by Desiree Holt
She grimaced at the unjust treatment of her people; hundreds of them kept like livestock in these cages, paraded about and forced to perform in the King’s court.
Not Ekho. Though nymphs were obedient creatures, her talent allowed her the option of not submitting.
One whisper and she could coerce any being to any task.
This past month, she’d relished her visits with the King, compelling him to drink water from the bowls used by his hounds.
To bathe in the horses’ troughs.
And to find his release against a statue of Apollo.
She smiled as she stepped through the gate of her cell, the guard prodding her down the corridor. What torment would she drag him through today?
Ekho strolled into the gloomy Great Hall and curtseyed before the male seated upon the ember throne. King Philaeus. She scrunched her nose before righting herself. The scoundrel had recently claimed the throne, after the death of his equally unworthy father, King Pirithous III.
Philaeus made no secret of his contempt for nymphs. Ever since he’d assumed the crown four months ago, he’d hunted her people, enslaving them in his palace. Since most nymphs lived in seclusion, presiding over their wells, trees, and meadows in isolation, he’d been able to pick them off, one by one.
Not that they would have been able to withstand capture anyway.
Ekho raised her chin and met the King’s sinister stare. A lavish, jewel-encrusted gold crown graced his head, followed by pristinely swept ruddy locks and narrow shoulders encased in a heavy burgundy cloak. Those mousy eyes gleamed at her and a haughty curve quirked his mouth.
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “How may I serve thee, my King?”
“You won’t, not today.” From the shadows stepped a male whose presence sent cascading shivers of anxiety down her spine. She shuddered at the pure menace in his fair features. With his azure eyes, flaxen locks, muscular form, and bronzed skin, his godlike beauty concealed the darkness she sensed beneath his surface.
Panic rushed through her and she opened her mouth.
“Ah, ahn, not so fast.” The new male flung out his arm and squeezed his fist. Without touching her, he snared a vice around her throat, constricting and preventing her speech. “You’ve played your games for far too long, nymph. Now, you’ll submit to us.” He clenched his fist tighter and she staggered to her knees, wheezing.
“That is enough, Deimos.” Philaeus waved his hand and Deimos eased his grasp enough for her to cough, but not to speak.
Nor to employ her powers.
And save herself.
* * *
Petraeus patrolled the balcony of his chamber, waiting for the voice to return and torment him further.
Hours passed, yet she did not.
The hairs on the back of his neck pricked and his horse stomped inside him. Something was wrong. Who had spoken the word “Master,” and why?
He ought to rejoice that she’d finally left him alone, but instead, restlessness jabbed at his insides. Tossing his head, he attempted to clear his mind, yet the agitation in his gut remained. The nymph was in trouble. Damned if he should care. She was at last leaving him be.
Bloody hell, he did care. Despite her compulsive demands, the nymph had claimed she was aiding his family.
He stiffened as a cool breeze ruffled those hairs on his neck once more.
Help.
The plea crossed his ears, a whisper so slight he barely caught it.
“Nymph?” he called into the empty air, but no response came. Oh, curse the gods. He sniffed and caught the direction of the breeze. Southeast. Lapith country. Enemy territory. Centuries ago, the centaurs and the human Lapiths had been at war. A brutal series of battles had left both their races devastated. Under the supervision of the gods, they’d formed a peace.
It hadn’t lasted.
After the new King’s failed attack on centaur lands five months ago, the coming conflict between them had brewed, slow and steady, yet ever intensifying. It was only a matter of time before war would crash over them.
His shoulders sagged and he huffed while the voice’s persuasion claimed his will. Well, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck into Lapith lands because of the nymph.
Petraeus packed a saddlebag with supplies and departed his castle, heading toward the origin of the breeze.
As a centaur, his two hearts and two sets of lungs meant he could traverse great distances in short periods of time. Two hours later, he’d crept past the sentinels guarding the Lapith border and inched nearer his destination.
