Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) (40 page)

BOOK 1: TRANCING THE TIGER

BOOK 1.5: REMATCH (Novella)

BOOK 2: BY THE HORNS

BOOK 2.5: MATCH ME LATER (Novella)

BOOK 3: REINING HIM IN

BOOK 1: MOON BORNE

BOOK 2: EARTH BORNE

BOOK 3: WATER BORNE

BOOK 4: METAL BORNE

BOOK 5: WIND BORNE

Want more Halcyon Romance? Read on for an exclusive sneak peek at the first chapter from Book 2, EARTH BORNE:

As a nymph, she’s fashioned for seduction…

Melita is married to the centaur, Lord Thereus. Or at least she pretends to be. The ruse has been easy, until the presumed deceased Thereus returns. To save his kingdom, she committed treason. But that isn’t the worst of her secrets. To protect her heart from the lethally charming Thereus, she’ll have to risk claiming his.

No one has ever tamed him…

Thereus was once as wild as the stallion half of his body. And just as stubborn. He never wished for a wife, but the woman he returns to has changed. Now she is…irresistible. Despite his attraction, Thereus doesn’t intend to stay. After he collects his army, he’ll be off to war. Yet as his desire for her burns as deep as her secrets, he’ll have to fight for the one thing he faked his death to escape…and now just might not be able to live without.

The path of truth is wound with hidden desires…

Melita’s shadowed past holds a secret that could shatter the centuries-old peace between centaurs and Lapiths. But trusting Thereus isn’t a risk Melita is willing to take twice, even though he swears he’s now more wicked than wild. As her enemies close in on the truth, Melita and Thereus will have to choose between protecting his race…and saving hers.

Chapter 1

Centaur lands, Thessaly

Year 1384 of the reign of King Cheiron II

Or the human year, 1689

Greet my fate with the dignity of the Lady I’m pretending to be…

Or run?

The green flag atop the highest tower of Westgard castle flapped in the wind, taunting her. Paralyzing her. Melita’s blood turned to ice, forcing her muscles to become as solid as marble. Her heart, however, had a different idea as it beat viciously within the confines of her chest.

“He’s returned.” The words escaped her tongue, barely a whisper. Though she’d always known this day could come, the shock was enough to solidify her limbs. She’d dreaded this moment—no, she’d been petrified of his return—for five long years. Each day she awoke wondering if today would be her last.

Melita sank onto her knees in the field where she was working, her teeth biting deep into her lower lip. Even if it meant her death, which it certainly did, she wouldn’t flee and abandon her son. She would beg them for a chance to say goodbye. Better a mother who died bravely for her sins than one who selfishly discarded her child. She grimaced at the pain such circumstances had bored into her own heart and vowed never to inflict that fate upon her child.

Besides, she had little to gain from fleeing. She had nowhere to go. Her husband, along with every other male in this land, would hunt her relentlessly. She’d need a miracle from Demeter herself to outrun and out hide
him
.

For he was a centaur.

Her blood pumped hotly through her veins, melting the marble ice of her body as she forced her breathing to still. Melita shielded her eyes from the setting sun and squinted in the direction of Westgard, hoping she’d been mistaken. No, it was still there. The verdant flag, with the crest of Cheiron—an owl with scales—stamped onto it, signaled the return of the castle’s Lord.

Excusing herself from the others in the field, she rose and treaded forward, toward the
Meteora
of Westgard Castle. Six precipitous cliffs—the
Meteora
—lay scattered throughout the centaur lands, with the King’s high seat at Great Meteoron in the center. Atop each lay a castle almost as ancient as the rocks themselves.

The setting sun painted an orange and pink glow over the grey stones of Westgard. The village below was nestled in for the evening, smoke wafting up from the stone cottages. She peered at the castle, possibly for the last time. Tears slipped from her eyes, blurring together with her memories of her first glimpse. This place, this home most dear to her heart. Well, only one word described both the estate and its Lord.

Magnificent.

Every time she closed her eyes, Thereus’s image tormented her. She sighed as the memory of the tiny laugh lines around his deep green eyes flashed through her mind. Those depths had haunted her for years. They had torn her soul apart the moment his dismissive gaze had first passed over her…

Enough.
Her decision had been made, years ago. After brushing the dust from her plain brown dress and wiping her face with a handkerchief, she took one step in the direction of the castle. And then another. Toward her fate. Toward her husband.

Only, she wasn’t his wife.

***

Your time will come soon, Lord Thereus, son of Cheiron. Steel yourself.
The goddess Persephone’s voice echoed relentlessly in his mind as his hooves pounded the soft earth. Up until this point he’d done a fairly good job of suppressing his tumultuous memories of those days. He’d become a new entity. There were times when he believed he’d left his shame in the past. Then there were those pesky nights when he awoke, sweaty and trembling, tortured by a mahogany-haired nymph’s hot kisses.

