Masterful Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 5)

by Rachael Slate

  She scrunched up her face, bracing while the Portal sucked her in and closed behind her.

  Sealing her off from her family. Forever.

  Instead of stepping onto new land, Delia fell through the air, crashing against branches that tossed her back and forth between them. A searing slice cut across her right thigh just before she thumped onto soft earth.

  Umph!

  Grunting, she tilted her face toward her wound. A jagged gash split across her thigh, blood dribbling from the injury. Hell. She rose onto her hands and knees and glanced around her.

  The centaur stood several feet away, blinking, his handsome, angular jaw open in gaping confusion. He stomped one black-tipped hoof, the hue contrasting so attractively against his swirling grey hide. This past decade, she’d struggled against her interest in the dashing, honorable male. His massively muscled chest and thick, bulging arms had always drawn out oddly feminine yearnings in her. Desires of domination and submission no proud Amazon should entertain.

  Focus. She returned her scrutiny to her wound. Hippolyta would have deposited the centaur somewhere deep in Lapith territory, where he would easily be caught and executed.

  Which meant she had little time to escape this environment and save herself.

  Right. Who cared if she revealed her secrets to a dead man? For that was what Hector was.

  One breath away from death.

  As she clenched her jaw, a tawny glow spread from her hands, a thorny vine appearing and snaking around her thigh to clamp her wound.

  There. She relaxed her jaw and sighed. The vine sealed the gash, the thorns piercing either side like stitches. She’d sewn many an injury on the battlefield in this manner. In a few days, she’d remove the vine and her wound would heal on its own. For the moment, the bleeding had halted.

  She lifted her head to examine their surroundings and her survey landed on the centaur. He continued to blink at her in dazed bewilderment.

  “Truly? Are you going to gawk at me instead of trying to save yourself?” She snorted. A wonder the male had survived this long.

  “You’re one of them.” He blinked and his thick brows drew together. “Blessed by the gods.”

  What a fool. He was one step from execution and all he focused on was her gift? Perhaps the male had struck his head. She ought to kill him and be done with it.

  Bitterness coated her mouth at the thought and she scrunched her nose, trying to steel her resolve. Don’t be weak.

  “Why are you here? To ensure the Queen’s plan?” He narrowed those smoky eyes and his nostrils flared.

  Ah, yes. As a centaur, he would be able to sniff out any untruths. Slowly, Delia inched her hand toward her boot—and the knife within. “I thoughtlessly countered my Queen’s command and pleaded for her to spare your life.” Not a falsehood.

  “Aye?” He scratched his jaw, regarding her keenly. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Good, she’d directed his attention off her intentions. “She was wrong.” Delia notched her chin and attempted to steady her breaths. She’d never become so flustered before a battle. Why did her heart race now? The centaur male was huge, true, but she’d killed larger opponents. She was a seasoned Amazon warrior. He was no match for her skill.

  Her future depended upon this. Her Queen had made the outcome of her failure clear. Permanent banishment. As good as death for an Amazon. Don’t be weak. You must do this.

  “Argh!” Delia sprang to her feet and drew the blade, charging toward the centaur’s flank.

  Nimbly, he stepped to the side, blocking her blow and seizing her free arm to spin her around. He wrenched her to his chest, tightening his grasp around her waist. “What are you doing?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Killing you.” Delia stamped her boot onto his foot, loosening his hold, and ducked free, spinning to poise her knife to his throat. She was a tall female, but he towered over her, and she had to extend her arm to position the dagger.

  A tremor quivered through her hand, her grip unsteady. Damn. Heaving in a breath, she forced her hand to calm, and raised her gaze to the centaur’s. One slice of her blade and he would be dead.

  She’d be free.

  Or would she?

  ***

  Hector held still while uncertainty flickered across the lovely female’s features. With her slender nose, arched cheekbones, and fair skin, she possessed a classic beauty. One that masked the bold warrior within.

