Water's Mark - Cancer

by Rachael Slate

  She tensed. Theron was too close to the truth, and if he learned of Rhoetus’s mission, he might interfere. “What do you care? You’ve imprisoned me just the same.”

  He drew back, a twitch in his jaw. “You’re right. I have. I wish I could say I would do this differently, but I wouldn’t.”

  A chill spread across her spine. This was not where she should be. “I must go.” Cyane whipped around, rushing around the corner toward the edge of the pool. She waded from the water, slipped on her clothes, and dashed from the cavern, without ever once looking back.

  Theron didn’t stop her. They both fathomed this was a mistake. After all, they were as close as enemies. Speaking of her brothers reminded her of how she had to escape this place. Theron had made his stance clear. He wouldn’t release her, not even if staying meant her own death.

  She was naught but an instrument to him—a means to cure his people. He’d never view her as anything else.

  Cyane shuddered, the water chilling on her skin. Bedding him wouldn’t purchase her freedom. He’d considered her attempts amusing.

  Ha. She was likely the first nymph ever to have a male laugh at her charms. No matter. She straightened her shoulders. Luckily, she had other talents, other methods of persuasion.

  Theron had better steel himself.

  Her waters had begun to boil, and he should be forewarned.

  They could scald.

  Theron scraped a hand down his face as the nymph fled from his presence. Bastard. He hadn’t meant for her to become defensive. In truth, he found her innocence tantalizing and intriguing. She was full of mystery. He ought to have perceived her inexperience sooner. Her timid seduction had been odd for a nymph. He’d bedded two or three before, and never had they hesitated, fluttering their lashes to await instruction, as she did.

  Damn, how had he missed it? She might be full of bravado and fire, but there was one thing she couldn’t deny—that sweet, exquisite bliss at their contact. He was certain she’d felt it, too.

  Four brothers. He clenched his jaw. What if one should track her? His army was sparse, weakened. Most weren’t strong enough to battle. What if her brothers brought their army? Theron might not care about the disease then, because an attack would eliminate them entirely.

  He hadn’t calculated any of these risks when bringing Cyane to his home. He’d have to interrogate her further, to determine whether there was a chance of their discovery. Perhaps she was waiting for just that—a rescue.

  She hadn’t disclosed anything of importance, making the likelihood of his concerns even greater. He was a damned fool for letting her get close enough to tempt him.

  How many of her kisses would it take before he’d do anything—even free her?

  Bloody hell. He whipped his head and waded from the pool, toward his pile of clothes. As he buttoned the last button of his shirt, a warrior rushed into the cavern. “Milord, come quickly.”

  Fearing for the nymph, he darted after the youth, following him to their war council chamber. Already, a few dozen of his men had gathered, arming themselves.

  Oh, gods. Cyane’s family had found her.

  “Talos?” He marched straight to his brother, who strapped weapons to his belt.

  “Wind Borne,” Talos grunted. “One of our men had a clash with one of theirs on the borders. They took him. Now, they’re threatening to execute him.”

  Curse Hades. Wind Borne. Relief and trepidation mingled in his veins. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye.” Talos pointed to the archway. “Let’s go.”

  “Right.” Theron seized a pair of short swords and strapped them across his back. They didn’t always use weapons, and rarely armor, because their crab forms were more formidable than either. Yet the Winged Ones were fearsome beasts, so no harm in carrying a few weapons.

  They raced from the cavern, out into the open night air. Below them, the waves crashed onto the shore, their violence reflecting the impending conflict.

  Those vile bird shifters. Theron grimaced. His race and the Wind Borne had always been at odds. Birds and crabs. Natural enemies. Usually, they found peaceful resolutions, but tonight, those raptors had taken things too far.

  They would pay.

  Assuming formation, which allowed them to blend their crab shells together as armor, they sprinted down the stone steps etched into the cliff, toward the shore, where one of his warriors kneeled at the feet of a handful of dark-winged creatures.

  “He belong to you?” One male jerked his chin toward Theron’s grouping.

  Theron stepped forward, breaking from the formation and gripping his fists to stop from reaching for his swords. “Aye. Release him.”

