Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) Read online

  Borasco, that bastard, rose and the room grew silent. “Gentlemen, ladies, my fellow pyrates and slavers extraordinaire, please share with us what you’ve brought tonight.”

  Arsenius appreciated the malice rolling off Kyme, her tightly clenched fists. He’d love to kill the male too, but Borasco was one of his best allies. Perhaps someday. If he ever found Lena again. If he ever determined doing good deeds would earn him redemption.

  Then again, if he sought to purify the world of evil, the one he should assassinate was himself.

  A female slaver swept her arm toward her enormous male slave, who stood even taller than Thereus in centaur form. What species is the lad? Arsenius didn’t have to guess long, though, as his proud owner rambled on about the youth being a son of Demeter and a giant. The way she bragged—he’s not even fully grown yet. He’ll make me a fortune on the market—twisted Arsenius’s gut. He searched the slave’s countenance. Hell, he wasn’t any older than seventeen or eighteen and already he was an expert. Vacant eyes stared at the wall. The way the slave slid off his breeches without hesitation told Arsenius he’d done this presentation a hundred times.

  He pitied the lad, sympathizing with precisely how that felt. Except, he’d rarely been given the decency of being clothed. Aye, he knew. Clenching his jaw, he fought back those dark beasts, those monsters also known as his memories. He did not enjoy being reminded of his master and mistress. Of how they’d both taken out their sick needs on his body. So strong and not even fully male yet, his mistress had whispered in his ear. Just like this lad.

  Not strong enough. He’d cursed his father every second he’d been a slave. Being owned by those two had been a thousand times worse than the galley—a type of slave ship humans referred to as hell on earth. To this day he couldn’t take enough baths, couldn’t scrub away at the dirt enough to get clean.

  Arsenius cursed under his breath. Not ever again. He’d healed, conquered his past. The lightning bolt—the one that sparked his morphos—had cleansed him, purified him. Besides, when that comfort failed, there was always rum, women, or fighting to block everything out. Damn.

  A wave of exclamations snapped him back to the present. The lad was nude now, and gods was he big. He made Thereus look like a pony. Every male in the room shifted. A few seemed aroused rather than intimidated.

  The females were transfixed. Hell, even Kyme. He nearly slapped a hand over her eyes, but didn’t because he shouldn’t care. Let her gape. He didn’t suffer from feelings of inadequacy. He was gloriously made and he knew it. Even so, Kyme didn’t have to peruse the male for quite so long before she flushed and averted her stare.

  “Enough, Maera. Put your plaything away. Has anyone brought anything of true value to present?” Borasco focused on Kyme, a pointed request to witness her in action.

  Not yet. Let her get a true taste for this first.

  Seraphina crooked her fingers for her slave to step into the center of the room. With extreme caution, she removed the creature’s manacle. Gods, what was he? A Panotius?

  While the slave tossed flaming swords in the air, Arsenius caught Sera’s gaze. He managed to suppress a grin. He kept her secrets, as well as she did his. Her sanguine hair was bound in a harsh braid against her head and she was clothed from the neck downward in skin-tight leather. Aye, because anything that came into contact with her skin was instantly incinerated.

  A hush fell across the room as the slave extinguished his swords and unwrapped the covering from his head, revealing two enormous ears. The appendages hung to his waist, causing the crowd to gawk out of disgust rather than captive interest.

  The slavers called forth their possessions. One could imitate anyone’s voice. Another was a contortionist. Some were dancers.

  “Food, slave.” Arsenius snapped his fingers. “I wish to eat while I’m being entertained.” The words fell bitter on his tongue. He’d rather watch Thereus preen than this parade of slaves.

  Kyme shoved a grape into his open mouth, and even the harsh slap of her fingers against his lips had his cock hardening. He scowled at his body’s reaction to her.

  She thrust another grape in his mouth; he caught her wrist, tugging her close and murmuring against her ear, “You’re next.”

  She stiffened as he guessed she would. “Never. I will not perform for your amusement.”

  “You will do as I command, slave.”

  “Dine in Hades, slaver.” She wrenched her wrist free.

