Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  The first to claim her innocence, to open her mind to worlds beyond the ones she’d conceived.

  He hungered for her to be his.

  And his alone.

  She moaned, her breaths growing uneven as she rose onto the tips of her toes. The silk was thin enough for him to perceive her swelling bud and to circle it in an ever-increasing pressure of his fingers.

  He slid his other hand to cup her breast, smoothing across the peak with his thumb. The slick honey between her thighs perfumed the air. Even without his powers, he tasted her arousal. His throat dried and his cock strained, long and rigid and demanding to ease this arrow-induced lust.

  How she swayed into his grasp, trusting and whimpering, signified she might even desire him. The unquenchable fog of erotic thirst had seized her and she was so lovely in her desperation.

  He wouldn’t take advantage. She wouldn’t even realize what he’d done until it was over. Nay, when he claimed Psyche, her head would be clear and her lips commanding him.

  She would beg him.

  Teasingly, he petted her through the silk, building the passions inside her until they flamed so high, she tensed in his arms, a cry parting her lips. He cradled her while the tremors shook her body, making her muscles grow limp and her legs weaken. She quivered in his embrace, so fragile and lovely, he couldn’t help but yearn to keep her.

  How would it feel, to have her look at him with adoration in her shining eyes?

  His chest pinched, aching with a longing he’d never experienced and couldn’t even begin to name. All he knew for certain was…

  He wanted her to be the one.

  Psyche shivered in the beast’s arms. His sensual caresses had alighted fires in her body and made her combust. Had that been the result he’d sought as he’d stroked her?

  Her mind drifted to the chambermaid Elene, and how she’d screamed with pleasure while the baker had thrust against her. Psyche hadn’t intended to spy on them, but she’d accidentally been concealed in the stairwell at the wrong time.

  Perhaps this had been the outcome the beast had intended, but what she’d experienced had only been a small part of the world of pleasures she was certain existed.

  After a minute, the functioning of her muscles returned and her breathing evened. The beast secured her flush along his hard, masculine body, a sizable bulge pressing in demand against her spine.

  Before the baker had taken the chambermaid, Psyche had spied Elene sink to her knees and face the baker’s sex.

  Curious desires flamed within her. If her actions were wrong, the worst thing the beast could do was stop her. She pressed a trembling hand backward, framing the thick ridge straining against her.

  A low groan erupted from the beast’s throat. “Psyche.”

  An encouragement? She licked her tongue across her bottom lip and closed her palm tighter around that hardness. Long and rigid, the width of him twitched in her hand, and pangs echoed in her core, making her grow slick with urgency.

  She twisted about in his arms, gaining a better grasp and guided her other hand to join in the exploration. Her fingers grazed his waist and, gingerly, she slid one hand beneath his breeches, skimming the tips of her fingers across the smooth, steel length, almost closing about him, but he was too large. His hips bucked, jerking him deeper into her hands, then retreated, causing her fingers to pump around his flesh.

  Fascinated, she drew his breeches down over the hard edges of his hips, exposing more of him to her eager hands. His shaft was warm and silken as it glided through her palms. The bronzed hue of his flesh extended even across the firm curves of his buttocks, though she guessed they saw no sunlight. Unless he paraded about nude.

  The image induced the hunger to view the entirety of him. She shifted her hands higher, grazing across the chiseled ridges of his abdomen, so stiff and solid they could be fashioned of stone like the sculptures in her mother’s gardens. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, and the breadth of him was nigh double hers. He was large and fearsome, and yet in his embrace she sensed only protection.

  Safety.

  Belonging.

  “You are so beautiful,” she murmured, entranced by him.

  He seized her wrist, a snarl in his throat. “Don’t ever say that again.” He dropped her wrist and wrenched on his clothes.

  She gasped and stumbled backward. The shadows concealed his face, as always, but more than darkness spread between them. “Why not? You are.” She frowned at the simple truth. Why would he loathe his beauty?

  Did he wish her to find him ugly?

  Beastly?