  “Not until he returns what he’s stolen.” A second male glared at them.

  “Which is?”

  “Nothing, my Lord,” the Karkinos male blurted.

  “Argh, quiet you.” One Wind Borne braced his fist to strike him, but glanced at Theron and lowered his hand.

  The hairs on the back of Theron’s neck pricked. This wasn’t right. He didn’t like being out in the open, exposed.

  Tensing, he strained for signs of ambush. The Wind Borne were wickedly manipulative.

  “Return it.” Theron studied the Karkinos, frowning. He didn’t recognize this male, and he was fairly certain he knew everyone.

  Suddenly, the male’s features morphed, spinning angular and sharp, his nose curving like a hawk’s beak.

  A trap.

  “Formation!” Theron bellowed while a flock of Wind Borne descended from the sky. He leapt backward, performing the morphos into his crab form and solidifying his shell around his men.

  The raptors swooped toward them, spears and swords clashing off their backs. Karkinos armor was impenetrable. Nothing could break through their shells.

  After the first assault, the Wind Borne, soared into the sky again.

  “Enough hiding,” Theron growled. “Now, we attack.” Repositioning, they assumed the form of a gigantic crab. Theron wielded one enormous claw, swiping it toward the raptors. Talos brandished the other claw, mimicking his assault.

  Theron snatched one winged male in his pincer, crushing his bones until they were ground into powder, and dropped him to snare another.

  A Wind Borne attacked him from behind, slashing his sword across Theron’s back, not cracking his armor, but Theron roared and hunched forward nonetheless.

  More and more Wind Borne dove, striking them with swords and spears, their razor-sharp feathers grazing across the shell, making sparks flare bright against the night sky.

  “Let’s applaud their efforts!” Theron shouted, and Talos responded to the subtle command, swiping his claw toward Theron’s. They caught several raptors between them, smashing them together.

  Soon, only a handful of Wind Borne remained unscathed. One hunched on the sand, his broken wing dripping blood. “I yield!” He raised a quivering hand.

  Theron leapt down from the giant crab formation and strode toward the male, pinching him by his wounded shoulder and lifting him into the air. “Why did you attack us?”

  “We,” the male wheezed, “heard a rumor. The Karkinos are dying. We assumed you’d be easy to pick off.”

  Snarling, Theron flung him to the ground. “Well, you assumed wrong. If you dare to step foot on our lands again, we’ll not spare any survivors to tell the tale.”

  Cyane paced inside Theron’s chamber. An alarm of drums had thundered, followed by ringing bells, and dozens of warriors storming the tunnels. Then, silence.

  What was happening? Where was Theron?

  Not here, not watching over her. She bit her lip in indecision. This was her chance to escape. If she didn’t seize it, she might never have another.

  Fortifying her resolve, she stole through the tunnels, toward the caves and the mountainside entrance. No one stopped her. She departed the channels, unhindered, and raced through the open field toward the forest. Rhoetus would be at King Cheiron’s castle by now. At least, such was the plan
. If she didn’t contact him soon, he’d worry. He might not follow through with his mission and decide to search for her instead.

  Cyane trekked through the woods, farther and farther from Theron’s grasp. The relief of freedom settled across her shoulders, lightening her steps. She’d forgotten how good—

  Suddenly, cool metal snared around her wrists and a force wrenched her backward, tossing her to the ground and hauling her along the forest path. “Agh!” she cried, wincing at the underbrush scraping across her flesh. The tugging halted, but her wrists froze to the ground and she couldn’t yank them free.

  Long minutes passed, until a masculine figure emerged from the meadow.

  Theron’s broad shoulders framed in the moonlight, he stalked straight toward her. “I told you not to leave.” His stare penetrated her, one fist clenched, and flames of fury rose off him.

  She gritted her teeth. “You bastard.”

  “Aye, that I am.” He crooked one finger and the manacles rose. Then he turned his back on her and marched toward his home, with the shackles following him like an obedient dog, and Cyane dragging her feet behind them.

