Fire's Mark (Lords of Krete Book 4)

by Rachael Slate

  He’d already caught hold of her bindings.

  * * *

  The triumph on the female’s lips stretched thin and she wrenched on her arm, but Demoleon’s grip held fast. This saucy minx was naught but a common thief. Which meant, the food he’d consumed had been stolen goods. His stomach twisted.

  “Restore these items to their owners,” he yanked on her leather strip, “before they awaken to find a thief tied to that tree.” He jerked his chin toward the oak at his left.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh, aye, I would.”

  Her slender throat constricted and, damn, but the movement was so lovely. He wrenched his gaze off her and concentrated instead on the sack in her other hand. “What did you take?”

  “Nothing more than what they’ve stolen from me. From us.” She arched a brow, as though she’d excused her actions.

  “Humans are not to blame for…” He shook his head, his admiration slanting to her nude figure. “Bloody hell, lass, at least you ought to steal some clothes.” His throat dried at the sight of the trim curve of her hip, at her unabashed nudity.

  She hissed, thrashing. “Unhand me, you leering, shameless centaur.”

  “If you don’t wish me to look, Strinklia, then you should don something. Otherwise, there’s naught I can do to help it. You’re lovelier than the sunrise over the ocean.” She calmed and he seized a pace closer. By the gods, she stole his breath. His chest tightened and those sparkling depths drew him in. She was as mesmerizing as the blazing embers of a fire, and just as destructive. He swallowed hard, fighting this magnetism between them.

  He’d been wrong. Even if she wore a thousand gowns, he’d still not be able to tear his stare from her. From those plump red lips, from those arching curves of her breasts. From the ethereal beauty that she was.

  He was engulfed in her splendor.

  Cyane’s curious parting words thrummed through his mind. Don’t you realize what she is?

  Of course, she was a thief. A vixen. A stealthy, adept female who’d out-maneuvered him countless times.

  She was a bloody challenge.

  “What’s your name, sweetling?”

  She tilted her chin a fraction. “I am called Enyo. If you care to keep that hand, you will release it from me.” Swift as a predator, she whipped a dagger from her sack and poised the long edge of the blade against his neck.

  Enyo. A beauteous name for a beauteous creature. He couldn’t help but grin. “Aye, but now we’re at a standoff. I can’t release you, and I don’t believe you’re as ruthless with a blade as you declare.”

  Her eyes narrowed, those lovely pools outlined by a thick veil of charcoal lashes. Indecision flickered across her scrutiny. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed, before clenching once more. “You don’t know me. Or what I’m capable of. You’d cower if you did.”

  He twisted his face to the side, revealing even more of his scars. “I think not, lass.”

  She gulped, her fingers playing on the hilt of the sword. “You should let me go.”

  “Perchance,” he purred, “but I don’t want to.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  He edged closer, dismissing the cut of the blade against his neck. “Everything.”

  * * *

  A darkly possessive glint swept across the male’s depths. Oh, no. Enyo had been here before. Had suffered tremendous torment because of it. “Humph. You shall be sorely disappointed. You’ll get nothing from me.”

  Blinking, the male dropped his hold and reared from her.

  Strange.

  “You’re a siren. Why wouldn’t you wish to…” He surveyed the encampment. The unconscious humans. The sack in her hands. Finally, his perusal rested on her. “Thief. You’re one of them.” He gave his head a violent shake. “How did I not see this?”

  She tensed, bracing her wings to take off, but the male didn’t launch toward her. Instead, he raked his fingers through his short, dark locks. “Nay, no one’s seen a harpy in a century.”

  “No one’s seen a siren, either, I bet, but you chose to consider me the latter.” She smirked, inching backward and spreading her wings. “Now that you grasp what I am, you’ll do best to keep your distance from me. Farewell, centaur.” As she shot into the sky, she beat her wings, the sack containing her stolen goods safe in her hands. Too close. Her heart steadied and calm spread through her being as she left the male far behind and retreated to her cavern.