Cursing every step of the way.
How in Hades had the nymph managed to find herself inside the Lapith King’s palace? If his brothers or father knew Petraeus now stood outside its gates, they’d surely send him a swift kick inside.
Foolish, asinine dolt that he was.
Prince Philaeus, now the King, had attempted to invade his father’s lands once already. Petraeus’s next actions just might provoke him to try again.
Puffing and shaking out his nerves, he performed the morphos from a centaur into a human, his limbs condensing and reforming. He tugged on the collar of his tunic and waited for his opportunity.
Villagers, or rather, slaves, marched in and out of the castle grounds, carrying out their duties. Armed guards allowed them passage after a thorough inspection of both their wares and their papers. He had no such identification, and it was doubtful the mark of King Cheiron’s line—an owl birthmark on his right hind leg—would grant him entry into anywhere but the dungeons.
He sniffed the air once more, and yes, the floral scent came from within. The nymph had compelled his aid; he had no choice.
Staying within the cover of the forest, he crept closer to the village and scouted the area. A lone male of about his size strolled forward. Petraeus stole forth behind him and snagged an arm around his neck, smothering his cries with his free hand.
The Lapith struggled, but Petraeus squeezed with his centaur strength until the male succumbed at his feet, unconscious but not dead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, searching within his victim’s pockets for his papers.
The document secured in his hands, he towed the Lapith into the bushes and hid him among the leaves. Then he snatched the handle of the wagon the male had been pulling and hauled it forward, toward the castle gates.
He waited in line until the others before him had passed through, forcing his feet not to shuffle and reveal his agitation.
Just another day in the life of a Lapith slave.
One guard waved him forward, holding out his hand for Petraeus’s identification. He handed him the papers, and after the sentinel had scrutinized them, the guard waved him through.
Petraeus expelled a deep breath. Once inside the castle, he followed the throng of bustling villagers until the crowds thinned. He emptied his wagon of its pottery at a barren alcove and hid the wagon beneath a table.
Now, to seek out the nymph. Scratching his jaw, he surveyed the castle’s layout. The grim dark stones contrasted vastly with his father’s alabaster castle, and the cool draft flowing through the corridors truly ought to be attended to.
He followed a winding hallway downward, edging into the bowels of the castle. The floral scent of the nymph’s breeze grew stronger. As did other fragrances.
More nymphs?
He shoved through a thick wooden door and his heart dropped into his stomach as he scanned the chamber.
Oh, dear gods, no.
Chapter Two
Ekho moaned and rolled onto her side. A sickeningly sweet taste coated her tongue and numbness spread through her limbs.
What did he do to me?
She clutched her pounding head in her hands. How had she returned to her cell? That evil male… She shuddered, a flicker of Deimos’s sinister sneer passing through her mind.
He’d forced her to drink…something.
Afterward, she hadn’t cared.
Not about anything.
No
t even about the blade he’d run across her wrist, slitting her flesh and pressing the gash to his mouth to consume her blood.
She hadn’t felt pain or disgust.
Or anger.
She glanced at her wrist, but no wound cut across her skin.
Then, he’d smirked at her with azure-stained lips and commanded her to whisper persuasions into the King’s ear.
She frowned, unable to recall what she’d spoken.
The gleam in Deimos’s eyes had flamed with covetousness—for the crown or the male who wore it? She couldn’t be certain, but the same numbness that had claimed her also presented in Philaeus’s stoic stance.
She fisted her hands; ire burned through her veins. Deimos orchestrated them all, manipulating them like puppets.
As she blinked at the stone wall, a flash of another female flickered in her mind, but she couldn’t grasp hold of the vision. Who was she? A prisoner also?
Ekho huffed and crossed her legs, staring into the empty cage across from hers. Philaeus alone had been easy to manipulate, but this Deimos?
He was calculating and cunning.
An altogether different breed of monster.
