Wicked Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 3) Read online

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  CHINESE ZODIAC ROMANCE SERIES:

  BOOK 1: TRANCING THE TIGER

  BOOK 2: REMATCH

  BOOK 3: BY THE HORNS

  BOOK 4: MATCH ME LATER

  BOOK 5: REINING HIM IN

  BOOK 6: MATCHING DRAGONS

  BOOK 7: IN WOLF’S CLOTHING

  HALCYON ROMANCE SERIES:

  BOOK 1: MOON BORNE

  BOOK 2: EARTH BORNE (DARK LORD OF THESSALY)

  BOOK 3: WICKED LORD OF THESSALY

  BOOK 4: BRUTISH LORD OF THESSALY

  BOOK 5: MASTERFUL LORD OF THESSALY

  BOOK 6: UNTAMED LORD OF THESSALY

  BOOK 7: LOST LADY OF THESSALY

  BOOK 8: WATER BORNE

  Want more centaurs? Read on for an exclusive sneak peek at the second novella in the LORDS OF THESSALY spin-off series, BRUTISH LORD OF THESSALY:

  Born to heal

  Nysa of the Krenaiai nymphs has spent the last fifty years trapped inside her well, until her waters are gifted to the surly centaur Lord Oreius. Instead of consuming her gift, he tosses the sacred liquid to the ground, and the spell goes awry. Nysa is transformed back into a nymph, but she can only survive so long without her well—which happens to rest on enemy lands. Yet she chooses to stay, because something in Oreius’s eyes demands she coax out the darkness…even if it threatens to consume her.

  The weight of the past

  Lord Oreius has drowned his grief beneath a torrent of shame and regret. No one, not even a sultry nymph, can heal the wounds in his soul and the guilt tainting his heart. Though she bloody well keeps trying. He longs to find forgiveness in her eyes, but first, he’ll have to find it within himself. War looms on the horizon, and when their enemies join forces, Oreius’s last chance at redemption just might have come too late.

  And the hope of the future

  When Nysa is torn from Oreius, he’ll have to fight for a second chance at life, and at love. Even if it means giving up his brutish ways.

  Centaur lands, Thessaly

  Year 1384 of the reign of King Cheiron II

  Or the human year, 1689

  Oreius sneered at the flask and sniffed the liquid within. Too sweet to be water, too perfumed to be a potion of evil. Not that his brother Agrius would do such a thing.

  Heal me.

  He snorted. Agrius and his mate, Eione, had gifted Oreius the flask months ago, exclaiming with fervor how it would “cure” him.

  Ha. He had no desire for a cure, nor to ever be relieved of his heavy burden. Sarra was gone and ’twas his fault his sons had no mother. Nothing, not even a flask of potent water, could remedy those truths.

  He grimaced at the flask in his hands. Why the hell had he held onto it for so many months? He ought to have done this the moment Agrius had bestowed him the flask. Heaving a sigh, he stepped to the balcony, raised the flask, and poured its contents onto the manicured lawn below.

  There. Done.

  Shaking his head, he turned toward his study.

  “Argh,” a feminine cry echoed from below.

  He whipped around and peered over the railing. Sweet gods, a female lay on the grounds, nude and dripping wet.

  She groaned and rolled onto her hands and knees, her long, silvery blue locks clinging to her lithe form like wet clothes.

  “Ho there, lass. What—”

  She lifted sparkling, pale sapphire eyes to his, catching his breath. He sniffed the air and inhaled her scent.

  Nymph.

  Oh, damn. The waters.

  “You. Why did you spill my waters?” She rose on unsteady legs, wobbling as she perched her hands on her hips. Those eyes narrowed on him, hardening into icy gems.

  His throat dried as he gaped at the lovely female. Luscious curves and a slender, graceful form that would fit perfectly into the crook of his arm…

  Hell. Oreius scraped a hand down his face, tearing his gaze from the nymph. After he steadied his raging nerves, he leapt over the balcony rail and landed in front of her.