  Blasted enchanted metal. Theron manipulated the manacles to his bidding. Ugh. She glowered at his back, stomping her feet. Freedom had been so close.

  Once inside his chamber, he rolled the stone across the doorway, locking her in. That boulder was larger than she and she wouldn’t be able to heft it aside. She stormed to the corner and, huffing, sank onto the ground. He didn’t speak or look at her, though she made certain her ire flamed into his flesh.

  Instead, he removed two long swords from a strap on his back, then unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. One long and several fine short lines blistered across his skin, the marks angry and red.

  She gasped, biting the inside of her cheek. “What happened?” Had he fought someone? Was that where they’d gone off to?

  “Wind Borne,” he grated, rolling his shoulders. A grimace formed on his lips and he jolted. The wounds didn’t cut into his flesh, but the raised ridges appeared rather painful.

  Good, she ought to wish him harmed, and yet… The nymph within her winced along with him. Such a horrid act of violence. It drew out the deepest pity inside her. “Let me help you.” She bit her tongue after she uttered the words, but she couldn’t have stopped them. Cyane hopped to her feet and treaded to Theron, his back to her. Tentatively, she prodded his shoulder, above a swollen stripe. Reaching around him, she grabbed a cool cloth from the basin and pressed it to his injury. His muscles twitched, but he made no sound, though she detected his pain.

  “I can’t heal you,” she murmured, washing his wounds. Her powers worked on disease, not injuries.

  “Aye.”

  “Tell me what happened.” Gently, she swept the cloth across his back, wiping away the dirt and grime of battle.

  “An ambush. I should have known better.”

  “Why would the Wind Borne—”

  “Because we are weak,” he ground. “We’ve long been at odds with their race. Now, the rumor of our disease has spread to their scheming ears and I fear it won’t be long before they attack again.”

  “Why, did you lose?”

  “Of course not.” He scoffed, whipping his head. “Karkinos don’t lose.”

  “Humph.” She was beginning to comprehend the origin of his stubbornness. “Then you must anticipate them and ensure they don’t attack again.”

  “Nay, nymph.” He snatched her hand and removed it from his flesh. “What we must do is become strong once more. So formidable, no enemy would dare to strike us.”

  Chapter 5

  Cyane veered away from him. Theron stared at her, his grim declaration sinking into his bones. She was the only solution. Once his people defeated this disease, the Wind Borne threat would be no more.

  Enough with trying to befriend her. Trying to coax her cooperation. No time for any of that. The Wind Borne would attack again, as soon as they’d regrouped. They wouldn’t take kindly to their defeat. They’d be back.

  “No.” She folded her arms. “I won’t be used like that.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He faced the wall, bracing his hands on either side. “Neither do I.”

  “I’ll save as many of your people as I can, but I can’t save them all. It will kill me, Theron.”

  Her words speared into his chest, piercing his shell as no other weapon could. Surely, the gods didn’t intend to test him like this. It was too much for any being to bear. “There’s no other way. One life for many. How can I not make the trade?”

  “Because it’s my life, you tyrant.” She stomped her foot and he shot his gaze to hers, glaring at her sideways. “It should be my choice.”

  “You presume I’d wish for this? Twenty-seven of my people are dead. Tell me, instead, how am I to inform the others they’ll die, too? That I won’t do everything within my power to save them? That I’ll be the reason they perish?” He hung his head. “That I’m to blame.”

  “It’s a disease, Theron.” Cyane padded toward him. “Only the Fates are to blame.”

  “Nay,” he shook his head slowly. What did it matter if she learned the truth? “I might as well have poisoned them myself.”

  “Poison?” She pressed a warm hand on his arm and he regarded her again.

  “Aye, a poisoned batch of mead carried the disease. Delivered by the one male I trusted more than anyone. Balius. My eldest brother, whose life I would have given my own to save. I spent my childhood admiring him. Striving to be him.” He puffed and sank to the ground, planting his hands on his crossed legs.

  Cyane slipped to the floor beside him. “Why would your brother poison his own people?”

  Theron angled his head. “ ’Tis the question I’ve long asked myself. He watched us drink, each man and woman, a grin upon his lips. And Hemera, she…” His voice broke. “Her own child.”

