He half-expected to detect the padding of her footsteps as she fled from his castle.
Half-hoped he would.
The crushing agony of the notion was proof it was the best option. These stirrings he experienced for Nysa had to be snuffed out.
Before they became something irreversible.
She didn’t leave. Bloody stubborn nymph. He raised his head, narrowing his glare.
“Are you finished?” One arched brow and pursed lips greeted him. “You may not believe this, Oreius, but the gods did not punish you. Why would they? For loving your wife so deeply you wished to be bonded to her?” She scoffed. “Such is not hubris, it is devotion.” She waved off his sins as though they were but negligible flies. “Sarra died in birth to twin centaurs, because that is a perilous endeavor. She died to give them life. Don’t steal from her sacrifice and use it to pad your own grief.”
Ire burned through his veins. Rage clouded his vision. How dare she mock his transgressions, making little of them?
For a decade, he’d done nothing but roll in the pool of his offenses, stuck in the pit of mud that sucked him deeper with each passing year. Now, she offered him this branch, claiming if he would but reach for it, she could pull him out?
That the mud drowning him wasn’t real?
“How dare you, nymph, make light of something you know nothing about.”
Instead of cowering beneath his frigid tone, she straightened her spine. “I do know about grief, Oreius. I have helped thousands unburden theirs. The one thing I have learned to be truth is that you cannot be relieved of your pain if you don’t wish to.”
She patted his thigh. “It’s understandable if you’re not ready yet. But please, stop blaming yourself. Honor your wife and cherish her memory, and live the life she would wish you to.”
Sighing, she treaded from the dining hall.
He scowled after her, the urge to retort her claims on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. What if she was right? What if he tortured himself over Sarra’s death because it made him feel better?
To believe he’d caused her death had given him something to cling to. Someone to blame. Who would he blame if Sarra had merely died in childbirth? He snorted. Hestia? Goddess of childbirth.
He lowered his head into his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. The truth he’d never dared to admit now stared him in the face, gloating in its triumph.
Nysa had torn the veil of pretense from him and he couldn’t resume his tormented denial.
Interfering nymph. He wavered between a mad chuckling and bursting into sobs. Perhaps both.
Dragging his self-pity from his mind, he glanced up at Sarra’s portrait. Her kind eyes smiled at him, as they always did. She’d been party to their scheme of false bonding. A nymph had cast them a spell and the mark had appeared on his arm.
Now, another nymph had slashed away at the forgery, revealing the truth he’d not been able to accept.
The question remained… Could he face it now?
Dare he shed the cloak of shame he’d donned all these years? Without its weight burdening his shoulders, he wasn’t certain he would be able to breathe, to walk, to move forward.
Only one way to find out.
Oreius staggered to his feet, the lancing pain of his grief draining through his limbs. The tightness in his chest eased, allowing deeper breaths than he’d permitted in years.
Nysa was right. Sarra didn’t deserve this. To be the cause of his spiraling self-condemnation. That was no proper manner in which to honor a wife.
She may never have been his mate, but she had claimed a piece of his soul, and even death wouldn’t change that.
The memory and legacy of Sarra lived on through their sons and through himself.
He’d been a damned poor ambassador these past years, but from now on, he would be worthy of her honor.
This past week, something changed in Oreius. Nysa had observed enough people in mourning to fathom that while he’d taken the first steps, the journey would be a long one.
Still, this was a beginning. This morning, Oreius chased his sons through the maze in the gardens. Deep bellowing laughter mingled with higher-pitched squealing, and joy filled the air.
Oreius hadn’t questioned her about returning to her well, and she hadn’t offered to begin that conversation. Despite her determination to head home, she’d not been able to seize that first step. Something in her urged her to stay, so she had. She’d spent the past week visiting Oreius’s subjects and healing them. Each offering of her waters drained her energy, yet also brought her immense satisfaction.
Soon, she’d have to venture to her well and face the man who’d imprisoned her there. If she didn’t defeat him, he’d trap her once again.
This freedom she tasted would be but a beautiful memory to keep her warm inside her dark prison.
Though the heat of Oreius’s kiss continued to sear her lips, he hadn’t seduced her again. It was for the best. He had much healing to do, and she wouldn’t be here permanently. A man like Oreius would fall in love again, and she couldn’t be the one to claim his love.
“Nysa,” he called from the gardens below, his rumbling timbre resounding through her.
She stepped to the balcony and smiled down at him. “Yes?”
“I have a question.” Instead of climbing the stairs, he leapt forward, latched on to the vines, and ascended toward the balcony.
Laughing, she shook her head at him. “Must you always do things the difficult way?”
“I know no other.” He flashed her a grin, hauling his upper half over the side of the railing. “We centaurs are stubborn beasts.”
She wrinkled her nose playfully. “So I’ve noticed.”
He winked and clambered the rest of the way over the railing, his hooves landing in a thud at her feet.
“Your question?”
“My father. King Cheiron.” He lifted his face to hers, slashes of his pale blond locks roguishly crossing his face. Puffing, he attempted to blow them into place.
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from brushing those lush locks aside. “Yes, what of your father?”
