Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4)

by Rachael Slate

  Lady Eione laughed and linked her arm with Nysa’s. “I like you, nymph.”

  “I feel as though we are already friends.” Indeed, she’d spent weeks with the pair while they’d transported the flask to Oreius.

  “So we shall be.” Eione tugged on her arm and drew her toward the balcony. “Tell me, how did this come to pass? You turning from water into,” she waved a hand across Nysa’s form, “this.”

  “A long story, but the short of it is, Oreius tossed the waters you gifted to him onto his lawn, and the enchantment which should have aided him instead freed me.”

  “The brute,” Eione scoffed.

  “He was.” Nysa bit her lip. “He was also in such pain.”

  They peeked at the two males, who’d switched into human form and now sipped amber liquor, conversing in low tones while they reclined in leather armchairs.

  “He doesn’t seem to be anymore,” Eione whispered, then lifted her stare to Nysa. “Because of you.”

  She shook her head. “No, he is healing, all on his own.”

  “Hmm, perhaps, but you were the one to give him a swift kick in the right direction.”

  “That I was.” She smiled and jerked her chin toward Agrius. “I’m so glad the two of you are happily bonded. I was fearful, given your family’s vengeful interference.”

  “I could not be more content.” She cast a dreamy smile toward the basinet, wherein their tiny centaur babe slept peacefully. “I never dreamed this would be my fate, but now that I am here, I wouldn’t change anything. Agrius and Ianthe are my world.” She peered at Nysa, a flush of pink flaming her cheeks. “I am sorry for what I said about nymphs. It was thoughtless and unkind.”

  “About nymphs telling you anything if you spread their legs wide enough?” Nysa laughed. “Unkind mayhap, but not entirely untrue.”

  She arched one brow at Nysa. “Tell me what you plan next. I saw the guards bring a man to the dungeon. And what of your well?”

  “Deimos.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s been abusing the powers of my waters. For what purpose, I know not, but I pray the King may uncover it.” A sigh passed her lips. “Cheiron also spoke of devising a way to secure my well. Without it, I cannot remain here for much longer.”

  Eione seized her hand and squeezed. “Then we will join forces and find a solution. Trust me, once these centaurs claim their mates, they won’t let anything come between them.”

  ***

  Oreius snagged one arm around Nysa’s waist and toppled her into his lap.

  “Omph! You brute.” She squirmed playfully.

  His deep, satisfied chuckle mingled with her chiming laughter. The others seated around the long plank table cast them curious glances, whispering amongst themselves. Few here had ever witnessed him smile, let alone laugh.

  Yet Nysa stirred a tender lightness in him he hadn’t experienced in years. The tightness clinching his chest eased. Letting go of the past, though difficult, also brought about a sense of relief. He had so many things to be grateful for. Two strapping lads, a loving family, and now Nysa.

  A centaur could not wish for more.

  Except, perhaps, a babe growing inside his mate.

  Soon.

  He quirked his lips at her impish, scrunched nose. “Aye, that I am. How do you plan to temper me, mate?” He hadn’t bothered to hide his bonding mark from anyone. This leather vest he wore flaunted it quite nicely, and indeed, his father’s subjects hadn’t ceased in their congratulations.

  The bonding was sacred to centaurs. A gift to be celebrated.

  He nuzzled Nysa’s ear, groaning as his body reminded him other ways in which to celebrate this special union. His lips pressed against her neck, he sighed in contentment.

  The room filled, his brother—in human form—claiming their seats around the table. The grin faltered on Oreius’s lips as he caught sight of Thereus.

  Joy drained from his blood. His younger brother had lost his mate, Melita, who’d sacrificed herself to halt a war. A war that continued to teeter on a blade’s edge.

  One false move and it would be thrust upon them.

  He dragged his gaze to Thereus’s. Poor lad. None save him and their father comprehended the extent of grief at losing one’s mate. Oreius had been there when Melita had transformed into a tree, had sat beside Thereus while he pleaded with the gods to restore her.

  Of course, they couldn’t, and the tree remained.

