Water's Mark - Cancer

by Rachael Slate

  “Your brothers?”

  She bobbed her head. “Our parents forced us to hide while the Minotaurs slaughtered our village. Our families.” Her throat tightened with the pangs of unshed tears. “After, when we emerged, we perceived that only together would we survive. We fled to Mount Ida and beseeched the mercy of the gods.”

  A deep sigh deflated his chest. “Oh, Soteira. How horrible. I’ve never heard this story. I think mayhap the tales of your land have not reached here. So tell me, did the gods answer?”

  “Yes. Zeus came to our aid, granting each of us a blessed gift. He promised, one day, if we were strong enough, we might reclaim what was rightfully ours.”

  “What was your gift?”

  “Water.” She twisted her hand about and scrunched her nose at the manacles squelching her powers. “Rhoetus was bestowed command of the Aether. Arctus, power of the Earth. Demoleon compels the Fire. And Lycus masters the Air.”

  “The Elements.” Theron brushed aside a lock of her hair. “You seek to overthrow King Minos?”

  “Yes.” She squeezed his hand and caressed his palm to her cheek. “To avenge those we have lost and to free those who remain in suffering.”

  He lowered his hand, sighing at the wall. “Which is why you can’t stay.”

  She tensed. By sharing her story, she hadn’t intended to request her freedom. In truth, her path stretched before her, divided in twain. If she saved the lives of Theron’s people, would she risk her own?

  “Rhoetus is in Thessaly,” she droned, “seeking aid. He doesn’t require my help anymore.”

  “Any more?” Theron shot his scrutiny to her.

  She lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I facilitated an introduction. Rhoetus will know what to do next.”

  “You were bait.” Theron crossed his arms, flexing those rippling muscles. “Tell me your brother didn’t dangle you beneath that vile King Philaeus’s nose?”

  Males! She scoffed, shooting to her feet. “What if he had? It was my decision and I was more than capable of rising to the task.”

  Theron staggered to stand, scowling. “That’s not what I meant. Only, I wouldn’t risk anyone under my protection.”

  This sounded an awful lot like the arguments her brothers had declared before arriving at the conclusion they’d permit her. Permit me. Ha.

  “I may be a nymph, Karkinos, but I am not powerless. And if this,” she waved her shackled wrist in front of him, “is how you protect people, then you are no better than King Philaeus.”

  Theron flinched at the glinting metal enclosing Cyane’s wrist. Aye, he’d made her a prisoner, the same as that bastard Philaeus. After hearing her tale, however, he was even less assured she’d remain if he freed her.

  The predicament about whether he ought to force her to heal his people faded. It wasn’t as his prisoner that he wished to keep her.

  He craved Cyane for himself.

  “How can I be sure that if I release you, you won’t vanish?”

  “You can’t.” She perched her hands on her hips. “It’s called trust, Theron, and you will have to begin using it with me.” She thrust out her wrists and regarded him with one arched brow.

  “Trust,” he muttered to himself, puffing. “I’m not entirely certain I know how to do that anymore.”

  “Well, now’s the time to find out.”

  Indeed. Setting his shoulders, he snared both of her wrists, closing his hands around the metal. It sprang open, the shackles clinking onto the ground.

  Cyane hugged her wrists to her chest and rubbed them. “Thank you.”

  He bent to snatch the manacles off the floor. “Don’t thank me. Not for this.” He flicked his gaze to hers, searching within those azure pools for something, anything, to assure him she wouldn’t melt into a puddle and vanish.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Theron.” She beamed at him. “I rather like having a mission of my own.”

  “Aye, speaking of which,” his chest tightened as he recalled the weak state he’d discovered her in earlier, “there have to be rules about how many you heal and how close together. You can’t drain yourself so intensely.”

  “Fine.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “I’ll proceed with care.”

  He’d be relieved, if her eyes didn’t sparkle. How their roles had reversed. Before, he would have commanded her to cure them all, regardless of the cost to herself. Now, he was unwilling to allow her to heal even one soul if it meant any distress for her.