  “Talos’s wife?” Cyane pressed her hand to her mouth, gasping.

  “The pair of them sailed off together, while we gaped in shock at their betrayal. When the first of us became ill, I sought him out. Demanded to know what he’d done. Lashed at the walls of his fortress, but never once did he open his gates. He knew I’d kill him if he did.”

  Clenching and unclenching his fist, he scowled at his hands. He would still. “The disease spread through us quicker than wildfire, leaving none untouched. Yet slowly did it work through our bodies, claiming only the weakest at first.” The tremor in his hands was a warning that soon he’d succumb, too. “Balius crafted the disease to be slow and full of agony, before finally claiming its victim. I know not where this hatred for his people originated, yet I won’t permit him success. Balius will pay. He’ll suffer as we have,” he droned. “He will die.”

  Cyane exhaled slowly and placed her hand atop his, halting his clenching. “Revenge isn’t the answer. Nor is forcing my compliance, though I better understand your desperation now. There has to be another solution, Theron. The waters from Mount Ida—”

  “Are too far away. With no guarantee of working. You were successful. I cannot ignore that.”

  He glanced at his hands. “If I’m honest, neither can I risk you. I may make brash declarations, Cyane, but I can’t follow through with them. You’re too full of light to shine into my dark world.” He twisted toward her and pressed his fingers against her cheek. The vitality and hope lighting her eyes called to him, commanding him never to snuff them out.

  “Which is why it would be my decision, and not yours, Theron.” She leaned forward and swept her lips against his, soft and sweet and so damned tempting.

  Growling, he skimmed his hands through her locks, dragging her mouth harder onto his, desperate for more than just one taste.

  He demanded everything.

  She shifted forward, wrapping her hands around his neck, molding to his body in delicate submission.

  Right. Nymph.

  Snarling, he broke their kiss. “Don’t do that. Don’t ever do that with me.”


  “Do what?” She blinked, fluttering her lashes as though in a daze.

  “Submit.” The word left a foul taint on his tongue. “Because you have to.”

  Her laugh chimed in his ears and he drew back to frown at her.

  Cyane smiled at him with a sensual quirk on her lips. “If you can’t tell the difference between my willing surrender and my resistance, then, Theron, you have much to learn about nymphs.”

  The intense steel in Theron’s perusal sent quivers of delight coursing down Cyane’s spine. That he would stop if he believed her unwilling spoke to his character. After he’d revealed how torn he was about sacrificing her for his people, she couldn’t help but admire him. Leaders made difficult and agonizing decisions. This she well understood.

  “I’m not a delicate creature who’s spent her life frolicking about in the woods,” she murmured. “Other nymphs, perhaps, but not me.” Memories of the attack flashed in her mind and she squeezed her eyes against them. The screams. The flames. The paralyzing terror.

  Only her brothers, huddled in a safe hold with her, had kept her sane. During and afterward.

  “How do you mean?” Theron clasped her hand, keen interest in his tone.

  “I’m from Krete, as you know.” She lifted her lashes to survey his face. “I was born before the Minotaurs arrived, a hundred years ago, and when they did…” The memories crashed through her, such horrible violence. She shuddered and Theron braced an arm about her shoulders, drawing her to his chest. “King Minos loosed them upon my people, the Pegaeae. They ravaged us, without mercy. My mother and I managed to flee. The centaurs took us into their village, offering us refuge. But the Minotaurs followed.” She squeezed her fist and slowly opened her hand, the misery of guilt heavy as a stone upon her palm. “It was our fault. If we hadn’t…” Too late for regret. Even the formidable centaurs hadn’t been able to halt the rampage of the vicious horde of Minotaurs. “First King Minos seized the centaur throne, then he stole their spirits, beating them into submission. Those who didn’t die were forced to serve him. King Minos might have attacked us like a savage, but he was crafty. After the Minotaurs had served his purpose, he betrayed them as well, imprisoning them inside his labyrinth. He crushed any who opposed him and scattered the remainder. Sparing none who might band together to rise up against him. Or so he concludes.”