Masterful Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 5)

by Rachael Slate

  “So, Delia…” Kyme drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. “You explained who you truly are, but we’re curious about a few things.”

  She arched a brow. “Such as?”

  “For example,” Petraeus leaned forward, “on the day the Lapiths attacked Great Meteoron, you seemed truly aggrieved. Was that you, or…the other one?”

  “Astris.” She linked her fingers on the tabletop in front of her. “Yes, that was me.”

  “All right.” Thereus cracked his knuckles, his emerald stare cutting to Delia. “I have to know. Was that you, that day in the atrium?”

  Delia jolted, then frowned. “What day in the atrium?”

  “When I was dashing around with my son Lucian, ah, nude.”

  Her eyes went wide and heat flamed up her cheeks. “Most certainly not.” Just what had Astris done to provoke this questioning?

  “How about your wedding day, and night?” Kyme grinned wickedly.

  “Right.” Hector cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss the task at hand, shall we?” Delia pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh at the slight flush to his cheeks, and his rapid switch of conversation. “We’ll assemble a group to reclaim the nymph powers. They cannot remain in Lapith possession.”

  “Aye. Kyme and I will retrieve them.” Arsenius inclined his head, and the others nodded in agreement.

  One by one, they rose and withdrew from the tent, Delia last. Outside, Hector pulled Petraeus aside. “Be well, lad, and take care.” He embraced him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his youngest brother’s head before ruffling Petraeus’s locks and releasing him.

  Petraeus chuckled and shook his head. “You as well. Be careful with that one.” Delia froze, pretending to be absorbed in the stitching of the tent’s flap. “I swear, I’ve never seen you so content.”

  His observation rushed through her. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear to busy her trembling hand. Did she make Hector happy?

  “That’s because I never have been.” Hector chuckled and waved farewell to his brother. Then he directed his intense, stormy scrutiny onto her, and a shiver of anticipation rushed through her being. “Well, Kalyca, don’t pretend you didn’t hear a thing.” He stalked forward, the timbre of his voice low and deep.

  “Hmm?” She faced him, struggling not to laugh.

  “You do.” He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, feathering them across her skin.

  “I do what?” Her question came airy, her pulse thrumming rapidly.

  He tugged her forward and spread his large hand across her neck, grasping the back of her head. “Make me content.” Swooping forward, he claimed her mouth, groaning into their kiss. Too quickly, he pulled away. “The situation here is settled for the moment. Come with me.”

  “Where?” she inquired, but he tugged her hand, stepping eagerly through the wood, outside the camp, and then snaring her waist, he tossed her onto his back. “Home.”

  Laughing, she spread her hands across his torso and linked her fingers, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Gladly.”

  The darkness of night encompassed them as they approached their lands, but a glimmer of the setting sun peeked over the ridge.

  Eastern Ridge.

  Their home.

  Well, it had never been her true home. She’d only stepped foot inside the castle a handful of times. Astris was more familiar with this place than she.

  Her cheek nestled against Hector’s shoulder. She leaned into him, seizing hold of his strength and calm nature. He wasn’t nearly as serious as she’d always deemed him. True, he bore the weight of his birthright and his father’s legacy, but Hector without the crown was far more appealing than she’d ever dreamed. These small glimpses of him made her yearn to uncover more. Delve deeper, peel aside the layers. Peer into the true male beneath.

  “Did you always wish to be King?”

  Hector stilled, halting his steps. “Nay, not at all.”

  “What do you mean?” She shifted forward over his shoulders and drew her brows together. He’d always seemed to embrace his role.

  “My father asked each of my brothers in turn if they would wish for the crown.” He snorted. “I was the only one who declined.”

  This she hadn’t expected, not from his brothers or him.

