Damn, Melita cursed inwardly, but outwardly she plastered a smile on her face. “Rhoda, be at ease. What you meant was the babe, correct? The farmer’s wife is delivering at last?”
Color returned to the maid’s face. “Aye, aye milady. The babe. You must come.”
“Good, go and get my things ready.”
Rhoda curtsied and rushed from the room.
Thereus didn’t appear convinced. His nostrils flared and she cursed the centaur ability to detect falsehoods. It wouldn’t do for him to catch her in one, not when she’d been so careful. She released a light laugh as she rose and excused herself. “Well, babes wait for no one. Lucian, be good. I’ll be home when I can.” She stooped and dropped a kiss on his forehead.
“Why would the Lady of the manor be required at the birth of a villager?” Thereus’s voice lowered to a growl.
She scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “You make it sound so inappropriate, my Lord. I told you, these people mean everything to me. They have a naming ceremony and they like to have a representative of the castle present.”
“Then shouldn’t I attend?”
Damn, she’d gone too far. He’d caught her. She swallowed against the tightness threatening to close off her throat. “Pish. A birth, my Lord? What aid could you offer? Trust me, this is of no concern to you.” Withdrawing from the room, she forced her steps to fall unhurried. Once beyond the atrium, she broke into a run to catch up with Rhoda.
A fire meant no time to waste.
***
Fire. Thereus was certain the maid had been about to utter that word. “If there’s a fire in the village, why do they ask my wife to attend?” No concern of mine. He snorted. This was his village. He was Lord. It hurt that no one trusted him to be able to help. His stomach hardened into a dense knot.
The chasm of suspicion he’d spawned between them deepened with each passing day. He grimaced as Kalliste’s newest falsehood stung his nose with its fetid stench. Bloody naming ceremony.
“Why don’t you follow her and see?”
He whipped his head around to see who answered him. Alkippe. Ha! He grinned. At last her meddlesome ways were on his side.
Alkippe stepped forward, handing him a blanket. “She’ll be exhausted when she’s finished. She’ll need you.” The centauress inclined her head before calling Lucian to her and departing.
Thereus forced his jaw to close. He rubbed the blanket between his fingers. Was she going to extinguish the fire by herself? Or mayhap there was no fire? Was its meaning cryptic? Only a few things left a woman exhausted. His horse reared inside him, surging to life and pulsing with jealousy. What if this was an excuse for Kalliste to meet with her lover?
The lover, or lovers, he’d spent the past week trying to forget existed. He’d been close to reasoning his way out of this maddening jealousy. Had even accepted she’d found someone to mate with, in the past.
The idea of her continuing her affair while he was present gutted him.
With this one word, his progress obliterated. His growl echoed through the atrium and slammed back to him. It was absurd, of course. Why the hell did he care what she was up to?
The answer was simple. She’s mine.
Trailing Kalliste was child’s play. Everyone assumed because he was half horse, half of his characteristics were those of a horse. Centaurs and horses were different beasts entirely.
The race of centaurs emerged as the result of the rape of the cloud nymph Nephele by the Lapith King Ixion. The myths declared the centaurs had fallen as rain upon Mount Pelion.
Just because horses were noisy, odorous, and cumbersome, did not mean centaurs were. Thereus had gotten into many a brawl with men who’d dared to claim he smelled like a barn. None of them had the opportunity to insult him twice.
As for the noise of hooves? Centaurs were soft-footed creatures, quieter than deer and more sure-footed than mountain goats. They could stalk anyone, even species with exceptional senses of smell and hearing.
Thereus followed his wife and her handmaiden across the village and toward a farm. They’d taken horses, meaning they were in a hurry. While he trailed them, a screech rent the air. His gaze shot to the sky, where a large dark shadow loomed above the barn in front of him.
A curse passed his lips as he made out what it was.
Now at least he grasped the origins of the fire.
