Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  Apparently, his mother had concluded the same, so she’d manipulated his choice in order to win their wager. Again.

  “I’ll not have her. Give me back my choice.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that, my darling.” His mother’s perfectly sweet smile reflected at him. “The chambermaid you selected is with child, and the maiden in your castle now rescued her, trading places. Even if I had wished to alter your choice, I couldn’t have orchestrated such marvelous entertainment.” She chimed a laugh, as clear and sonorous as a bell.

  Rescued? With child? “Then, this wasn’t your doing?”

  “Indeed not.”

  He groaned and raked a hand through his locks, pacing to the side. His entire strategy was squashed. He might as well accept defeat. What was the point of even trying?

  This bloody wager, while once amusing, now only made him…weary. He longed to be freed of it.

  “Eros, do not look so sullen. It is not becoming.” Aphrodite tsked and spun in her seat, rising gracefully to glide to his side and place her hand on his cheek. “I know how trying this is for you, but if you offer the maiden a chance, she might surprise you. She has already.”

  True enough. None of the other sacrifices had ever attempted to kill him. He scoffed and pressed his fingers against his mother’s before lowering their hands and releasing her grasp.

  “Is she at least pure?” Better to know what he was plunging into.

  “I shouldn’t think I would have to tell you that.” A laugh rang from her lips. “You must be losing your touch.”

  That wasn’t all he was losing. He might have begun this bet out of a need to prove the power of lust, but all he’d learned thus far was to doubt the force of love.

  “Ha, well, a thousand years of this bloody game has made Ares’s punishment rather tempting.” After all, how different could Tartarus be from this hell he was already enslaved to?

  “No, my son.” His mother’s expression grew solemn. “You cannot give up hope. One day, you shall win. I’m certain. Until then, have patience,” she cooed. “I would free you if I could, but you brought this onto yourself, my dove.”

  Aye. His shoulders deflated with the blasted truth. This wager with his mother had been his idea. She wasn’t to blame.

  He’d cursed himself.

  “You may not welcome my advice,” she twirled her fingers through the air, “but why not change your strategy?”

  “How so?” He drummed his fingertips on his thigh. Was she attempting to aid him, or simply win the bet that much faster?

  “Ah, that,” she winked at him, “I cannot help you with.”

  Annoyed, Eros faded from her chamber, back to his manor, his prison. The bath had likely been a poor idea, yet he’d been desperate for a glimpse. One tiny peek at soft, feminine flesh.

  Only once a century did he ever permit himself such companionship.

  This time was different. She was different. Mayhap not how he’d planned, but his mother might be right. A change of strategy was in order.

  He sniffed the air and caught the maiden’s luscious scent, as sweet as freshly bloomed roses. Treading cautiously, he followed the trail of perfume, winding through the atrium. The expanse seemed empty, yet it wasn’t. His ears detected the maiden’s thundering heartbeats and his nose savored her fragrance.

  She was hiding from him. How?

  It must be a gift from one of the gods. Intriguing. He prowled between the columns, inching nearer. Would she attack him again? He hadn’t yet given her cause not to.

  Her gift didn’t conceal her from his divine senses, however, and, as he rounded a corner, he detected her nearness. “Fear not. I will cause you no harm,” he called, halting a few feet away.

  “Blast it,” she muttered, her form appearing before him, huddled at the bottom of one massive pillar. She shot to her feet, a dagger braced in her hand. “I won’t promise the same.” Though she had to be terrified, she faced him with impressive courage. “Release me and forfeit your claim on the village. You will not murder any more innocents.”

  Is this what the villagers believed? He flashed behind her, purring into her ear, “I cannot, but you are mistaken, Arete.” Beauty. “I did not kill any of them.”

  She arched her neck as though to peer into his darkness. “Then who did?”

  Sighing, he whispered the awful truth, “They killed themselves.”

  Psyche shuddered at the beast’s horrifying words. On the far side of the village stood a mausoleum. Every century, the beast’s victim would be laid to rest therein. Everyone had assumed the monster murdered them. Could they be wrong?

