Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  The sad truth was, his carnal appetite had diminished over the years, finally extinguishing after the last maiden had perished. For how could he find pleasure in the one thing which condemned so many and burdened him most?

  “Yes. They declare you’re a dragon.” She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  An odd panic tightened in his chest at the curve in her cherry red lips. “Don’t.” If she began to guess, she would soon be dead. Observing her flushed cheeks and sparkling depths, he refused to imagine her cold and bloodless.

  “Rule number three,” she murmured as though to herself.

  “Don’t forget it.”

  She gave a tense nod. “I’m finished eating. What am I to do while I’m here?”

  Spread your legs, was the answer he would have given. The other maidens hadn’t done much else.

  Eros clenched his jaw and ignored the aching pangs in his ballocks. She was so lovely, not sampling her would be a travesty. “Bathe,” he answered instead. If he couldn’t touch her, at least he might view her.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Not with you present.”

  Saucy wench. He grinned. “Fine, but you’ll have to wash eventually. How about a tour of the castle instead?”

  “I would like that.” She rose and glided toward him. He had to fist his hands not to offer his arm, not to graze his fingertips across her supple skin.

  This was going to be one bloody impossible wager.

  Instead, he condensed his mists until he rested before her in the form of an enormous, silver-furred wolf.

  She gasped and seized one step backward. “You’re a wolf? I thought—”

  “I can show you many forms, Arete. None of which will be the truth.” He dipped his head toward her then stalked to the archway. The inquisitive pursing of her lips would be something he’d have to strive to snuff out.

  Collecting himself, he commenced the tour, guiding her first into the aviary, where dozens of Hephaestus’s automatons hopped about in the form of various birds and lizards.

  “What are they?” She knelt beside a metallic gecko, her eyes sparkling in fascination. “May I pet it?”

  “Aye, go ahead. I do not believe they bite. Unlike other creatures you will find here.” He snickered at his jest, but she appeared too engrossed by the lizard to take note.

  “They are automatons. Semi-sentient beings fashioned of precious metals. A gift from the god of the forge.” No doubt in a ploy to entice Aphrodite into his bed. It was no secret Hephaestus coveted his one-time lover. No more a secret than how Aphrodite preferred the handsome god of war, Ares, over the flawed, limping Hephaestus. Every time Hephaestus presented Aphrodite with a new gift, she shuddered and handed it straight to Eros.

  These creatures were the only ones to keep him company through the long centuries.

  “God?” She whipped her face toward him. “Do you court favor with them?”

  “As much as one cursed can,” he ground, hoping to dissuade further questions about his interactions with the gods. The odds were already against them that she would end her days here, cold as stone. Her curiosity would only hasten her doom.

  “Cursed? Is that who ‘she’ is? A goddess?”

  A metallic dove cooed from the windowsill, interrupting her, and fluttered toward him, coming to rest on his shoulder. “Yes?” Eros listened intently to the bird’s message. He’d sent the dove to uncover the maiden’s name and lineage.

  Now, he knew both.

  “What is that bird telling you?” She rose and dusted off her skirts.

  “Your name and where you come from.” From which it was easy enough to deduce her innocence. Ha, Mother.

  The maiden scrunched her small nose. “We had a deal. Just because you have magical birds doesn’t mean you can withdraw from your end.”

  “Nay, I never agreed.” He faced her, baring his teeth. “Besides, this is my castle and these are my rules. Never forget, Psyche, they’re in place to protect your life.”

  My name. Psyche stamped down the bitterness coating the tip of her tongue. What did it matter if the beast knew her name? Only that he wouldn’t share his identity. Dare she trust that learning his name would result in her death?

  There might be other ways to study her new Master. Ha. She was no servant and he no Lord.

  This arrangement was most puzzling indeed.

  She crossed her arms and glared at the massive grey wolf. He was easily three times her size, with thick, shimmering silver fur, and he moved like no wolf she had ever seen. His paws seemed to cross the floors without ever actually touching them. His lips formed words as he spoke, making him appear more man than beast—and making her feel less foolish for replying. Most striking was his eyes; the rich shade of blue was simply dazzling. “You might have asked my name, politely, instead of stealing it.”