A bloody dragon! Here, in his village. Thereus bit back another curse and stopped short. The beast stalked him from where it perched on the temple of Demeter. Its black claws dug into the marble, though thankfully the building itself withstood the creature’s weight. The dragon was not large, smaller than a barn. Deep ochre scales covered its length and black spikes tipped its tail. Thick leathery wings tucked in close to its body.
What the bloody hell was a firedrake doing in Thessaly? They never ventured so far south. The northern gods kept them in line.
An ominous growl vibrated from within the firedrake’s chest while golden eyes pierced him, sending the hairs on his nape spiking.
Thereus suppressed the urge to growl back—facing off against the beast apart was suicide.
The firedrake snarled at him before taking flight. As he flapped past, the beast’s wing ripped the air next to him. Thereus detected no animal’s soul in the firedrake’s gilded eyes. Instead, a glint of intelligence flickered in those fiery depths before the beast flew away, a dark shadow in the evening sky.
Torn between pursuing the beast and following his quarry, his horse chose for him. Thereus drove back the rising panic that his mate might be injured and bolted toward the farm. This was not the time to hunt a firedrake. He’d send scouts in the morning, to determine if the beast made its home on his land or was simply passing through.
A thick column of ashen smoke wafted in the distance. What damage had the dragon wrought? He sniffed the air. The fire was recent, but it had been extinguished hours ago.
Why was Kalliste here? Was she going to give them coin? Why hadn’t he been summoned? Curiosity ate at his gut. Why did the firedrake watch them extinguish the fire it set? Had anyone else witnessed the beast? He shook his head. None of this made any sense.
This wasn’t any place for a Lady like her to be. The Kalliste he’d known didn’t regard the lower classes. It was as though they were so far beneath her that they existed no differently than trees or rocks, and were therefore given as little notice.
As he approached the farm, he switched to his human form to better hide his body in the forest beside the field. The farmer led Kalliste to the damage. He thanked her with an exaggerated bow and departed.
Standing in the field, she glanced around, as though checking if she was alone, and then she sank to her knees in the ashes and dirt.
His body hummed with the anticipation of something spectacular about to happen.
It didn’t.
She lowered her head, her back to him, and remained as still as a statue carved into the temple of Demeter.
The minutes ticked by and only the threat of being discovered spying kept him from shuffling his feet. Bloody hell. He grimaced. Had he followed her to watch her kneel? It was rather dull.
He was about to leave her to her kneeling, but she shifted a few feet and became stoic once more.
This time she had his attention. Beside her, where previously there’d been fresh embers, a patch of greenery glistened in the moonlight. No, he squinted, fighting against the growing dimness of the night. Not any greenery—plants, seedlings. At least a foot high each. What were they? Grape vines, olive trees? He had no idea, having never paid much attention to crops.
If he stayed where he was, he’d only glimpse Kalliste’s back. He had to observe exactly what she was doing. How had he not detected she was some kind of enchantress?
He risked being detected and prowled around her, deeper into the forest, following the dirt path as it climbed higher. At the edge, he stopped short of letting out an exclamation.
What the hell was thi
s, a jest? The field had been burned—in a pattern. Though he’d be damned if he was able to make sense of it. Thick spirals singed the field, swirling like the symbols of an ancient language. Whatever the writing decreed, he didn’t doubt the dragon did this.
Kalliste lifted her head, eyes closed, and rolled her shoulders. He leaned forward and didn’t bother with being quiet anymore. His precautions were unnecessary. Her focus was so intense, he doubted anything short of a bolt from Zeus would receive her attention.
Her hands glowed with an earthly light that was, well, a little eerie. Swallowing his childish apprehensions, he observed as she lowered her face once more and placed her hands above the tormented soil. The smallest of seeds sprouted, leaves unfurling as the stalks crawled skyward. What should’ve taken weeks occurred in a matter of seconds.
He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. What was she? It was clear Kalliste wasn’t who she pretended to be. His wife possessed an identity she kept hidden from the world.