  “I don’t understand.” Frigid sweat beaded along her spine. The tales claimed the women were returned to the village, their bodies as cold as stone.

  Instead of explaining, the shadows retreated through an entryway. “Follow me.”

  Instinct warned her to be cautious, yet the same tingle in her belly also declared he might be speaking the truth. After all, the beast hadn’t killed her. Yet.

  Stealing forward, she trailed the dark haze, the corridor lighting one sconce at a time, fading behind her, until they arrived at a grand chamber. A ballroom? An ornate, gilded pedestal occupied the center of the wide, jeweled mosaic floor and on it rested a single rose. Blackened and shriveled.

  The murky cloud swept it into the air and offered it to her. “Will you stay?”

  “Stay?”

  “I would not keep you against your will. You are free to go, but if you accept this rose, you must agree to my rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “I’ll tell you, after you agree.”

  She scoffed. “That hardly sounds fair. I can’t agree to rules I’m unaware of.”

  “Accept the rose or leave.” The rumble in the beast’s voice suggested his temper flamed. “Or is this not what you sought when you traded places with the chambermaid?”

  Psyche bit the corner of her lip. He knows. Yet, he permitted the exchange. One maiden might be the same as another to him. The beast presented a choice, but in truth, she didn’t have one. If she fled, he would pick another victim.

  The only way to defeat him was to stay.

  Besides, if she retreated, it would only be to face a proposal she didn’t wish for.

  “Fine, I’ll stay.” She plucked the rose from the mist. Amazingly, it didn’t crumble in her hands, though it appeared as devoid of life as the rest of this manor.

  Suddenly, the flower floated from her grasp, hovering in the air above the pedestal. Silence stretched, until the beast grunted in disappointment. Was something supposed to have happened?

  “Rule one, you can never leave the castle grounds.” He didn’t hesitate, his steel tone foreboding like ice on her skin.

  “I’d feared as much. Agreed.”

  He huffed, “Rule two, you cannot speak to anyone of what you witness in this place.”

  “Not so hard to do if I can’t leave,” she muttered. “I consent. And the last?” She tensed lest his command be some depraved entertainment.

  “Never,” his voice twisted low, pained, “ever, may you look upon my face. Doing so would cause your death.”

  She blinked into the blackness, but his words pressed into her mind and she averted her stare. Caught off guard, her lips parted but no agreement passed them. Instead, she gave her head a shaky nod, exhaling slowly. “Is that what happened to the others? Why?” The revelation of his third rule stirred a million questions in her mind. Was he cursed like the creature Medusa, that anyone who gazed upon him would be turned to stone?

  “Enough for tonight,” he snapped. “Your chamber is that way.” Instead of leading her to it, the sconces in the hallway illuminated her path. She whirled toward the beast, but the shadows had retreated, leaving her alone to ponder this new twist in her fate.

  Could the beast be less beastly than everyone presumed? Why demand a virgin sacrifice every century, only to imprison her with these bizarre commandments?

 
; Frowning, she followed the torchlights up a spiraling staircase and to the end of a corridor, where a thick wooden door swung open of its own accord. Or, the beast’s will.

  The paltry knife in her hand seemed insignificant. If everything in this castle was enchanted, a tiny blade wouldn’t protect her. Still, it gave her a sense of comfort. She set it aside on a dresser and padded to the enormous four-poster bed. At the sight of the lush mattress and billowy sheets, her body rebelled and, sighing, she sank onto the bed.

  Killing the beast wouldn’t free the village. Of that she was convinced. Something darker and more sinister held them captive.

  And she was determined to seek out what.

  ***

  Eros paced his chamber. A century ago, he would have ravished the lass sacrificed to him. In fact, he had. That one, and the one before her. Each maid, for more than a thousand years. Every time, he’d been confident of his victory.