  “Why? The moment you accepted the rose, you became mine.”

  His. A shudder rippled down her spine. Had she fled from one proposal, only to fall into another? Mine. His what? The beast had made no clarification on that.

  “Besides, you already violated my commandments when you traded places with the chambermaid. You are fortunate I chose to accept you.”

  “Accept me? Humph, and you are fortunate I have chosen not to kill you. Yet.”

  He chuckled low, as though amused by her threat. Irksome male. “Let me show you the library.” Without waiting for her, he prowled from the aviary into the adjacent room and, as she followed, her jaw dropped.

  The expansive chamber was larger than even the ballroom. Beneath her feet, the floors were bejeweled mosaics as well, composing luxurious murals. Books of every hue lined walls stretching three or four stories high. A domed ceiling arched above them, fashioned of citrus wood and ivory. Dark planks formed the shelves and archways, each branch shooting off in another direction from the central dome. One grand spiraling staircase faced them from the inside of the castle, and opposite it, large glass doors opened into a charming garden. A massive hearth framed the west facing wall, and several armchairs and sofas were arranged about the space.

  “Do you like it?”

  “So many books. I love it.” She twirled about, estimating how many books were contained within. Thousands.

  “So do I,” he murmured. “I’ve had the time to read them all.”

  She choked on her breath. “You must be jesting. It would take hundreds of years to—”

  “Indeed, it has.”

  Hundreds of years. How lonely he must be, if that was all he ever did. A spark of empathy flared in her heart for the beast. When she’d first arrived, she’d been determined to hate him, to kill him. But each new revelation whispered the truth was yet concealed.

  Psyche pressed her lips together. The legends about the beast were true. One maiden for every century. How many had come before her? She spun to face the wolf. “Why am I here? If not to eat me, why demand a sacrifice?”

  His deep blue depths glinted with wicked intent. “Who said I wouldn’t eat you?”

  She perched her hands on her hips. Enough with his games. “Aside from your name, tell me something about you. Tell me who you are.”

  The wolf shifted his weight onto his hind legs, regarding her with a penetrating stare. “Why do you care? I am a being cursed and I have imprisoned you against your will. Does that not speak enough for my character?” His tone twisted bitter and he snarled as he pawed past her, toward the archway, “Enjoy your time here, Arete. You’ll never step freely again.”

  Chuffing, he abandoned her in his enormous library. His rude and coarse manners only made her more resolved to peel the layers and view the true nature of the beast.

  She didn’t have to view his face to do that.

  Sighing, Psyche plucked a book from the shelf to her left and sank into an armchair by the hearth. The wood flamed to life, a signal her captor continued to monitor her.

  She shrugged off the notion and examined the cover. Strange, it had n
o title. Frowning, she opened the book at a random page. An image of a nude male, thrusting from behind into a bared female with large breasts, assaulted her eyes. She gasped and slammed the book shut, her cheeks flaming.

  Read every book. Ha! These were not books, they were…

  Her mouth dried and she fanned herself. Works full of erotic illustrations and descriptions.

  Well, now, at least she knew what the beast did with his time.

  Cheeks burning with embarrassment, she replaced the book onto its shelf and strode from the room. A cold bath sounded rather pleasant.

  In the corridor, a maidservant dusted a chandelier. Psyche marched to the automaton. “May I request your assistance?” She might fancy a bath, but not an audience. Besides, the beast had promised his staff to obey her commands.

  “Of course, milady.” The servant bobbed her head.

  “Wonderful. Thank you.” Her lips curved in a triumphant smile. “How many of you might I enlist?”

