Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) Read online

  Marguerite tilted her pouty mouth to him, her French accent thick and lusty. “I have missed you, Arsenius. You will come to my bed, non?”

  Kyme held her breath as she awaited his answer. This Madame Marguerite had perused the slaver’s body with far too much leisure and possession than Kyme was comfortable with. Clearly, they had been together on numerous occasions. Such was to be expected of a man like him. Still, their intimacy should not affect her, because she did not desire him.

  She forced her fists to unclench.

  He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Marguerite. I have business I must attend to first. Perhaps later.”

  Kyme released her breath through clenched teeth. Resentment over her relief boiled inside her.

  The slaver leaned closer and whispered into the Madame’s ear. After she nodded, he spun on his heel and headed out the door.

  The brothel’s mistress did nothing to hide her disappointment as she stared after him, fanning her pouting lips and downcast eyes. After a minute, her verdant gaze passed over Kyme’s much less voluptuous figure. The dismissive glint in those green depths and the smirk of superiority upon her lips stripped Kyme bare.

  She turned up her nose and gave the mistress a haughty perusal of her own. If this was the type of female the slaver preferred, Kyme’s virginity had never been in safer hands.

  At least until he sold her.

  Marguerite fingered a lock of Kyme’s hair. “Well, I suppose something can be done. Come.”

  Despite her show of confidence, her stomach sank deeper and her pulse raced. Why was she in a brothel? The slaver had refused to speak on the walk here. Thereus had been pleasant, but equally tight-lipped.

  Madame led her into a dressing room where a steaming tub awaited Kyme. She was genuinely grateful. Many days had passed since she’d last bathed in hot water.

  A contented sigh passed her lips as she sank deep into the perfumed water. Two servants stepped into the room, interrupting her privacy. One seized her right arm and scrubbed an abrasive cloth across her skin, the other claimed her left arm and twisted her limb about, examining her like a piece of merchandise. An object to be bought and sold. Their dismissive actions were a sharp reminder that to these people she was a slave, no different from any of the women here. Like them, she would need to be cleansed and prepared for her enslavement.

  A sudden chill jolted her, causing the steamy water to swirl tepid against her skin. Was it to be tonight? The slaver had told her they wouldn’t reach his buyer’s port for weeks.

  She would have told her slave the same lie.

  No. Not yet, please don’t let it be time yet. This eve was too far from the full Moon and she hadn’t been allowed outside at night to take advantage of any Moonlight. She was drained. If they chained her, she’d be helpless. She’d be raped. Afterward, she’d never have her powers back, ever.

  I’ll kill him if he tries to sell me. I have to.

  The servants finished their inspection. Other than being cleansed, she hadn’t required much preparation. Female descendants only possessed hair on their heads. Males, like the slaver… She flushed at the memory of bathing him, and then groaned, shaking her head in her hands. “What is wrong with me?” She slid under the water in an attempt to block out everything but her mission.

  She couldn’t afford any distractions.

  Tonight, I will fight for my freedom.

  ***

  “You wish to live in a brothel, Amazone? I can arrange it,” Arsenius pounded on the door Kyme had locked from the inside.

  “I will leave once someone has brought me a proper dress. I’ll not wear this in public.”

  He frowned. The gown he’d chosen was a delicate green silk with long sleeves and a tapered waist adherent to the current fashion. Modest cleavage and the hem flowed well to the ground—unlike the Amazon’s tunic. She’d never seemed concerned with the propriety of her attire before.

  “Your dress is fine. Let me in or I’ll break the door down.” He lowered his voice so the threat would permeate the air. After a few seconds of banging and knocking about on the other side, a click signified the lock unbolting.

  He shoved open the door and swallowed hard as he caught sight of Kyme from across the room. The fabric draped perfectly about her curves and her chestnut hair curled around her shoulders, catching in the light. He raised his admiration from the delightful sway of her hips and scowled. Where he’d expected, and anticipated, a view of the perfect cream of her breasts, his appreciation met a haughty sash.