Had he poisoned the King’s ear, encouraging the enslavement of her people? The power he’d employed against Ekho seemed familiar. Did it originate from the same source as her own?
A nymph’s powers…
If Hades and Persephone recruited gifted warriors for their army, it would be prudent for the Lapiths—under the command of Apollo—to do the same. Why not round up the most subservient soldiers they could muster—the nymphs.
Footsteps echoed off the stone floors, approaching her cell.
Ekho scampered into the shadows and braced for another taste of Deimos’s corruption.
Instead of that swine, a tall male with white-blond hair stole forward, muttering at the gate, “Nymph, is that you?” He crossed his arms and leaned against bars, then scanned either side of him.
She squinted, not recognizing his form, yet that burly timbre tingled down her spine.
“Petraeus? What in Demeter’s name are you doing here?” Oh, gods. Her throat clamped. In her desperation, had she accidentally compelled him to her aid?
Blast it.
He snorted and whipped around, the unusual mix of his striking features drawn into a tight scowl. “What I’m always doing, obeying your bloody commands, Aura.”
Her lips parted. If she’d known he was so magnificent, she might have tempered her words better. Long, unruly locks fell loose about his shoulders and across his eyes, green and gold flickers glinting from within those storm-grey depths. The youthful arches of his cheeks and jaw suggested he was much younger than her two hundred years, yet the male filled out his masculine form wonderfully. His green tunic stretched across broad, brawny shoulders, and his leather breeches framed thick, powerful thighs. As her perusal dipped to them, he shuffled his legs and slapped a hand across his front. “Argh, nymph, would you leave me alo—”
She glided forward from the shadows, lured toward the centaur despite every inch of her mind urging against it.
A male like him could be the downfall of not just her.
But her entire race.
* * *
Petraeus choked on his snarled words. The beauty stepping forward from the shadows of the cell could not be the female he’d spent this past year opposing.
Pastel lavender ringlets framed an innocent, heart-shaped face with a sprite-like nose and sparkling, pale verdant eyes. And surely, those plump petal-like lips belonged to a goddess, not a vexatious wench.
His horse reared as he gaped. A flowing, light blue gown cascaded around her sensuous, feminine curves. His entire body stiffened, need and wanting crushing any ability to form cohesive thoughts.
Mine.
The rumble began in his chest and rolled through him. Have to have her.
He seized one step forward and smacked straight into the iron bars. Stumbling backward, he clutched his head in his hand, rubbing at the swelling bump on his forehead. The blow did him a favor. Wincing, he pulled himself together. She was a nymph. All males reacted thus in her presence.
No need to conclude anything else.
Right?
Steadying his breaths, he stared at his fists, clenching and unclenching them until his pulse resumed its normal rhythm.
This female was nothing more than a bothersome pest in his ear.
By Zeus, there was no way he’d permit her to be anything else.
Slowly, he raised his gaze to rest upon her again. Doesn’t matter that she’s the loveliest creature I’ve ever beheld.
Just a nymph.
Only a nymph.
When he returned home, he’d scratch this itch and bed a dozen of them.
She folded her arms, plumping her full breasts. “I called you by mistake. You must leave.” Her firm tone resounded within his being, forcing him away from her.
As he left, he cast a grin over his shoulder. “Gladly.”
Petraeus strode back in the direction he’d come, grateful this ordeal was finished.
She’s still a prisoner and you don’t know why. The nagging pestilence invaded his mind, but nothing could be done about his hesitations. She’d coerced him to leave. He had no more choice in this than anything else she’d compelled him to do.
A heavy door scraped, screeching across the stone floor from the far side of the corridor. He dashed into an empty cell and spied into the dungeon.
A heavyset, blockish guard emerged from the other side and plodded to the nymph’s cell. “The Master be wantin’ to see you again. Up with you, let’s go.” He unlocked her door and waved his spear for her to move.