  ***

  Eros wandered the symposium on Mount Olympus—the ethereal home of the gods, a place where they gathered and frolicked. Clouds formed a domed canopy over the enormous expanse and trickling waterfalls cascaded between massive solid gold columns. A hazy breeze ruffled through the air, carrying sweet notes of ambrosia and nectar—the finest sustenance of the gods. Dozens of scantily-clad servants—mortal and immortal—fluttered about the space, fulfilling every whim of their masters.

  Satyrs, nymphs, centaurs, Wind and Water Borne, descendant creatures and the gods of their lineage mingled in this heavenly place. Imbibing of mead and wine, and partaking in various forms of revelry.

  Once, he’d led that merrymaking. This eve, it would seem, he was the source of their amusement. A crowd of divine beings gathered around a large viewing fountain—one of the means gods employed to keep track of their human servants. Let it never be said of the gods that they missed the chance for a good round of gambling. The same as every century, tonight, they collected here to speculate on his odds of success. He almost passed them by without comment, but the hairs on his neck pricked. His servants were being put to use. Hmm.

  One satyr whistled and several of his companions walloped at the scene within the mirror-like surface. As Eros shoved through the throng and peered into the glassy liquid, he witnessed exactly how his servants were being employed.

  Psyche. In his atrium. Surrounded by a dozen automaton maidservants, she slipped her dress above her head.

  Sweet heavens. Eros slapped the surface of the pool before any of these rowdy creatures caught a glimpse of what belonged to him alone.

  “Hoy!” griped one descendant of Hermes, stomping his sandaled foot. “I had five wagers placed on that outcome. What a dull cuckold you’ve become, Eros.”

  What a dull cuckold, indeed. He used to welcome their pledges and intrusiveness. No longer. All he wished for these days was a breath of peace. Respite from this dreadful game.

  Eros ignored the grumbling of the crowd and paced the symposium. What was Psyche up to? One thing was certain. She asked too many questions. The lass was clever, and far too stubborn. How was he supposed to make her fall in love with him when he couldn’t offer her the truths she desired? Instead, he’d reacted, pushing her away before she pried too closely.

  This had never been a problem before. He’d seduced the other maidens the first night they came to him. After, they’d found uses other than questions for their mouths. In truth, he’d not spoken this much to a female, excepting his mother, in a millennium, or more.

  Hmm. Curious, he flashed to the atrium and prowled between the columns. At the splashing of water, he paused behind one pillar and composed himself for the succulent scene he was about to witness. He quirked his lips into a smug grin as he stepped out from behind the column. Instead of a glimpse of the lovely Psyche, a handful of automaton maids obstructed his view. Even worse, each clinched one end of a curtain, so they formed a wall around the pool.

  A deep growl rolled in his throat. “This was not what I meant when I offered you use of my servants.”

  “You also offered me use of your pool.” Psyche’s chiming laugh tinkled toward him, grating on his nerves.

  Eros stalked around the maids, but their formation was iron-tight. And yet…

  The curtain was not.

  He paused in front of a thin section of material. The fading sun angled perfectly so that her nude form cast a shadow on the curtain. She stood in profile to him in the waist-deep water, her hands sweeping across her pert breasts. He groaned, a pang of longing shooting into his cock, but then he froze. She didn’t realize he spied her.

  Well, most of her.

  “You should make better use of your library,” she hummed, dipping a hand between her legs.

  He arched a brow. “Which book did you peruse, Arete?”

  Her strangled inhale was description enough. The ache spread to his ballocks. He wanted her to read them, to enlighten her innocent eyes with how intensely he could pleasure her.

  Eros stroked a finger through the air, tracing the outline of her lovely form, employing the tiniest spark of his powers to heighten her awareness. His fingertip caressed the shape of her breast, and he pinched his finger and thumb together, squeezing the shadow of her nipple between them.

  She exhaled slowly, deeply. He rubbed the peak between his fingers, sending the jolt straight to her sex. Psyche panted, shaky, and he spread the burn lower, leisurely fanning through her core.

  Did she suspect it was him, his touch caressing her? The temptation to pleasure her was too much. It would be so easy.

  Several loud splashes resounded as she dove beneath the surface. He seized a pace backward in resignation. Not yet, not this way.