  Sighing, he continued, “Thereus and Petraeus had agreed I’m certain, as being King sounds highly entertaining. Agrius, because he would willingly accept any charge from our sire. And Oreius, being a father, would wish for the best for his sons. I refused, because I feared I would not be worthy. I still don’t believe I am.” His chest rose and fell heavily. “That is precisely why Cheiron bestowed his legacy upon me, declaring, ‘A ruler does not choose to lead, ’tis chosen for him.’ ”

  She shuddered, envisioning those words passing from Cheiron’s lips. That would be something the King would say, with his enigmatic benevolence. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine any of his brothers being King. The crown simply suited Hector so much more. He had a noble soul. “Well,” she eased down in her seat, “I, for one, am glad you shall be King.”

  “Aye?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “Indeed.” She curved her lips mischievously. “For when you become King, I shall also be Queen.”

  “Ha!” he barked a laugh, rich and melodious. Its echo tingled down to her toes and up again, spiraling through her core. Beneath her fingertips, Hector’s solid muscles twitched as though sparked by her touch.

  For the first time in their acquaintance, they weren’t wearing any masks. She was Delia, and he was Hector. No crowns, no ties. No Kings or Queens to please. The freedom was both daunting and stimulating.

  She’d never felt so alive.

  And she was fairly certain, neither had he.

  ***

  Hector galloped through the forest, darting between the trees, and emerging into the meadow at the foothold of the Meteora.

  His castle of Eastern Ridge, although his home, was a place he spent little time. Mostly, he resided with his father at Great Meteoron. Being near Delia had only dug deeper into his wounds, so he’d avoided her as much as she had him.

  This night, Eastern Ridge would welcome her Master and Mistress once more, and he would show his wife a proper celebration of their union.

  In every way a centaur knew how.

  Once through the Portal, Hector treaded inside his castle. Sneaking past his staff, he stole through a secret passageway that opened into his bedchamber.

  He swallowed thickly as he guided her inside. The last time they’d been in this room together was a decade ago, on their wedding night. When, as an anxious—and cursed—bridegroom, he’d made excuses not to mate with his wife.

  He wouldn’t have deemed it possible, but he was far more nervous tonight. Hands linked, they stepped past the imposing bed, framed by swarthy, filmy draperies and rich silks that beckoned and enticed.

  Instead, he waved her to the washbasin behind a partition, offering her privacy while he lit the logs, stirring them and coaxing the flames.

  He performed the morphos into human form, dressed simply in a blue tunic and leather breeches. Shoulders bowed over the mantle, he prodded the fire with a poker. His desire for her petrified him, immobilizing his muscles. He craved her so badly, and at the same time, understood fully how little claim he had to her.

  He might never convince her of his sincerity, of his worthiness.

  Living for a decade with an indifferent mate had seemed so much easier. He’d known his enemy and faced it each day, the outcome always the same. In truth, there hadn’t been any risk.

  Tonight, those battles were over. The war would end, but would his heart be the victor?

  He flexed his fingers and studied the flickering reddish-gold flames.

  Soft footsteps padded to him and slender, delicate hands skimmed across his back, up to span each shoulder. “Hector,” Delia murmured.

  Half of him didn’t dare to turn around.

  Her hands g
lided down and around to his front, nimble fingers slipping the buttons free of his shirt. “Mmm,” she moaned, a sultry sound he couldn’t wait to hear again.

  Too long had others dictated their relationship for them. In this moment, he would let her choose their next course.

  Hector held still while she slid his shirt from his shoulders, peeling it off his arms, the fabric rippling to the floor. He fisted his hands at his sides, praying for control, and forced his shaft to remain unaroused. For now.

  She inhaled sharply before dancing her fingers across his waist, inching down his breeches until he stepped out of them and stood nude.

  Humming deep in her throat, she treaded close enough to press her full breasts against his back, her hands roaming across his torso. “Am I like the crown to you?” she whispered, a tremor in her voice. “Bestowed upon you, so you’ll accept me as your duty, but never your choice?”

