Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) Page 3

  “Fine.” She extended his arm. Clasping its heavy weight, she was unable to deny the allure of all that muscle. Even his hands. She’d not noticed them before. His fingers were long, thick, and callused. His hand was large and warm. She stamped down an unwelcome yearning to caress it against her cheek.

  His skin was soft and smooth, yet he was so rigid underneath. Like he was made of steel instead of bone and muscle. As all descendant males, he was hairless except for his head and his sex. Stepping behind him, she slid her arms across his chest, all the way down, stopping tauntingly short of his neglected arousal.

  She would not wash that. Yet.

  Instead, she released the leather thong binding his hair and held in a moan of appreciation as those raven locks fell free. Seizing the bucket beside the tub, she dumped the water over his head and lathered the soap into his hair. It was far too pleasurable to run the shoulder-length silk through her fingers, so she worked as quickly as she dared.

  “Move forward, I cannot wash your back.” Instead of doing as she asked, the slaver stood, ripples of water glistening and cascading down his muscles.

  Standing on tiptoe, she swept the cloth across his broad shoulders, and sucked in a sharp breath. Across his back, underneath the paint, were the faded lines of lash marks. Dozens. Some thick, some thin, and so many of them that little pure flesh peeked between the gleaming tissue.

  He was a warrior, and as such, she’d anticipated the scars on his body. Scars of battle, but not torture. Was this what had made him so hard, so devoid of hope? Her lips ached to trace each of those silvery lines, to place tenderness where cruelty had once reigned. To erase the pain of his past.

  She’d been through many battles. Pain was not unfamiliar to her, yet she’d been cared for as well. Had never been tethered and stripped of her dignity as he had. Amazons detested the lash. It was a cowardly method of punishment and taught no worthy lessons. That the slaver had suffered such mistreatment offended her sense of honor. Had she ever experienced the kind of anguish he had? Oh, slaver. Hard man with an even harder heart. Kyme shook herself, struggling to fortify her resolve. She should not care about his heart.

  Not when she planned to rip the organ from his body and hold it in her hands for its final beat.

  Yet her fingertips ached to stroke his flesh, to soothe. More of her hand came into contact with his skin where before she had only allowed the cloth. The longing simmered inside her, to strip him of his war paint, of the emotional scars of his past. She hungered to discover the man underneath. Even his scars didn’t mar his beauty. In fact, they rather enhanced it. He was strong, had endured, survived. His fortitude sang to the warrior in her blood. Using her hands to scoop more water, she poured it over the firm muscles of his buttocks and his thighs.

  Kyme had learned the ways men and women shared pleasure, but she’d never had the opportunity to try any. The hot-blooded Amazon in her screamed for just a taste. Oh, yes, how she’d love to taste him. With leather and soap overtones, his decadent, spicy scent made her mouth water. He smelled so male.

  She swept the cloth down one leg with long strokes, switched the fabric to her other hand and repeated the brushes along his other leg. Placing her face close to his body as she worked, she fanned her breath across his wet skin. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers and the air released from his lungs in a soft hiss. Good, he liked that.

  Like her Amazon sisters, she refused to do anything poorly—especially her first attempt at seduction.

  As she washed the front of his legs, a challenge presented itself. A rather large one. Her hands ached to envelope him, to grip his hard length, stroke him, and make him roar in ecstasy. Her sisters would not hesitate to tease the name of his buyer from his lips. Was she less brave than they?

  Her fingertips trailed down his navel, after the cloth. Perhaps he wouldn’t even notice…

  He wrenched her hand from his body. The “no” resounded in the air as thick as if he’d spoken it.

  Gods, Arsenius wanted Kyme to touch him. If she closed her delicate fist around him, he wouldn’t be able to hold back his release. Her caress ignited like flint struck across his skin, setting him aflame. Her soft panting as she balanced on her tiptoes was no match for his straining lungs.

  Rather than let her perceive how she affected him, he grabbed a cloth and dried off. He had to get away from this temptation. To clear his head and focus on his mission.