  Lucian bobbed in his seat next to Thereus, and his brother ruffled his son’s curly locks. After plucking at their plates for several minutes, Oreius’s sons dashed to Lucian’s side and tore him away, off to play one of their grand games.

  Guilt thrummed through his veins. How could he enjoy his new mate when Thereus’s had recently been lost to him?

  His bliss seemed so unfair. Oreius cast his focus downward, unable to meet his brother’s emerald stare. The others congratulated him with genuine honesty, but undoubtedly, Thereus would admonish him. The male wouldn’t understand how Oreius could press forward, could love another. Would he claim Oreius was dishonoring Sarra’s memory?

  His fist tightened at his side, and he tugged at his vest, throat constricted, though the garment hung loose.

  “Brother.” A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  Oreius unclenched his jaw but didn’t dare look up.

  “Oreius. Don’t.” The grip tightened. “I am happy for you.” Thereus shifted toward Nysa. “And for you, my Lady. I’d warn you of my brother’s brutish temperament, but I doubt you remain blissfully unaware.”

  Nysa’s laughter sparkled. “Indeed, I bear no such false fantasies.”

  He barked a laugh at them both, then peered up at Thereus. The sincerity in his grin vanquished the tremors in Oreius’s muscles. “I know what you must think.”

  “Nay, brother.” Thereus offered his hand to shake Oreius’s. “Trust me, you truly do not know what I think, and none of it condemning. Of anyone, you deserve such joy.”

  He shook his brother’s hand, nodding in confusion. Thereus must be in denial of his mate’s death. No other way could he handle Oreius’s news with such lightness.

  He cast his brother a smile, pitying the male as Thereus shuffled to sit beside Agrius once more.

  King Cheiron had called upon his sons to join him at Great Meteoron to discuss this growing concern with the Lapith borders. Each of the five brothers, save the youngest, Petraeus, was present. Hector, the eldest and heir to the throne, sat stiffly beside their father. Thereus and Agrius, joined by Eione, reclined across from him and Nysa.

  Tomorrow, they would discuss their plans, including how to secure Nysa’s well.

  But tonight, ah, tonight was for revelry.

  He glided his hand down Nysa’s thigh. “What say you, lass? Had enough to eat?”

  “Hmm, no. I’m afraid I’m quite famished.” She leaned forward and nipped at his ear.

  That settled it. He hopped to his feet, slung his mate over his shoulder, despite her protesting squeals, and marched from the dining hall, amidst the hollering of his brothers, straight to their chamber.

  He twisted open the knob, strode inside, and kicked the door shut, locking it behind them. “You might regret not finishing your meal, nymph. I’ve a mind to lock you in here for several days.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she rapped her fists against his back, “make me promises you don’t intend to keep.”

  He chuckled and set her on her feet, seizing the back of her head and slanting his mouth across hers. Demanding, his tongue thrust against hers, savoring every inch of her luscious taste.

  She hummed and tangled her fingers in his locks.

  “Sweet nymph,” he growled into her mouth. She coaxed his arousal to unbearable limits.

  Her hands grasped for his cock, but not yet. He slid down her body, lifting her skirts and ducking beneath them. Warm, slick flesh greeted his tongue as he flicked it across her bud, drawing sultry moans from her lips.

  Crouching, he coaxed her on
to the edge of the bed and then fell forward to his knees, her legs wrapping around his shoulders while he feasted on her. Lapping at her honey, he swirled his tongue and nipped at her silken skin. She collapsed backward onto the mattress, her legs parting wide for him and her hands falling to her sides. He slipped two fingers inside her, pumping in time to the flicks of his tongue. Her sheath clenched in tiny spasms around him.

  Must be inside her.

  The urge to spill his seed inside his mate pounded through him, fiercer than any lustful inclination he’d ever experienced. He wrenched his mouth off her, flipped her onto her stomach, and shoved down his breeches, freeing his hard length. She poised her glistening pink sex for him as he positioned himself at her entrance and drove deep.

  A cry parted her lips, pleasure and shock mingled, and she whimpered, “Dear gods, don’t stop, Oreius.”

