed to determine whether her body remained intact. Everything seemed to be well, other than a few bruises on her legs from her landing. She coughed into the dust-coated air, wiping the smudge from her cheeks and eyes.

  Beams from the dawn’s rays slashed through the hollowed opening, providing dim illumination. She blinked into what appeared to be an ancient chamber. Scuffling forward on her hands and knees, she crept along the wall, then braced against it to stand. The ceiling rose several feet above her head and she glanced warily at it, praying it wouldn’t collapse on top of her. The path in was too steep to climb, but there might be another entrance at the end of this chamber.

  Squinting, she made out a darkened area that might be a corridor. Nysa prodded her hands along the wall, stepping cautiously along the uneven ground, until it became as smooth as marble.

  No, not marble. Stalagmite. Twisting stone towers of uneven heights rose from the cavern floor, some nearly touching the stalactites that mirrored them, hanging from above.

  She wound through the rocky icicles, careful not to stumble, and toward the tinkling rush of water. An underground spring? Her pulse raced as she clambered forward. This spring might be inhabited by one of her kin. How wonderful that would be.

  “Ho there!” she called, straining for any response other than her echo. None came, so she sank next to the bubbling source of water, cupped her hands, and drew a deep sip. Sweet and clear, the liquid soothed her parched throat, cleansing away the dust.

  She’d been wrong. No exit lay this way. The cavern ended in this underground spring, and the water flowed from an opening far too small for her to pass through.

  Huffing, she rose and trekked to the hole she’d accidentally created. She craned her neck and stared at the steep cliff, pursing her lips. The risk of injuring herself trying to climb the rock wall was great.

  Oreius would note her absence. He’d come for her.

  She closed her eyes and rested against the wall.

  “Well, well,” a masculine voice tsked from above.

  Nysa froze. That wasn’t Oreius.

  That was Deimos.

  Her throat clamped as though he gripped her by the neck, yet he didn’t touch her. What villainous power was this? She shuffled backward into the wall, but Deimos hopped into the cavern with godly agility. When she’d first encountered the charming male, she’d fallen victim to his divine beauty. Like the predator he was, he concealed his dark nature behind a trustworthy appearance. He was tall and brawny, though not as large as a centaur. His short flaxen locks were immaculately combed away from his face, those bright azure eyes contrasting against his bronzed skin.

  Cocking his head, he stalked toward her. “How did you get out, nymph?” He pressed forward and seized her wrist, and she cursed her nature.

  She was a nymph. Every fiber in her being refused to allow her to fight back.

  Nymphs always submitted.

  She lowered her head in defeat. “How did you find me here?”

  He scoffed. “I wen
t to your well, only to discover the waters nearly dried up. Even odder, when I questioned my spies, they reported rumors of a nymph prancing about centaur lands, healing wounded souls.” His lips curved in a sneer. “Truly, you made it so easy.” His fingers dug into her wrist.

  She winced and suppressed a whimper. Deimos wouldn’t harm her. No, he required her alive to abuse her powers.

  Nor would he rape her—his proclivities ran toward the male sex. Yet, he would imprison her again, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

  Not even struggle against his painful grasp.

  One thing she could count on—although Oreius might never bond to her, nor would he allow any harm to befall her. She bit her tongue against warning Deimos of Oreius’s wrath. The element of surprise would ensure the centaur’s success.

  He’d sworn to protect her freedom.

  And a centaur male never broke his word.

  ***

  Oreius slunk onto the ledge of the fountain in his gardens. His stomach and arm continued to assault him, but he suppressed the urge to succumb to the maddening illness.

  He’d wronged Nysa. Deeming he could reverse his perverse forgery was an even greater hubris.

  What arrogance. He snorted. No wonder the gods punished him.

  He deserved it. Every ounce of discomfort and agony they’d toss his way.

  Oreius hung his head in his hands. Clanging hooves rang in his ears, intensifying the pounding in his head. “Pray, Pholis, run along. Your Pappas is not well.”

