Masterful Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 5)

by Rachael Slate

  She hummed, tightening her grip on his shaft, and stuffed him into her mouth. Searing ecstasy shot down to her toes, curling them.

  His taste overwhelmed her. Dark. Spicy. Leathery. Rich. And wickedly forbidden.

  She trailed her tongue along the veined ridge, all the way to the slit at the tip, flicking hard twice across it.

  He hissed and clutched her hair, shoving deep. Somehow, in all of this, she was supposed to be holding the upper hand. Though every second that passed left her dominance slipping even further from between her fingers.

  Pressed like this into his sex, she was completely at his mercy, and his control. He made love to her mouth, stroking and thrusting according to his whims. She sucked on him, struggling to keep pace with his seasoned movements, and fighting the growing heat between her legs. If he tasted this good between her lips, what would he feel like between her thighs?

  “Argh, uhn,” he grunted in low, male rumbles. His width throbbed inside her mouth, twitching and spurting his hot essence down her throat. “That’s it, love. Take everything.” He tipped her chin and urged her to drink while he filled her mouth with his seed.

  Her eyes shuttered as she swallowed, and she whimpered at how delicious he tasted.

  Panting, he eased out of her mouth. His hand around his length, he tapped the tip along her lips, squeezing out every last drop and ensuring she swallowed them too.

  His arousal posed before her, wet and partly hard.

  “Well, Delia, are you still hungry?”

  ***

  Hector clenched one fist at his side, struggling to control his horse and calm his being. Every instinct in him surged, one step away from flipping her over, lifting her skirt, and driving into her.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” she gasped and slid one hand between her thighs, arching forward.

  Right. Delia screamed in blissful rapture, her body writhing and shuddering. As his mate, she would experience an intense climax each time he spilled his seed on—or in—her. He grinned wide at the scene before him. Delia’s cries died on her lips and she hunched forward, limp.

  I did that. A decade, he’d not permitted himself to experience the rapture of being bonded. No longer. She’s mine. Every ounce of his being triumphed in the declaration.

  “Well, what say you, wife?” He couldn’t help goading her, just a little more. She was dazzlingly fierce and independent.

  And mine.

  Slowly, she exhaled, shaking her head. “I say, we’re uneven.”

  Saucy wench. He swooped forward with the intent of hauling her over his shoulder, but a knock rapped at the door.

  Who the bloody hell was interrupting them?

  He whipped his head toward the sound of the knock. The intruder rapped again. If it was a Lapith soldier, they wouldn’t be knocking.

  “Wait here.” Furrowing his brows, he tugged up his breeches. He marched to the door and flung it open.

  A spritely, white-haired female and a ruddy-furred satyr stood outside. He blinked once, twice, but nay, they were real enough. And odd enough.

  The bizarre pair flashed him beaming smiles and strolled on inside, right past him without his permission. Not that he seemed to possess the ability to forbid them.

  “Well, this is good news. A wonderful development,” the female announced, scanning the chamber. Something about her was oddly familiar, but damned if he could place his finger on it. The satyr, too, seemed like someone he ought to know, yet couldn’t identify.

  “Who are you?” There, he seemed to have regained some power of speech.

  As the satyr produced a scroll from his vest pocket and laid it across the table with a flourish, she waved off Hector’s question. “Hippolyta might have banished you, Delia, but if you travel to the location on this map, the Amazon Kyme will accept you into her fold.” She smiled once at her, then at him. “That is all.”

  She spun on her heel and snapped her fingers, the satyr trailing after her like a devoted hound.

  The door slammed closed behind them. He blinked, his jaw gaping. By Zeus, what ought he to make of that? He steered his shock toward Delia. “Do you know who they are?”

  “I was hoping you did.” She pursed her lips. “I couldn’t even draw my blade.”

  “Aye, must have been some form of enchantment.” He scratched his jaw. They both veered toward the table.