  Aye, she sought to kill him, but not by her choice. Her Queen’s command? What about handing him to the Lapiths?

  If what she’d spoken was truth—and his centaur sense of smell deemed it so—this Amazon had pleaded for his life.

  Would she so easily claim it now?

  Peering into those dazzling hazel eyes, he met her stare and held steady, allowing no fear to permeate his expression. She was wild and untamed, but he would bend her to his will.

  He would master her.

  Behind the ferocity and the determination, he viewed a compassionate spirit.

  “You don’t wish to kill me, lass,” he murmured, keeping his voice a low, solid tone, “and you don’t have to. Let us work together to solve this.” Her hand wavered enough for him to snatch her wrist and clinch tight, inching the blade away from his throat.

  He spun her around, her back to his chest, and forced her hand to their sides. Sweet Aphrodite, her locks tickled his nose, the perfume from her skin causing his horse to stamp inside him.

  She’s my mate.

  Through this bloody puzzling situation, that one truth remained constant.

  “What’s your name? Who are you, truly?” The thin black band around his upper left bicep ached and flamed. He’d bonded to this female, but he’d never claimed her as his. Never bedded her.

  All because of that damned curse.

  Can’t touch her.

  He groaned against the waves of impulses demanding he pleasure his mate, beads of perspiration spiking across his forehead. Being bonded to her meant he’d escaped the lyssa—the madness an unbonded centaur denied his mate might succumb to—yet he suffered the agony of it all the same.

  Until he could claim her, he must live with this torment.

  Perhaps forever.

  She tensed in his arms, lips pressed tight.

  “I beg you, grant me clarity, for my head is spinning.”

  “You know who I am.” An edge crept into her tone. “Don’t even try what you’re considering.” She squirmed, but his grip around her hand was iron tight and her strength no match for his. Her skill, however, was. He’d need to take every precaution once he released her.

  He inhaled the fragrance of her locks once more, glad for the impotence of his centaur form. As a human, his cock would be rock hard and demanding against her. Pressing his lips to her ear, he feathered them across her honey-scented skin. “You’re my mate.”

  She shivered and muttered something about cloven-footed brutes.

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest. Deny what she may, she couldn’t escape her responses to his touch. Aye, he could win her through pleasure, but he had no power to wield that one weapon.

  “Are you Delia, daughter of Lord Phorbas? Or are you an Amazon warrior, subject to Queen Hippolyta?”

  She stiffened once more at his questioning. “I am both.”

  Both? His throat dried. “What about the other one, who posed as you?”

  “Astris.” Delia shrugged. “She was my subordinate, acting on my behalf.”

  “So, it is true. The Amazon Queen schemed against my father, and we are but her pawns?”

  “Well, you are.” She jutted her chin. “I have faithfully served my Queen and would have continued to do so, until you stepped where you shouldn’t have and ruined everything.”

  Fury bled through his veins. Snarling, he thrust the female from his grasp, casting her aside.

  Treacherous harpy.

  He wanted nothing more to do with her.

  ***

  Delia wheezed as crisp a
ir filled her lungs and blood flowed freely through her veins. She stumbled to the ground but caught her footing and spun to the centaur. Instead of facing off against her, he’d marched to the border of the copse and treaded through the thick, spindly bushes.

  She frowned at the blade in her hand. It would be so simple to aim and loose it, straight into his back.

  Why had he made himself an easy target?

  He believes I won’t kill him.

  Tightness seized her throat. Oh, gods. Was he right? Had she grown soft and compliant after one taste of being in his arms? She’d never gotten so close to him before, had never experienced such a rush of pleasure. Those rumors about bonded mates, well, she’d taken them for gossip.

  They were true.

  Hector was her mate.

  Kill him. End this. Don’t be weak.

  Her warrior instincts compelled her, yet something deep inside stayed her hand. Did Hector truly deserve death for uncovering the Queen’s secrets?