  He snorted and grated, “You’re exactly like the others. I should never have hoped you’d be different.”

  And then he stormed from her side.

  His rejection stung, bringing bitter tears to her eyes. She couldn’t compare herself to the others, as he did, but was he right?

  What about her words had been wrong?

  Beauty. He called her that. Arete. Yet she was not allowed to reciprocate?

  After the exquisite pleasure he’d given her, she’d hoped they had grown closer. That he might have begun to trust her.

  Now, she saw his trust lay miles away from her. So far, and across such treacherous terrain, she might never survive the journey.

  ***

  Eros snarled at the mirror and drove his fist into it, shattering the glass. It rained across the floor, a few shards protruding from his knuckles.

  Beautiful. Already she was succumbing. Psyche’s inquisitive nature would be their doom. She’d be content to explore his body, for a while, but soon, she’d yearn to view his face as well.

  The burning hunger to learn whether his face equaled his body. That would be what would kill her.

  After an immortal lifetime of being the object of many a creature’s erotic fantasies, he no longer wished to be found attractive. What he yearned for was… He scowled at his bloodied hands.

  It wasn’t her fault. Curious as to what she would do, he’d permitted her exploration. He’d tested her without intending to. His whole existence, he’d only ever known being an object of desire in his mother’s household on Mount Olympus. He’d never been anything else. Never been viewed like the other gods, as worthy of comprising an identity outside of their appearances.

  Eros was as much a slave to lust as he was the embodiment of it. If he was lust, then love would always be withheld from his grasp. Just out of reach.

  He shouldn’t have brought Psyche here. Or rather, allowed her to stay. He should have conceded to his mother and ended this wager.

  Mayhap, that was still what he should do. Tartarus couldn’t equal this torment.

  He grimaced at his hands, but a flutter of silk in the doorway caught his gaze.

  “You’re hurt.” Psyche rushed forward, but paused a foot from him. Beams of sunlight flickered across his hands, revealing the glints of bloodied glass.

  She seized his hand firmly in hers and clucked, “A mirror isn’t a suitable opponent. They will always win.”

  He flinched. “What do you know of combating mirrors? You’re the loveliest creature I have ever beheld.” It was true. Though he’d appreciated a vast assortment of divine beauties, Psyche possessed another layer to her extraordinary allure.

  The appeal proved irresistible.

  Or, it might be the arrow that drew him to her. He winced as she plucked a shard from his knuckle. Nay, he didn’t think so. He wanted her in ways mere lust couldn’t be sated.

  A pink hue flushed across her cheeks and she swallowed thickly, the muscles in her throat flexing. “I am not as beautiful as you say.”

  He squinted, but he didn’t perceive an enchantment cloaking her. “How do you mean?”

  She withdrew a cloth from a sewing basket by the door and pressed it to his hand, stemming the bleeding. “When I was a young girl, I spent a great deal of time at the temple of Aphrodite.”

  He stiffened, not liking the direction of this conversation. What had h
is mother done?

  “For many years, and the priestesses took a liking to me. One day…” She dropped his hand and seized his other, cleaning that one before continuing, “A priestess uttered my name in her prayer, instead of the goddess’s.”

  Oh, hell. His gut dropped at the tightness in Psyche’s mouth.

  “Aphrodite paid me a visit. Have you ever beheld a god?” She cast wide eyes toward him, but he didn’t answer. The dread of her next words clamped his tongue. “Of course, you probably have, when they cursed you. Forgive me. I simply meant I was both terrified and awed. I had no notion of what the priestess had done until Aphrodite’s incandescent glory shone upon me. She told me no mortal should possess beauty as I do and that I would suffer for it.” Psyche glanced toward the floor. “I don’t recall what happened next, only that the fires of Hades rained down upon me and I felt my flesh melting as I screamed.”

  He clenched his fist, tearing his wounds, new blood oozing from them.

  Psyche’s shoulders drooped with a heavy sigh. “After, the pain miraculously vanished, and the goddess clasped my hand, telling me this was for the best, that no man would ever covet me. It was she who bestowed me with the gift of concealment.” A wistful, sad smile on her lips, she turned, slipping the fabric of her chiton from her shoulders, baring her back to him.