  He tossed his head, anguished that she could ever contemplate such a false notion. His revelation about the throne hadn’t been meant to make her doubt anything. “The truth is, I’ve never let myself yearn for anyone or anything. But with you, Delia, I can’t fight any longer.” He twisted to cup her cheek. “I want you.” Stepping to face her fully, he seized her hand and pressed her palm to his heart. “I have given up every notion of contentment for myself, to serve my people. Yet you have taken my deadened hearts and made them beat again. Made them beat, only for you.” He squeezed his hand atop hers. “I lo—”

  She lifted onto her toes and pressed her mouth against his, stealing his words.

  He groaned at her sweet taste and didn’t care. If his Amazon didn’t wish for his devotion in words, he would offer it in actions. She wrapped her arms around his head and her silken tongue teased into his mouth, exploring and claiming everything she touched. He circled one hand around her and teased down her gown until she rested nude before him. His cock thickened and hardened between them, the state of his interest no longer questionable. Hands on her hips, he pulled back from her soft lips to gaze upon her beauty, satisfaction thrumming through him.

  Her golden hair twisted free and unruly past her shoulders, and keen intelligence sparked in her hazel eyes. She was tall and slim, her figure athletic, yet feminine. The rosy pebbled tips of her rounded breasts would be a delightful bite. The treasure between her thighs, even more. His admiration dropped to that apex, his mouth watering.

  Before, in his arms, she’d been bold. Tonight, she nibbled her bottom lip, timidity in her stance. She was untried, a virgin, inexperienced and innocent.

  Perhaps if he shared his trepidations, she might relax.

  He knelt on one knee before her, keeping his hands on her hips while he tilted his face up to hers. “Before we met, I did not often seek companionship. I buried myself in my duties, never unleashing my horse enough to lose control. Imbibing, flirting, merry-making, these were activities my brothers understood better than I.”

  Her fingers combed through his locks in encouragement.

  “I believe, I may have been relieved at being cursed by that nymph, even if ’twas false. It meant I never had to seek out comfort with another, never had to open myself to the possibility of loss.”

  “Like your father and mother?”

  He nodded, his throat tight. “After her death, I closed myself to any possibilities. I realize now, I only lost even more. An entire decade, Delia, we have sacrificed.” He shook his head. “I can’t help but wonder, if we had been honest with each other, how much we might not have missed. Which is why, you must know everything that happens tonight,” playfully, he lightened his tone, “is precisely what I wish for, and have been waiting a decade for.”

  Winking, he swept forward, nuzzling his face between her legs and brushing his tongue across her bud in light, sensual strokes.

  She dug her fingers harder into his hair. As her whimpers grew more airy and desperate, he withdrew, leaving her panting.

  “Hector,” she warned, but there was too much need in her voice to be stern.

  “Patience, Kalyca, you’ll get what you seek.” He twisted her around and slapped her bottom, inciting her to yelp. But she wiggled her hips, urging him to do so again.

  In time.

  Stretching his legs along the floor beside her, he gripped his length and pumped his hand.

  “What are you do—” She arched her spine and peered over her shoulder at him, her eyes growing wide and the words dying on her lips.

  He smiled up at her, his cock growing harder and thicker and more rigid with each stroke. “When I come inside you, love, you’re not going to be able to breathe.” She gulped as though her throat tightened, and her lips parted, her round, curious admiration fixed on his arousal.

  His erection couldn’t possibly grow any more, so he hopped to his feet. The swelling in his sex pulsed with an unbearable ache to be inside her. A feverish flush seared his body and his bonding mark flamed.

  He pulled her to face him and, guiding himself, slid right between her thighs. His tip pressed in, the tightness resisting with delicious friction as he gently inched deeper.

  A sultry mewl passed her lips, and she draped her arms around his neck while he bent and thrust to the hilt, pausing to let her adjust. After a moment, she swerved her hips, seeking the rhythm of lovemaking.

  He growled, fierce and low, his body vibrating with the demand to claim her. All of her.

  To make her his and never, ever, let her go.

  His grasp on his control teetered on the edge, toying with him, threatening to float away. He’d never released it before, and the notion of doing so ought not to tempt him as it did.