  “I am serious.” He stalked forward, seizing her wrists and uncrossing them, tugging her to his chest. “You must be careful.”

  Her breath hitched and she bit the corner of her plump bottom lip. “If I’m not? What happens to those who defy the mighty Theron?”

  Her playful tone tugged a smile onto his lips. “They are punished, of course.” He dropped his hands to her bottom and, seizing her, tossed her over his shoulder. She squealed while he carted her to the bed, depositing her onto her back. He collapsed beside her legs, admiring the length of her lovely body. Gods, it had been so long since he’d found comfort with another. Since his heart and head hadn’t been solely focused on restoring his people.

  The fabric of her breeches molded enticingly to her thighs, and teasingly, he inched it downward, casting his appreciation between her delicate features and the luscious flesh he uncovered. “A nymph who has never sampled the pleasures of her nature, well, that’s a travesty. One I ought to remedy.”

  “You should.” She tilted her chin in defiance, those depths flashing as though to challenge him. He quirked his lips at her. Karkinos never backed down.

  Theron slipped the leather over her hips, tugging off her breeches, baring her soft curves. Inhaling sharply, he observed her, knees bent and concealing what he yearned for most. That silky pink flesh between her thighs. “Open to me, Cyane.” Gripping her knees, he nudged them apart and groaned at the beauty of her, shapely like a flower’s petals. He traced one fingertip from her hip toward her core, parting her knees wider while her hips bucked.

  “What’s next?” she breathed.

  He dipped his head forward, his mouth descending. “This.”

  Chapter 6

  Cyane trembled as Theron’s dark locks disappeared between her thighs and the warm lap of his tongue brushed across her most intimate parts. Instinctively, her hips jerked, but Theron clasped her knees, coaxing her legs to remain open. The second glide of his tongue was even more intense, and her trepidations melted away while sensual tingles spread through her core. They spun through her, growing harder, stronger, more desperate with each flick of his tongue and nip of his lips. She combed her fingers through his hair and urged his mouth deeper onto her nub, seeking the precipice she climbed toward.

  It was too much to bear and not enough at the same time. Her legs quivered, her muscles twitching and her body threatened to melt into a molten puddle. Suddenly, a wave of bliss crashed into her and she cried out. Without intending it, she dissolved into liquid.

  Dazed, Cyane struggled to piece herself together, droplet by droplet, until she performed the morphos into her human shape. Panting, she stretched, her muscles limp and her mind hazy. What had happened?

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Theron’s booming voice bellowed in her ears.

  Twisting about, she squinted at him. “Ah, I’m not certain?”

  “I feared you’d left me.” A painful note twisted in his tone.

  “Of course I wouldn’t. Not like that. Besides, what happened there, was your fault.” She pursed her lips, a slight annoyance pricking beneath her skin. Never had she transformed unintentionally before.

  “My fault?”

  “You should have warned me that would happen.”

  “How could I warn you of something I wasn’t aware?”

  “But. You.” She struggled for words. “This wasn’t normal?”

  A slow, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and he shook his head. “For anyone else but you,” he winked, “nay, I think
not.”

  “Ah.” Embarrassment flushed her cheeks and she crossed her legs, drawing them to her chest to shield herself. “Well, you needn’t laugh about it.”

  Theron rubbed his hand across his lips as though he reminisced about tasting her. “Oh, I’m not laughing.” His rumble purred sensually and he shifted toward her, his large form rising above her. “I like your taste, nymph. Your waters are sweet and pure, and I’ve developed a thirst only you can quench.”

  He hovered, settling atop her and between her legs, his broad form forcing them wide. His weight pressed her downward, but he braced his upper body on his elbows and peered into her eyes. His hard length rubbed across her softness as he rocked his hips against hers. Their heavy breaths mingled and she raised her hips to match his, to stroke him harder against her. The sensation was intoxicating and it shattered every fiber of her being. So badly, she craved this with him. She might fade from this world if she didn’t cling to the strength inside him beckoning her.