“You’ve healed so many in my village. Do you think, would your waters…”
“Perhaps.” She smiled and offered her hand to aid him to his feet. The slide of his rough grasp against her fingers sent delightful shivers coursing beneath her skin. Instead of giving in, she focused on his inquiry. “If your father is ready for healing, then yes, my waters will aid him.”
The same for you, Oreius.
“Ah.” He raked aside those stray strands, glancing at her sideways. The male before her had changed. The somber, burdened centaur seemed so much more roguishly youthful.
“I would take you to him.” His arched brow begged for her acquiescence.
She pulled on her hand, but he gripped tighter.
“Nysa.” At the gruff tone of his voice, she raised her gaze to his, peering into those coal depths. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was wrong to treat you the way I did when we first met. I would ask for your forgiveness.”
Her heart fluttered. A first step. “None needed, Oreius. I knew it was because of your pain.”
“Still, you have not fled from me.” He tossed his head, scoffing. “I do not deserve your friendship, Sapphira, but I am glad for it.”
Friendship. Yes, indeed. She forced a smile and tugged her hand free. “I will pack my things.”
A grumble caught her ears as she departed from Oreius, but he was right. Friendship was all that could exist between them. In truth, she did value his companionship. Her Krenaiai nymph sisters dwelled within their own fountains and wells, far apart from one another. These past fifty years, being unable to venture anywhere, she’d grown lonely.
Oreius was the first friend she’d had in years and to hope for more than camaraderie would bring them both to ruin.
He collected her an hour later, and together they strode through the Portal to h
is father’s castle at Great Meteoron. Pristine alabaster halls greeted her as she stepped through.
She smiled at the twins, who squealed and tore off to explore the vast castle.
Oreius snared her arm and guided her to the Great Hall. Upon the ivory throne rested his father. King Cheiron was an ancient centaur, famed for his wisdom and generosity. She drew her brows together, surveying him. Oreius had told her the King had lost his wife, Atalante, years ago in a tragic accident. The details of the circumstances were muddled. Centaurs weren’t easily killed, yet the Queen had apparently succumbed to internal injuries after a rockslide.
She nibbled on her lower lip while bowing her head before the King. Oreius claimed Cheiron mourned his mate each and every day, yet Nysa didn’t perceive immense grief permeating from him.
Had the years healed his pain?
Or did the King conceal secrets of his own?
Treacherous ground to tread upon. Nysa swallowed against the dryness in her throat and lifted her head.
“I am joyed to see you once again, Oreius,” Cheiron inclined his head, “and to meet your lovely companion.”
“Father.” Eagerness heightened his tone. “This is Nysa, of the Krenaiai nymphs. I have brought her to you because—”
The King held up his hand. “Will you grant me a moment alone with her, son?”
Oreius glanced at her and she nodded despite the clenching of her stomach.
After Oreius strode from the grand chamber, the King rose and offered her his arm. Steeling her spine, Nysa accepted, strolling with him down the corridor to a sprawling balcony. They stepped toward the railing, and the King released her arm, facing her. “I do not have to tell you that your waters will not heal me.”
“No,” she murmured, steeling her resolve and raising her lashes to meet his gaze.
“Like any father, the truths I have concealed from my sons, I have hidden in order to protect them. I hope I can trust you to do the same.”
She pressed her lips thin and bowed her head.
“When the time comes, all will be revealed, but my dear, that time is not yet.” He shifted to face the rolling mountains. “Not yet.”
***
Oreius shuffled his hooves and paced from one end of the corridor to the other. Nysa had spoken with his father for nigh an hour. That must mean it was going well, right? He puffed his lips and rolled his shoulders.
Friendship. He grimaced. Why had he blurted that out? True, he enjoyed Nysa’s companionship, but bloody hell, he felt more for her than any friend should.
Especially in regards to undressing her.
He hadn’t been able to erase the memory of her succulent curves or silken skin from his lips. Scowling, he poked at his bonding mark. The faded band was naught but an enchanted inking, keeping his horse and his heart devoted to Sarra.
What would happen if…
He whipped his head, half-repulsed he even considered such an option. Half-tempted to go through with it.
Because the truth was, he would never learn what Nysa could be to him if he never released his iron grip on the past.
Reversing this spell would be a start. He froze, heart racing. Was he actually considering it? Searching within, he unlocked the answer.
Yes.
The nymph who’d cast the enchantment lived not far from here. Before he changed his mind, Oreius stormed down the staircase and to the Portal, stepping out into the village below. He’d never forget the hut on the edge of the forest where the nymph Antiope dwelled.
Galloping, he rushed to the spot and halted, panting, outside her door. His hearts thumped. He might be torn between the past and the present, but he wasn’t choosing to forget Sarra, he was choosing to strive forward.
She would want this for him.
Steeling his shoulders, he knocked on the wooden door. The door creaked open and he poked his head into the dim, small chamber. “Antiope,” he called into the darkness.
“Well, well,” a feminine voice tsked. “I wasn’t certain if I’d see you again.”
“You recall who I am? The spell you cast on me?” Good, this would save time.