  He threw on his clothes, refusing to glance at her. “Someone will come to remove the water.” His voice was thick with lust, but he must have sounded menacing by how she recoiled from him. “Tomorrow, you shall bathe first,” he managed to mumble as he shoved his feet into his boots. The clack of the door closing behind him echoed into the night.

  Hours later, after several shots of rum, in a futile attempt to numb his lust, Arsenius stared at the stars, stretched out on a fighting platform built around one of the masts. He always climbed up to one of these when he craved peace, ever since he’d first stepped foot as crew on board a ship. No matter how large the vessel, he’d spent enough years crammed in with other men to last him a lifetime.

  He studied the bright lights above him, but the female in his cabin proved too much of a distraction. Even now, his attention drifted toward his cabin where the Amazon was. His eager erection pointed the way. Damn.

  Why was he so drawn to Kyme? Must forget her.

  He winced as a sharp pain cut through his temple. Images of his sister replaced those of Kyme. Lena. His little bright one. Her clever smile, her golden hair. She was only an innocent maiden. Bloody hell, reflecting on her always sobered him. He couldn’t afford any attachment to the Amazon.

  Kyme was his sister’s salvation.

  Six long years had passed since his sister had been taken from him and he was thrust into slavery. Nine months later, he’d seized his freedom, changing his name to Arsenius. Through Hades, his mother had sent the lightning bolt which had initiated his morphos, thus gifting him the strength to kill his masters. As a son of Ares, he’d not been born the way he was now. Even though he’d been almost thirty, he’d possessed the form of a young male. A weakling.

  He’d hated it. Never more so than when his sister had been abducted and he’d not been able to prevent it. Or when he’d been kept as a slave, powerless to fight against his masters.

  No one will ever be my master again. Exhaling deeply, he forced his hands to unclench before he tore through the wooden platform. He resumed his perusal of the stars, viewing only the twinkling of his sister’s bright eyes.

  For more than five years, he’d searched endlessly for Lena. In all that time, he’d not come across any trace of her. Desperate, he’d fled his life as a slave and became a slaver. It was the only method of making enough money and connections to find Lena. He’d vowed to do anything, become anyone, to ensure his sister wasn’t going through the hell he had.

  Arsenius dismissed the surging regret of his earliest ventures, when he’d had to prove his way into the slaver world. Contrary to what the Amazon believed, he did not enjoy enslaving the innocent. His present cargo reflected his preference for procuring rare, and often dangerous, creatures. Whether it be ridding a noble’s estate of nuisances like Kobaloi, battling a hydra terrorizing a village, or seeking out rare gifts fashioned by the gods themselves, Arsenius had earned his reputation as the best. He’d risen high enough to choose his assignments. Like his current client, who promised Lena’s location in exchange for the Amazon Kyme.

  It was Kyme specifically he’d been sent to capture. As usual, he didn’t ask questions, though his buyer had made the Amazon’s future clear. When she’d declared her purity, everything began to make sense.

  He’d used the threat of enslaving her sisters as bait. Without some persuasion, he would never be able to keep her imprisoned. She’d fallen into his game. A little too easily. She was hiding something, and he was determined to find out what.

  He did his best to readjust himself and decided he’d
been away for long enough. The hunger to be near her twisted his insides, gnawing in an almost painful manner. As he hopped down onto the lower deck, any peace he’d attained was assaulted. Thereus was waiting for him and, from his cross-armed stance, there’d be no avoiding his inquiries.

  “Captain.” Thereus inclined his head. His piercing green eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. In centaur form, the half-black-stallion, half-human male towered above nearly everyone, save giants. Shifting his weight between his four hooves, the centaur wasted no time. “Is this what you snuck off to do?” Of course, his first mate was angry with him. He likely resented being left behind, unable to fight by Arsenius’s side and defend him.

  Even so, Arsenius didn’t have anything to say to his friend, so he grunted an unintelligible response.

  “If you were that desperate for a female, we could have made a detour.”

  “She’s not…” He cleared his throat. “She’s my slave.”