  Here he stood, in the middle of his chamber, pumping into his mate as though the bed four feet away was too far. He seized her lips, delving his tongue inside her mouth, and splayed both his hands across her plump bottom, driving harder into her. Her velvety tightness welcomed him, wet and enveloping, her thighs parted just enough to allow him access, the tips of her toes grazing the floor.

  She was his. His bride, his mate. No other male had claimed her. No other male ever would.

  The scent of her honey intoxicated him, flushing his veins with a heady buzzing.

  “Mine,” he grunted as he pounded faster, unable to sate his hunger. His ballocks grew heavy, full, demanding release. Nay, he wouldn’t. He’d not give in to his baser urges. Not yet.

  He tore his lips off hers and pulled out halfway, now slowing his strokes and only giving her half of him. Shallow, languid undulations, and he sensed her growing slicker, her sex clamping onto him.

  “Hector,” she panted against his neck, begging. “I want all of you.”

  He quirked his lips. “I know.” Hoisting her thighs, he drew out to the tip, and slammed inside her, roaring at the completion. Her slim, lithe body easily bounced up and down along his length, and he teased her, filling her and withdrawing, until her legs began to quiver.

  Hector stepped backward to the armchair and sank down onto it, keeping her facing him, with her legs spread, feet on either side of his waist, and the connection between them in full view. He widened his legs and reclined. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his legs. He grabbed her thighs, gliding in and out of her.

  “Watch me come inside you, lass, watch me stretch you to utter bliss. I want you to watch,” he purred his demands, and she licked her lips, obeying. Her shining eyes were dilated, full of erotic desires.

  Each one, he’d soon fulfill.

  He pulled out, his eager erection towering up between her thighs, waiting to impale her again.

  “Ready?”

  “Always,” she breathed, arching her hips.

  He gripped the base and directed his shaft inside her, drawing a low, vibrating moan from her lips. Fingers dipping between them, he caressed her bud, thrusting in time.

  “Hector.” She bit her lip, her sheath pulsing. As she clamped down around him, he gritted his teeth, unwilling to give in just yet. Her muscles tightened and squeezed as she
demanded his release.

  No. Sweat beaded his forehead and he clenched his jaw. He would take her, on his terms. After he’d ensured he’d proven himself worthy in every way.

  Damn this bonding.

  He fisted his hands. The burning fire in his veins worsened, flaming brighter. His mind fuzzed and his vision blurred. He clamped his eyes shut, tossing his head. Somewhere in the distance, Delia’s voice droned his name, but the echo faded.

  The world swirled around him, distant and out of reach.

  And then, everything went black.

  “Hector?” A frigid shiver burst across her skin. Delia hopped off his lap and rubbed her arms. Hector thrashed in the chair, his eyes closed and his fists clenched. The thick vein in his neck throbbed, and his arousal subsided.

  What in Hades was happening? Their lovemaking had been delicious and blissful, until something had shifted inside him.

  He opened his eyes, revealing inky, pooling depths, and she seized a step back.

  That wasn’t her husband, her mate.

  That wasn’t Hector.

  Something else occupied those blackened depths.

  He snarled at her, launched to his feet, and sprinted to the balcony, vaulting over the side.

  She treaded after him, cautiously peering over the railing. Off in the distance, a dark figure tore across the meadow, disappearing into the woods.

  Sweet Artemis. She hugged her arms across her middle. Ought she to chase after him? To what end? A madness had claimed him, one she didn’t recognize.

  But knew its name nonetheless.

  Lyssa.

  She shuddered and stepped to her clothes, tugging them on. Perhaps she wasn’t his true mate. Or mayhap they hadn’t performed the ceremony correctly.

  The curse that had seized Hector was one she discerned little of, although she knew who did.

  Delia marched to the Portal and traversed straight to Great Meteoron. She stormed past the guards, who bowed at her presence, and crossed the corridors into the dining hall. A dozen centaurs and their families reclined around several long, wooden tables laden with full platters of meat and vegetables.