This was for the best. He must have been content these past years and he would be happy to resume that life.
She refused to live in fear of him discovering the truth and she couldn’t bear to reveal it to him. Her thoughts constricted her throat with the venom of a thousand bees.
If he learned who she truly was, she’d lose Thereus more completely than she ever had.
Nothing had changed. Time, distance, they didn’t make a difference. He still repulsed her, was a monster to her. To think, he’d actually been about to take her like a common whore.
In his study, Thereus reclined in his armchair, nursing a bottle of brandy. If anything, he observed tonight that Kalliste was his opposite. She was everything he wasn’t.
He snorted, disgusted with himself. It wasn’t her fault that she loathed being near him. A man didn’t leave his wife in charge of his failing estate while he sought pleasure in every form. No wonder she’d found someone else.
Bloody hell. His horse reared in fury at the notion. She’s mine. He detested the notion of another man sampling her lips, lying between her sweet thighs, giving her everything he hadn’t. What was he to do about it?
He hadn’t been counting the days, but Kalliste had. She was right about the five weeks. He grimaced at the flames of the fire. The honorable thing to do would be to bow out and let her have the future she’d chosen. He could renounce his rights as her husband, couldn’t he?
He grunted. How impossible that was. What did he want from her? At first, he’d merely desired her in his bed. Yet he wasn’t certain bedding her would be enough. For the first time in his life, he craved more from a woman. From Kalliste. The longing was so unfamiliar to him, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
He knew the game he played. The dangerous fate he toyed with. His animal half was bonding to her. Any male descendant of the gods, or of their divine creatures, once bonded, was utterly at the mercy of his chosen female.
Damn, he’d seen firsthand, mere weeks ago, how it had torn his friend Arsenius apart. A half-blood son of the war god Ares, Arsenius had fallen hard for Kyme, an Amazon warrior. Thereus’s unique centaur sense of smell allowed him to scent the bond most other species couldn’t. No matter how he’d explained it to Arsenius, the male refused to accept the truth.
Waiting for him in his study, however, was a letter from his captain. Arsenius had finally accepted the bond, had gone after his mate, and the two were reconciled. He wasn’t surprised. A bonded male could only resist for so long.
Stepping outside his study, he paced the halls, rubbing his upper left bicep. The thin band beneath his skin throbbed. He’d managed to thwart the bonding once, and he could do it again. If he retreated, he’d retain his freedom. If he remained, it wouldn’t be long before the bond consumed him.
The bonding didn’t scare him as much now. True, he’d dreaded being tied to one woman. Yet the notion of Kalliste as his mate didn’t seem so objectionable. What terrified him was if he stayed and became bonded, she had the right to refuse him.
Then he would be…ruined.
By all accounts, any centaur in his right mind would flee this instant. Why then, did his hooves lead him up the stairs and not down? Did his guilt eat at him so much he sought to punish himself?
He shook his head, refusing to think any more. At the top, he veered left and strode to the end of the corridor. At Kalliste’s door, he hesitated, before he gathered the courage to knock. Not his wife, but rather a maid answered. The servant’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped and regarded the door like a traitor. He frowned at her. What was she hiding?
“M-milord,” she stuttered. “What may I do for ye?” Recovering, she curtseyed, hands trembling.
“I’d like to see my wife,” he ground out. “Where is she?”
The maid squeaked. “Oh, milord, I’m afraid, she’s not here.” She wrung her hands.
“Pray tell, where is she?” His suspicions aroused, the animal in him reared. What was Kalliste up to?
“P-please, m-milord.”
Ignoring the maid’s pleas, he strode into the room. The bed was indeed empty, so he directed his attention toward a small door beside it. As he twisted the knob, the maid’s protestations increased.
“Please, no, milord, don’t go in there.” She bolted to block the door with her body. “Milady will throw a fit if you find her with Master Lucian—”
He snarled at her so fiercely she tossed her hands up in protection and scooted across the room, squeaking like a mouse that had almost gotten its tail bitten off. He didn’t care. His wife was inside, fornicating with her lover, and nothing would stop him from storming inside.