  Why? He’d perused the entirety of her nude body, and gods knew her tunic wasn’t modest, so, why? Rather than argue, he strode forward. Before she anticipated his intention, he tore the sash from her chest.

  Oh. Why hadn’t he considered this? Though she made a clumsy attempt to cover herself, he’d already seen too much. Her mark—the brand above her right breast—indicated she was an Amazon.

  Her gaze slid to the floor as her chest rose and fell rapidly. A second later, she met his stare and in her indigo eyes was the ferocity and pride he’d grown accustomed to. That moment of vulnerability was gone. A sadness coated in regret tugged at his chest.

  “I did not shame myself.”

  Shame herself? No, of course his Kyme wouldn’t have. The coin-sized burn was deep. Whoever had given it to her must have held the hot iron to her skin good and hard. From the rumors he’d heard, initiates who made any sound, even a whimper, were refused entry into the sisterhood of the Amazons. The fallacy about them cutting off their right breast was a myth the humans had made up long ago. Even so, having a hot iron seared into one’s flesh must be equally painful.

  He clenched his jaw as he examined the crescent Moon above Kyme’s right breast. To believe in an idea so strongly, to be so devoted one would brand one’s own skin… What would that be like?

  “Nay, I can tell. Why then would you wish to hide it?” He crossed his arms and studied her.

  Kyme shrugged. “I am not this dress.” She bit her lip. “This gown is not a reflection of who I am. Women of my race don’t wear such frivolous things. We despise them. This gown, it is too lovely for someone like me. I cannot wear it.”

  From the longing in her voice, he sensed she wanted to. He huffed and uncrossed his arms. “Why? Are you a man?”

  She regarded him, her lips parting.

  His mouth curled into a grin. “No? Didn’t think so. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He leaned in close and swept the curls off her neck to proudly display the crescent Moon. “Mark or no mark, in that gown, Kyme, your beauty could drive any man to insanity.”

  ***

  Kyme blinked as she followed the slaver out of the brothel. He considered her beautiful. Why was that such a shock to her? She’d witnessed the evidence many times. Never before had he spoken the words.

  No man ever had. None had given her a second glance. The truth was, her chastity hadn’t been difficult to maintain. No males lined up at the river Thermodon, waiting to claim her. She’d assumed she wasn’t attractive. That, or men were far too intimidated by what and who she was.

  Not the slaver.

  No, he was a male who seized whatever he fancied. He didn’t cower in fear or repulsion from her or her Amazon blood. To have a male like him speak and believe such words…

  Blast it. What was wrong with her? He may be bringing me to my enslavement, and I’m daydreaming about dresses, roses, and sunshine. She squared her shoulders. You’re a fool, Kyme.

  “Ready to go?” Arsenius’s deep timbre echoed into her mind.

  “Aye, Captain.” Thereus stuffed his shirt into his breeches. As his gaze caught hers, he winked at her and heat rushed into her cheeks. She had to stop ruminating about coupling. Easier said than done when in a brothel, surrounded by two fine specimens of masculinity, one of whom had a glow of satisfaction about him. The other’s dark stares warned her he hungered to perform those same acts with her.

  Desperate to distract them, she sought information about this even
ing’s proceedings. “Where are you taking me tonight, slaver?”

  Thereus’s jaw clenched, grim. “A symposium, Kyme. You’re the entertainment.” He clamped a hand on the slaver’s shoulder. “I don’t think this is a good idea, friend.”

  “Then don’t join us,” the slaver snarled. “I neither desire nor welcome your advice, centaur. Stay at the brothel if you wish.”

  Instead of appearing hurt or angry, Thereus inclined his head. “Never, my Captain.”

  “Fine, but stay out of my way.” He stormed off, Kyme and Thereus trailing after him.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t be sold tonight. Her interest piqued, and curiosity, in her experience, was never a good thing.

  Her suspicions were reinforced as the men led her to the side of a vacant stone building. The slaver snared her elbow as he whispered three words—chalkos, argyros, and chrysos—into the darkness of the alley. She quickly translated—copper, silver, and gold.