  After settling on her favorite cushion, she opened the sack and dug inside, assessing her stolen goods. A leg of roast hare, a bundle of cheese, bread, and an apple. Perfect. She munched on the cheese and tore off a chunk of bread. Since she’d sent the centaur into retreat, she had to determine another way to free the sword.

  The sword, her sisters buzzed in her mind.

  Yes, I know. She furrowed her brow. In truth, she’d been studying Demoleon’s approach. Two hands weren’t what was required. His efforts had proven as much. So, what would work?

  She tapped one finger on her lips and stretched her neck to examine the cavernous ceiling. Perhaps she should have kept the centaur around, used him to steal the sword, and thieved it from him when they were far from this place. That might have been a better plan.

  Well, he’s gone now. Shrugging, she whistled a silly tune and nibbled on the bread.

  “You presume to be rid of me so easily?” A thunderous growl rolled through the chamber.

  Choking, she spun around right as that crazed centaur leapt toward her.

  “I’ll have your head, harpy.” Roaring, he wrapped his large hands about her neck and crashed onto her, knocking her to the ground.

  She wheezed while he choked the air from her but, suddenly, he released his grasp and sneered at her. “Nay, this is too easy a death for you.”

  Before she could open her mouth to scream, he’d wound her leather strips about his hands, solidifying his hold.

  She tried calling out, but her voice croaked into the chamber, too weak to even echo.

  Dear gods, he means to kill me. No mistaking the brutal, savage gleam in those molten pools.

  The only question remaining was—how?

  “How would you like to meet your doom?” He shuffled off her, rising to his feet and yanking her by her bindings to stand in front of him.

  She clawed at his forearms in vain. He was too strong, and far too enraged.

  “Zeus should have rid the world of you a long time ago. Your kind is naught but disgraceful shrews devoid of honor.”

  “True, we are monsters, but at least we don’t cower beneath a pathetic human King,” she hissed.

  “Argh!” he snarled, thrusting her out and away from him, lifting the tips of her toes off the ground. “Long have I dreamt of what I would do if I ever came across one of your race, harpy.” His eyes burned like the pits of a volcano while he set her down and towered over her.

  “Odd, because I remember that bedding me was your first fancy, and you do fancy me, don’t you, centaur,” she taunted. “As much as it vexes you.”

  A low rumble in his throat echoed through the chamber. “That was before I knew what you were.”

  “Go ahead, then. End me.” She scoffed, meeting his challenge.

  He narrowed his eyes. “As you wish.”

  Chapter 4

  Demoleon tightened his grip around the harpy’s bindings, flames of fury spreading through his blood. Instead of displaying fear, the beguiling female simpered at him, a secret knowledge in her eyes.

  Damn. He couldn’t do it.

  “Why are you not afraid?” he bellowed and bared his teeth. “Do you not fear me? Fear death?”

  She twisted against his hold and grimaced. “Why should I? You centaurs are so predictable. Honor and duty. This isn’t a battlefield and you’re not going to kill me without provocation. Besides, if you knew the truth, you’d have no quarrel with me.”

  “Truth?” He thrust her away and sprang open his fist. “I’d dare not trust a word utt
ered from your sweet lips, harpy.” All honey and nectar, until she was plunging a sword in his back.

  Or raining fire down upon his loved ones.

  He stomped back the errant memory. “If you desire the sword so badly, why don’t you take it?”

  “I can. I will.” She hiked up her chin. “When I decide to.”

  He furrowed his brow. What was wrong with this lass? Had she gone mad from decades of living alone in this place, or did her species behave thusly?

  Living alone. “Where are your people? Surely, you’re not alone here.”

  She perched her hands on her hips. “Indeed, I’m not.”

  Oh, this was good. He’d capture the entire harpy clan and drag them to justice. “Where are your sisters, then?”

  She reared, flapping to land on a perch. “Nowhere you shall ever find them,” she hissed.

  What a perplexingly complicated female. He scratched his jaw and regarded her. In truth, he’d not been able to kill her because there hadn’t been fear in her eyes. Which meant, whatever torment he would wield upon her didn’t compare to the horrors she’d already endured.