  Cyane wrapped her arms and legs around him, lifting her mouth to meet his. Theron’s tongue slipped inside, tangling with hers suggestively. Thrusting. Swirling. Retreating and claiming her again.

  Oh, yes. The power in his body called to everything in hers. Did all nymphs suffer the same intoxication? Would she feel this way with any other male?

  The barrier of his breeches was too much. Urgency rose within her and she grasped for them, intending to free him so he could make love to her as her body demanded.

  “Nay, sweetling.” He snared her hand, stopping her. “Not yet.”

  Not yet? “If not now, when? Don’t make me beg, Theron.” She whimpered against his lips, driving her hips higher into his. The recesses of her mind searched for his lust, for a way to augment it so it matched hers.

  “Don’t.” He lowered their clasped hands beside her head and gripped her wrist. “I want you, Cyane, but when we’re both ready.”

  “I’m fairly certain I am ready,” she grated, tightening her legs around his waist.

  His heaving respirations swelled against her chest. “Then mayhap I’m the one who’s not.” Scuttling backward to sit, he unwrapped her legs and sank onto his heels. “I would not claim you like this.” He raked a hand through his mussed locks. “It’s not honorable.”

  “Honorable?” She arched onto her elbows. “You’re as horrid as my brothers.”

  “Aye?” He cocked a brow, a quirk tugging onto his lips.

  Ugh, wrong choice of words.

  The last thing she wished for was a lover who sought the approval of her brothers. Males who’d never grant it to him.

  She might as well remain untouched for the rest of her existence. Argh. Shaking her head at him, she stumbled from the bed and crossed her arms, tapping her foot. She refused to stay and submit to this honorable behavior. “Good night, Theron. I will see you in the morning.” Transforming into water, she floated toward an empty vase and deposited herself within.

  Theron scowled at the vase for the better part of the night. While he loathed that Cyane had melted from his presence, he appreciated that she’d remained within his sight.

  Proof he ought to trust her? He scratched his jaw and, snatching the vase off the table, carted it with him to the valley. A cast of younglings sparred in the circular arena. Among them, Keyx. The lad was strong enough to rejoin his peers.

  Nodding in approval, Theron set the vase safely on the ground and stripped off his shirt, joining the lesson.

  Transforming his hands into massive claws, he swiped them at the youths, encouraging their counter strikes and defenses. Every Karkinos was trained to fight from the moment they could handle a weapon. They were warriors by blood, fighters by nature.

  Someday, they might be a peaceful people. Not now, not in this world.

  The best thing to bestow the young of his kind was the ability to defend themselves.

  Keyx landed a blow to Theron’s back, and he spun to witness the pride beaming on the lad’s face. “Where’s your focus today?”

  Theron chuckled at the taunt he all too often repeated to his students. “Aye, you’re right, but you’ll not get another hit on me.” He charged, the youth scrambled to the side, and Theron inclined his head in satisfaction. Karkinos were swift and nimble, and damned hard to catch.

  He swung his grin toward the vase, hoping to share his pride with Cyane, but the vase rested on its side, tipped over.

  His gut dropped. Nay. Had someone knocked it? He scanned the arena, but no one scurried off. After racing to the vase, he plucked it and peered inside.

  The water, it was gone. Clenching his hands, he muttered an apology to the youths and instructed them to continue without him. He sprinted off, through the tunnels, searching for the nymph. Had she escaped? How easily she could slip away in her natural form.

  How easily she might part from him.

  Despair swirled inside his chest. There was something infinitely important about her, though he couldn’t determine what exactly. All he knew for certain was…

  He could not lose her.

  He’d abandon his people and sail to Krete if he had to. Theron stumbled to a halt outside of the Black Cave. A pulsing thrummed inside his veins, calling him toward the entrance.

