Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4) (2 page)

Damn him again. She fired her glower across his broad chest and up to those eyes. So dark and so full of pain. They captured her, luring her in. Every ounce of her being pulsed with the urge to heal, and Oreius was the most wounded male she’d ever encountered.

“Well, Lord Oreius?” she huffed. “Will you not—”

“How do you know my name?” His front right leg stamped, his nostrils flaring. Like many other beasts, centaurs could sniff out untruths.

She raised her chin. “My connection to my waters. I’m aware of everything that happened in the vicinity of the flask. I know how much your brother risked to draw from my well, and how little you deserve his offering.”

He reared back, gaping at her with wide, concerned eyes. “Who are you?”

“I am Nysa of the
Krenaiai
, well nymphs. Your brother trekked through Lapith lands to secure my waters, to unburden you.” She sighed. “And now I’m here, away from my home.” Rubbing her arms, she puffed out her breath. The night air and the moisture clinging to her skin had chilled her.

“You are cold.” His brows bunched together and he took one step toward her, only to stagger back. “Come inside and warm yourself by the fire. We shall discuss a solution together.”

She nodded and followed him through the doorway beneath the balcony, up a set of winding stairs, and into the cozy study where her flask had sat for the past ten months.

“Come.” He waved to the blazing hearth and the armchair beside it.

Gratefully, she collapsed into the chair, soaking in the warmth. She eyed the flask while he set it upon the table.

“You are correct,” he conceded with a grave nod. “This is my fault and I swear to you, I will restore you safely to where you belong.” Oreius perched on the enormous chair opposite hers, planting his elbows on his front legs and dropping his head into his hands wearily. “Where is your home, nymph?”

“Mount Pelion,” she murmured the unfortunate truth. He froze, likely sensing the peril of her situation. “I know you are at war, but if I don’t return to my well, I will die.”

As a
Krenaiai
, her life force was bound to the well and the waters within. She’d never ventured so far from her home.

She lifted and dropped a shoulder. “This never would have happened—”

“Aye,
Sapphira
,” he grimaced, “if I’d just drunk the damned waters.”

Oreius rolled onto his side the next morning, blinking awake from his dreams. Tinkling laughter chimed in his ears. Pholis. A grin tugged at his mouth. Another laugh followed. Phrixus. His twin sons were all he had to remind him of his wife, Sarra. She’d passed in childbirth to them ten years ago. Birthing a centaur was a perilous endeavor, and twins even more so.

That wasn’t why she’d died.

No, her death was his fault. He clenched his fists, shaking off the shame flooding his veins.

A third laugh joined the others. High and clear as a crystal stream.

The nymph.

Damn, that hadn’t been a dream.

Heal me.
He snorted again at Agrius and Eione’s foolish intentions. It was his fault the nymph was now hundreds of miles—and across enemy borders—from her home. Her well.

Her life force.

He shoved off the covers and stomped to the window. Below, in the gardens, his two centaur sons chased after each other, their rippling laughter echoing upward. A fluttering of pink silk billowed from the right, and he tilted his head, his hearts ramming into each other. That gown.

Sarra.

Just as fast, his stomach dropped at the sight of flowing silvery blue locks.

The nymph. She wore Sarra’s gown.
How dare she.

Oreius pounded his fist into the window ledge then raced from his bedchamber, tearing down the stairs leading into the gardens. He stormed straight to her, snarling. “Why did you don this gown? It is not yours to wear!”

He didn’t care that he sounded like a savage brute. This was Sarra’s and the nymph… He tossed his head, clenching his fists and grating his jaw as he glowered at the female.

Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered. “Forgive me.” She slipped one sleeve off her shoulder. “I’ll take it off at once. I had no notion of the gown’s owner when I found it hanging in the armoire of the room you chose for me and assumed… Never mind.” She slid the other shoulder free.

“Stop undressing,” he snapped, then raked a hand down his face. What the hell was wrong with him? Sarra had no more use for gowns, and the nymph hadn’t donned this dress with malicious intent.

“Pappas?” Phrixus peeped behind him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled deeply, and spun to kneel before his son.

“What’s wrong, Pappas?” The lad peered at him, his brown eyes the same shade of chestnut as his horse. Paired with his curly dark locks, the child distinctly resembled his mother.

“Nothing, my son.” He planted a hand on Phrixus’s shoulder and squeezed. “Go on now and play.”

Instead of obeying, he peeked around Oreius, at Nysa. “Are you coming, Lady Nysa?”

No mistaking the eager note in his son’s voice. The nymph had been playing a game with the lads before Oreius had stormed into the middle of it, eradicating all the joy.

He was certainly accomplished at that.

“No, sweetling,” her words came out airy and uncertain. “I should go.” Clutching the fabric of her dress to her chest, she dashed from them, into the castle.

A pout formed on Phrixus’s lips.

Oreius shook his head. “Run along, son. I’ll join you and your brother later.”

His son skipped off into the distance.

He switched his focus from the lad to the stairs leading inside. He’d been curt and unkind. After all, the nymph was faultless in this.

If anyone, it was that damned, meddlesome Agrius who was to blame.

***

Nysa flipped through the garments hanging in the armoire, but of course, they would all belong to Sarra. She groaned and frowned at the dress she’d discarded on the floor as though it had been fashioned from flames.

Oreius’s scowl had certainly been hot enough to sear the silk from her body.

None of these clothes would do. Gently, she plucked the pink dress from the floor, smoothed the skirts, and hung it in the cabinet. She’d have to find garments somewhere else. Perhaps a servant might aid her.

Hooves stomped and crashed along the tiled floor, thudding to a halt in the doorway. She spun, sucking in her breath.