  The instincts didn’t release their hold on him, so he propelled harder, deeper, faster. They were both still clothed, and all he viewed was her lush bottom, her creamy skin flushed from the tempered swats of his hand.

  The impulsive, rough, demanding compulsion to claim every inch of a female had never struck him like this. A ripple of contractions clenched his erection and Nysa screamed. His ballocks tightened and burst, spurting forth his essence.

  Tossing his head back, he roared, pumping everything he had into her.

  My mate.

  The last tremors dissipated from his muscles, and he pulled from her, staring down at his handiwork. Nysa rested limp on the bed before him, her skirts crumpled around her bared waist, and her lush thighs parted to reveal her silken flesh, glistening from their lovemaking.

  Intense satiation flooded him. I did this. Brought my mate to shrieking pleasure, poured my seed into her.

  She lay panting, smothered in his scent. Exactly as a mate should be. He smirked at her.

  “Pleased with yourself, are you, centaur?” She arched a brow.

  “Aye, mate, immensely.”

  The smug smile curving Oreius’s lips just might be her undoing. He studied her disheveled state with the achievement of a male profoundly gratified.

  Nysa wanted to purse her lips and scoff at his absurd satisfaction, but the male appeared so damned proud of himself. Of what he’d done to her.

  Of how he’d made her scream.

  Instead, she shuddered in delight and fluttered her lashes. Her male deserved to gloat over his victory.

  He hadn’t even finished undressing before ravishing her. His thick, rigid length jutted above his breeches, and he still wore his vest.

  She was equally clothed, bared only from the waist down.

  Nysa rolled onto her back and curled her fingers, beckoning him forward. “Was that your worst?”

  “Damn near close.” Raking his hands through his mussed locks, he cast her a roguish grin. He tore off the remainder of his clothes and crawled atop her. “My worst might destroy us both.”

  She rolled her eyes at his cocksure boast, but he might be right. Oreius unraveled her in ways she’d never believed a person could be undone. A husband, children, these were not things a nymph dreamed about or planned for.

  Yet here her mate stood before her, offering everything he had to give.

  The safety and security of his bond to her provided more than that. Tonight was the first time she’d ever stepped into a hall of men and not drawn their lewd attentions.

  Nymphs usually either sought out such notice, or avoided it altogether.

  Nysa had, in her younger days, toyed with males, but she’d learned her lesson. Deimos had encountered her at such a gathering. That was in the past, and now, he was securely imprisoned in the dungeon, never to harm her again.

  She smiled at Oreius. The pain flickered in his eyes on occasion, but it lessened each day. She brushed aside his long, pale locks and admired the serene smile on his face.

  I did this. Not with her waters, but with her love.

  The bonding meant so much to centaurs. Tonight, his people had greeted her with reverent respect, as though she was cherished and precious to them.

  “I seem to still be wearing my clothes, centaur. Might you aid me in removing them?”

  “At your service, milady.” His eager fingers tore through the laces and peeled aside each layer of fabric, like a lad unwrapping a treasured gift. He plucked her gown over her head, baring her entirely, and whistled low. “I swear you grow more beautiful each time I see you.” Devotion glimmered in his dark eyes.

  Was it love? For a centaur, the bonding surpassed any other union. Yet, he’d forged the bonding with Sarra out of love for her.

  Would he have done the same for me?

  “You frown like that and I’ll put your dress back on.”

  She shoved aside those unwelcome thoughts. Oreius would be dedicated and loyal to her for the rest of his existence.

  “It’s nothing.” She stroked her fingers down his cheek, along his firm jawline. After leaning forward, she pressed her mouth against his, breathing him in. His lips parted, his tongue delving and seeking hers, and his hands shifted around to her bottom to give her a firm squeeze.

  She slid her fingers to his shoulder and gave a firm shove, propelling him onto his back. Smirking triumphantly, she straddled his hips, his long, proud length jutting between them.

  “Now, centaur, you may not wear a bit and bridle, but believe me, you shall be ridden,” she nipped at his lips, “and tamed.”

  “I can’t bloody wait.” He linked his hands behind his head, his muscles tensing and jerking beneath her. His stare pinned her while she lifted her hips and sank upon him, his decadent width filling her.