  At his declaration, Thereus’s eyes widened. Before he asked too many questions, Arsenius filled him in on the details. When he finished, instead of offering his approval or support, the centaur gaped at him as though he’d gone mad.

  “You do realize what she is to you, do you not?” The centaur studied Arsenius, nostrils flaring again.

  “She’s my slave, and nothing more.”

  “Ha!” Thereus snorted. “You don’t actually believe—”

  “Enough, centaur. I don’t pay you for your counsel.” Cutting off the interrogation with a slice of his hand, he left his friend to his suspicions.

  The cool ocean breeze did little to clear his head or calm his nerves as he strode up the stairs to his cabin. He opened the door and a pang lanced into the center of his heart, stilling all within him.

  Kyme slept at the foot of his bed. No pillow, no covers. Like a dog. Nay, not like a dog. Like a slave. He stared at his hands, disgust brewing in his gut. I reduced her to this. He was a bastard for presuming she found him attractive. No woman desired a man who treated her worse than an animal. Who promised a future of rape and forced breeding. No woman would, and certainly no proud Amazon.

  And his sister, Lena? Would she forgive him his methods? Would she want to be freed if she knew the price? He raked a hand through his hair. It matters not. He was this far in, he refused to abort his plan. Let Kyme sleep on the floor. Better if she hated him now.

  She would surely hate him later.

  ***

  Kyme awoke, stiff and sore from sleeping on the cabin’s hard wood floor. As she rolled to the side, her stomach went in the opposite direction. Heaving, she crawled to the chamber pot and vomited. Before she finished, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, held back her hair, and wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. The arms then drew her backward and surrounded her in their warmth. It might have been pleasant, if her stomach didn’t threaten to perform an encore. “Uhh…” She gripped her head, attempting to steady it. Hot breath caressed her ear.

  “Never been on a ship before?” The slaver’s chest vibrated as he suppressed a chuckle. “The next few days are going to be very entertaining. You ought to have told me, proud Amazone. I could have made this easier for you.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed. After he placed her on the plush mattress, he tucked the blankets in around her, ignoring her feeble protests. A gentle creaking echoed. The slaver had opened the windows wider to let in more of the fresh sea air.

  A few moments later, he eased down beside her, his heavy weight causing her to roll closer to him. “Here, Cook’s special tea for growing sea legs.” He raised her with one hand and settled in behind her. His chest to her back, and his legs falling on either side of her, he lifted a mug to her lips. She dutifully swallowed the bitter liquid.

  After she finished the brew, she dared to ask, “How long?” She had to discern her enemy in order to defeat it.

  “It’s different for everyone.” He lifted and dropped one shoulder. “You are young and healthy, so I imagine not more than a day or two.”

  She laughed. “Healthy perhaps, but I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I am not young.”

  He trailed the fingers of his left hand along her arm before placing his lips at her ear and whispering, “How long have you lived in such self-denial, Kyme?”

  His caress made her shiver, and she purred as she relaxed deeper into him. She shouldn’t share anything with this man, yet her tongue formed the words, “One hundred and forty-three years.”

  “Gods, that’s a long time.” He let out a slow breath. “In all those years, no man has ever touched you?” The timbre of his voice thickened. His hand wavered in the air for an instant before his finger accompanied his words, tracing her collarbone and leaving a trail of heated skin. With a tender stroke, he drew a line between her breasts, down her belly, and curving around her thigh. Why, oh why, did she permit him? Her hazy mind formed no argument for resistance.

  He toyed with the buttons of her shirt, well, his shirt. Since she hadn’t bathed and her tunic was soiled, she’d donned one of his garments.

  The hem fell past her knees, but on the bed, the fabric had ridden up, catching her at mid-thigh. A feverish heat spread across her skin. Her limbs grew heavy so she allowed her entire weight to rest against the slaver. Mmm… He was so warm, so solid. Her chest rose and fell in wanton pants as the slaver’s hand inched upward along her inner thigh. She moaned and he froze.

  “Amazone, you’ll be the death of me,” he growled, jerking away his hand. “I need some air.” Untangling from her, he retreated from the bed.

