Lost Lady of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 7) Page 2

  “Well,” she spun around and regarded him, “we should set up camp for the night.”

  “You should.” He nodded. “I’ll fetch wood and hunt.”

  She folded her arms. “I’m likely a better hunter than you.”

  “Indeed?” He angled his head, unslung his bow, and extended it to her. “By all means, let’s have ourselves a contest. The winner will hunt, and the loser will perform every other menial task.”

  The cocksure tone in his voice grated on her nerves. She clenched her jaw and accepted the bow. “Agreed.”

  “What’s the target?”

  “How about the top branch of that tree, there.” Pointing, he leaned in close, his masculine scent drifting across her nose in a delightful—and distracting—manner.

  She cleared her throat and shifted to the side, aiming for the branch. Her arrow loosed into the sky, whipping through the air, straight to its target. She twisted aside to gloat, but Alder stood frozen, his easy grin gone. “What—”

  His hand shot out to press two fingers to her mouth. “Quiet, lass,” he whispered. “We’re not alone.”

  A tremor rumbled beneath her feet. Like a rolling wave, the vibrations traveled up her calves and thighs, escalating. A loud guffaw cracked across the sky to the west. Alder released his hold on her mouth and they crouched lower, huddling into the brush.

  Another booming chortle followed the first and thunderous hammering clanked her teeth together.

  Alder muttered beneath his breath, “Bloody giants.”

  Panic spiraled through her veins. The giants had sided with the god Apollo in the coming war, opposing Hades and Persephone.

  They were her enemy.

  Ferocious. Enormous. Unpredictable.

  And they were headed straight for her.

  Alder swallowed thickly. Well, there would be no hiding from giants. They might not be the brightest creatures, but they had damned good noses.

  It would take but a moment for them to scent—

  “Mmm, Otus, do you smell that?” The rumbling voice of one giant thundered through Alder’s ears. He and his companion trod into view, both easily eight or nine times the size of a man. They were naked, their grotesquely-sized sexes swinging in time to their steps. Alder fought against the urge to slap his hand across Iora’s innocent eyes. He’d save her life first, and worry about her modesty later.

  Two giants were worse than one, but better than three. He approached an oak tree and hauled himself up, climbing.

  “What are you doing?” Iora hissed.

  “My job. Protecting you.” He ignored her huff and continued his ascent. Once at the top, he whistled at a piercing pitch they would be able to detect. Then he tugged a knife free from his belt and gripped the handle. Unclenching his fist, he grabbed the hilt with his teeth and waved one arm, drawing every attention away from Iora. One tiny blade wouldn’t kill them, but with any luck, he wouldn’t be the one dealing any death blows.

  They would.

  The giants didn’t respond, so he removed the knife from his mouth and shouted, “Ho, there, giants!”

  They both twisted about, toward him. At this height, he stood face to eye with one of the brutes. The foul creature’s large nostrils flared and a rush of wind sucked from around Alder as the giant sniffed him.

  “A satyr? We don’t like your kind. Where’s the sweet one?” The giant arched one tree-trunk thick brow, the gleaming red orb of his eye narrowed at Alder.

  “No sweet ones here, I’m afraid.” Alder cleared his throat. “You must be smelling my sister, whom I left at my home, not one mile from this place.” To the south lay a rocky crag. If he could but divert their focus there, he would possess the advantage. No one was more nimble on a cliff than a satyr. “I’m sure she would be more than pleased to prepare you a scrumptious meal, far better than any mortal would be. You know, with all those bones getting stuck in one’s teeth.” He fought against scrunching his face, instead forcing himself to think like a giant.

  “I hates bones,” the other one grumbled.

  “Lead the way, little satyr,” grunted the closer giant. “But if you be tricking us, we’ll gobble you up first.”

  Alder inclined his head and clambered down the tree, pressing his fingers to his lips for Iora to keep quiet. She narrowed her brows at him.

  Trust me. He hoped she would.

  He might not be the bravest warrior, but he was quick on his feet and clever enough to outsmart two giants.