  “What do you think that scroll holds?” He stared down at it. One eerily glowing dot burned brightly, indicating the location the woman had spoken of. “Kyme is the friend of my brother, Thereus. I believe we can trust her.”

  “I was supposed to meet with her, before everything else happened. She’s arranging the rescue of the nymphs.” Delia puffed, studying the map. “I know this place. It isn’t far.” She met his gaze and laughed wryly. “What do you say? Should we follow the trail, straight to our doom?”

  The next morning, they set off for the location indicated by the glowing dot. After their strange visitors, the passionate flames between them had been snuffed out.

  The white-haired lady had declared the Amazon Kyme would welcome Delia. Perhaps, she wouldn’t have to renounce her people.

  She could be an Amazon once more.

  If only she relinquished her claims to Hector first. Those musings must have crossed his mind as well, for silence stretched between them.

  Although centaurs traveled swiftly, it would be too great a risk to reveal his true self while in enemy territory, so they marched forward together on foot.

  Several hours later, Hector slowed, pressing a finger to his lips for her to silence her footsteps.

  She froze; he performed the morphos into his centaur form and pressed ahead.

  “Halt, centaur.” A spear flew through the air and landed across their path. From the trees, several Amazons stepped forward. “Is he yours?” A dark-haired female looked straight at Delia.

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. He was hers, sort of.

  “Come this way.” The sentinel tilted her head for them to proceed through an overgrown veil of vines.

  Delia wound past the spear, anxiety pinching her chest. She’d been banished. Returning to her people could very well mean her death. Stepping foot inside this camp was cause for execution. What if this was a trap?

  Suddenly, she froze, her iced muscles refusing to move forward.

  “Easy, lass.” Hector slipped his hand through hers, linking their fingers. “Everything will be all right.”

  She frowned at him. “How can you say that? You don’t know it’s the truth.”

  “Aye, actually, I do.” His deep, wise gaze assessed her. “I’ve waited an eternity to be joined with my mate and now here you are. I have faith that all will come to pass as it was meant to.”

  His reassurances only tightened her chest further. He was wrong. She was on the verge of leaving him. Forever.

  Nothing in his world would ever be right again.

  “Hector.” She shook her head at him. “I don’t—”

  “There you are!” A feminine voice shouted from across the meadow. Dressed in a belted ivory chiton, a chestnut-haired female with midnight blue eyes strode toward them. Beside her, a massive, fierce male watched them. A glower cut across his feral charcoal stare, which he cast at them as though ready to tear them to pieces should they prove anything but trustworthy.

  Delia stamped down her anxiety and raised her chin in defiance. Amazons didn’t cower.

  “Kyme!” Hector waved to her, then inclined his head at the male. “Arsenius.”

  The Amazon beamed a grin at them, but Arsenius only grunted something that resembled a greeting.

  “Took you long enough.” Kyme stepped right up to Hector, punching his arm. He laughed and pretended to swerve backward, before lunging forward and barreling into her. She treaded lightly around his side, spinning.

  Delia switched her focus to the male. “Are they always like this?” Just how much had she missed out on while Astris played her double?

  �
�Unfortunately, yes.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, regarding them as though unwilling to relinquish the chance to pulverize Hector should he step out of line. “She likes centaurs.” He spoke dryly, but one corner of his mouth quirked.

  “I’m Delia,” she offered.

  “I know.” He angled his head at their sparring mates. “We have work to do.”

  ***

  Hector sank onto the log stretched beside the blazing fire. He and Delia, along with several dozen warriors grouped around them, partook of the evening meal. In two days’ time, they would sneak into King Philaeus’s castle and rescue the imprisoned nymphs therein.

  According to Kyme, there were hundreds. Nearly a thousand.

  Philaeus, the half-brother of Melita, Thereus’s mate, had made clear his distaste for nymphs, and once he’d assumed the throne, had begun imprisoning them. Melita had been half-nymph, until she transformed into a tree and retreated to the sacred realm of her people.

