Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4) (6 page)

She winced and suppressed a whimper. Deimos wouldn’t harm her. No, he required her alive to abuse her powers.

Nor would he rape her—his proclivities ran toward the male sex. Yet, he would imprison her again, and she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

Not even struggle against his painful grasp.

One thing she could count on—although Oreius might never bond to her, nor would he allow any harm to befall her. She bit her tongue against warning Deimos of Oreius’s wrath. The element of surprise would ensure the centaur’s success.

He’d sworn to protect her freedom.

And a centaur male never broke his word.

***

Oreius slunk onto the ledge of the fountain in his gardens. His stomach and arm continued to assault him, but he suppressed the urge to succumb to the maddening illness.

He’d wronged Nysa. Deeming he could reverse his perverse forgery was an even greater
hubris
.

What arrogance. He snorted. No wonder the gods punished him.

He deserved it. Every ounce of discomfort and agony they’d toss his way.

Oreius hung his head in his hands. Clanging hooves rang in his ears, intensifying the pounding in his head. “Pray, Pholis, run along. Your Pappas is not well.”

Pholis skidded to a halt before him, pinching his arm.

He dragged his head from his hands and squinted at the lad.

“You smell strange, Pappas.”

“I do?” He sniffed beneath his arm. Well, perhaps, he hadn’t yet bathed today.

The lad grimaced. “Like Uncle Agrius does around Lady Eione.”

He drew his brows together. “What do you mean, lad?”

The lad wrinkled his nose. “Dark and foul. Are you ill?”

Foul? He raised his arm and sniffed again. True, a bath would probably be wise, but he didn’t smell so rank, did he? He studied his scent.
Like Agrius does around Eione.

An odd clarification.

And it could only mean one thing.

Sweet gods. Oreius inhaled and caught the scent. Not foul or dark, though to a child it may seem so.

Bonding scent.

Coming from me.

How could that be?

Even with Antiope’s spell, he’d never perfumed the bonding scent around Sarra. Because he bore the mark, no one had noticed. But Pholis did now.

The rich, spicy aroma coming from him was unmistakable.

Sarra hadn’t been his bonded mate, true.

Because Nysa was.

Only, he’d been beneath such a heavy enchantment for so long, he hadn’t realized it. Now that the spell was reversed, his nature resumed its true course.

Bonded. To Nysa.

Well, almost.

He shot to his feet, scruffling his lad’s hair. “Do you know what this means, son?”

The lad shook his head, scowling. “That you need a bath?” He crossed his arms and pouted. “I’m not taking one.”

Oreius chuckled, lightness buoying the blood in his veins. “Nay, lad. Neither of us is. The smell you detected, ’tis the bonding scent. Nysa is…” His throat tightened at the admission. “My mate.”

The lad scrunched his nose again, further this time. “Does this mean you’re going to kiss her? A lot? Like Uncle Agrius does to Lady Eione?”

Oreius tossed the lad into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Aye, son.” He released the squealing, squirming youngling, who scurried off before Oreius could kiss him again.

He hadn’t reacted poorly to intimacy with Nysa because he was still bonded to Sarra. The churning in his gut and searing pain in his arm were a warning. The
lyssa
was a madness that infected centaurs who refused the bonding. One more measure to ensure they submitted.

If he didn’t bond to Nysa, and soon, the
lyssa
would claim him.

Damn. He’d been so accustomed to drowning in his sorrows, he never would have guessed. Bless the lad’s keen nose.

He scanned the gardens. Where was Nysa? His eager hearts couldn’t wait to share this news with her. The future they’d dreamed of wasn’t beyond their reach.

It was right here before them, waiting for them to seize it.

Oreius inhaled through his nose and caught her delicate scent. There, toward the forest. Why would she venture into the woods, unless she sought peace, away from him?

Nay, Sapphira. You’re mine.

You’re my mate.