  The Portal revealed itself, shimmering as it parted the blackness. Portals were a gift from the gods to their descendants. The gates functioned as a barrier from the prying eyes of humans.

  The cold bite of fear coursed through her as they passed through the opening and down into the damp earth.

  Confined spaces. She cursed under her breath. Why did pyrates enjoy small, cramped boxes? Why couldn’t this meeting take place in an open meadow?

  She pressed her lips firm against her trepidation as she followed the slaver. Thereus placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and its warmth helped her to relax. Black-flamed candles lit the narrow corridor. Pausing at the far end, the slaver repeated the passwords and the heavy wooden doors swung open.

  Worse than the brothel. Sweaty, barely-clothed males and females of various races performed erotic dances for the customers in front of them. The patrons, mostly men, were scattered around the establishment. Some reclined at open tables; others tucked themselves away in private booths. They were dressed like her two companions, in leather and menace. Definitely pyrates and slavers.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Thereus’s hooves. He’d performed the morphos. Although the male was an impressive bodyguard in human form, as a centaur he was fearsome. An establishment like this demanded that kind of respect. Most of the occupants were rough, though none moved with the lethal grace her companions did. She bit her lip, holding back a grin.

  The slaver navigated them through the crowds. Her eyes stung and watered. She coughed as the offensive odors of liquor and smoke filled her nostrils. Her pure lungs were unaccustomed to anything but the freshest mountain air. Ignore the distraction. She stamped down the urge to cleanse herself.

  As they approached the far side, she managed to control her breathing. The slaver halted before two guards standing in front of a red velvet curtain. Upon spotting him, they parted the drapery. A handful of pillowed couches were arranged around the room so that the center floor resembled a stage.

  Her battle-honed scrutiny performed a quick survey. Seven males reclined on their individual chaise longues. Two females. Five smoked cigars; six drank from pewter mugs. Against the wall, behind each slaver, stood a bodyguard. To the left, or in some cases, seated upon their lap, was one slave for each. About two-thirds were female, the rest male.

  All were stunningly beautiful.

  Three were chained.

  Her captor sank onto the only open chaise. Thereus ushered her to stand beside her captor and then claimed his stance against the wall.

  The conversations slowed as the room’s occupants twisted to assess them. One male, a heavyset creature with the wings of an angel and the smirk of a demon, perused her slaver. “Welcome, my friend.”

  “Borasco.” Her captor inclined his head.

  “Haven’t seen you for a while, Arsenius. I would ask whether business has been good, but I can see it has been.” The Wind Borne raked his lewd leer across Kyme’s body, resting on her breasts. Or her mark. She didn’t want to know which.

  “An Amazon, impressive. They’re harder than hell to capture.” The winged male blinked at her hands. “You sure you shouldn’t chain this one?”

  “She’ll be fine. My man’s got her covered.”

  Borasco’s eyes wavered for a second, but he seemed convinced by the slaver’s explanation as he settled deep into his seat. Indeed, Kyme would rather not enrage the centaur.

  “How have things been in Thrace?”

  “Boring as Hades since the old man declared those aquatic miscreations off-limits. What I wouldn’t give to sink my talons into one.” He chuckled. “But then, it’s not worth incurring Zephyrus’s wrath. Still, those mermaydes do sell well on the market. Never had a problem acquiring a buyer.” He snorted and grinned.

  She narrowed her eyes and focused in on her prey. Water Borne, or mermaydes, were sacred, ethereal creatures, as subject to the Moon as the Amazons were. The Moon controlled the Tides, and the Tides ruled the Oceans the Water Borne called home. They were also the timeless enemies of the Wind Borne.

  She memorized the face of this abomination in front of her. Someday she’d kill him. Slowly. And after, she’d bathe in his blood.

  A female slave from the other side of the curtain handed Kyme a silver platter laden with delicacies.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Her slaver’s low voice rumbled, “Serve me, slave.”

  “Never.” She hissed and slapped the platter on the table in front of him. Every creature in the room whipped their focus toward Arsenius and Kyme.