  Eros stalked from the bathing chamber, defeated, yet even more determined to seize victory. Schemes ran through his mind, sprinting in every direction, and he headed toward his chamber. He hastened his strides, devising a plan. Dashing forward, he stepped onto something sharp. The tiny prick pierced the sole of his bare foot.

  Balancing on his left foot, he lifted his right for inspection. What in Hades?

  Oh, no. A tiny golden arrow stuck into his sole, its feathers pointing outward. My arrow. One of the precious enchanted objects he employed in his tasks for spreading erotic love. One prick of this arrow and the target would lust mightily after the next object he or she beheld. Eros was infinitely careful about storing them.

  He slapped a hand across his eyes, panic flushing through his veins.

  Who the bloody hell had left this on the floor for him to trip upon?

  Damn, but he guessed the answer.

  Aphrodite.

  ***

  Psyche surfaced from beneath the luxurious waters, the heat flushing through her veins cooling. For a moment, she’d been overwhelmed by unbidden desires.

  Because the beast had watched me?

  A tiny thrill had shot through her being as she’d spied the curtains’ flaw. With the position of the sun, no doubt the beast had caught more than a glimpse of her.

  Yet suddenly, he’d dashed off. Why hint at seducing her, then halt completely?

  She waded from the pool and gaped at the silkiness of her skin. The hairs on her body had disintegrated. She pressed a hand to her mouth. Every hair on her body, save for those on her head.

  Was this why he’d insisted she bathe? So that she would appear as those females in his books did, smooth and hairless?

  Thankfully, the automatons seemed to take no notice while they helped her dry and dress. Afterward, she tucked her blade into her boot with a satisfied tsk.

  The beast might have retreated because he feared her reprimand when she realized his trick with the bathing waters. Curling her hands into fists at her sides, she marched out of the atrium. Enough games. He hadn’t offered any answers, and surely, she deserved at least one.

  Why am I here?

  Determination pounding through her footsteps, she searched the halls for him. A roar thundered f
rom the end of the west corridor. She rushed in that direction and spotted the shadowed mists of the beast.

  “Grant me at least one answer. Tell me—”

  “I cannot look upon you,” he snarled. “Leave.”

  His threatening growl shook the ground beneath her feet and caused her to stumble backward and fall. Menacing shadows clawed at her skirts and, for the first time, she feared the beast.

  “Now,” he roared.

  She staggered to her feet and spun from him, sprinting through the hall as fast as her legs could pump. Something was wrong. She wasn’t safe here anymore. Although she’d promised to stay, he’d ordered her to leave. Panting hard, she raced down the staircase to the front of the castle and shoved through the heavy doors, scrambling down the ebony stairs. She dashed through the gardens and toward the wrought iron gate ahead. It didn’t protest or even squeak as she thrust it open and fled along the downward winding path. Though her muscles and lungs burned with each stride, she didn’t pause for breath or rest. The beast meant to kill her.

  Perhaps that was his curse.

  She dashed around a bend, toward freedom, but a vice snared around her legs and flung her through the air, whipping her upside down. Psyche gasped and struggled, freeing her blade from her boot and squinting at what had trapped her. Not the beast, please. Thick, ropy vines threaded around her body, like a spider spinning its webbing around its victim.

  Oh, gods.

  Slashing her blade at the vines, she struggled to free herself. More and more ropes shot out toward her, tangling her in their syrupy grasp. The ones she sliced emitted a sticky substance that caused the others to fasten to her. One sharp thorn pressed into her side, slicing deeper with each inhalation. Panicking, she tore through a handful more of the vines, until a high-pitched shriek chilled her muscles.

  She twisted in the direction of the screech and spotted gleaming red orbs stalking her from within the darkened woods. Her stomach dropped. It wasn’t the vines that prevented her from fleeing this place.

  It was the one controlling them.

  ***

  Eros gripped his head in his hands. His fingertips grazed his eyes and he contemplated gouging them out.