Was her thorny exterior also an illusion? An armor to protect her secrets? As he studied her, the awareness of what she was jolted him. He sank back on his heels.
Demeter possessed the power to bestow such a gift. Kalliste was either a descendant of the goddess or one of her worshipers. She was extraordinary, and her gift so precious… Aye, it was possible she wasn’t entirely Lapith, not entirely human. An ethereal quality encircled her. He’d only ever had a taste of it around… He paused, making the connections in his head.
Nymphs.
“Aye!” He bit his fist, to cover his mouth lest it betray him again. His gaze whipped to Kalliste, but she was as intent as ever. She hadn’t heard him.
His lips twitched into a grin. A nymph fit her perfectly. How had he failed to see it before? Many nymphs belonged to Demeter—tree nymphs, river nymphs, flower nymphs. They cared for every aspect of nature. Which one was she?
One thing was certain. It explained a hell of a lot—like why his cock was constantly hard around her. Nymphs had a potent effect on males, whether they wished to or not. The myths were filled with gods lusting after the seductive females. Often the poor creatures had to be permanently transformed into trees or flowers to escape being raped.
Did Kalliste even know? Merely viewing her in the field, he yearned to take her, right in the dirt and ashes. His shaft throbbed painfully in agreement. He’d never desired a female more.
What was the result of bonding a centaur male to a nymph? Thereus cursed as the answer came to him.
One hell of a dangerous beast if he didn’t bed her soon.
***
The skin on Melita’s neck tingled. Someone watched her. She paused in her ministrations and squinted into the forest. No eyes gleamed, so she concentrated once more on her task. At least they weren’t bothering her. Perhaps it was some curious children. The villagers knew better than to spy on her. They believed she prayed to Demeter. They were terrified of both viewing the goddess and of what would happen to them if they did. The villagers stayed away, usually. She wasn’t concerned. By dawn, this field would be well on its way to recovery.
When she’d asked the farmer about the cause of the fire, he’d blamed lightning. Bolts struck frequently in their village. The minerals in the Meteora’s composition likely attracted them, or perhaps Zeus enjoyed dumping his bolts here. With the new irrigation system they’d completed last year, the fire had been easy to contain and extinguish. Otherwise, the flames would have consumed the whole field, instead of the quarter-acre she was repairing.
She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and grimaced. Ugh. She’d smeared dirt across her gown, and likely her face. The centaurion red silk was utterly ruined. She’d have to sneak into the castle and bathe before Thereus caught her. At least he was angry enough to avoid her for days.
What had she done to make him so surly? A part of her whispered this was a good thing. Soon, he’d go and perhaps rarely ever visit. Unfortunately, her heart held the majority and it wanted him.
Melita poured herself into restoring the land. The hours sped by, the night turning dark and cold. She didn’t care. The glow of her energy kept her warm and also made it easy to see where to work.
Stretching her neck, she perused her handiwork. She’d stop by again in a few days to help the plants grow a little more. Tonight, she’d replenished the destroyed portion of the field. Rising, she dusted off her skirts. The sudden movements sent waves of nausea through her, and a tremor of fear iced her spine, as though she might faint.
A pair of strong arms enveloped her, steadying her and rooting her to the ground.
“Hello, nymph.” The heat of Thereus’s breath caressed her neck, his scent of evergreen and male like smelling salts in her nose, drawing her to consciousness. Had she not been so exhausted, she might’ve panicked at his presence and his words. As it was, she collapsed into him, too grateful to worry about him discovering her lies.
***
Thereus’s muscles jerked in shock as Kalliste leaned against him. He caught her weight, scooping her into his arms.
His heart skipped a beat while she nuzzled his neck, wrapping her arms around him. She moaned contentedly and his chest puffed at the small victory. She trusted him, when she was most vulnerable.
He’d been prepared for confrontation, yet what she sought was his comfort. Who was he to deny her? He shifted her weight in his arms and wrapped the blanket around her. Carrying his precious bundle tightly against him, he headed to the farmer’s house. He ignored their gaping mouths as he ordered her maid to lead the horses to Westgard.