  What else were they to do with him? His father, King Cheiron, must never be made aware of Hippolyta’s betrayal. Instead of a peaceful overthrowing, it would initiate a blood-soaked war. While she might not agree with her sovereign’s methods or plans, she had no choice but to comply.

  Damn. Everything rested on the dagger in her hand.

  A clang of metal rang from the trees to her right. She ducked behind a tree and peered around the trunk. Several soldiers shouted as they approached the meadow. Hector performed the morphos into a human male and jerked behind a tree.

  Too late.

  They’d spotted him, pointing and heading in his direction.

  The half dozen soldiers fanned out, bracing spears and swords.

  Hippolyta had chosen this location well. Rocky cliffs and dense forest surrounded them. There was no escape from this meadow. Though centaurs were swift beasts, Hector would never outrun these soldiers. Doubtful he could kill them, either, unarmed as he was.

  Not alone, though.

  The soldiers hadn’t noticed her. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade. The most significant decision of her life rested in this next moment. Which side to choose?

  Hector whirled from the tree as the first soldier approached, meeting him head on. Unleashing a torrent of brutal prowess, he snared the spear from the soldier, spun it about, and lanced the male with his own weapon.

  Then he flattened once more behind a tree and sprang out from the other side, trapping a soldier’s neck in his brawny arms and snapping it in one vicious twist.

  Delia gaped while Hector executed another, and another. He didn’t require any weapon other than his brute strength. Perhaps she needn’t participate at all.

  The Queen’s plan wasn’t as absolute as she’d intended.

  Delia peeked around the tree. Had he been toying with her earlier? The centaur displayed masterful expertise as a warrior. In any other situation, Hector’s display of raw skill would have brought out sensual yearnings in her. He truly was beautiful to behold. A light sheen of perspiration painted his bronzed flesh. His open leather tunic exhibited a perfectly sculpted abdomen and his leather breeches hugged thick, powerful thighs.

  She tore her admiration off him and counted the fallen soldiers. He’d killed all but one of his opponents. Where was the last one?

  “Don’t move,” a sneer hissed behind her and a sharp prick poked into her back. A spear. “Drop your blade.”

  Oh, hell. How could she have been so distracted? Delia froze, releasing her dagger as ordered.

  “Ho, what’s a sweet little strumpet doing here in these woods? All. By. Herself.” Snickering, he pressed against her, his hand fumbling along the front of his breeches.

  Never. Bile rose in her throat and her nails dug into her palms. The uncoordinated bastard couldn’t hold his spear and undress at the same time.

  She eyed her dagger, stuck into the ground. Dropping to her knees, she seized the handle and aimed it toward her attacker’s pudgy middle.

  A menacing growl echoed through the forest. She twisted around and glanced upward. Blood bubbled from the soldier’s mouth and the pierced tip of a spear stuck out from his throat.

  She shuffled backward and glared at Hector, who fixated on the dead male with blazing rage. “You stole my kill, centaur.”

  He veered his attention to her, his nostrils flared and chest heaving. “He was about to—”

  “Die.” She pointed her blade toward him. “I had no need for your interference.”

  He scowled at the fiend and shoved aside his body, then shifted that intense scrutiny onto her once more.

  She swallowed thickly. Hector had saved her, but only because he sought her for himself.

  Amazons belonged to no male.

  Yet try telling that to an enraged, bonded centaur.

  Movement stole from the corner of her eye. The glint of metal flashed in the trees behind Hector. Delia raised her arm and flung her dagger toward the soldier.

  Hector charged her, knocking her backward to the ground. “Still you would kill me? I tried to save you,” he snarled, trapping her wrists.

  She wheezed beneath his enormous weight and ground, “Look behind you.”

  Hector constricted his hold on Delia. Mistrust and disbelief spiraled through him. Though she might not have requested his aid, he had rescued her from that mongrel. Yet, she’d taken the first chance to aim her blade at him?

  And miss, his better reason whispered.

