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

  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.

  Deimos. That charming scoundrel.

  Every so often, her waters had been drawn, and she’d attempted to follow the paths to those he healed, but a murky cloud prohibited her sight.

  Now that she was free of her well, the last thing she wished to do was return to it, yet she had no choice. The well was her life source. Without it, a fate worse than death awaited her.

  She’d enter the realm all nymphs did when they passed. A place without anything. No pain, no joy, no love, no hope. Some nymphs welcomed such a respite, but not Nysa. Her duty in life was to heal. In a realm without pain, what purpose did she serve?

  She shook her head and followed the light vibrations toward the aggrieved souls. They may not suffer gaping wounds or bleeding gashes, but their injuries were as damaging. Healing the body was one thing, but restoring the soul, quite another.

  Nysa rubbed her hands together in eager anticipation. Years had passed since she’d cured anyone of her own accord. About time.

  She strolled along the path. The setting sun gave way to the rising moon, providing sufficient light to travel down the stone roadway.

  Shivering slightly, she huddled inside her cloak, closing the hood tighter around her face. Deimos resided in Lapith lands. He likely would never even know she’d been released. After he’d seized her powers, he’d torn down her well and rebuilt it in a secret location on Mount Pelion. Nysa could find it, though, by tracing her powers to their source.

  She hummed, treading down the road. Woods surrounded her on either side, and their dark, mysterious depths would have frightened her, yet these were Oreius’s lands. Safe. Protected. No harm would come to her along this road.

  “Nysa!” A figure thundered from within the trees to her left, crashing through the thick underbrush, snapping twigs and crushing leaves.

  She whipped around, narrowing her glare on the centaur lord. “What are you doing?” If he’d snuck up on her instead, she would have fainted from the fear of his sudden presence.

  But this male, he tore a path of destruction through the woods to get to her.

  Not in need of my waters, ha! She snorted and dismissed him, continuing along the road once more.

  “Wait, Sapphira.” With long, easy strides, Oreius caught up to her, chest heaving and a wild streak in his eyes. “Where are you going? ’Tis late and this is no path for a maiden to follow alone.”

  Time to clarify their situation. Nysa halted and spun to face him. “You owe me nothing, centaur. Tossing aside my waters was an accident, and I absolve you of any responsibility for my fate. In fact, I thank you. You’ve freed me, and now I can do what I was meant to do.”

  “Meant to do?” His thick brows bunched together and his tail flicked from side to side.

  “You may not desire my aid, Oreius, but many do.” She softened her tone, pressing a gentle hand on his arm. “If ever you are ready to admit the truth, I will gladly help you as well.” Releasing her hand, she sighed. “Be well, Oreius.”

  He grabbed her arm as she twisted from him. “Nysa, you cannot leave.”

  Pain and desperation murmured through his plea, but she held firm. “I am already gone.”

  A tension in his chest snapped. Oreius gripped her arm harder, forcing her to face him. “We started off wrong, and that’s my fault. Where are you going, lass? The night is dark and cold. At least stay until morning.”

  His horse stomped inside him, irritated with his offer. He didn’t
wish for her to go, ever.

  She tilted her face toward him, those silvery blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight, mischievous. “Someone needs my help. I must go to them.”

  “Needs your help.” He frowned, puzzled by the nymph’s words. “You can sense this?”

  You can sense my pain?

  He didn’t wish to know the answer.

  Thankfully, she pressed her lips together in an impish smile and tugged his arm, leading him toward the path. “Come and watch, if you will.”

  Now, this he had to see. “Aye, I will.” He grinned at her. A lightness encircled this female, a soothing balm cloaking her. Near her, it spread to him as well.

  That was why he didn’t wish for her to leave. In her presence, he could almost forget.

  He could almost forgive.

  Nay. He shook off such notions. There was no forgiveness for him. Best not to cling to such hope.