  Bloody hell, but that grated beneath his skin, making him itch in odd places. Like his left arm.

  He was well-acquainted with terror and torture. The scars on his outside were a constant reminder of those on the inside. This female didn’t bear any marks…that he detected.

  Aye, there was something off about her.

  “Tell me, since we’re at a standoff, what should we do? I won’t leave this place without the sword, and it would seem, neither will you.” He cocked his head. “We could strike a deal. What do you wish to do with the sword?”

  The blade had but one purpose: killing minotaurs. It made no sense for a harpy to employ the weapon in that fashion, since their races were allies. Mayhap, the minotaurs wished the sword safe from enemy hands.

  From my hands.

  She smirked. “Not like I would tell you.”

  “Argh, stubborn lass.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and his stomach grumbled. Well, no harm in partaking of her stolen goods again. Just one more time.

  Demoleon strode to the sack and plucked a leg of roast hare, then tore off a large chunk and consumed it. “Mmm. Many thanks for the meal,” he gloated.

  Those feral orbs gleamed down upon him. “That is mine, centaur. You should have learned by now, never thieve from a harpy.”

  * * *

  The male would pay. Enyo fisted her hands and calculated how best to be rid of him. How quickly he’d switched his focus from killing her, to murdering her family. Yet in doing so, he’d also revealed a weakness—his thirst for revenge.

  She could use this against him. If only she would dare to awaken him.

  Did she have any other choice? The centaur was too formidable for her to attack alone. Yes, she must do this. Protect the sword at all costs.

  Enyo swooped to the ground in front of Demoleon. “Do you wish to meet my sisters?”

  He set aside the bone and glared at her. “Aye, but I wish for more than to meet them. I’ll claim justice from them.”

  She lifted and dropped one shoulder. “Very well. I’ll take you to them.”

  “Ha. I’ll not fall for your trap again.” He snorted.

  Humming, she spun and raced toward the tunnel. “Then don’t follow me.”

  He grumbled behind her. Good, she’d captured the irritating male’s attention. Thudding hoof beats proved he’d snapped up the bait. Her blood thundered through her veins while she wound deeper and deeper into the mountain. So far, they neared Tartarus. Or so she imagined. Heat from the earth flushed across her skin, making her perspire. The air stifled in her lungs, searing through her throat. They were close.

  “Could these tunnels be any narrower?”

  Demoleon must be having a challenging time squeezing his large frame into the passageway behind her. After spinning around, she twirled her hand toward the voluminous cavern they were about to enter. “We’re here.”

  “Where would that be?” His narrowed stare and tense muscles suggested he was ready for an ambush. Good. This would be amusing to watch.

  Enyo leapt down into the hole, using her open wings to slow her descent, and landed on the enormous metallic creature. An automaton. Like everyone else, once King Minos had made use of this automaton, he’d thrown him away in here. In the pits of Mount Ida.

  The cunning King hadn’t dared spare anyone who might challenge or defeat him. Minos had drained Talon of ichor, the lifeblood of the gods that flowed through his metallic veins, and discarded him in this place to rust.

  Lucky for her, Enyo was a creation of Zeus and her blood would awaken the beast.

  Before the centaur could challenge her, she sliced one claw across her left wrist and opened the hole on the automaton’s side, pouring her blood into the being. She sealed the hole, leapt off its back, and flew to the safety of a high ledge. Talon twisted his neck, rusted metal screeching, and rose to his towering height, more than a hundred feet tall. Blazing blue eyes scanned the chamber and rested on her. “Mistress. You have awakened me. Now, command me,” his stilted voice rasped while he bowed his head.

  She jerked her chin at the centaur. “Kill him.”

  “Bloody Zeus!” Demoleon roared, backed against the stone wall. He surveyed his surroundings and likely determined what she had—there was no escape. If he clawed through the tunnels, he’d been an easy target for the giant.

  She’d left him with no choice.

  Kill or be killed.