  Or die trying.

  Once on the ground, he led the giants in the direction of the cliff. Their footsteps might be lumbering, but Alder had to sprint to keep pace with them. “Name’s Alder.”

  “I’m Otus,” the first one replied, then jerked his head at the other, “and this is my brother, Ephialtes.”

  Their names buzzed in Alder’s mind. These two had quite the history of trouble-making, and making enemies of the gods. Wasn’t Apollo supposed to have killed them? Hmm…

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. What brings you to these woods?”

  Otus grunted. “We were promised a sumptuous little morsel by the go—”

  Ephialtes thwacked him on the head. “Shh, you fool. We’re not to tell anyone, remember?”

  The hairs raised on the back of Alder’s neck and his ears twitched. He could well fathom precisely by which god. Apollo.

  And which morsel. Iora.

  “Ah, yes, well, it’s just this way.” Alder increased his pace, dashing through the thicket of trees to the other side, and hopped onto the first ledge of the jagged rocks.

  “I see no cabin, mortal,” Otus boomed in warning.

  “And I smell no sweet strumpet.” Ephialtes stomped one massive foot, sending Alder bouncing onto the heels of his feet.

  “Just ahead, I guarantee it.” He swiftly leapt higher onto the cliffs. “Follow me.”

  The pair grumbled, but shuffled forward. Giants were blundering, awkward beasts, nothing like nimble-footed satyrs. If he but coaxed them to the top…

  “How high is your cabin, satyr?” Otus grumbled. “We do not like to climb.”

  “A little further, and I promise, my sister will prepare you the most delightful meal.”

  The giants griped as they ascended the mountainside. Alder wove higher and higher, waiting as they pressed forward, and occasionally weaving between them. Slowly, they rose, breaking through the low clouds into the mists.

  Soon, they’d be high enough for even a giant to die from the fall.

  ***

  Iora fidgeted as she huddled beneath the brush. How long would Alder be? What if the giants refused to play his games and simply decided to eat him instead?

  Then come searching for me.

  No shelter here. At the very least, closer to the mountainside, there might be a cave she could scurry into, one deep enough where even a giant’s groping fingers couldn’t reach her.

  That settled it. She would seek out a safer hideaway.

  Gingerly, Iora stepped from the bushes, into the open. She studied the distance, but couldn’t spot the giants, or Alder.

  Icy dread pumped through her veins. If any harm had befallen him because of her…

  No. She shook off her trepidations. Persephone would not have sent her an inept escort.

  She marched toward the mountainside. A cascade of small stones and boulders flowed downward. She leapt out of the way and wound to the side, scanning for a cavern.

  Craning her neck, she couldn’t make out any hint of a giant, only the rumbling of their footfalls that echoed like thunder cracks.

  A dark hollow halfway up the mountain caught her eye. The cave would make an excellent hideout.

  After gripping the rock above her, she planted her feet firmly along the ledge and began her ascent. Carefully measuring each step, she neared the hollow. As she approached it, the voices of the giants carried to her, clearer now.

  “I don’t believe you, satyr. You’ve tricked us.”

  “We’re goin
g to gobble you up instead!” A roar blasted through the air and a wave of debris came crashing toward her. Iora leapt out of its path and huddled inside the cave while the booming drumfire of the giant’s movements burst overhead.

  Alder might be agile, but those two giants were furious. She had to help him.

  Coughing against the rising dust, she cleared the hollow on the opposite side and peered up the mountainside.

  Through the hazy mists, she spotted the two giants, hands swiping to catch the satyr, who ably darted from their grasp.

  By the gods, what was his plan?

  She drew her brows together. Aha. Obviously, he intended for them to lose their footing and crash to their deaths.

  Those two stubborn giants clung to the mountainside, refusing to comply.

  It was a good plan, but it wasn’t going to work. Alone.

  What he needed was a partner in this game.

  Iora switched to her centauress form, her hooves having better agility, and clambered up the side of the mountain until she neared the giants. “Ho there, giants! Have you been looking for me?” she called sweetly to them, waving her arms and casting a grin at Alder.