The words bubbled in his chest, ready to burst forth from his lips. He dashed through the forest, following the trail of her fragrance. Each inhale brought him one step closer. Galloping harder, he wound through the trees, and halted before a chasm in the forest floor.

Gods, no. Had she fallen inside? The debris wasn’t overgrown with moss or scattered with leaves. It was new, fresh.

He leapt into the cavern and bellowed, “Nysa!”

No answer came. Only the trickling of water greeted his ears.

A second scent crossed his nose.

Masculine. Dark and tainted.

He clenched his fists and leapt upward, scrambling out of the hole. The two scents mingled together and headed away from his lands.

Who had taken her, his mate?
How dare the bastard.

Oreius clenched his fists at his sides and glared into the forest. This male had better relinquish Nysa, or he would fall beneath a centaur’s unbridled wrath.

Nysa jerked and squirmed, doing everything she could to make it difficult for them to move forward with haste.

She couldn’t fight back, but she could drag her feet.

Grimacing, she staggered along behind Deimos, the ropes he’d wound around her wrists cutting into her flesh.

“Keep pace, nymph, or I’ll cut out your tongue, chop off your fingers, and slice away every non-vital piece of your body,” he growled. His threat coursed through her, making her shiver.

She had no doubts he would do those things. Deimos was a male bound by darkness. The evil in his blood was a poison even she couldn’t cure.

“Why do you still seek my waters? Haven’t you had enough of them?”

He whipped around, then scowled at her.

But he stopped walking. She bit back her smile.

“You have no idea, do you?” he sneered. “Your waters heal, true, nymph, in small amounts.”

Small amounts? Dread crept down her spine. She’d never given anyone more than what they’d required to find their peace. Too much of her water would not only cure someone of their pain, it would make them…numb.

Devoid of all emotions.

“Who would you do such a thing to?” She shook her head, shock and disbelief icing her spine. “And why?” Her entire being shuddered at Deimos’s revelation. The abuse of her nymph powers made her ill.

“That is of no concern to you.” He prodded her forward once more, along the stone path toward a horse hobbled under an oak tree.

Hours had passed since she’d fallen into the cavern, and Oreius hadn’t come searching for her. What if he wouldn’t? What if he regretted their night together and had been glad to find her absent?

They crossed the border of Oreius’s lands, and she stole a glimpse backward, biting her lip.

A glint caught her eye as she angled her head. Freezing, she sucked in a breath, and dared to peek behind her again. Deimos wrenched her forward, but not before she detected eyes gleaming from within the forest.

Oreius.

He came for me.

Her heart leapt and she stared at Deimos. How to distract him? Seduction was out of the question, but a nymph did have other tricks.

My waters.

The same powers he wielded against others, she could brandish against him.

“Deimos.” She dug in her heels, refusing to continue. “I’m not going with you.”

“Since when do you issue orders?” He spun and jerked on the rope, causing her to stumble into him.

Exactly what she’d planned.

Nysa collapsed against his legs and slipped the knife from his boot.

He kicked her off, rolling her onto her side, and slid his hands beneath her arms, hauling her to her feet.

Swiftly, she sliced the blade across her wrist, spraying her waters into his face.

He sputtered and gasped, inhaling the liquid and choking on it.

A rumble rolled through the woods and Oreius charged them, knocking Deimos onto his back and stamping his hoof across his throat.

Deimos rasped as the air squeezed from his lungs.

Nysa scampered to the side, slicing the knife through the rope binding her wrists. “Don’t kill him!” She hopped to her feet and pled with Oreius. “I must learn what he’s done and to whom.”

Oreius snarled at Deimos, but glanced at her, a sinister gleam in his dark eyes.

She gasped and stumbled backward.

Such malevolence.

“He tried to hurt you. To take you from me,” Oreius grated, low and menacing, sounding more beast than man.

She steeled her spine. He might be a wild and savage centaur, but he was kind and gentle of heart. He would listen to her.