  The current slave finished, bowing at his exit. Arsenius rose, gripped Kyme’s arm, and slapped a dagger into her palm. “You kill anyone and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Her fingers closed around the blade handle. “I’ll be sure to kill you…last.”

  Good. She was starting to truly despise him. He’d only have to push her a little further.

  “Perform, slave!” the man on Arsenius’s left cried out.

  “Is she that well-trained?” Borasco laughed.

  “See for yourself.” Arsenius eased back down and poured another drink.

  To his surprise, a slight, tawny-hided satyr took him up on the offer. He circled Kyme, assessing her like livestock.

  “A bit on the thin side, but pleasing enough. I’ll take her off your hands, for a handsome price. Will have to do something about that scar, though. Ugly as hell.” He sneered at her. “Still, I’d love to have her for my own little games. Last Amazon I killed was eighty years ago—some weak, red-haired creature.”

  Kyme punched the blade through the satyr’s lung so fast Arsenius almost missed it. Crimson fluid bloomed through his ivory shirt and he sputtered before collapsing in a seeping pool of blood. Arsenius wrenched his gaze from the satyr’s body. Foolish male. He’d made the most grievous and fatal error of admitting to harming one of her sisters.

  A seven-foot-tall dog-headed male, the satyr’s bodyguard, made a lunge for Kyme. Thereus tackled him. The two of them wrestled on the ground while Arsenius bolted toward the Amazon.

  The Kynokephaoi sent a stream of small daggers in Kyme’s direction before Thereus managed to subdue him. Arsenius lunged for her, tackled her to the ground, and covered her body with his, blocking several of the blades with his back. Not a soul breathed or moved. Glancing to the left, he beheld Thereus squeeze the life from the bodyguard. Arsenius rose to face the others as he extracted the daggers from his back.

  Careful not to allow the beast of his frenzy to observe the blood, he forced his vision off his lifeless former peer. “Hell, forgive me, Borasco.” He straightened his shirt before reaching inside his coat. “Guess she requires a bit more training.”

  A round of weak laughter followed, but the air was thick with the putrid stench of fear. He withdrew a satchel of gold coins and tossed a few of them onto the table in front of Borasco. “This should cover the damage.”

  Although the bodyguards tensed, none made any advancement on him, Kyme, or Thereus. If they were upset by the bastard’s death, they didn’t express it with any action. Apparently, no one cared enough to risk their own necks to avenge the satyr.

  “Thanks, my friend.” The winged male chortled. “Haven’t seen such entertainment in centuries. If that poor bastard wasn’t dead, I would have sworn you roused him to do it. Now, that was a demonstration. Good luck selling her.”

  Fool. He kept his mouth shut as he grabbed Kyme and shoved her at Thereus. “Take her home.” He refused to even glimpse at her, the fury in his blood boiled too hot. Moreover, the bottle of rum finally burned its way into him. It was going to be one hell of a night.

  On impulse, he plucked a few more coins and handed them to the female slaver, Maera. “He’s mine.” He pointed at her slave. She nodded, obviously too shaken to counter him. The lad regarded him with wary eyes but trailed him out of the building.

  Once on the streets, Arsenius tossed him the satchel of coins. The lad’s eyes widened as though in disbelief…and hope. “Go home, lad. If I ever see that thing,” he pointed to the youth’s oversized genitals, “on t
he slave market again, I’ll sell you myself.”

  Arsenius spun on his heel and strode off, leaving the youth to contemplate the possibilities of his new freedom. He caught up to Kyme and Thereus. The second they gained some distance between them and the building, he applied a lethal grip on the Amazon’s arm. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.”

  She rose on her tiptoes—as if doing so would make her tall enough to stare him down—and shouted right back at him. “He murdered my sister! You’re the one who handed me the dagger. I gave you fair warning.”

  Time to finish this. “You’re a slave, Kyme. You’d better get used to that fact. Because like it or not, that’s what you are.”

  “I am not a slave.” Tears welled in her darkened eyes.

  Good, push her a little more. He glared at her, crossed his arms, and shoved back his shoulders. “Slaves aren’t born, Kyme, they’re made. And I’ve made you one.”