  Pholis skidded to a halt before him, pinching his arm.

  He dragged his head from his hands and squinted at the lad.

  “You smell strange, Pappas.”

  “I do?” He sniffed beneath his arm. Well, perhaps, he hadn’t yet bathed today.

  The lad grimaced. “Like Uncle Agrius does around Lady Eione.”

  He drew his brows together. “What do you mean, lad?”

  The lad wrinkled his nose. “Dark and foul. Are you ill?”

  Foul? He raised his arm and sniffed again. True, a bath would probably be wise, but he didn’t smell so rank, did he? He studied his scent. Like Agrius does around Eione.

  An odd clarification.

  And it could only mean one thing.

  Sweet gods. Oreius inhaled and caught the scent. Not foul or dark, though to a child it may seem so.

  Bonding scent.

  Coming from me.

  How could that be?

  Even with Antiope’s spell, he’d never perfumed the bonding scent around Sarra. Because he bore the mark, no one had noticed. But Pholis did now.

  The rich, spicy aroma coming from him was unmistakable.

  Sarra hadn’t been his bonded mate, true.

  Because Nysa was.

  Only, he’d been beneath such a heavy enchantment for so long, he hadn’t realized it. Now that the spell was reversed, his nature resumed its true course.

  Bonded. To Nysa.

  Well, almost.

  He shot to his feet, scruffling his lad’s hair. “Do you know what this means, son?”

  The lad shook his head, scowling. “That you need a bath?” He crossed his arms and pouted. “I’m not taking one.”

  Oreius chuckled, lightness buoying the blood in his veins. “Nay, lad. Neither of us is. The smell you detected, ’tis the bonding scent. Nysa is…” His throat tightened at the admission. “My mate.”

  The lad scrunched his nose again, further this time. “Does this mean you’re going to kiss her? A lot? Like Uncle Agrius does to Lady Eione?”

  Oreius tossed the lad into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Aye, son.” He released the squealing, squirming youngling, who scurried off before Oreius could kiss him again.

  He hadn’t reacted poorly to intimacy with Nysa because he was still bonded to Sarra. The churning in his gut and searing pain in his arm were a warning. The lyssa was a madness that infected centaurs who refused the bonding. One more measure to ensure they submitted.

  If he didn’t bond to Nysa, and soon, the lyssa would claim him.

  Damn. He’d been so accustomed to drowning in his sorrows, he never would have guessed. Bless the lad’s keen nose.

  He scanned the gardens. Where was Nysa? His eager hearts couldn’t wait to share this news with her. The future they’d dreamed of wasn’t beyond their reach.

  It was right here before them, waiting for them to seize it.

  Oreius inhaled through his nose and caught her delicate scent. There, toward the forest. Why would she venture into the woods, unless she sought peace, away from him?

  Nay, Sapphira. You’re mine.

  You’re my mate.

  The words bubbled in his chest, ready to burst forth from his lips. He dashed through the forest, following the trail of her fragrance. Each inhale brought him one step closer. Galloping harder, he wound through the trees, and halted before a chasm in the forest floor.

  Gods, no. Had she fallen inside? The debris wasn’t overgrown with moss or scattered with leaves. It was new, fresh.

  He leapt into the cavern and bellowed, “Nysa!”

  No answer came. Only the trickling of water greeted his ears.

  A second scent crossed his nose.

  Masculine. Dark and tainted.

  He clenched his fists and leapt upward, scrambling out of the hole. The two scents mingled together and headed away from his lands.

  Who had taken her, his mate? How dare the bastard.

  Oreius clenched his fists at his sides and glared into the forest. This male had better relinquish Nysa, or he would fall beneath a centaur’s unbridled wrath.

  Nysa jerked and squirmed, doing everything she could to make it difficult for them to move forward with haste.

  She couldn’t fight back, but she could drag her feet.

