Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4)
Read Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4) Online
Authors: Rachael Slate
Tags: #paranormal romance, #Romance, #General Fiction
Born to heal
Nysa of the
Krenaiai
nymphs has spent the last fifty years trapped inside her well, until her waters are gifted to the surly centaur Lord Oreius. Instead of consuming her gift, he tosses the sacred liquid to the ground, and the spell goes awry. Nysa is transformed back into a nymph, but she can only survive so long without her well—which happens to rest on enemy lands. Yet she chooses to stay, because something in Oreius’s eyes demands she coax out the darkness…even if it threatens to consume her.
The weight of the past
Lord Oreius has drowned his grief beneath a torrent of shame and regret. No one, not even a sultry nymph, can heal the wounds in his soul and the guilt tainting his heart. Though she bloody well keeps trying. He longs to find forgiveness in her eyes, but first, he’ll have to find it within himself. War looms on the horizon, and when their enemies join forces, Oreius’s last chance at redemption just might have come too late.
And the hope of the future
When Nysa is torn from Oreius, he’ll have to fight for a second chance at life, and at love. Even if it means giving up his brutish ways.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Rachael Slate
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First Edition August 2016
Edited by Kelley Heckart
Cover design by NovelArt Designs
Formatting by NovelArt Designs
Epub: ISBN 978-1-988396-04-0
Kindle: ISBN 978-1-988396-03-3
You can’t heal if you don’t wish to
When the Olympian gods overthrew the Titans, they divided the rule of the world. Zeus proclaimed himself Supreme Ruler and governed the skies. Poseidon claimed the oceans. The Underworld, and the souls of the dead, fell to Hades. All were content with the arrangement.
Until Hades met Persephone.
Their forbidden love blasted through Mt. Olympus, initiating a cataclysmic rift between the gods. The imbalance in the heavens nearly shattered the fragile human world below. In punishment, Zeus cursed Persephone. Nine months of each year, she would remain by her mother’s side, tending to the human harvests. The other three months were hers to spend with her husband, Hades, in the Underworld.
The arrangement pleased none.
Centuries have passed. As humans turn their devotion to Science, the powers of the Olympian gods diminish. In an attempt to regenerate their divinity, the gods have procreated, breeding new species of being—such as centaurs, winged ones, and mermaydes. With the unique strengths of their individual godly parents, these descendants have thrived in their own worlds, alongside humans but hidden from view.
The rift in Olympus widens as each god gains new strength. When the Fates intervene with a damning wager, these descendants become the answer to Persephone’s curse. Hades and Persephone’s quest to reclaim their love will pit god against god, in a tournament unmatched since time began. Victory will lie in the union of warriors—exceptional females who control the elements and the males whose love makes them strong.
If they succeed, love will be theirs to claim.
But if they fail, their love will fall to ruin.
It is the eve of war, and the battle for the power of Grief-healing Waters begins now.
Centaur lands, Thessaly
Year 1384 of the reign of King Cheiron II
Or the human year, 1689
Oreius tilted the silver flask and sniffed the liquid within. Too sweet to be water, too perfumed to be a potion of evil. Not that his brother Agrius would do such a thing.
Heal me.
He snorted. Agrius and his mate, Eione, had gifted Oreius the vessel months ago, exclaiming with fervor how it would “cure” him.
Ha. He had no desire for a cure, nor to ever be relieved of his heavy burden. Sarra was gone and ’twas his fault his sons had no mother. Nothing, not even a washing tub full of potent waters, could remedy those truths.
He grimaced at the flask in his hands. Why the hell had he held on to it for so many months? He ought to have done this the moment Agrius had bestowed him the vessel. Heaving a sigh, he stepped to the balcony, tipped the flask, and poured its contents onto the manicured lawn below.
There. Done.
Shaking his head, he veered toward his study.
“Argh,” a feminine cry echoed from below.
He whipped around and peered over the railing. Dear gods, a female sprawled on the ground, nude and dripping wet.
She moaned and rolled onto her hands and knees, her long, silvery blue locks clinging to her lithe form like drenched clothes.
“Ho there, lass. What—”
She lifted sparkling, pale sapphire eyes to his, catching his breath. Sapphira. He scented the air and inhaled her fragrance.
Nymph.
Oh, damn. The waters.
“You. Why did you spill my waters?” She rose on unsteady legs, wobbling and perching her hands on her hips. Those depths narrowed on him, hardening into icy gems.
His throat dried as he gaped at the lovely female. Luscious curves and a slender, graceful form that would fit perfectly into the crook of his arm.
Hell. Oreius scraped a hand down his face, tearing his stare from the nymph. After he steadied his raging nerves, he leapt over the balcony rail and landed in front of her.
“Begone, temptress.” He flung out his arm, holding the flask for her to return to it.
Agrius was definitely going to receive a lashing from him for this.
Trickery. Treachery. He hadn’t deemed his brother capable of such betrayal.
Instead of obeying him, she arched one pointed brow, wrinkling her pixie nose. “That isn’t how it works.” Treading forward, she pointed a finger at him. “You tossed my waters onto the ground. You dishonored my gift. And you shall remedy this.” She jabbed her finger into his chest, jolting him.
She must have sensed the spark too, for she gasped, seizing one step backward. Yet, the fire in her eyes didn’t dim as she glared at him, crossing her arms over her bountiful breasts.
He swallowed thickly and forced his focus once more to rest on her face. That didn’t help. Her lips were sensuously curved petals, as deep a pink as the flushing of her cheeks.
She was lovely and seductive.
And utterly disastrous.
***
Nysa flinched while Oreius removed his ivory tunic, baring his thickly muscled chest and wide, devastatingly brawny shoulders. His enormous centaur half was even more imposing than his human torso. He extended the tunic to her, jerking his square chin, his tail swishing in agitation. His piercing glare pegged her, those depths swirling like the darkest silver patches of his horse hide.
She plucked the clothing from him, still tense. Her nudity brought her no shame, for nymphs rarely suffered from modesty, but the male’s dark scowl suggested he did.
So she tugged on the tunic, taking a moment to observe her surroundings. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It never had before.
Though, neither had anyone ever rejected her gift. Her waters healed many ailments of the soul—grief, guilt, self-loathing.
As she understood it, this male suffered from them all. When Agrius and Eione had taken the waters from her well, she’d gladly permitted them, for their intent to aid his brother had been pure of heart.
But Oreius? Oh, no. The male had scorned the gift and had discarded her waters onto his lawn. The brute.
Somehow, she’d been freed from her well in the process. Her hand drifted down to her belly, calming the churning within. She hadn’t been outside of her home in decades, and she couldn’t survive long without the source of her waters.
If she’d grasped the situation correctly, her well lay within enemy lands of the centaurs, and returning to it might prove impossible.