  “How exactly do you plan to storm a castle and not suffer the wrath of its owner?” Hector chewed on a leg of roast hare, contemplating the Amazons’ strategies. If any breed of descendant species could succeed in the task, it was the Amazons. Fierce and capable, they accepted no defeat.

  “We aren’t.” Kyme shrugged, smiling slyly. “You are.”

  He choked on the meat, coughing into his fist. “Pray pardon, what?”

  “You, Hector, the heir to the centaur throne, are going to distract Philaeus while we rescue the nymphs.”

  “A bloody suicidal plot and I’ll—” He tossed his head. “Who came up with such a preposterous ploy?”

  “I did,” Delia chirped.

  “You?” He couldn’t even begin to digest the treachery. “Perhaps you wish me dead, after all.”

  Kyme and Arsenius both raised eyebrows in unison, but he ignored their curious glances.

  “Kyme needs our help. Hundreds of nymphs are being held prisoner, Hector.” His mate clucked, scolding him. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a coward.” Swaying her hips, she strolled away.

  He slammed down his plate and stormed after her. Reaching her side, he seized her arm and spun her around. “Since when does our agreement include trussing me up before the slaughter?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as bad as that. Philaeus won’t even lay a hand against you, or suspect a thing.”

  He scowled, sensing a sinister twist, and released her arm. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re going to propose a truce between him,” she smirked, “and yourself.”

  The air stilled in his lungs. What she hinted at, to even utter such a notion, would be treason. “Nay, I cannot—”

  “Fine, then. Go and run along, back to your pretty castle and your petty duties.” She crossed her arms, eyes flashing in anger. “Or you could stay and be part of something great. A legendary rescue for which the bards will sing your praises, a start to your legacy as King.”

  A tight web of uncertainty swelled inside his chest. Not for the first time, he wished his father by his side, whispering his infinite wisdom into his ear.

  What would Cheiron do? That was the question. It always was. He never did anything of purpose without mustering the legacy handed down to him.

  What Philaeus was doing was wrong. The Amazons were bound and determined to rescue the nymphs, with or without his aid.

  With it, there would be no doubt as to their victory.

  Without it…

  Slowly, he nodded. “Aye, I will agree to this. On one condition.”

  She peered at him. “What would that be?”

  “That you accompany me.” He leaned in and purred, “A future King is nothing without his future Queen.”

  ***

  Delia spent the next two days avoiding the centaur as much as possible. Sleeping in separate tents. Eating at separate meals. Every hour brought her closer to being welcomed back to her people, and torn from him.

  From across the meadow, she teetered on her feet, observing Kyme with far too much interest. The Amazon hadn’t mentioned Delia’s banishment, and she hadn’t been forthcoming with the news, either. The burning desire to query Kyme about their Queen seared the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t bring herself to begin that conversation.

  Kyme was Hippolyta’s favored goddaughter. If Kyme was aware of the Queen’s scheming against the centaurs, Delia would have to question every step of this rescue. Was it all a trap?

  If Kyme wasn’t aware, then revealing the truth might be equally disastrous.

  It was a horrid predicament and one she bore alone. Hector seemed in no hurry to discuss the matter.

  Blasted centaurs.

  The sun was setting over the horizon and their rescue would begin soon. Kyme wasn’t generous with the details, but she claimed she possessed an accurate map of the castle and its dungeon.

  “It’s time,” another warrior called to Delia.

  She inclined her head and strode to her tent, donning a flowing green silk gown. Hector met her at the edge of the encampment, likewise garbed in a formal green waistcoat, the hide of his smoky horse half brushed to a shine. He extended his arm and she accepted.

  “Well, are you ready to commit treason?” He bobbed his brows.

  “Indeed, I am.” She winked at him and tried not to think of what would happen to them should this plan go awry. Plenty of different ways for them to die this night.

  After crossing the border at a secluded location, they followed the stone road toward the Lapith castle. Within a few minutes, a dozen armed guards surrounded them, pointing spears and brandishing swords.