  ***

  Steady those hands. Button up your shirt. Arsenius turned his back to Kyme and finished dressing. The opium he’d given her for the seasickness was having an unexpected side effect. The ambrosial scent of her arousal blasted through the cabin and damn, he longed to pleasure her. She’d hate him even more if he did.

  Though it violated every argument he’d made to himself, he hadn’t been able to watch her suffer on the floor. It would have been so much wiser. Logic was easy to listen to away from her, yet every time he glimpsed the Amazon…

  He’d even been a gentleman and managed to convince his stiffening cock to abate. He would stay away until the effects of this dose wore off.

  Kyme, it would appear, did not like being refused. As he shifted around to check on her, his previously obedient shaft went into full revolt, hardening. She lay draped across his bed like a vestal offering, her pretty pink sex bared for his keen admiration. Her fingers stroked the sheets, providing him a vision of them stroking something else.

  Gods, had he ever beheld a female so beautiful? A gentleman would look away.

  Hell, that wasn’t him anymore, so he stared. Absorbed every detail, every curve of her sensuous body. Her smooth hairless skin was like cream poured onto his crimson sheets. Toned legs and arms, a flat belly, and her breasts… Through the thin fabric, their rosy tips teased him. His palms itched to cup their weight. He fought the urge to climb into the bed and bury himself deep inside her. I could give her such pleasure.

  No. He clenched his fists. Her heavy-lidded eyes were not caused by any true desire for him. She was in a state of delirium. Taking advantage of her was wrong.

  Kyme must remain a virgin. Or his sister would rot in hell forever. He refused to let that happen. He couldn’t fail Lena again. Must have air. With shaking hands, Arsenius closed the door behind him and locked it. No one was getting in or out.

  Certainly not him.

  ***

  The ship rocked back and forth. Back and forth. It should have sent her stomach reeling. The motion had nauseated her for the past, what? Two, three days? At this moment, the rocking didn’t bother her. Perhaps she’d grown those sea legs.

  Kyme wrinkled her nose, trying to recall something, anything, about the time that had passed. Her memory was a delightful blur of colors, fuzzy as clouds, and she didn’t recall anything, except the slaver had cared for her. Her skin flushed while she reminisced about
him, the hard planes of his chest, his arms wrapped safely around her.

  Why was she wearing her tunic, and why was it clean? Her stomach clenched. No. She shook the tension from her body. She was secure in the knowledge that he required her virtue intact.

  This heavy pit in her stomach resulted from the augmenting fear that she was growing weak—and it had nothing to do with her powers. Her revenge, which consisted of slicing Arsenius’s throat, was becoming less appealing.

  Damn, when had she agreed to consider him by his name? Logic told her to call him slaver. Keep him inhuman and never make this personal.

  Oh, why had he nursed her? He should have let her shrivel up on the floor and suffer. Now she was indebted to him. She was a warrior. Honor mattered to her. Could she in good conscience murder someone who had taken such gentle pains with her? “His plans for you have not altered. Do not be weak,” she muttered as she stabbed her feet into her boots.

  Weakness is what men expect of women, her godmother had declared. However, it is women who should rule. We can do it all—birth children, hunt, fight. And men? In the darkest places of their hearts is the realization they will forever need us. They are terrified of our power. Never show them weakness. Be their nightmare. Be a proud Amazon.

  Right. Kyme fortified her heart as she adjusted her belted ivory tunic and refastened the clasp at her shoulder. From the moment they were born, Amazon daughters were warriors. She’d never longed to be held or kissed.

  I’ll be damned if I allow a few caresses with the slaver nullify a lifetime of training. She had a mission to complete, sisters to protect.

  After rising, she used the washbasin to clean. She desperately craved a bath, but not more than she detested the concept of asking for one and the price it would fetch. Now that they were at sea, freshwater was no doubt a luxury.

  If a bath was out of the question, fresh air would prove second best. She decided to venture outside of the captain’s cabin. Her curiosity prodded at her. If she was to be held captive upon a ship, at least she ought to have the freedom to explore.