Wicked Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 3) (13 page)

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 drawn the waters from her well, she’d gladly permitted them, for their intent to aid this male 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 well in decades and she couldn’t survive long without the source of her waters.

But if she’d grasped the situation correctly, her well lay within enemy lands of the centaurs, and returning to it might prove impossible.

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

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

“How do you know my name?” His right hind leg stamped, 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, peering at her with wide, concerned eyes, and shaking his head. “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 well.” 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 drew together and he took one step toward her, only to stumble 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 several 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.

Oreius sank into the chair opposite hers, planting his elbows on his thighs and dropping his head into his hands wearily. “Where is your well, nymph?”

“Mount Pelion,” she murmured the damning 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 well before, and never not by choice.

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

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

*****

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