  * * *

  Demoleon clenched his fists and glowered at the harpy. He’d sensed this was a trap. He’d just assumed he’d be able to fight his way out of it.

  Enyo had bested him. Again. An automaton? Nay, not merely any. This was Talon. A formidable giant once belonging to King Minos. What in Hades was he doing down here?

  Discarded, obviously. Probably furious, as well.

  Those blazing blue orbs targeted on him. Demoleon swallowed hard. Only one way he stood a chance against this monster. He’d have to become one, too.

  He transformed into his dragon shape and flew straight at the automaton, spewing fire that did little besides shine the creature’s metallic coating. Since Talon had been forged in the fires of Hephaestus, it was doubtful any flames could burn hot enough to cause him harm.

  Demoleon dove and swooped, evading the creature’s clutches. Above him, the harpy clapped and cheered. Curse her.

  He ground his jaw and soared faster, winding round and round Talon. The automaton was large and imposing, and Demoleon would use those traits to his disadvantage. In trying to catch him, the fumbling giant spun faster and faster, his feet thudding on the rock floor. Until, suddenly, the automaton tripped over his feet and crashed to the ground. Demoleon shot into the air in victory, but a steel grasp snared his right wing and dragged him down with it.

  He wrenched and tore, but the giant wrapped his fist around Demoleon’s dragon body, trapping him.

  Those fingers closed, squeezing, but halted.

  Demoleon slammed his eyes shut, struggling for freedom, but whipped them open. What was wrong?

  The automaton focused on Enyo, who paced on her perch, shooting him a hesitant frown each time she neared one ledge.

  “You can’t kill me either, can you,” he wheezed.

  “I could. If I wished to.” She scoffed, but there was definite concern in her voice.

  A harpy with a conscience? Was that even possible? Slowly, Talon’s fingers opened and Demoleon crawled free.

  “Well, we’re right back where we started, Strinklia. A standoff.” He rose and shifted into his human form. “Any ideas on how we proceed next?”

  Instead of answering him, she quit the chamber, heading through one of the tunnels.

  He stared after her. The likely conclusion was that she was leading him into yet another trap. That didn’t stop him from following. Again. He tensed around every corner, anticipating another foe, but none appe
ared. At the end of the corridor, inside her cavern, rested Enyo.

  “That’s it? You’re giving up?”

  “Harpies don’t surrender.” She shrugged. “I can’t seem to be rid of you, no matter how I try.” Her piercing gaze slanted toward him. “So mayhap you should take care of that for me.”

  * * *

  “Forgive me, sweetling, but there’s no way I’m leaving here without the sword.” Demoleon propped against the stone archway, his large body bursting with decadent maleness. Hunger stirred from deep within Enyo. There was no denying he was a fearsome and magnificent creature. Perhaps, him being her enemy and so desperate to kill her attracted her even more. Harpies loved challenges. The more monstrous an opponent, the better.

  After all, that was what had first drawn her to Asterion.

  Look where that relationship has landed me. She tore her attention from Demoleon. How could she entertain the notion of pleasure when her sisters would experience none—unless she saved them?

  Useless. She glowered at her hands while desolation swept through her. I don’t know how to save you.

  Her sisters’ voices drummed in her mind, If you can’t vanquish the centaur, seduce him.

  She jolted. They weren’t serious, were they? The thought of following their request brought delightful anticipation to her being, which was exactly why she refused. In a game of enticement against the centaur, she just might lose.

  Her heart sped and tingling sensations raced along her muscles, so she clenched and unclenched her fists. What kind of sister would she be if she didn’t try everything to save her family? They deserved her best efforts.

  “Well,” Enyo rose, gathering her fortitude, “there is one thing we might agree on.” She moistened her lips, strolling toward the centaur and hoping to appear intrigued by him. Not hard to do. The torchlight flickered off his gleaming chest, casting shadows across the firmly honed edges of his pectorals. Her perusal drifted to his face, to the deep scars on his cheek that marred his flesh but lent him an air of menace she couldn’t help but admire. Anyone would be terrified to stumble across him in the dark.