“Of course. It isn’t every day I forge sacred bonds.” A wry laugh escaped the female and she stepped into the light beam cutting across the center of the chamber. She appeared just as she had a decade before, dark-haired and fair-skinned, with piercing jade eyes. “How can I serve you today, Lord Oreius?”
He swallowed thickly and treaded inside. This was it. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, revealing the forged inking. “Can you remove this? And the spell along with it?”
She tapped her chin with one finger while circling him. “Are you certain? Once erased, it cannot be recast, for the female is dead.”
Her words speared into him, spiked tips threatening to impale his soul. He’d viewed this marking as his last connection to Sarra, but it wasn’t. She lived on, in his hearts, and in the hearts of their sons.
“Aye, I’m certain, nymph.” Grunting, he sank onto the stool she waved him toward.
She turned and slid a hot poker from the fire. “Good, because I’ve been waiting for you.” She brandished the poker before him. “Brace yourself, centaur. This is going to hurt.”
***
Nysa wandered the alabaster hallways, searching for Oreius, half-hoping she wouldn’t stumble across him. King Cheiron’s revelations changed everything.
She now carried knowledge she couldn’t share with Oreius, or with any of his brothers.
And awareness that placed her feet upon another path.
A path she wasn’t certain she treaded with him, or alone.
Cheiron had seized her hand and begged for her to remain with the centaurs. To fight in this War with them. She’d explained about her well, but he’d waved off her concerns, proclaiming they would find a way to keep her here.
How long until Deimos discovered her absence? Then again, perhaps he never would. Her waters would continue to heal, even without her trapped inside the well.
This might be her only chance at freedom.
The risk seemed small, so Nysa had agreed to contemplate his offer.
Thudding footsteps stomped toward her. She spun and glimpsed Oreius rushing to her side. A roguish grin split his face, casting a wicked curve to his lips.
He skidded before her, snaring her waist and twirling her in a dizzying spin.
“Release me!” She laughed, half-heartedly pounding her fists across his back. Instead of obeying her, he halted their spinning and nuzzled his face next to hers.
“Nysa,” he murmured, the rumble vibrating through the tips of her fingers resting against his chest.
Something had changed in him. She tilted her face to peer into his eyes. The haunting pain had vanished. Shining instead at her were depths full of hope.
“Oreius?”
He lowered his mouth, feathering his lips across hers with the gentlest of brushes.
She moaned into his kiss, digging her nails into the fabric of his shirt. Her body had craved this affection from him, and the flares flickering between them were even brighter than she recalled.
The last time he’d kissed her, the bitterness of his regret had tainted the memory. She pulled back from him, aching at the lost connection. “Are you certain you—”
“Aye, lass.” He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. “ ’Tis time for me to move forward, and I want it to be with you. Nysa, I know I called you my friend, but the truth is, my hearts would reach for so much more.”
Her breath hitched as he unbuttoned his shirt. She glanced toward the empty corridor. “I don’t think this is the pla—”
“Easy, sweetling. I know you’re desperate, but I’m certain you can wait for us to find an empty chamber.”
“Uh,” she scoffed, punching his arm.
He slipped the shirt from his shoulders and she frowned. What was he doing?
Oh. Her perusal tripped on his upper left bicep. The mark he’d forged with Sarra… It
was gone.
His arm was bare. Haltingly, she seized a step backward. Guilt rose in her throat, clenching it. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“Nay, I didn’t. I did this for me.” He closed in on her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m ready, Nysa, if you are.”
The enormity of his offer dumped onto her like a bucket of ice water. Oreius might be ready to heal, but if she hurt him, the damage would be irreparable.
Yet, taking this step with him, exploring what might blossom between them, was something she’d yearned for since the day she’d gazed upon him. Nysa leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. “Yes, I’m ready, Oreius.” She closed her eyes. His dark scent and decadent taste filled her senses.
He swept his mouth across hers, nipping and coaxing her mouth to open for him.
She parted her lips, drinking in his kiss, and weaving her fingers through his locks.
Oreius performed the morphos into his human form, and he pressed his large body against hers, thrusting her back against the wall.
Whimpering, she rubbed herself along him, one hand inching toward the thick erection pressing into her belly. She wrapped her fingers across him, through his breeches, coaxing her nymph powers to manipulate his arousal.
He groaned, low and rumbling, into her mouth while his sex throbbed urgently in her hand.
Oreius might be ready for kisses, but lovemaking was an entirely larger step.
For now, they would pleasure each other.
Nysa glided her fingers beneath the waistband of his breeches, brushing the tips of them along his long, rigid shaft.
He jerked and thrust himself into her hand, grunting in deep-seated need.
Pumping harder, she gripped him in her hand. He rolled his hips into her, growling against her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin, his tongue soothing across his bites in delightful, sensual flicks.
Oreius palmed her breast in his large hand, squeezing and rolling the tip between his fingers. He lowered his head to press heated kisses to her breast through the fabric of her gown, and his other hand dipped beneath her skirts to skim the inside of her thigh. His fingers found her nub, pressing across her slickness and delving inside her.
Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4) Page 3