  Slowly, he inched his head to the right and craned his neck to peer over the boulder-strewn forest floor. A soldier sprawled behind him. Delia’s dagger stuck into his chest, a spear lay in his limp hand.

  “Where in bloody Hades did he come from?”

  “No idea, but I definitely sent him back,” she grated.

  She saved me.

  His heart whipped upside down. What was this female doing to him? Pleading for his life, attempting to kill him, only to rescue him again?

  Bloody confusing wench.

  He brought his face to hers again and inhaled sharply at her exquisite features. Arousal consumed his body as he grew aware of her slender form beneath his, all sumptuous curves and intoxicating softness.

  Mine, his horse demanded.

  Her plump lips parted and her defiant glower met his, as though she dared him to take what he so badly desired.

  Want. Can’t.

  Bitterness churned in his gut. That damned curse.

  A whimper escaped her parted lips. Oh, hell. His length thickened, straining against her belly while his legs spread on either side of her hips.

  No male was ever made to face such torment and survive.

  If only the risk was to himself. He would gladly take it.

  For just one taste.

  One tiny lick of those soft lips.

  One small thrust between her toned thighs.

  Hector groaned, fighting for the wisdom of reason a future King ought to possess.

  In this moment, he was nothing more than a beast, desperate for his mate.

  “Sweet gods, Delia, I’ve no strength to resist you.” He lowered his head, defeated.

  “Then don’t,” she murmured and thrust her mouth upward, lashing her lips to his.

  Sweet. Sultry. Silken.

  Disastrous. He wrenched his mouth off hers, pushing her harder into the ground, away from him. “Nay, don’t. You don’t know the risk.” Panic rushed through his chest and he scanned her face, desperate for any sign his kiss had poisoned her.

  No flush bloomed in her cheeks other than the one he’d caused.

  A curve lifted the corner of her mouth. “Release me.”

  He nodded, backing away, and she scrambled out from under him.

  Chest heaving, he stared at the ground, clenching and unclenching his fists. Fighting to return his body to any state but this massive upheaval of arousal.

  “Oh, centaur,” Delia’s lilting voice purred, “we’re not finished yet.”

  ***

 
; No male refused an Amazon. Certainly not one who belonged to her. “You’re my mate.” Ire spiked in Delia’s blood, mingling with the rampage of bloodlust and resentment from these past few hours.

  Everything had gone wrong, and the least this centaur could do was release some of her tension.

  Damn him. Damn everything about him. She’d never lain with a male, instead dedicating herself to this mission.

  Now, Hector brought about an aching burn of passion inside her and declined to quench it? She marched to him and grabbed his tunic. Fisting the fabric in one hand, she claimed his mouth and closed her other palm around his erect length, rubbing through his breeches.

  He shifted away from her, but she pressed forward, biting his bottom lip and drawing blood. She tightened her hold on his shaft and licked the blood from his mouth, causing his muscles to jerk and twitch. “Refuse me, centaur, and you’ll never receive such an offer again.”

  What in Hades held him back? Centaurs were among the most virile of descendant species. She was his mate. No argument could withstand those facts.

  “Argh, I cannot, lass.” He gripped her upper arms. “I’m cursed.”

  Cursed? She struggled to catch the movements of his lips against the thundering of her blood in her ears.

  “A nymph did not take well to my refusal, and in spite, cursed me to poison any female I touched.” He released her and twisted away, raking a hand through his inky locks and casting his perusal aside.

  “A nymph?” She arched a brow, his tale churning through her mind. Aha, so this was how they’d tempered the lusty centaur. She’d never believed Astris’s spurning would be enough. “Did the nymph go by the name of Antiope, perchance?”

  “Aye,” he whipped around and answered her, caution in his tone.

  She snorted. Clever. “There is no curse, Hector.” She faced skyward and rolled her eyes.

  “No. Curse.” He rolled the words off his tongue. “How can you be certain?”