  “Now.” A growl rumbled from his chest.

  Kyme crossed her arms.

  The pyrate to her left snickered. “Not quite got her trained yet, eh mate?”

  “Oh, I do.” Her slaver’s voice was steel as he grabbed Kyme’s arm and pressed on her wrist with enough force to threaten he would break it. The fury steaming off him blasted through her. In truth, she didn’t know him or what he was capable of. Did she care to discover if he would go so far as snapping her wrist?

  Indignation welled inside her as she snatched the open bottle from the platter and poured him a drink. She shoved the mug in front of him, spilling a few drops on his pristine ivory shirt.

  “Forgive me. Master.” She exaggerated the word, her mocking smile matching her tone.

  He narrowed his eyes but released her wrist. In one gulp, he consumed the foul liquid, slammed the cup down, and demanded a refill. “Damn fine stuff, as usual, Borasco.”

  “My pleasure.” The Wind Borne quirked his lips.

  Damn them both.

  Kyme continued to fill his mug, until the bottle was nearly empty. Still he appeared unaffected. The slaver held his liquor well.

  Just how well would he hold it once she sliced open his gut?

  ***

  From above the rim of his cup, Arsenius skimmed the room until he encountered sapphire eyes. Seraphina shook her head, a movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. Bloody hell. Sera was the daughter of Apollo, the sun god. If anything happened within reach of the sun’s rays, Apollo and Seraphina would be aware. Which meant his sister was secured in a place without sunlight.

  Sera was the sole mercenary he trusted to help locate his sister. Like him, she chose her targets with care, as he’d learned when he’d first met her. They’d been sent after the same mark, but had managed to work together, forging a mutual respect.

  He fell into a deep conversation with a descendant of Hermes on his right, Dolios. They discussed the slave market, the challenges of hiding it from the humans, the declining price of certain breeds. Dolios asked him how he’d acquired Kyme, but Arsenius wasn’t sharing.

  “I do have a mission you might be interested in.” Dolios lowered his voice. “I’ve acquired a particularly sensitive assignment and no one here is willing to take the risk. That doesn’t seem to be an issue for you.” He jerked his chin in Kyme’s direction.

  “I’m listening.” Arsenius leaned back as he downed yet another shot of rum. His plan
was working brilliantly. Before she started too heavily with the hero associations, like Thereus had, she needed a healthy dose of the real Arsenius. Of the hard, ugly reality of his existence. After all, he wasn’t any bloody Achilles.

  When she’d regarded him in the Aegean, he almost believed he could be.

  Today’s nefarious activities were a necessity for both of them. Damn, but he should have taken a whore. In the room next to her.

  He’d suspected Kyme would hate this place—the liquor, opiates, smoke, slaves, fornicating, all of it. Viewing real slaves—and being counted amongst them—seemed to be lashing her as unyielding as a whip. He’d made sure to consume even more rum than his usual, hoping she found it repulsive.

  The next part would only get better.

  “It’s a minotaur.” Dolios paused.

  “I’m still listening,” Arsenius replied dryly, not betraying his true interest. He’d love to add a minotaur to his collection.

  “I knew you’d be the one.” The male grinned and lifted his glass in a toast. “As I was saying, a minotaur has breached its covenant. The people of Krete are going mad. The King is outright infuriated. They’d prefer it taken care of. Quietly.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “The King will pay you handsomely, of course.”

  Arsenius shrugged the notion of payment off as inconsequential. It was. “Where on the Isle was the beast last seen?”

  Dolios handed him a parchment containing the coordinates.

  “I’ll set sail tonight.”

  “That’s it?” The male cocked his head. “You don’t have any other questions?”

  “Just one.” He leaned in with a wicked grin. “You want it alive or dead?” Dolios swallowed thickly. Oh, aye, the man feared him. Rightfully so.

  “A-Al…” The male fingered his collar. “Alive, I suppose, since the King wishes to execute him. I-If you can,” he added.

  Arsenius shot him a smirk that asserted, I can do anything.