  He stared, unblinking, at the smooth, perfect skin marred by angry brushstrokes of raised, pinkish flesh. The marks splattered across her back, from her left hip to her right shoulder.

  Fury like he’d never experienced roiled within him, raging so fiercely, he couldn’t comprehend it. Savage ire crashed through him in agonizing waves. Loathing toward his mother, for thusly harming a child, and pain for Psyche, helplessness because he hadn’t been there to protect her.

  He itched to storm his mother’s chamber, to roar at her behavior, at the villainous act he hadn’t deemed her capable of. Yet Psyche stood before him, needing him more than his anger did. In truth, he could heal her. Many goddesses possessed beauty creams able to erase Psyche’s wounds. However, he wasn’t able to gift any to her without revealing how he obtained them. Would it be enough, instead, to reassure her she hadn’t changed in his esteem?

  After a moment, she shrugged her chiton over her shoulders once more and, facing the floor, murmured, “So you see, the mirror is not my friend, either.”

  ***

  The beast didn’t speak nor utter a sound. Psyche steeled her shoulders and headed for the doorway. Aphrodite had been right. No male would fancy her after he viewed her scars. Regardless, she’d had to try. She’d clung to the slightest glimmer of hope that revealing her flaws would open him to trusting her with his.

  “Psyche.” He seized her wrist, halting her. “Thank you for showing me. I can’t fathom your suffering, but the goddess was wrong. In her cruelty and in her judgment. You are still the most beautiful female I have ever beheld.” He hauled her tight against his chest, clasping her as though he could erase her scars.

  Was it possible they didn’t matter to him? She rested her cheek against his chest, delighting in the firm muscle that enclosed her in strength and security. And in his steadily drumming heartbeat, washing away her concerns.

  He wrapped his arms about her and only after a minute did she spot the awkwardness of his grasp. Pulling aside, she frowned at his hands. “You reopened your wounds.” She tsked at him, but her heart pounded rapidly against her ribs. Had his temper flamed because of her suffering?

  She seized two lengths of cloth from the basket and wrapped each hand in turn. “There, now be more careful.”

  “If I’m to have you for a nursemaid, I’m afraid I won’t have the incentive to heed such advice.”

  Her cheeks flushed at his flirtation and she gently squeezed his arm. “I could always ask one of the arachnids to take my place.”

  “Nay, do not even jest of such a thing.” He chuckled, releasing her hand. “I must leave you for a short while.”

  She pressed her lips together. The waver in his tone set her at unease. A vision of him ranting at Aphrodite’s temple twisted her stomach. She refused to be the cause of further trouble between him and the gods. “Must you? Please, will you stay with me?”

  He hesitated, already a step away, but paused and circled toward her. “If you wish me to, I’ll stay.”

  “I do.” She flashed him a smile. “What shall we do? I would love to explore your library.”

  “By all means.”

  She detected the sultry note in his voice and, too late, recalled the last book she’d perused. Lifting and dropping a shoulder to counter the flutters in her stomach, she strolled down the corridor, the beast trailing behind her. At the library, she darted ahead of him and scanned the expansive shelves. They couldn’t all be erotic manuscripts.

  Psyche climbed a ladder and read the ones with titles, finally deciding on a book of poems.

  The beast scrutinized a shelf on the opposite side of the chamber. She plucked her selection and seized a place on a plush sofa by the hearth. It flamed to life an instant later, and he joined her, reclining on the other end of the sofa.

  They read in silence. The servants brought them fine wine, cheese, meats, and breads. After a while, her legs ached, so she extended them. As though detecting her discomfort, he snatched her legs, removed her slippers, and set her feet into his lap, massaging them. He kicked off his boots and stretched one long leg toward her, crooking his knee.

  Some time later, she chimed a laugh at one of the humorous poems.

  “Amusing?” His deep rumble pierced her focus.