She would make him.

“Centaur.” She perched her hands on her hips and stared him down. “You will release him, unharmed, so that we may bring him to your dungeon and uncover the identity of his victims.”

Growling, Oreius dug his hoof in harder, then lifted it off. Deimos writhed on the ground, gulping in wheezed gasps.

Oreius seized the rope used to bind her and secured it around Deimos’s wrists, trussing him like a boar about to be roasted over a fire. He tore a piece of cloth from his shirt and gagged their prisoner, then kicked at his feet until Deimos trudged forward. “Aye, milady, if that is what you wish.”

“It is.” She notched her chin, smirking in triumph.

One centaur beneath her command and one captor in her possession.

Not bad for a lowly nymph.

Her throat dried and her smile died on her lips as Oreius cast her a surly glower. Intense passion and unrestrained fury brewed in those sultry depths.

Oh, yes. The prisoner would suffer his vengeance.

And so would she.

***

Oreius obeyed Nysa’s demands, mostly because he couldn’t think clearly on his own, and the truth was, he’d been about to tear a man limb from limb.

Without even bothering to question his intents or ensure his guilt first.

He gaped down at his hands, trembling with raw fury. Never had he experienced such lack of control.

The
lyssa
was settling in.

Consuming him and threatening to squeeze every last ounce of sanity from his mind.

They trekked to North Gate, where he thrust the fiend into the hands of his most trusted guards. “Lock him up. No one other than myself is permitted near his cell.”

The two males seized the prisoner and led him away.

Oreius heaved in a deep breath, combing his hair from his face. A shudder rippled through his body. Nysa stood behind him, but he wasn’t certain he dared to face her. Would she flee from the wildness that must be in his eyes?

This morning, she’d believed him bonded to Sarra. How could he convince her that wasn’t the truth?

“Oreius?” Gentle footsteps padded forward and a warm hand pressed onto his arm. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He scoffed, his tail flicking. “You saved yourself, lass. I arrived too late and nearly tore your prisoner apart. Who is he? Do you know him? I didn’t even ask.”

“Deimos.” She shuddered, releasing his arm.

He spun around, frowning at the tremble in her lip. “What has he done to you? Has he—” Gods, he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider the possibility…

“No.” She gave a forceful shake of her head. “He has never harmed me. Deimos is the one who trapped me inside my well. I was so foolish.” She squeezed her eyes, a squeak whimpering in her throat. “I thought he’d never find me.”

“Trapped you? Oh, Nysa. Why did you not tell me?” The very notion that someone had dared to imprison his mate caused his horse to stomp in righteous fury.

“For fifty years he has held me prisoner, abusing the healing powers of my waters.” She curled one fist. “When you spilled my waters, in fact, you freed me. I foolishly believed he would never know, would never be able to harm me. That I was free at last.”

He crushed her in his embrace, nuzzling against her lush softness. “He will never hurt you again; I vow it.”

Stiffening, she pulled back. “What are you going to do with him?”

“He’s a prisoner of war, caught trespassing on the King’s lands. I’ll hand him to my father. Cheiron will know what to do.”

“Good.” She nodded. “I can’t wish him harmed, but he cannot be allowed to hurt others again. We must determine what he has done with my waters.”

“Aye, we will.” He traced one fingertip down her cheek. The strain appeared to have drained from her, but it only built inside him. Being near her drove his horse closer to madness. “Come, we must talk.” He linked his fingers with hers and led her up the winding stairs to his chamber. Once inside, he closed and locked the door. No one would disturb them.

He refused to let her slip away without dropping to his knees and pleading before her. “Sweetling.” He sank to his knees, grasping her hand. She twisted toward him, those sparkling blue depths puzzled.

Clearing his throat, he seized the courage to make his declaration. Finding one’s mate and asking her to be his was a pivotal moment for any centaur. If she refused the bonding, if she refused
him
, the
lyssa
would consume him.