He slammed open the door, nostrils flared and hands clenched into fists, ready to tear apart his prey. No moans of ecstasy filled the air. No bare flesh assaulted him, no images of lovers rutting.
Instead, his wife was asleep, her arms curled around a small centaur child. She rested under the blankets, but he slept above them. Centaurs, even as babes, rarely had the need for extra warmth.
Thereus’s hooves shifted impatiently, his body tense as he readied for a fight. His mind faltered in its attempt to process the scene before him. Was this Master Lucian? A child? Awareness struck him. He swallowed hard. Her child. Aye, this must be Kalliste’s son asleep in her arms.
He unclenched his jaw and approached the bed, unable to determine what to think, how to feel. Slowly, he extended a hand toward his wife’s hair.
“I beg you, milord, do not wake them.” The maid inched into the room. Her pleading voice broke through the enormous silence.
Hanging his head, he withdrew his hand and asked, for he had to know. “Who is he?” The maid didn’t answer. He glared at her, daring her to disobey him.
She teetered on her feet. “His name is Master Lucian. He’s your son, milord.” The shock must have shown on his face, for she added, “Please, milord, don’t tell anyone. We had orders from your father. You weren’t to be told until morning. They’ll discharge me for sure if they learn I—”
He held up a hand to silence her rambling.
A son. He was a father. A father. My son. I have a son. I’m a father. No matter how many times he repeated the revelation, the shock wouldn’t dissipate. His attention darted to the bed. Perhaps the maid was mistaken. The boy was large for his age, but he could be about four.
On his hind left hoof, which twitched with his dreams, there it was. An owl. The birthmark every son of Cheiron had. Unless his wife had an affair with one of his brothers, the child was his. Regarding him, Thereus studied the lad’s sleek black coat, so like his own.
“A son. My son. I’m a father,” he muttered. His heart pounded in his chest as his mind absorbed the shock. He wished it wasn’t true. Not because he didn’t want children. Rather because, how did he not sense it? What kind of lowly bastard abandoned his family? How could I have deserted them? No wonder Kalliste hated him. He despised himself for being so incredibly selfish.
She’d given him an heir. This was why she hadn’t gone back to her homeland. Everything made sense. He studied his wife and viewed the sacrifices she’d made, desiring her more than ever. He had a family. No way in Hades would he renounce them.
I must find a way to make her mine. He hadn’t merely spent the last years perfecting his seduction of women. He’d also become a damn fine pyrate, perfecting every underhanded trick, every method of persuasion. He was a master of negotiation and he’d use all of his skills to win Kalliste.
The maid whimpered in the corner, and he recalled the concerns she’d voiced. “It’s best no one know I was here tonight. It shall be our little secret, hmm?” Winking, he strode past her, toward the doorway.
Relief shone in her eyes as she murmured a thank you. He marched from his wife’s chambers, feeling lighter than he had in years. Pride puffed his chest and a grin etched itself upon his face. I have a son. I’m a father. He fought the urge to rush back and embrace them both. His son didn’t know him. It would take time
before his wife would accept his affections, but she would. Aye, he was bent upon claiming her. My family.
For Thereus was now on a mission.
And he never failed.
***
Melita awoke late the next morning. She was usually awake at dawn, but Lucian had been ill again last night. Though Thereus’s health was robust, Kalliste had suffered from a weaker constitution. It was why she’d passed following Lucian’s birth.
Melita had survived giving birth to a centaur babe. Her daughter with Thereus had died at birth, two days before Lucian was born. Lucian had filled her empty arms, and her empty heart.
As an Earth daughter, Melita’s nymph side was stronger than her Lapith heritage. The goddess of the harvest, Demeter, bestowed a tremendous gift upon her. As a child, she’d been delighted to discover her ability to manipulate plants, especially flowers. However, she’d hidden her talent from her family. Only when she’d matured had she exercised the true extent of her powers.