  “Begone, temptress.” He flung out his arm, holding the flask for her to return to it.

  Agrius was definitely going to receive a lashing for this.

  Trickery. Treachery. He hadn’t deemed his brother capable of such betrayal.

  Instead of obeying him, she raised one pointed brow, wrinkling her pixie-like nose. “That isn’t how it works.” Treading forward, she pointed a finger at him. “You tossed my waters onto the ground. You dishonored my gift. And you shall remedy this.” She jabbed her finger into his chest, jolting him.

  She must have sensed the spark too, for she gasped, seizing one step backward. Yet, the fire in her eyes didn’t dim as she glared at him, crossing her arms over her bountiful breasts.

  He swallowed thickly and forced his gaze once more to rest on her face. That didn’t help. Her lips were sensuously curved petals, as deep a pink as the flushing of her cheeks.

  She was lovely and seductive.

  And utterly disastrous.

  ***

  Nysa flinched while the male removed his ivory tunic, baring his thickly muscled chest and broad, devastatingly brawny shoulders. He extended the tunic to her, jerking his chin.

  She plucked it from him, still tense. Her nudity brought her no shame, for nymphs rarely suffered from modesty, but the male’s dark glare suggested he did.

  So she tugged on the tunic, taking a moment to observe her surroundings. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It never had before.

  Though, neither had anyone ever rejected her gift. Her waters healed many ailments of the soul—grief, guilt, self-loathing.

  As she understood it, this male suffered from them all. When Agrius and Eione had drawn the waters from her well, she’d gladly permitted them, for their intent to aid this male had been pure of heart.

  But Oreius? Oh, no. The male had scorned the gift and had discarded her waters onto his lawn. The brute!

  Somehow, she’d been freed from her well in the process. Her hand drifted down to her belly, calming the churning within. She hadn’t been outside of her well in decades and she couldn’t survive long without the source of her waters.

  But if she’d grasped the situation correctly, her well lay within enemy lands of the centaurs, and returning to it might prove impossible.

  Damn him again. She fired her glower across his brawny chest and up to those eyes. So dark and so full of pain. They captured her, drawing her in. Every ounce of her being pulsed with the urge to heal, and Oreius was perhaps the most wounded male she’d ever encountered.

  “Well, Lord Oreius?” she huffed. “Will you not—”

  “How do you know my name?” His right hind leg stamped, nostrils flaring. Like many other beasts, centaurs could sniff out untruths.

  She raised her chin. “My connection to my waters. I’m aware of everything that happened in the vicinity of the flask. I know how much your brother risked to draw from my well, and how little you deserve his offering.”

  He reared back, peering at her with wide, concerned eyes, and shaking his head. “Who are you?”

  “I am Nysa of the Krenaiai, well nymphs. Your brother trekked through Lapith lands to secure my waters, to unburden you.” She sighed. “And now I’m here, away from my well.” Rubbing her arms, she puffed out her breath. The night air and the moisture clinging to her skin had chilled her.

  “You are cold.” His brows drew together and he took one step toward her, only to stumble back. “Come inside and warm yourself by the fire. We shall discuss a solution together.”

  She nodded and followed him through the doorway beneath the balcony, up a set of winding stairs, and into the cozy study where her flask had sat for the past several months.

  “Come.” He waved to the blazing hearth and the armchair beside it. Gratefully, she collapsed into the chair, soaking in the warmth. She eyed the flask while he set it upon the table.

  Orei
us sank into the chair opposite hers, planting his elbows on his thighs and dropping his head into his hands wearily. “Where is your well, nymph?”

  “Mount Pelion,” she murmured the damning truth. He froze, likely sensing the peril of her situation. “I know you are at war, but if I don’t return to my well, I will die.”

  As a Krenaiai, her life force was bound to the well and the waters within. She’d never ventured so far from her well before, and never not by choice.

  She lifted and dropped a shoulder. “This never would have happened—”

  “Aye,” he grimaced, “if I’d just drunk the damned waters.”

  *****

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