  A skip in her step, Nysa led him to a cabin in the woods. It belonged to the town’s cobbler, Solon. She marched straight to the door, and without bothering to knock, slipped inside.

  He raced to follow her, lest the inhabitants be less than welcoming of her aid.

  Blinking, he gaped at the scene within. A female reclined on the bunk along the far wall, several younglings prancing around. Instead of playing with them or administering to their care, the woman clutched a small blanket to her chest, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  Ah. His chest tightened. She’d lost her babe.

  As a father, he couldn’t fathom such grief. The yearning to shield Pholis and Phrixus in his embrace pounded through him.

  Solon’s wife didn’t glance in their direction while Nysa stole to her side and clasped the woman’s hand. The nymph withdrew a dagger from her boot, the blade glinting in the light of the hearth.

  What in Hades? Oreius jerked forward, but Nysa slashed the blade across her own wrist, and instead of blood, clear water bled from the wound.

  Oh gods. He gawked at the woman drinking from Nysa’s wrist. After a few sips, Nysa waved her hand over the gash and it sealed, healing.

  The woman sank back, sighing. Then she angled her face toward Nysa and murmured thanks, peaceful tears in her eyes. She rose from her grief bed and scooped her younglings into her arms.

  “The pain and loss will always be a part of her, but now they will not cloud over the joys she still has in her life.” Nysa rose and smiled at him, a perception in her stare that set him on edge.

  She likely concluded she could do the same for him. Cause him to find the same bliss of healing. He tore his gaze off her and staggered from the cabin. She was so wrong.

  After what he’d done, there was no redemption for him.

  “Come.” Nysa hurried past him, following the path.

  “To where?”

  “Wherever I’m needed.” She laughed, high and clear, sprinting ahead.

  He frowned after her retreating form. This was going to be one bloody long night if Nysa sought to heal every sad soul in his village. After the near-battle at Great Meteoron, too many of his people had been divided between their blood and their loyalty. Centaurs and Lapiths had been intermarrying for generations. This new war threatened to tear them apart.

  If this was what the nymph wished to do… He scraped a hand down the side of his face, snorted, and dashed to her side. She stole inside another cabin and healed another of his subjects.

  And another.

  The entire night, she gifted her waters to the grief-ridden souls of his people. Each in turn thanked her, a lightness of peace passing over them.

  Truly miraculous to behold; Nysa was a gift from the gods.

  He might not partake of her offerings, but it was a relief to witness his subjects unburdened.

  As the sun slowly rose in the sky, Nysa yawned, and he scooped her onto his back, carting her to his castle, despite whatever protests she might devise.

  The nymph might wish to leave this place, but he wasn’t yet ready to let her go.

  ***

  Nysa sighed into the centaur’s back, wrapping her arms around his waist. She hadn’t healed so many souls in decades, and the call had beckoned her so forcefully, she’d expended more energy than she should have.

  Yet the blissful smiles of those she’d helped were well worth the fatigue weighing her body.

  This day, she’d rest, and tomorrow, she’d gather supplies for her journey home.

  Oreius might desperately require her help, but until he admitted it, her waters would do nothing for him.

  You can’t heal if you don’t wish to.

  That was the secret of her powers. Only when a person was ready could she aid them.

  Oreius gripped the past so tightly he might never release his grasp.

  They arrived at North Gate, and she slipped from his back, yawning into the sunshine. Half-asleep, she treaded up the staircase to her chamber and collapsed upon the lush bed. After five decades inside a damp, dark well, she welcomed these luxuries.

  A delightful aroma perfumed the air. Nysa lifted her eyes, squinting into the dim room. Hmm. She must have fallen asleep, for the sun had set and the moon had risen once again. Silvery beams of light cut across her chamber, beckoning her toward the door.

  The luscious scents of roast meat and earthy vegetables, and the yeasty aroma of bread, filtered through her chamber door from the corridor.

  Mouth watering, she glided from her bed and padded into the hallway, following the decadent smells. The tinkling of youngling laughter greeted her ears as she stepped toward the dining hall. Oreius reclined with his two sons at a large, rectangular wooden table, platters spread across its surface.