  “Indeed.” She jerked her chin toward his book. “And yours?”

  “Riveting.” His shrouded upper body slanted forward, flipping the book so she might view its pages. A detailed illustration depicted a voluptuous female, her legs spread wide and the back of a male’s curly-locked head positioned directly between her thighs. Judging from the gasp of euphoria on the female’s face, she rather enjoyed his ministrations.

  Heat flamed Psyche’s cheeks. This was the content he’d been reading this entire time? The casual forwardness of his passionate nature made her both embarrassed and insanely curious.

  “Would you like to try this next time?” He flipped the pages, revealing another picture, with the female bent forward and the male again kneeling at her sex, this time behind her, his face buried in her plump bottom. He flipped the page. “Or perhaps this one?” The beast spoke of such carnal acts as though they were natural, expected even.

  The notion of performing such deeds with him stirred a sense of freedom in her. His wicked confidence was liberating.

  “Yes.” She bit her lip and released her breath. “I want to try them all.”

  Eros growled deeply at Psyche’s admission. Bolts of lust shot through him and he forced himself to recall why he shouldn’t take her right here, right now. Her declaration stemmed from her inquisitiveness, but he still had to proceed slowly, with caution. They were forming an understanding and he would do nothing to hinder their progress. He had to give this new strategy more time.

  Besides, he actually enjoyed her company. To sit and read with her, to rest next to her and touch her sensually without the pressure to take things further, he found surprisingly comforting.

  Tentatively, he spread his hand across her ankle, the velvet silk of her skin encouraging his fingers to wander upward. He groaned at the quivering in her muscles and the soft parting of her lips. Surely, no man was meant to face such temptation, and certainly not a god.

  Indecision chugged through his chest. Pleasuring the maidens was precisely what he did every time. And every time, the result was the same.

  If he couldn’t control his impulses—and hers—there was no point to this at all.

  Suddenly, she stiffened and frowned toward the window, sniffing. “Do you smell that?”

  He copied her, flaring his nostrils, and indeed, a trace of scorched wood carried on the breeze.

  “Something’s burning.”
She shrugged from his grasp and hopped to her feet, racing to the balcony.

  Rising slower to allow his rigid arousal a chance to ease, he followed her. The horizon flamed with an orange-ish pink glow well after the sun had set.

  “The village,” she whispered, spinning toward him. “We must help them.”

  “What? Extinguish a fire?” He slashed a forbidding hand through the air. “It’s too dangerous.” Extending his hearing, he caught hints of the chaos below. No one knew of Psyche’s fate. If anyone should recognize her…

  “Beast.” She crossed her arms, glaring. “We will help them.”

  Stubborn wench. He puffed in resignation. The spark in her eyes wouldn’t be denied and he’d rather she didn’t escape on her own.

  “Fine, but you’ll do precisely as I instruct. You will not leave my side.” He enunciated each word, because the very notion of losing her in the confusion below churned his gut. At the snap of his fingers, the automatons delivered two dark, hooded cloaks and a pair of boots for Psyche.

  After they dressed, they strode through the front gates and down the long winding path toward the village. The arachnids knew better than to scurry close to his presence, but he sensed them, hiding in the woods. As they neared the village, the stench of charred timber permeated the air, thickening it into a heavy fog that caused Psyche to cough and choke.

  He bade her cover her mouth with a scarf he handed her, the silk enchanted with a protection spell. The moment she breathed easier, they wound through the streets toward the incandescent glow of the flames. Villagers formed a long line from the well to the worst of the fire. Clasping Psyche’s hand, he joined the line, and side by side, they passed buckets of water.

  The idea of causing rain crossed his mind, but to protect his identity and their safety, he’d have to wait a small while longer. Rain immediately after a fire would draw suspicion—likely toward the two newcomers.

  A shrill cry pierced the air from a dwelling several buildings down the lane. Everyone halted as a soot-covered woman stumbled into the street, emerging from a hut whose roof had caught fire. “Please,” she cried, “my child is still inside. Help me.”