Petraeus peeked around the bars, his gut dropping. No, no. This was not good. “Master” could only be one person. The King. That vile scoundrel Philaeus, who’d done nothing but terrorize Petraeus’s family. Too many times, he’d dreamed of wrapping his hands around the scrawny male’s neck and squeezing the life from him.
The nymph obeyed the guard, head bowed. Why didn’t she fight back? Nymphs always submitted, true, but this one possessed the strength not to.
His legs tugged in the direction of the exit, but his chest wrenched toward the female.
He’d attempted to break her persuasions a hundred times and had never succeeded. Yet now, he clenched his jaw and slid one foot forward, creeping out of the cell and following the guard. After all, she’d commanded him to leave, but not to where. He scoffed. It was easy to break the nymph’s compulsion when it placed him in danger, yet never the opposite.
A sudden panic spiked into his veins and he drew to a halt. Could this be a trap? Did the nymph portray a vulnerable innocent so he’d reveal his presence and Philaeus could capture a son of Cheiron? Caution flooding him, he edged forward, keeping a significant distance between himself and the others.
At length, the guard marched her into a grand chamber, straight toward the male seated upon the throne.
That wasn’t Philaeus. Who was he? Petraeus peered closer, his fists clenching. The male’s shining features bespoke of godly descent, yet without the compassion.
“Ah, Ekho, come forward, darling.” The male crooked his fingers for her to approach, a calculating grin curving his lips.
Petraeus braced. This was the moment when she would either betray him, or prove her innocence.
Gods, but he hoped it was the latter.
“Yes, Lord Deimos.” With a stiff spine, she treaded forward, halting before him.
Deimos jerked his chin toward the female at his side who bore a silver chalice. Another nymph? Her red hair and resigned frown plucked strings of pity inside Petraeus’s chest. “Drink.”
“I don’t—”
“I said, ‘drink,’ nymph.” A sinister swirl flickered in Deimos’s darkened eyes.
Her breath hitched, but she stepped forward and seized the chalice, dragging it to her lips and taking a deep swig. “Ugh.” She swiped the back of her hand across her
mouth and tossed the chalice to the floor.
He hopped off the throne and snatched up her wrist, sniffing along her arm. “Ah, nymphs do taste so sweet.”
Petraeus squashed the growl in his chest. Must wait.
Thankfully, the mongrel dropped her wrist and snapped his fingers for his guards. “That will be all for now, Ekho.”
She turned about and padded forward, unblinking as a stone statue.
What had they done to her?
No matter. He cracked his knuckles and followed them back to the cell.
She might not have requested his aid, but he was bound and determined to rescue her.
* * *
Ekho groaned and rubbed her hands across her face. Plush softness cushioned her body and a crisp scent filled her nostrils. Where am I?
She peeled open both eyes, blinking into a warm, inviting chamber decorated with rich sanguine draperies and dark wooden furnishings.
This was not her cell. Not unless Deimos had found another use for her talents?
Anxiety spiked into her chest and she shot up to sit, whipping her scrutiny around the room. A knock rapped on the open doorway and a male in human form strolled in. The centaur.
Petraeus.
Only now, no iron bars separated them. She didn’t have to be a nymph to detect the enormous waves of lust surging off him.
Ekho gathered the silk sheets around her, wielding them like a shield.
“You’re awake. Good.” He stared at her intently, until he cleared his throat and, raking a hand through his locks, averted his gaze. Sweet gods, what was wrong with the male?
“Where am I?” she grated between clenched teeth.
He straightened, his drooped stance perking, and cast her a lopsided grin. “Home. Uh, my home, that is.” He kept beaming roguishly at her, and her insides threatened to melt, but his words registered in her mind.
Home.
“No, no, no.” She hopped off the bed and seized two steps forward. “What did you do?” Like a mother scolding her youngling, she raised one finger at him, biting back a fearsome curse. “I didn’t command you to rescue me. Indeed, I specifically told you to leave.”