His wife slept in his arms while he headed home. When would she stop surprising him? First Lucian, and now, his people. She cared for everyone. Her selflessness was both astounding and bewildering.
He’d never placed others’ needs so far ahead of his own. His shoulders straightened, his lungs expanded with pride and admiration for the woman in his arms. He didn’t deserve her. No matter what other secrets she hid, this female was his.
From this moment on, he vowed to be the husband she deserved.
Thereus exited the Portal and hesitated. One of Kalliste’s other maids waited, waving for him to bring his wife to her chamber. He ought to hand her to her maidservant. She would know what to do. Truthfully, he knew nothing of caring for others.
Cursing, he shifted his hooves. He didn’t want to leave her; he couldn’t leave her. His arms would feel empty if he didn’t hold her, all night, well, all day long.
Her maid lifted a brow at him, waiting for him to comply.
His horse reared and refused. On that decisive note, he shook his head at the maid. “No, Lady Kalliste will stay in my quarters tonight. Have hot water, tea, and food brought.” He glared at her, daring her to defy him.
“Yes, right away, milord.” She curtseyed and scampered off.
He bit back the triumph buoying his chest. What he got away with while Kalliste was unconscious was one thing. When she awoke, it would be another.
Once in his rooms, he gently set her on the bed and paused. What was he supposed to do with her? A knock rapped at the door and he barked the order for the servants to enter.
After they scurried off, he squinted at the washbasin, full of hot water, and back at his mate. Well, she was very dirty. He ought to clean her. What he longed to do was wake her, throw her into the bath and ravage her, but that was out of the question. For now.
Thereus grabbed a cloth, dipped it in the soapy water, and washed her hands, arms, and face. Her dress was filthy too. A little too eagerly, his fingers stripped off her soiled clothing. He had plenty of experience undressing women, so the tiny buttons and lace ties didn’t deter him.
“Corsets,” he grunted as his fingers set to work loosening the garment. He slipped off her boots and skimmed along her stockings, dipping beneath her petticoats and untying them. His greedy fingers grazed her flesh, a thousand times softer than her silky stockings. Her scent watered his mouth, her taste close enough for him to samp
le. He groaned while he rolled the stockings down, baring her legs. “Bloody unconscious wench.” He shook himself. Just because she was his wife did not mean she would consent to hungry admiration.
As he uncovered her, a violent shiver trembled through her body. He tossed a blanket over her. With the propriety of a surgeon’s hands, he slipped off the remainder of her garments. He’d view her nude soon enough, and she’d watch his fervent praise.
Centaurs possessed tremendous body heat, so he stripped his clothes. Switching to human form, he stretched out under the blankets with her. Instantly, her shivering ceased, and despite his attempt to keep their bodies apart, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her skin was deliciously silken against his. Her soft curves complemented his hard muscles. The agony of her pressed against him like this was blissful torment. His breaths grew labored as he gripped her, clasping her face against his chest. His heavy erection had nowhere to hide, so he let it rest on her hip. Sweat beaded his forehead. He forced himself not to slide his cock between her thighs.
Never had he been in such agony, never had he craved a female more. Thereus didn’t desire only her body, he wanted Kalliste, all of her. He yearned to possess her very soul.
His horse roared and his bonding mark enflamed, searing his arm, the pain nigh intolerable. Thereus gritted his teeth against the coming waves of misery. If he didn’t act to ease himself soon, he’d become crazed.
It’d already been too long since he’d last bedded a woman… Her. It was too soon to take Kalliste. He refused to pressure or frighten her. Even if she were willing, he must win over her heart before he claimed her body.
Now he possessed the knowledge that she was a nymph, it changed everything.
Nymphs. Hmm. She was incapable of denying him. How in the bloody hell had she managed it during their short marriage? Clearly, his wife had formulated a grand scheme. Kalliste had readily agreed to consummate their marriage, but she’d not fancied a second taste.
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