  “No, if I’m such trouble, you can go find yourself another prize.” She poked her finger into his chest. “You come near me again, slaver, and I won’t hesitate.” Biting her lip, she backed down. After claiming another backward step, she spun, and ran off.

  He waited a minute, then another two. She couldn’t outrun him. Couldn’t hide her scent.

  Arsenius stormed after her, Thereus on his heels. Pounding up behind her, he seized her wrists, whipped her around, and clasped her to his chest to prevent her from reaching for his weapons. “Not so fast, Amazone. You’re mine. Don’t forget it.”

  “Why? Why do you want me?” Her demand caused the despair inside him to erupt. For some bizarre reason, he craved her permission to sell her. He longed to disclose his secrets, to have her understand and agree. He’d never told anyone the entirety, not even Thereus, who discerned most of his story and guessed at the rest.

  The words spewed out. “I need you, Kyme. Because you’re the only way I can save her.” He cursed at his admission and sighed at Thereus. “Take her back to the ship.” After releasing her, he stalked away.

  The fool disobeyed him and trotted up behind him. “Arsenius, what the hell is wrong with you? Kyme’s a good woman, you shouldn’t—”

  “She’s my slave, nothing more,” he grated through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, sure. If I’m right, someday you’ll regret treating your mate this way.”

  Mate? He scoffed. “What would you know about mates?”

  Thereus didn’t answer him, but instead stared off into the distance as he folded his arms. “More than you might think.” He tossed his head. “Hell, why’d you have to take it so far tonight? You might ask for her help. The three of us could figure something out.”

  “Stay out of this, centaur.” Arsenius pegged his gaze to Thereus’s. “I’d skin your hide myself if it meant her freedom.”

  Thereus blinked once before he pivoted to collect Kyme.

  Damn. Arsenius had glimpsed it in his eyes. His friend didn’t believe the lie.

  Too bad, neither did he.

  Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Kyme hugged her arms around her middle to hide them. The centaur, back in human form, raked his fingers through his raven curls. He peered awkwardly at her, as though he had no idea how to comfort her, and he might go mad if she started crying.

  That made two of them.

  She let out a shaky breath and tried to steady her quavering limbs. “Wh—” She cleared her throat. “Which way is the boat?”

  “Follow me.” While Thereus led them through the dark streets, she didn’t utter a word and neither did he. Halfway down one alley, he stopped abruptly and faced her. “Kyme, is there… Can I do anything for you?” His warm green eyes exhibited an endearing note of shyness.

  She shook her head and eased as a warmth caressed her skin. The Moon drifted from behind the clouds. Drawn by its magnetism, she lifted her face. Closing her eyes, she basked in the momentary glow. “Will you take me somewhere I can worship my goddess?” She opened her eyes and held his stare.

  “I don’t see any temples.” He glanced around and shrugged in apology.

  She tilted her face toward the Moon. “It doesn’t have to be a temple. Anywhere I can observe the Moon will be fine.”

  He nodded and led them down a side street, then onto a smaller road. The early hours of the morning were quiet, peaceful. The path narrowed even more as it wound up the hillside. As they climbed, the Moon beckoned to her. At last, they approached an open meadow where the Moon shone with augmenting intensity.

  “I don’t suppose I might have a few minutes alone?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Forgive me, Kyme. He’ll whip my ass just for bringing you here.” The centaur crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. “Ah, hell.” He stomped several yards away and offered his back. “You try to run and I’ll tie you to the bowsprit myself.”

  Kyme scrunched up her nose. Whatever that meant, it didn’t sound pleasant. She knelt and assumed the position she did every time she prayed to Artemis. Knees tucked under her, she lowered her head and lifted her hands, palms cupped in supplication. Speaking softly, she uttered the sacred prayer, “By the glow of the Moonlight, I honor thee, Artemis.”

  Tears stung her eyes as the first ray of Moonlight swept across her skin. She grabbed onto it with her mind and greedily sucked in the energy. The luminescence fell upon her like a mother’s embrace. The power coursing through her was better than any opiate. Or kiss.

  Her relationship with the slaver was too complicated. Who was this woman he sought to save? She shook herself. I don’t care.