  He grunted and rolled his hips, urging her on.

  She straightened and undulated against him, riding him in a torturously slow rhythm, until perspiration slicked both of their bodies and his throbbing erection begged for release.

  She reached back, grabbing his soft sac in her hand, and squeezed with her nymph powers, compelling him to flood her with his essence. He howled and hot seed flushed through her and, as the waves of ecstasy passed between them, her release followed his.

  Sated again, Nysa slumped forward, resting her cheek against his shoulder, his heartbeats thundering in her ear.

  Her heart answered, rapidly thrumming to match his.

  To claim his.

  He cares for me. The reassurance settled her nerves, but she couldn’t halt the nipping bite of fear. That someday, he would find himself devoted to a woman he didn’t love.

  And that would ruin her.

  Because despite her mind’s warning, she had already fallen in love with him.

  ***

  Cheiron’s sons gathered around the long table in his Great Hall. Oreius observed them, drawing his brows together. Everything had tossed upside down, and nothing was as it should be. Centaurs ought to live out long, happy lives with their mates.

  Yet the Fates had torn each of them from that destiny; this War threatened them all.

  Agrius and Eione were sadly wedged in the midst. Eione’s Lapith family had been far too eager to march upon Great Meteoron nearly six months earlier. Agrius had solemnly brandished his sword in preparation for that battle. Although Melita had halted the invasion, the Lapiths didn’t seem deterred from their ultimate goal: control of centaur lands.

  Thereus had been traveling between Westgard and Halcyon, preparing centaur armies in both locations.

  Oreius scratched his jaw and silently studied his brothers as they, in human form, settled into their seats. The eldest, Hector, huffed wearily beside their father. Hector would one day lead them all, when Cheiron ruled no more. Everyone knew Hector’s sad fate. Bonded to a female who wouldn’t have him. One of the greatest fears they secretly hid.

  Once this meeting was finished, he’d have a word with his brother. If anyone breathed proof of the heart’s ability to change, Oreius did.

  Petraeus, the youngest, was strangely absent. Yet another brother he ought to have a word with.r />
  “Welcome, my sons.” Cheiron’s grey scrutiny passed over each of them in turn.

  Oreius met his father’s stare with a solid nod.

  “We have much to discuss. Thereus, why don’t you begin with your progress at Halcyon?” Cheiron waved for him to stand.

  Thereus hopped to stand and cleared his throat. “Ah, well. Progress has certainly been made. The Amazons—”

  “He’s gone.” A guard rushed into the room, gulping deep breaths.

  Everyone whipped their attention from Thereus to the panting guard.

  “Who is gone?” Cheiron’s voice rumbled off the stone walls.

  The guard flinched and bowed his head, whispering, “The prisoner, Deimos.”

  Ice flooded Oreius’s veins, freezing his muscles. He swallowed thickly against his parched throat. That could not be right.

  “How?” Fury rolled through Cheiron’s steel tone.

  “I know not, my King.” The guard’s desperate green eyes pleaded. “He was chained and two guards kept watch over him. This morning, when they brought him water, he was not inside his cell.”

  “Nysa.” Oreius shot to his feet and bolted from the room, sprinting through the hallways until he spotted her in the gardens below. He leapt over the balcony and landed in front of her, whirling her against his body and shielding her in his arms.

  “Uh! Oreius, what’s wrong?” she wheezed, squirming, so he eased his grasp.

  “You’re in danger. Deimos has escaped.”

  She stilled, but his ears detected the rapid thrashing of her heart. “That can’t be.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Sapphira.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and spun her around in his arms to face him. “We must get you someplace safe.”

  “I thought this place was safe.” The color drained from her skin.

  “Aye, so did I.” If Deimos had escaped the prison, that could only mean someone had released him.

  A traitor walked amongst them.

  ***

  Nysa shook her head, not willing to accept Deimos was free.

  Free to harm her.

  Oh, he would seek revenge. The male was calculating, though. She bit her lip and scanned their surroundings. To attack her here would be foolish.