  He ruffled the hair of one son, chuckling.

  Away from his children, Oreius bore great sadness, but within their presence, a joy spread outward from him.

  These children were more than his younglings. They were his connection to his wife, Sarra. Hard to miss the portraits, strung along the hallways, of a lovely Lapith female. An ebony-haired beauty with shining dark eyes.

  Or how those same eyes shone from within the faces of their sons.

  Someday, Oreius would love another, but not until he’d released his imprisoned hearts from the barred hold and thick armor he’d built around them.

  A shame, because the male had much love to give.

  She leaned her head against the archway, observing them. Her heart panged. She longed to be part of such a family. Once, she’d eaten of the lies Deimos had sweetly spoken to her, and had believed he would offer her this kind of love.

  Instead, he’d trapped her, stealing not only her love, but her freedom. Fifty years had been long enough for her to learn her lesson, and to heal her soul.

  “Nysa!” Pholis squealed, waving for her to join them.

  Pasting on a smile, she claimed a seat between the twins. Oreius might fear they suffered from their lack of a mother, but the truth was, she sensed no grief in them. Loss, yes, but these lads flourished beneath their father’s affection.

  If only he could be made to see that.

  She smiled at the twins, then lifted her lashes toward their father. Oreius’s dark gaze had settled upon her, piercing and penetrating.

  She swallowed thickly, noting the rise in his appetite, not for the platters of food, but for her.

  After everything, he still desired her.

  Any other female might conclude his lust sought her while his mind refused, yet Nysa perceived the truth. All of Oreius yearned for her.

  Why? What would cause a male to seek out a female he’d rejected?

  She tore her attention from him, eating her meal and focusing on the lads. After stuffing their mouths hastily, they tore off, chasing each other through the halls. Their nursemaid’s stern voice vibrated off the walls after them.

  Laughing, she faced Oreius, and bit her lip, stifling her laughter.

  His smile died on his lips too, morphing into that intense, hungry stare once more. “Nysa.” He clasped her hand, squee
zing, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. “Do you think my sons—”

  “No.” She squeezed his hand. “They do not suffer. Trust me; they are well, because of you.” After rising, she stepped toward him, pausing in front of him. “Because of your love.”

  “Thank you.” His voice broke, the pain and guilt bleeding through his words.

  Most who suffered loss experienced such remorse, yet Oreius’s ran deeper. Why?

  “Your wife’s death was not your fault, Oreius.” She brushed the tips of her fingers across his cheek. “You must understand that. We are all meant to die, yet the love we carry for each other is eternal.”

  “Understand?” He snorted, tearing her hand from his face. “If you knew the truth, you wouldn’t…” He gave his head a violent toss.

  “Then share it with me,” she snapped, frustrated with his riddles.

  “Fine. Then mayhap you’ll do what’s best for you and stay the bloody hell away from me.”

  “Perhaps.” She softened, pressing a hand gently onto his thigh. “Or perhaps, you will finally feel the relief of sharing your burden. You don’t have to partake of my waters to heal, Oreius. You only need to forgive yourself.”

  “Forgiveness will never be mine,” he sneered, tearing his glower away and directing it to the portrait of his wife on the far wall. “I wanted so badly to love her, for her to be mine, I defied the gods and forged a false bonding between us.” He lowered his head into his hands, shoulders bobbing with a sob. “The gods punished my hubris, by taking her from me. From our sons. So you see, nymph, ’tis my fault she’s dead. And no such transgression as mine will ever be worthy of redemption.”

  ***

  Oreius groaned into his hands while Nysa kept silent beside him. He’d rather not view the revulsion awaiting him in her eyes.

  He’d never admitted the truth to anyone. Had never suffered the burden to.

  Yet his attraction to the nymph was precisely why he’d had to. If he couldn’t force himself away from her, he’d spur her from him.