With a whispered prayer to Demeter, she could cause any plant to grow a hundred times faster than normal. Or she could crush it into a pile of dust. When Lucian had been born, and Alkippe convinced her to take him to her breast, she’d sensed the child was sick.
Lucian’s body was at war with itself. His centaur form grew quickly, but his human side was forever trying to catch up. Other centaur children went through this same trial, to varying degrees. This was one of the many problems plaguing the diminishing centaur race.
One evening, when Lucian was three weeks old, he’d been so ill, she was convinced her son was dying. On a desperate whim, she’d prayed to Demeter. She hadn’t intended it, but her hands glowed, a soft verdant luminescence emanating from them as it did whenever she used her gift. The goddess answered her prayer. Her power for growing things was the solution to her son’s illness.
It took some practice, but before long she’d figured out how to smooth the transitions. Whenever her son went through a sudden increase in growth, she’d use her gift to heal him. As he grew older, his illness improved, though he required her skills on occasion. Like last night.
Truthfully, she’d been glad for the soothing contact. Thereus’s arrival completely unnerved her. She desperately hoped he’d be gone this morning. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to Lucian and whether it would interfere with her plans. Still, a part of her, which she berated, rejoiced because Lucian would at last meet his father. So many nights she’d fantasized about the day the man she loved and their son would be a family.
She let out an exasperated huff. I’m a fool. Thereus would never forgive her if he learned the truth about her charade. Though her heart proclaimed otherwise, Lucian was not her son.
There were no happily-ever-afters. No man would ever want her, knowing what she was. Men don’t marry nymphs. She grimaced at the echoing of her brother Philaeus’s jeer. Melita shoved such nonsense aside while her maid helped her to dress.
“Oomph.” Rhoda laced her corset so tight it squeezed the air from Melita’s lungs. “Honestly, Rhoda, have a care,” she wheezed.
“Oh, forgive me, m-milady.” Her maid’s hands shook as she retied the laces, and Melita at once regretted her curt tone. It wasn’t Rhoda’s fault she was in a foul mood.
After she’d dressed, she instructed her maid to bring Lucian to the atrium when he awoke and wait for her. They often broke their fast amongst the flowers. She’d love a dose of the calm she found in nature. Rhoda hesitated to obey her orders, so she scrutinized her maid.
“Is something wrong, Rhoda?” She narrowed her eyes in her sternest motherly glare.
The maid wrung her fingers, opened her mouth, and paused. She sighed, and responded, “No, milady. It’s only, well, milord is still within.”
Melita sensed there was more, but the revelation distracted her. She hadn’t succeeded. Thereus remained at Westgard. What did he seek? Hadn’t she been cruel enough to him last evening? Blast it. She’d have to keep up the ruse and continue to act as though she loathed him. Why couldn’t he disappear as he had before? She wasn’t strong enough to continue this for much longer.
If she didn’t force herself to act with a cool head, she’d lose it. Under the blade of an axe.
Smoothing her dress, she gave Lucian a quick kiss, and once again went to greet her husband to convince him to forsake her. If her plan failed, she’d have to introduce him to his son. Her stomach churned upon itself at the possibility. Please, gods, don’t let it come to that. If Thereus rejected Lucian, it would destroy his son far worse than Thereus’s death.
She’d endured a similar cruel fate from her parents, and she’d vowed to shield Lucian from such pain.
The image of Kalliste brandishing a quill flashed across her mind. If Thereus renounced his claim on Lucian as his heir… No. She refused to think of the contract Kalliste had signed long ago. He’d not come for Lucian yet, and enough time had passed that he likely never would.
Her confidence bolstered with each step she took through the hallways. She might not be the true mistress of Westgard, but she loved every inch of it. Every crack in the walls, every drapery, every painting and statue. This was her home and she’d fight to stay here. She must convince Thereus to go, because she, as sure as Zeus loved lightning, wouldn’t. Melita refused to relinquish her home to his less-than-virtuous ways. She wasn’t going to abandon her son. Regardless of her unworthy birth, these were her people and they needed her.
No, Thereus must be made to leave.
Her mind set, she went in search of the male who, with one kind word, could destroy her.