  His eyes widened in horror. “Iora, no—”

  The nearest giant spun around and greedily lunged for her, but she dove for his feet, which were balanced one above the other, and sprinted straight between his legs.

  He’d overreached his arms, and finding no purchase in grabbing her, waved them about wildly, bending to swing toward his legs. The movement toppled him forward, head over feet, and he lost his balance, tumbling down the mountainside.

  The uneven, jagged rocks tossed him about like violent waves during a storm, and he thrashed against them, until his limp body rolled to the bottom and halted in a cloud of dust.

  “Brother!” the other giant screeched, casting his fiery glower on Alder and herself.

  She hopped up to the ledge above Alder, who shook his head at her and then at the giant.

  “Ack, you’ve done it, lass. I’d intended for them to tumble at the same time.”

  “Well, at least now there’s two of us and one of them.”

  He clucked and waved her to the side. “You go left and I’ll go right. Let’s take this giant down to join his brother.”

  Iora balanced on the rocks, awaiting Alder’s instruction. She might have defeated the first giant on her own, but that was a mixture of luck and surprise. Likely, she had neither of those remaining.

  Uncertainty flustered in her muscles, but Alder faced the giant head-on, confident and brave.

  The second giant whipped out a sword, no, not a sword. She squinted at the long, white staff. A bone?

  Indeed. One end had been sharpened to a lethal point, which he jabbed toward Alder.

  The satyr anticipated the giant’s moves and promptly leapt out of the object’s path.

  Growling in irritation, the giant switched his focus to her, slashing the bone madly in her direction. She ducked and rolled away, then hopped to her feet and dodged another strike.

  “You mortals need to know when you’ve been beaten and submit to being eaten!” the giant bellowed, slashing his long arm between them, swatting at them as though they were but ignorant flies.

  “You giants must learn not to eat your betters,” she quipped, staggering backward as she avoided another blow.

  From behind the giant, Alder gave her a nod to continue drawing the giant’s attention toward herself.

  Rising onto the tips of her hooves, she cupped her mouth and shouted, “I bet you don’t even know the best way to cook a mortal.”

  At her mocking, he swung his head toward her, brows scrunched together. “We don’t cook mortals. We eat them whole.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous.” She perched her hands on her hips. Alder stood right behind the giant, and he withdrew a loop of rope from his satchel.

  The giant sniffed and stiffened as though to observe his surroundings, but she cut him off.

  “You should know,” she taunted, “we taste far more delicious when cooked in a pot, full of fresh herbs.”

  “We don’t like fresh herbs.” He narrowed his eyes on her, then he jerked his head to the side.

  “Or roasted over a fire pit.” Her second suggestion swung his gaze back to her. Good, good. “Yes, indeed. Mortals taste best when roasted.”

  The giant scratched his bearded jaw. “We do like the beasts after the forest burns them. Quite scrumptious.”

  “See? You’ve learned something new.” She scrambled backward and switched into her human form to make a smaller target. Alder had looped the rope around the giant’s legs, binding them together. The instant he lunged for her, he would trip, and tumble down the mountain, to the same fate as his brother.

  A perfect plan.

  Now, to execute it perfectly.

  ***

  Alder backed slowly from behind the giant, careful not to make a single noise that would alert Otus to his presence. His pulse drummed in his ears and his chest grew tight as the giant inched closer and closer to Iora.

  He ought to be the one between them. The one facing the giant. To view her within reach of such danger…

  Cautiously, he stepped away. Iora did the same, pressing upward.

  “Why are you—” Otus grunted, shifted his legs, and peered down.

  It was too late. He’d lost his balance, and he wobbled on his bound legs, unable to gain footing.

  At the last second, he thrust out his hand and snared his massive fingers around Iora’s waist, closing her in his grasp.

  And then he fell.

  Two hundred feet to the bottom, but it wasn’t a free fall. No, he tumbled and tossed, just like his brother, the roar of his bones cracking against the rocks clapping through the air.