  Grimacing, she staggered along behind Deimos, the ropes he’d wound around her wrists cutting into her flesh.

  “Keep pace, nymph, or I’ll cut out your tongue, chop off your fingers, and slice away every non-vital piece of your body,” he growled. His threat coursed through her, making her shiver.

  She had no doubts he would do those things. Deimos was a male bound by darkness. The evil in his blood was a poison even she couldn’t cure.

  “Why do you still seek my waters? Haven’t you had enough of them?”

  He whipped around, then scowled at her.

  But he stopped walking. She bit back her smile.

  “You have no idea, do you?” he sneered. “Your waters heal, true, nymph, in small amounts.”

  Small amounts? Dread crept down her spine. She’d never given anyone more than what they’d required to find their peace. Too much of her water would not only cure someone of their pain, it would make them…numb.

  Devoid of all emotions.

  “Who would you do such a thing to?” She shook her head, shock and disbelief icing her spine. “And why?” Her entire being shuddered at Deimos’s revelation. The abuse of her nymph powers made her ill.

  “That is of no concern to you.” He prodded her forward once more, along the stone path toward a horse hobbled under an oak tree.

  Hours had passed since she’d fallen into the cavern, and Oreius hadn’t come searching for her. What if he wouldn’t? What if he regretted their night together and had been glad to find her absent?

  They crossed the border of Oreius’s lands, and she stole a glimpse backward, biting her lip.

  A glint caught her eye as she angled her head. Freezing, she sucked in a breath, and dared to peek behind her again. Deimos wrenched her forward, but not before she detected eyes gleaming from within the forest.

  Oreius.

  He came for me.

  Her heart leapt and she stared at Deimos. How to distract him? Seduction was out of the question, but a nymph did have other tricks.

  My waters.

  The same powers he wielded against others, she could brandish against him.

  “Deimos.” She dug in her heels, refusing to continue. “I�
�m not going with you.”

  “Since when do you issue orders?” He spun and jerked on the rope, causing her to stumble into him.

  Exactly what she’d planned.

  Nysa collapsed against his legs and slipped the knife from his boot.

  He kicked her off, rolling her onto her side, and slid his hands beneath her arms, hauling her to her feet.

  Swiftly, she sliced the blade across her wrist, spraying her waters into his face.

  He sputtered and gasped, inhaling the liquid and choking on it.

  A rumble rolled through the woods and Oreius charged them, knocking Deimos onto his back and stamping his hoof across his throat.

  Deimos rasped as the air squeezed from his lungs.

  Nysa scampered to the side, slicing the knife through the rope binding her wrists. “Don’t kill him!” She hopped to her feet and pled with Oreius. “I must learn what he’s done and to whom.”

  Oreius snarled at Deimos, but glanced at her, a sinister gleam in his dark eyes.

  She gasped and stumbled backward.

  Such malevolence.

  “He tried to hurt you. To take you from me,” Oreius grated, low and menacing, sounding more beast than man.

  She steeled her spine. He might be a wild and savage centaur, but he was kind and gentle of heart. He would listen to her.

  She would make him.

  “Centaur.” She perched her hands on her hips and stared him down. “You will release him, unharmed, so that we may bring him to your dungeon and uncover the identity of his victims.”

  Growling, Oreius dug his hoof in harder, then lifted it off. Deimos writhed on the ground, gulping in wheezed gasps.

  Oreius seized the rope used to bind her and secured it around Deimos’s wrists, trussing him like a boar about to be roasted over a fire. He tore a piece of cloth from his shirt and gagged their prisoner, then kicked at his feet until Deimos trudged forward. “Aye, milady, if that is what you wish.”

  “It is.” She notched her chin, smirking in triumph.

  One centaur beneath her command and one captor in her possession.

  Not bad for a lowly nymph.

  Her throat dried and her smile died on her lips as Oreius cast her a surly glower. Intense passion and unrestrained fury brewed in those sultry depths.