In the Great Hall, she strode toward a group of servants. “Where is your Master?”
A maid tittered nervously. “He’s gone for a morning run, milady. He’s expected at any moment.”
She’d already waited for him long enough. Melita stormed to the heavy wooden doors guarding the Portal. Upon perceiving her, the two guards opened the doors. One of them spoke the enchantment and operated the Portal for her. Four feet wide and eight feet tall, it shimmered and rippled as though made of water.
Portals were a gift from the gods to their descendants. They were an excellent means of transportation—provided one used them correctly and the Portal hadn’t gone rogue. As with all magical things, the more ancient they were, the more of a sentience they developed. The Portal at Westgard rarely acted improperly, although once she found herself in the middle of a waist-deep swamp. She’d sworn she’d heard snickering. After a few stern words to the Portal, including a threat of disassembly, it never happened again. Of course, both Melita and the Portal understood it was an empty threat. With the proliferation of humans, the gods seized the knowledge of creating Portals from them. New Portals were forbidden and old ones were prized.
While it was impossible for humans to use them, if they happened to stumble upon one, it was unlikely they would ignore it, as they had in the past. Humans were obsessed with their new god of Science. The concealment of Portals became a priority and stricter measures had been enacted for their use. If she destroyed this one, they’d have to resort to using the system of ropes and baskets for ascending to the castle.
Upon exiting the Portal, Melita shook off the slight tingling, the sensation of dozens of feathers being brushed roughly across her skin, and headed toward the stables. While centaur territory consisted mostly of male centaurs, many of their females belonged to the Lapith race, and so they did keep horses. The stables were used by both. Even centaurs liked a good rubdown after a long run, after all.
Though her eyes were not as sharp, her nose not as precise as a centaur’s, she located Thereus inside the dimly lit stable. Like a sunflower, her petals stretched to face the sun.
Her legs froze underneath her, refusing to obey the commands of her mind. Thereus indeed had gone for a run. His rich, masculine scent of evergreen and dark spice was strong enough even for her to catch at a distance. He stood at a washbasin, scooping water in his hands and splashing it first against his fa
ce, then through his hair and along his body’s human half.
Damn. She hated that even a single glimpse of him made her will crumble. He snared a brush, the large muscles of his arms bursting with strength. She refused to recall that night, when the steel of those arms enveloped her. When she’d been pressed up against hard muscle, something even harder thrusting between her thighs, bringing her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined possible.
Oh, blast it. Her knees weakened. She would not muse about that night. She would not let him detect her arousal. And she most certainly wouldn’t march to him, grab that brush, and give him the best rubdown of his life.
Melita clenched her fists and counted to five, then ten. As a mother, it was a trick she often employed whenever small Lucian set her nerves on fire. Ha. The trick also worked whenever his father did the same. She waited until he finished, an absurdly long five minutes, before making her presence known with a cough into her hand.
“My Lady.” He smiled at her as he donned a black leather vest. Thankfully, he’d passed on the puffy ivory shirt. She hated such frivolous clothing, especially on him. It was like putting a pink ribbon on a panther. Absurd. Glancing at him sent an awareness shivering down her spine. His clothing resembled that of a pyrate. Both dangerous and exciting. Was that how he’d spent these past years?
“My Lord.” She copied his greeting, without the smile.
“I doubt you have sought me out for the pleasure of my company. Is anything amiss?”
Her words stuck in her throat. She hadn’t expected his civilized response. Indeed, she’d anticipated continuing their quarrel from the previous evening. Yes. “I wish to continue our discussion from last night.”
“Ah, you are completely right. I was a brute, and you were right. I’ve never taken my responsibilities seriously. It is something I intend to change, if you’ll permit me.” He flashed her a cocksure grin. “Will you accept my deepest and most sincere apologies, my Lady?”
Sensing he’d won by beginning with an apology, Thereus assumed his most gentlemanly bow, his tone and manner impeccable. Dressed in his own clothes, he felt so much more like himself, and yet at the same time, so very changed.
Earth Borne Page 3
