Brutish Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 4) Read online

  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.

  Free Read!

  Grief-healing Waters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Rachael Slate

  Preview of Masterful Lord of Thessaly

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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.

  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 cras
hed 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.