Oreius stared at her. His towheaded locks fell across his coal eyes, which darkened even more. That heated gaze passed down her nude body, and she shivered. He pressed forward, pausing an inch from her and inhaling along the crook of her neck.

Nysa trembled, her nymph nature so close to submission. Nymphs were as incapable of rejecting males as they were helpless in drawing their advances. It was their very nature to be creatures of seduction.

So many years had passed since Nysa had enjoyed any male’s company. Her eyes fluttered, a moan forming in her throat.

Oreius, with his dark brooding and intense, beastly nature, was too much for any nymph to resist.

His lips feathered across her neck and a tremor quivered beneath her skin. She’d forgotten this—the pleasure of a male’s attentions.

She shouldn’t be in his arms, not with his raging display a few moments earlier, but Oreius knew she was a nymph.

He was aware she wouldn’t resist.

The question was…would he?

Nysa tilted her face toward his, inhaling that rich, leathery and spicy male scent.

Centaurs were creatures of passion too. As much beast as man.

Her lips neared his, so desperate for a taste. Though she ought to turn away, everything in her being pushed her toward this male. She was capable of healing him, but not if he didn’t want her to.

Not if he couldn’t first forgive himself.

It could start here, with this one kiss.

She leaned in, pressing her lips lightly to his.

His breath shuddered from his body, fanning across her bare skin, and his tongue flicked across her lips with the lightest of brushes.

Desire pulsed through her core, spearing into her veins. Bolder, she cupped his cheek, tugging his mouth to hers to drink deeper.

To offer herself.

A growl rumbled in his throat and he nipped at her lips, his hand clasping around her throat.

Nysa wheezed for a second, until he eased his grip and pressed forward, thrusting his large frame against hers. She ached to whimper and rub her body along his, but instead she held still. Most likely, she was the first female he’d kissed since his wife, and she didn’t dare move lest he stop.

Oreius grasped for the waist of his breeches.

Moisture slicked between her thighs and she pressed them together, the ache in her sex driving her wild. “Yes, please, Oreius.”

He wrenched his mouth off hers and stared into her eyes, blinking as though awakening from a dream. Brows drawn together, he peered down at his breeches, at the thickness bulging the front, and then up again to glower at her.

“Nymph,” he snarled and shoved away from her, whipping his head. “Put that dress back on and never tempt me again.”

***

Oreius retreated from Nysa’s chamber, racing through the corridors and out into the open meadow behind his castle of North Gate. He sped through the thick forests, not caring to watch his footing, driven by the urge to flee.

Why in Hades had he kissed her? Nay, more than that. He’d been ready to take her.

Damn. He skidded to a halt an inch before crashing into a pine tree. Ten long years, his cock hadn’t ever stirred, yet today, it had. For her.

A nymph. Of course, he was entirely alone in the blame. His brother Thereus’s mate, Melita, was also a nymph. Or she had been, until she’d been transformed into a tree. The poor bastard had explained to them all how nymphs were unable to reject a male’s advances.

He’d nearly forced himself on Nysa.
Dishonorable. Disgraceful.
He sneered at his hands.
Disgusting savage.

Once he’d collected his nerves, he ought to apologize to Nysa. He’d done nothing but terrorize the lass. Tear her from her home. Snarl and snap at her.

And now, seduce her.

What a bloody joke I am.

He raked his fingers through his tangled locks and twisted his body toward his castle. Each of the five sons of King Cheiron possessed lands within Thessaly, their castles seated upon the Meteora, or Great Cliffs. Oreius’s lay in the northernmost corner, hence the name of North Gate. In his one hundred and twenty six years, he’d never anticipated its halls being filled with love and joy and the laughter of children.

One fateful day, he’d met Sarra and her dark eyes had won his hearts. He should have left it at that. Should have been content with the love between them.

Never dared to defy the gods.

Then she might still be alive.

He peeled aside his sleeve, sighing at the bonding mark.

The false bonding mark.

He’d lied to everyone, but most of all, to himself. Sarra had been his wife, but never his bonded mate.

No matter how hard he’d prayed.

Every day, this falsified mark taunted him, a constant reminder of his
hubris
. He’d wanted so badly to prove his love for her, his certainty he would never choose another, that he’d forged the entire ceremony and flaunted it before the gods. Undoubtedly, they had sought to punish him, through her death.

Had it been so wrong of him to wish for his wife and his mate to be the same person? He snorted. Such foolish yearnings had brought disaster upon his household.

And now, the nymph had been sent to tempt him. Perhaps, to test him.

Apparently, he hadn’t yet suffered enough.

Mayhap, though, if he restored her to her home, redemption would be granted to him as well.

Oreius trudged through the woods toward his castle, devising a plan. It wouldn’t be easy to pass through Lapith lands, not after the disastrous battle at Great Meteoron where Melita had transformed herself into a tree. Her sacrifice had but delayed a war that had been brewing for years. A war which would tear apart not only Lapiths and centaurs, but carve a line between the gods on Olympus itself.

The sun had set by the time he staggered home, weighed by the burdens of guilt, remorse, and shame. He sniffed the night air, seeking the nymph’s sweet, clear scent, but her fragrance had dissipated.

He frowned, an unease gnawing in his gut.

Nysa wasn’t here.

***

Stealing through the woods, Nysa hugged the cloak tighter around her body. Oreius wasn’t the only wounded soul in this place. After she’d collected herself from his kiss and prompt dismissal, she’d detected the faint pulsings of torment and agony. One of the
Krenaiai
nymphs, her waters healed not physical scars, but emotional, mental, and spiritual pains.

It was because of her powers that she’d been trapped inside her home for fifty years. The last person she’d tried to help, well, he hadn’t exactly been appreciative of her generous aid, and had instead deemed it of his own benefit to lock her away, where only he would be able to use her.

Or rather, abuse her powers.