  Yet the wager he’d concocted for entertainment now played him for its own amusement. He’d been so assured that, through his talents, he could win the heart of any maiden. Time and failure had taught him the error of his beliefs. Seducing the sacrificed female only stirred her passions—to disastrous ends.

  There had to be another way. He scratched his jaw and paused. The maidens failed the test because, intoxicated by his touch, they’d not been able to stop themselves.

  A hazard of being the god of erotic love.

  Because of his pride, he’d become imprisoned by his own nature.

  Long ago, Aphrodite had fashioned the bonding—an unbreakable union between two lovers. The male would bear a mark—a thin black band circling his upper left arm—declaring his devotion to the female. Eros had empathized with the male, whose chosen female might still welcome the attentions of another male, while he would forever burn only for her.

  As such, he’d altered his mother’s bonding. He’d proclaimed the female of the union would enjoy indescribable pleasure at the hands of her bonded male. Surely, intense attraction would be enough to secure their attachment. Why would a female stray when such extreme ecstasy awaited her?

  Passion bred love, did it not?

  He strode to the window and stared at the grounds below. Aye, therein the seed of their wager had grown. Eros had been determined to prove his theory, and Aphrodite had been content to let him try.

  In his cocksureness, he’d proclaimed any female would fall madly for the male who provided her such erotic bliss. How could she not? To prove it, he’d offered himself as subject.

  Damned, bloody fool.

  He hunched, rubbing his temples. The past had provided no victory. None of the females he’d charmed had fallen in love with him, despite how they’d screamed in rapture. Instead, they’d each succumbed to their curious natures, to the desperation to view the face of the one who pleasured them.

  In spite of his every effort to steer them otherwise, they had perished.

  Neither he nor his mother had wanted the risks of their wager to be so high, yet that bloody god of war, Ares, had intervened. He’d stated that without the possibility of great peril, nothing would prevent the maidens from failing. Aphrodite had agreed, and in his arrogance, Eros had shrugged off the hazard. Each female was to be warned that learning his identity would result in her death. And each had been.

  Still, they’d died. In his arms.

  Twelve hundred years of wagers lost. A dozen females who could not love him for what he was.

  Likely, no one ever would.

  Jaw clenched, he fought against the despair and loneliness clawing through his chest.

  He’d been so assured of his success, he’d declared their agreement would end only with his victory. So there it was. Win or surrender. If he forfeited the wager, however, his godhood was the price and his immortal soul would be condemned to Tartarus for eternity. He had Ares to blame for goading him into those terms. Damned war god.

  Grimacing, Eros puzzled over his choices and marched to the maiden’s bedchamber. He paused at the sight of her slumbering on the bed. A good thing she slept, because her beauty tightened his ballocks and stirred urges he wouldn’t normally dismiss.

  Concentrate. How could he make this maiden fall in love with him?

  He rolled his shoulders as the answer his mother would give popped into his mind. Woo her.

  Pursuing a female, well, that seemed tedious. He’d never seen the point in it.

  Yet if such was what his freedom required…

  Then let the courtship begin.

  ***

  Psyche blinked into warm, inviting sunshine. A floral scent greeted her nose and foreign furnishings met her view. This was not her bed. She swallowed against a dry throat.

  The beast.

  Instead of awakening from a dream, she awoke into a curious fantasy. She whipped her scrutiny about the empty chamber. Her gaze swept the dresser, absent of her dagger. In its place stood a vase full of bloomed roses. The ramming of her pulse thundered in her ears. Had the beast been inside her chamber?

  Scooting from the bed, she scowled at his lack of propriety. The first thing he would learn was manners. She was a King’s daughter and above any of these wicked games he insisted on playing.

  Her dress was wrinkled beyond decency from sleeping in it, but no matter. She gave her hair a quick brushing with her fingers and stormed from the chamber.

  “Where is my dagger?” she called into the corridor, the echo of her footsteps clacking back to her. At least, in daylight, no frightening shadows permeated the manor. If he wouldn’t come to her, she’d hunt him down. Enormous estate or not.