Thereus picked up his pace, sprinting through the dense forest toward Westgard. Uncertain of his welcome, he’d left the
Adrasteia
—Arsenius’s brigantine—and her crew anchored on the coast of Thessaly. The castle lay fifty miles from where they’d landed. With two sets of hearts and lungs, centaurs had the advantage of being much faster than ordinary horses. Already, he’d crossed most of the distance. Westgard rested just up ahead.

Whistling out his breath, Thereus slowed his pace and adjusted his dark leather vest, rechecking the daggers hidden along his body. He was clearly out of his right mind to return. Yet ever since the goddess uttered those words, it was as though he’d been cast under a spell.

Her
spell.

Though Persephone hinted, he would never have returned to his homeland for the woman. Arsenius asked him to recruit centaur warriors for Persephone and Hades’s war. There wasn’t anything he would deny his best friend, and the man who’d saved his life five years earlier.

Prior to that fateful night, he’d committed a horrendous sin, and so very selfishly he’d fled his homeland. Not because of what he’d done, but because of who he didn’t want to become. He’d never sought to be Lord of anything. He’d never wished to be wed, and certainly not to a female who became physically ill at the sight of him.

His family devised other plans for him. As descendants of the great and famously wise Cheiron, it was the responsibility of Thereus and his brothers to carry on their honorable centaur line. Since female centaurs were rare, in centuries past, the gods bound their species to an exceptional race of humans called Lapiths. Whether this was an intelligent move was still to be determined…

In his mind, it was a curse that ripped his heart from his chest each night.

None of this mattered now, for his wife was surely long gone. The ship he’d fled on five years ago had wrecked. He would have been presumed dead.

Selfish bastard that he was, he’d never sent word otherwise.

The castle came into view, grey stones breaking through the tops of the verdant trees. As he broke free of the tree line and strode toward the Portal, he steadied himself to face the fate Persephone had warned him was coming.

I am home.
He’d actually returned. Thereus raked a hand through his locks and gazed fifteen hundred feet up toward his castle. For five decades, he’d been Lord and Master at Westgard, but he was unworthy of any sense of pride. Not after what he’d done.

Squinting, he spotted the family’s crest, an owl with a set of scales, swaying proudly from banners high up on the towers—signaling his return.
Of course.
Thereus snorted. Nothing,
nothing
, happened in his father’s lands without King Chiron’s knowledge.

Collecting himself, he stepped through the shimmering, gilded arch that functioned as a Portal, and prepared to greet his past. The dizziness in his head and buzzing in his ears lasted but a few seconds. He shook it off, nodded toward the two wide-eyed guards, and proceeded into the throne chamber.

As he inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh-cut blossoms—honeysuckle, his favorite—permeated the air. His entire staff had lined up to greet him. He’d had the intention to sneak into his home, snare a few personal items and perhaps bathe before venturing to his father’s castle, but this welcome was like that of a King returned from war.

The sole person missing was his wife.
Thank the gods for that.

His housekeeper, a matronly centauress named Alkippe, rushed toward him. “My Lord. Praise Cheiron for your safe return to us.” Though he was Lord, she’d also been his nursemaid, so he bent to allow her kisses to fall on both his cheeks. Straightening, he cleared his throat and averted his gaze from her piercing stare. Damn, this was awkward.

“Ah, you must be looking for Lady Kalliste. She will be here momentarily, I assure you.”

He froze. He could not have heard that correctly, but as he glanced toward the centauress, no hint of a jest sparkled in her silver gaze.

Ah, hell, no. My wife? What in Hades is she doing still here?
Raking his fingers through his locks, he paced the chamber. The room was unchanged. The same woven tapestries depicting grand battle scenes hung from the stone walls. A large fire burned in the hearth, spreading a flickering glow of warmth across the room. Two obsidian thrones graced the far end, shimmering in the firelight.

Upon reaching one corner, his hooves insisted on pacing to the other. He’d never been praised for his ability to remain still, and such patience was unlikely to make an appearance now. He’d had plenty of time to think on the fifty-mile run here. Plenty of time to culture his anxiety. Alkippe’s revelation sent his nerves overboard. His stomach was in knots, like those tied by sailors learning the trade. All malformed and far too loose, threatening to come apart at any moment, just as he was.

The Portal shimmered and a maiden entered his Great Hall. Her honey scent blasted through him. His wife had always carried a faint trace of sweet nectar, yet now it overpowered the scent he remembered as hers. At once, his mouth went dry and he was infinitely grateful for the impotence of his centaur form.

Mine.
The word reverberated in his mind, followed by the dark bonding spices perfuming from his pores. Had his head been clear, he might’ve been embarrassed that the centaurs amongst his staff could scent it. As it was, he cared for nothing except the goddess in front of him. How had he forgotten such beauty? Her brown dress was of simple silk, torn in places and smudged with dirt, as were her cheek and brow. The fabric clung to her, accentuating her softer, rounder curves. Her mahogany hair was also uncharacteristically disheveled. Yet her eyes, which matched the color of her hair, were as bright and intelligent, her skin as creamy, as he recollected.