  She was inside. He was certain.

  So, she hadn’t abandoned him; she’d disobeyed him instead.

  Hardheaded wench.

  Relief fought for supremacy over the irritation boiling within him. Her willingness to aid his people softened his heart, but her dismissal of her safety concerned him.

  What if she went too far? What if there was no cure, not for everyone?

  His doubts wouldn’t quieten, so he paced a few steps inside the tunnel to the cavern. Aha. Beside the nearest bed, Cyane rested, clasping the hand of the female she’d healed.

  The emotions roiling within him suddenly stopped on tranquility and he smiled, approaching them. Nothing to fear upon this path, not if they tread it together.

  Theron glanced at the cured female and suddenly, his gut twisted.

  Oh, gods. Not her.

  “Theron?” Cyane yawned, blinking at his imposing form. The jovial expression on his face hardened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Go, now.”

  His cross, foreboding tone irked her. “No.” She rested her head on the pillow again. “I came here to heal.”

  “I am ever grateful you did,” the female she’d cured, Elissa, murmured.

  “Cyane.” The warning in his voice drew her attention. “You’ve done enough for today. Let’s go, together.”

  He extended his large, inviting hand, and the weakness inside her surrendered. After she linked her fingers with his, he scooped her into his arms.

  She sent a smile to the female she’d healed, then toward Theron, but he glowered at the woman with a suspicious amount of familiarity, and dislike.

  “Who is she?”

  “No one,” he grunted, carting her away.

  “Well, obviously, she’s someone important to you.”

  “Not important, no. She’s no concern to me, or to you.”

  Vague, and irritating. Cyane sighed and rested her cheek against Theron’s solid muscle. The strength in him revitalized her, renewing her energy, and by the time they approached his chamber, she no longer suffered weakness.

  “Sleep,” he barked, lowering her to the bed.

  She clung to his neck as he shifted away. “I’m not tired.”

  “Then rest.” He seized her wrists, forcing them off.

  “I will, if you stay with me.” Leaning back, she parted her thighs suggestively, sliding one hand along her leg.

  His brows bunched together, a clenching tightening his jaw. “Don’t tempt me, lass. You might not like the outcome.”

  She extended one hand toward him. “Try me.”

  “Nay, I can’t.” Casting one last heated, longing glance at her, he strode from the chamber.

  The next three weeks passed in a dull, monotonous rhythm. Ea
ch morning, Cyane would thwart him, stealing away to the Black Caves, and into the general populace, to heal his people. Each night, instead of reconciling in their bed, she’d transform into water. That blasted vase had become her bed.

  Theron rearranged the spears he’d been training his students to wield. There was little to do but wait. Wait until the Wind Borne attacked again. Wait until his people were cured.

  The bloody waiting was driving him mad.

  Those who could, trained. Those capable, harvested, hunted, and performed their normal tasks. Their existence was nowhere near normal. If not for this disease, they would have moved on long ago. Nomadic by force rather than choice, his people traversed across great distances, searching for a place they might claim as a permanent home.

  Cyane blended seamlessly into their village. She carried out any task she came across, and it seemed, she’d always been a part of them.

  Yet, she wasn’t. He’d had to remind himself, every time he saw her. Helping carry baskets of fish from the shore. Reading to the younglings. Conversing with the women.

  One day, and soon, she would depart this place. He’d not forgotten the tale of her brothers, and their mission. Before long, they’d come looking for her.

  Probably for the best he’d removed those manacles.

  Theron straightened one crooked spear. This wasn’t right, what she was doing. Each day, she grew a little paler, a little weaker. Already, she’d healed dozens of his people, but the sad truth was, she might never save everyone.

  He never should have brought her here, given them false hope.

  It was time to right this wrong.

  Theron prowled through the tunnels, searching for Cyane. He emerged from one overlooking the tide pools. On the rocks below, Cyane hovered above a young female and transformed into liquid, commencing the healing process.