  “Halt!” One guard rode his horse closer to them. “In the name of King Philaeus, state your identity and your purpose.”

  Hector didn’t flinch. “I am Lord Hector, firstborn son of King Cheiron, and I would have a word with your King.”

  The guards’ eyes widened and a murmur of shock passed through them.

  Delia straightened her spine even further, posing beside her husband as the proud, soon-to-be Queen would.

  The head guard squinted at them, then nodded. “Aye. Follow us.”

  One unarmed centaur and one female against a dozen soldiers would seem fair odds, yet they hadn’t witnessed Hector fight. They didn’t know.

  He didn’t require a weapon to kill them.

  She suppressed a delighted shudder in reminiscence of Hector’s prowess and concentrated on their mission.

  The guards corralled them straight onto the castle grounds, across the bridged moat, and into the ebony throne chamber.

  The beady-eyed male with the gilded and jeweled crown atop his head could only be King Philaeus. Upon the throne beside him sat an ashen-haired female, his Queen, Lavra. Who was the striking, flaxen-haired male standing between them?

  She glimpsed the clenching fist at Hector’s side, then the brief glower he cast at the male before stoically masking his emotions.

  Apparently, that man was known to him.

  And not in a friendly manner.

  ***

  A rush of ire flushed through his veins, but Hector brushed it aside. Those three had caused his family a great deal of torment. He would love nothing more than to pulverize them beneath his fists.

  Tonight, he must pretend the opposite.

  “Well,” Philaeus leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Hector. I would not have believed we would meet again, except on a battlefield.”

  It took everything in him to force his features neutral. The last time they’d met—on a battlefield—the puny bastard had attempted to invade his father’s lands. He’d rather regretted not having the opportunity to cut him down.

  Too bad he wouldn’t tonight, either. Yet, once Philaeus realized how they’d thwarted him, that would be a satisfying reward indeed.

  “Why have you come, son of Cheiron?”

  “I’m not simply his son. I’m the heir to the centaur throne.” Hector steeled his shoulders. “Your quarrel is with my father, not with
me. In fact, I believe Lapiths and centaurs might have a great deal to offer one another.”

  There. That was enough. Philaeus was clever and cunning, and would no doubt read through his words to the message therein. His one slowly lifting brow was proof he grasped Hector’s offer.

  Good. He fought against the urge to peer out the window to view the retreating nymphs.

  Keep them distracted. Especially Deimos. That scoundrel was even more sinister than the King. Hector wasn’t at all surprised to find he’d retreated to Philaeus’s castle.

  Philaeus cocked his head. “The centaurs are loyal to Hades and Persephone.”

  Hector shrugged casually. “My father is loyal to them, not the centaurs as a whole.”

  Philaeus whispered to the pair at his side before extending his hand, one enormous golden-flecked jewel gracing the ring on his middle finger. “I will accept your offer, Lord Hector, if you will swear allegiance to Apollo.”

  He glanced at Delia. Her lips were pressed firm, no emotions penetrating her calm features. He’d hoped to keep Philaeus talking before it came to this. The signal hadn’t sounded yet; the Amazons needed more time.

  “I will swear first.” Delia stepped forward, and he quickly shut his mouth before he gaped.

  What in Hades was she doing? He regarded her, poised before Philaeus, and it dawned upon him. She was giving them time. Him, the Amazons, and the nymphs. Without thinking of her future, she’d followed the instincts of her heart, sacrificing herself.

  Precisely what he’d never permitted himself to do.

  “Lady Delia.” The King’s appraising leer crossed her figure.

  “King Philaeus,” she murmured, sinking into a low curtsey.

  Philaeus extended his long, slender fingers, the glint of the jewel flashing its wicked promises.

  Inside, Hector’s horse darted, helpless and unwilling to accept this. His mate could not choose the opposing side of their war. Especially not when that meant they would be wrenched apart.

  “Delia,” he seized one foolish step forward. Her lips inches from the stone, she tensed, but then an owl’s screech pierced the evening air.