  Psyche strode through the hallway to her right. A few steps outside of her chamber proved her theory of yesterday correct. Dust and cobwebs coated every surface.

  No wonder he wished for a chambermaid. She snorted.

  As she descended a winding staircase and rounded the corner, a most delightful buttery scent drifted toward her. Biscuits? Her stomach rumbled in hopeful anticipation. She paused at a set of swinging doors, but then shoved through them. If the beast wished her dead, she would already be dead.

  Therefore, he must intend to feed her.

  On the other side of the doors, she gaped. No one had ever questioned how the beast lived, most assuming he plucked fat goats from local farms and feasted on them.

  No goats, but rather, an oddly mechanical creature, in the shape of a human, mixed flour in a large wooden bowl. The being paused and blinked at Psyche for a moment before resuming her task. At least, Psyche assumed the creature female, for she wore a plain servant’s dress.

  “The Master will join you in the dining hall.” The apparent cook nodded toward another set of doors.

  “Of course,” Psyche murmured, inclining her head and obeying. Master? He’d best not expect her to address him thusly.

  The doors opened into a grand hall, a massively long table occupying its center. Like the evening prior, this room glistened and gleamed, but would it appear so if the beast were not near?

  She fisted her hands. He must be near.

  Psyche chose a seat in the middle, her back close to the wall so she might view any mists attempting to steal toward her.

  The cook marched inside a moment later, placing a series of platters on the table before her and departing without uttering a word.

  “Thank you,” Psyche called after her. Sweet and savory fragrances floated in her direction, but she sat unmoving.

  “Will you not eat?” the beast rumbled from across the chamber.

  She stiffened at the sound of his voice and the sight of a dark, inky haze pouring into the room. Part of her had clung to hope she’d dreamed this fantasy. “You stole my dagger.”

  “You’ve no need of it.” The mists shuffled as though restless. “Now, eat.”

  “I will, once you return my blade. It is not polite to thieve from your guests.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “It is where you left it.”

  She opened her mouth to inquire how
, but decided against it. This castle was full of enchantments one could not explain. “Thank you.” Her stomach pinched, so she snatched a buttery biscuit, tore off a piece, and plopped it inside her mouth. Mmm. Famished, she finished the rest, but tensed. He was watching her.

  “Will you not join me?” Or perhaps he truly did consume fat goats.

  “No. The food is for you, as is anything else you might request. Ask it of my servants and they will obey your commands.”

  Her throat dried. “If you don’t eat, then…”

  “Oh, I eat.” His tone dripped low, sultry. “When I’m hungry.”

  ***

  Pacing, Eros studied the female across from him.

  “A pity. These are delicious.” She shrugged off his suggestive purr and consumed another biscuit instead. “What are your servants? Where do they come from? How can they—”

  “I should have made ‘no questions’ my fourth rule.” The corner of his mouth quirked. He hadn’t anticipated actually enjoying her company, but her quick, sharp tongue was like a balm to his neglected, lonely mind. “What is your name?”

  Her deep green eyes flashed. “I’ll tell you mine, in exchange for yours.”

  “Clever.” Scratching his jaw, he pondered her proposal.

  “Your true name,” she added, before he could offer her otherwise.

  “You can’t ask that of me. Rule number three.” He waved it off. If she learned his name, she would realize he was the god of erotic love. The wager would be lost, and she would be dead.

  “How is that rule number three?” Her plump lips twisted down in a pout.

  “You can either have a name to address me by, or refer to me as ‘Master.’ ”

  She huffed and crossed her arms. “Fine. I shall simply call you ‘Beast’ as the villagers do.”

  He chuckled. “Is that the name they’ve bestowed me?” He’d not spent his time conversing with the other maidens, and he much preferred his seclusion than mingling with mortals he could not…enjoy. Unable to sate his needs, he’d neglected theirs as well. Of course, in forming the wager, he’d not had the hindsight of how bloody lengthy this ordeal would be.