  Fear and dread and panic pulsed through Alder as he watched on, then scrambled down the rocks after them.

  Please, sweet gods, let her survive this.

  He couldn’t fathom any other outcome.

  The trek to the bottom seemed to take a whole day, yet the second he approached the limp body of the giant, he couldn’t breathe and time dispersed from his senses.

  Oh, gods. Can’t look. He hadn’t come across her along the path, and the giant’s grisly hand was buried beneath his mangled body.

  “Iora?” he called softly, his voice cracking. His blood pattered through his veins while he hefted the giant’s weight to roll him onto his back.

  A feminine groan echoed to him. Alder shoved aside the giant, revealing Iora’s tattered yellow skirts. Thank the gods. Gently, he dug her out from the giant’s grip, prying aside those grubby fingers, and carted her from the corpse.

  She was breathing, albeit shakily.

  Iora squeezed her eyes, clutching her head as he set her upon a stray boulder. “That was horrible. I don’t recommend you try that.”

  He stared at her, hardly trusting his eyes weren’t producing false images. Not a scratch on her. So dazzling and fragile, yet she was resilient and formidable. “How did you survive?”

  She arched one brow. “I’m not alive, remember? When I wish to, I can float between worlds.”

  He whistled low. “Amazing.”

  “Well, not particularly.” She wrinkled her nose.” It’s a rather irritating hindrance, you realize, preventing me from being alive.”

  “You appear alive enough to me.” Indeed, her cheeks were flushed a sweet shade of pink, her eyes sparkling wide and shining.

  Those lips. They looked like the softest…

  Alder swept forward and seized the back of her head, slanting his mouth across hers. He didn’t know what in Hades had provoked him to do it, and he didn’t care. All he savored was the honey taste of her lips, the soft moan in her throat, and her lush body pressed to his.

  Chest heaving, he wrenched himself away. This was so wrong, though it felt so right. “I can’t. We can’t,” he muttered, only half-believing his words.

  He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, he didn’
t dare to.

  A sultry purr echoed in her throat and her lashes fluttered for a second before she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and dragged his mouth onto hers. Her delicate kisses were hesitant, but sparked with passion. No doubt. She wished to be kissed.

  She was the loveliest creature he’d ever beheld, yet she was not for him.

  Mustering every ounce of control, he forced his muscles to still, his lips not to ravage hers, his pounding heart to freeze in its rapid beatings. Slowly, he backed away. There wasn’t anything to say to her, so he combed a hand through his locks and cast his face aside, away from the beauty who would never be his. “I almost lost you.” He coughed into his fist. “Forgive me for the familiarity of my reaction.”

  “Of course…” She cleared her throat, and he sensed in the tightness of her tone that fearsome centaur pride. Mingled with centaur stubbornness.

  He held in a chuckle as she fisted her hands. Tearing his focus off her, he scanned the horizon, painted a pinkish-gold. “It will be dark soon. We should seek shelter.”

  He glanced sideways at her, and jolted, caught in the trap of those swirling depths.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t certain whether he should seek shelter from the coming night…

  Or her.

  Iora pressed her lips firmly together and clenched her hands at her sides. Resentment fumed through her body as she glared at Alder. He’d kissed her. Yet suddenly, he’d determined it in her best interest not to be kissed.

  Males. Humph.

  Even worse, a fateful truth had blasted through her the moment their lips had touched.

  He’s my mate.

  Tearing her glower off him, she fought between screaming and bursting into tears. To have waited so long for the one who would be her true love, and then for him to pull away? What bonded male would reject his mate?

  None would.

  Except, apparently, Alder.

  That was, if he even realized what she had. Centaurs were among the few species capable of detecting the rich, earthy bonding scent that perfumed from a male in the proximity of his mate.

  At their kiss, the fragrance had bloomed from Alder. And it was intoxicating.

  The pebbled ground blurred in and out of her vision as she steadied her nerves. Alder was right about one thing. It would be dark soon and the giants might have friends who wouldn’t appreciate discovering their battered corpses.