  She let out a deep sigh as relief washed over her. A part of her had feared the goddess might be angry with her. Too soon, the Moonlight faltered, its offering depleted. The Moon wasn’t yet a quarter full, and therefore wouldn’t fully revitalize her. Yet she’d absorbed sufficient energy to incapacitate the centaur. This might be her only chance to escape—she’d be a fool not to seize it. She’d memorized the faces of each of the slavers at the symposium and would force one to aid her in her hunt. Kyme straightened her spine. It had to be now.

  After she broke her connection with the Moon, she rose and approached the centaur.

  “Ready?” he inquired over his shoulder.

  She nodded. Must do this…

  He tensed. Did he sense something? She clenched her hands behind her back. Not hiding anything. Not going to attack you…

  “Kyme, about tonight.” His dark hair fell into his eyes as he glimpsed at her sideways. “Ah, hell.” He groaned. “Look, there are some things you should know. You and me, we need to have a talk. Tomorrow, an hour before noon.” He searched her face, those green depths full of desperation.

  Curiosity—that faithful little companion—struck her like a lightning bolt. “Very well.”

  His shoulders relaxed, his mouth curling in a slow grin. She returned the smile, though hers wasn’t as genuine. Like an obedient slave, she followed him back to the ship, and allowed him to lock her inside the slaver’s cabin.

  Kyme slumped onto the bed with a huff. Damn, what was wrong with her? She’d hesitated. She never wavered, always springing straight for the kill. Was she going soft? Gods, no, please.

  All because of a male. She winkled her nose at her hands, repulsed. She wasn’t worthy of being an Amazon.

  She plopped onto her back, the slaver’s words slamming into her full force.

  Her. Because you’re the only way I can save her. Suddenly the cabin was too small, her breath arduous as though a vice wrapped around her chest. You’ve outdone yourself this time. All this pining and whimpering, and he’s using you to get his lover back.

  His lover.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, her stomach churning. Slaves aren’t born, Kyme, they’re made, his words echoed cruelly in her mind, And I’ve made you one.

  To hell with that. Nobody enslaved an Amazon. Nobody. She’d stay tomorrow, because she was curious about what Thereus wished to declare, and because he wasn’t her true
enemy.

  Yes, it would be so much more satisfying to use her energy against the slaver. After everything he’d done to her, he deserved to suffer the sting of her bite.

  ***

  “Is something wrong, ah, Arsenius?” The wench wiggled beneath him. Her bodice was torn from where he’d ripped it. Her skirts hiked up to her waist. His hips ground into hers through the leather of his breeches. He kissed her again, just to make her be quiet. She tasted awful. Soiled, unclean. Like him.

  What the hell was his problem? He’d never had trouble getting hard for a woman. Even before his morphos, despite the twisted things he’d been forced to do. Here, between this whore’s thighs, he couldn’t do a thing. Nothing.

  Images of Kyme assaulted him. Her delicate scent. Her purity. How he craved it.

  After tonight, after witnessing the repulsion and hatred in her eyes, he’d considered himself cured. He’d sought to rid himself of her. To forget. Bloody good plan, wasn’t it?

  Arsenius shoved off the wench with a grunt. The whore, whatever her name was, gaped at him. He fumbled in his pocket for a generous amount of gold and laid it on the table. “Tell Madame I had a great time.”

  Concern lit her face. Apologies streamed from her mouth. She assumed it was her fault, and he was going to let her believe the lie. Such a bastard.

  He staggered back to the ship. His first mate stood watch, no doubt waiting for him. Arsenius cast him a nod, dismissing his pitying stare.

  Gods, he yearned to collapse somewhere, to claim the oblivion of sleep. He spotted the cabin. Can’t go there. Instead, he climbed one of the masts, up to the fighting platform, and lowered his weary body. He rested his head on his folded arms and stared at the stars. They shone brightly, but it was Kyme’s eyes which burned into him.

  ***

  A sharp spike poked into his arm. Arsenius swatted at it, but the thing jabbed him again. Jerking open his eyes, he glared at the powder monkey trembling below him. “Well? Speak up, boy. You’d better have a good reason for waking me.”