Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) (7 page)

He leaned in closer, steering his face to the side instead of claiming her mouth. His rough cheek pressed against hers, and she shivered as his hot breath evaporated off her cool skin. A moan escaped her. The slaver growled in masculine triumph. How dare he tease her so? How dare he be able to control himself with such ease when she longed to unleash the wildness inside her?

She was a grown woman, no doubt three or four times his age. If she craved his kiss, she ought to claim his mouth. Any other Amazon would. Yet she had no words to explain what he was doing to her, or what she craved. She was strangely shy. Her age made her inexperience worse. She was a very old maid indeed.

Such was the price of her loyalty to Artemis. She didn’t mind most of the time.

Now was not most of the time.

As she contemplated what to do, the slaver’s lips grazed her neck with the lightest of brushes before he pushed off and swam away. Not only had he enflamed her fury, her entire body engulfed in those forbidden flames, incandescent with a need which would never be fulfilled. She clenched her fists and envisioned them gripping her knives.

Sooner or later, slaver, you’ll pay for this.

***

Reaching the top rung of the ladder, Arsenius was at last able to release the air he’d been holding, and along with it a string of curses. What the hell had he been thinking, nearly kissing Kyme? He whipped his head in a violent shake.

Her skin was so soft… No matter how hard he tried to reason, the argument returned to the same claim. His body craved her and the rest of him be damned.

As a warrior, she seemed powerful and fearless, but as a woman, he sensed her apprehension in the tension of her muscles. Her intimidation stemmed not from him but from his masculine body. Surely, she’d never been kissed. She was utterly devoted to that
goddess
. Her situation frustrated the hell out of him. He hated the gods, narcissistic beings that they were. Deep in his gut, though, perhaps he envied Kyme her naivety. To blindly believe they actually cared.

Gods, how soft her skin… He’d made sure to keep their bodies apart. Even the frigid waters didn’t subdue the force of his arousal for her. The last thing he sought was to frighten her off. He’d been so hungry for her, he hadn’t realized how rough he was being until she’d iced in his arms. He’d had to rein himself in hard and retreat from her with every restraint he didn’t know he possessed.

It had bloody well near killed him.

Arsenius shrugged off these distractions as he hoisted himself over the rails and onto the deck. There was work to be done. His crew was already cleaning up, tossing chunks of Lamiae overboard, making the sharks happy.

Checking over his shoulder, he spotted Kyme climbing up behind him. He spun to tell her to return to his cabin, but instead of words, a deep growl released from his throat. Her ivory dress was soaked through, clinging to her and revealing what no man except him should ever be permitted to see.

His cock instantly grew rigid at the sight of her rosy, puckered nipples. He swallowed hard, struggling not to peek downward, toward the sweet cleft between her thighs.

He tore off his drenched shirt and ignored her protests, draping it around her. “Go back to my cabin and stay inside this time.”

Kyme’s cheeks flushed as she glanced down. She hugged his shirt tighter around her chest and spun to obey him.

Good. He headed to the helm to have a word with the ship’s pilot, Castor. The male was an Aegipan, a descendant of the god Pan, belonging to a race of goat-footed creatures.

“Capt’n.” Castor sent him a nod of respect. “Where to?”

“Nearest port. We have a ship to sell, and no doubt the men will require a brothel, or two.”

He gave a surly laugh. “Aye, aye. We’re not far off Limnos. Would ye like me to send for Madame Marguerite once we arrive?”

The notion of beholding any nude woman other than Kyme churned his stomach. “Nay, er… Aye.” Arsenius cleared his throat. “
Nay
.” What in Hades was spewing out of his damn mouth? If he didn’t explain his actions with a reasonable clarification, his crew might deem him deserving of mutiny. His mind brimmed with excuses. His cargo hold was full. Time to trade off some of those creatures, as well as the Lamiae ship. Too busy for a romp with the talented
madame
.

The furrowing of Castor’s brows indicated he’d run out of time. He coughed into his fist. “I’ll go to her.” Even a brief visit would hush any gossiping among his men. The last thing he needed was for any of them to peer at him and Kyme the way Thereus did.

Blasted, meddlesome first mate.

“Aye, very good, Capt’n.” Castor returned his attention to his task and spouted a stream of instructions in a language and accent so thick Arsenius didn’t bother deciphering. Every member of his crew was loyal and trustworthy. Well, for pyrates. Thereus had made sure of it.

The customary rhythm resumed as the sailors hauled themselves to their stations, preparing to set sail once more.

Arsenius shifted his weight from one leg to the other, muttering under his breath. For the first time since his
morphos
, he was concerned. What if he was unable to perform with the
madame
? How humiliating that would be.

Aye, a visit with Marguerite would be beneficial. They shared a long history. She’d been the first woman who’d taken him to bed. Consensually, at least.

He ground his jaw, hard.
Not me. Those things happened to Aden, and Aden is dead.

Before his
morphos
, he’d never considered the females of any species. During his enslavement, he’d endured things he’d rather never contemplate again. Afterward, well, he’d been determined not to permit the past to have such control over him.

He should bed Marguerite.

The idea lingered like acid in his gut, a leisurely erosion. His problem was, he didn’t fancy Marguerite, or anyone else. He wanted Kyme, and he was ruined because of it.

Well, claiming the Amazon wasn’t going to happen. Even if he could never lie with a woman again, he wouldn’t abandon his sister. Because if he didn’t right that wrong, he truly would be damned.

And so would Lena.

His thoughts sobered him. As much as he might lust for the Amazon, he perceived what he must do. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but then again, neither was anything else in his life.

***

Kyme perched on the edge of the bed, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She rose and paced. Then slumped again on the mattress and huffed. She refused to do this, to sit around while her body was ablaze. Her neck where the slaver’s lips had briefly landed remained feverishly hot.

The ship thrust forward and the now-familiar shouting and singing filled the air. She froze while the door opened and the slaver strode inside. His perusal never landed on her as he settled at the desk, dipped his quill in ink, and studied a heavy leather-bound ledger, which her previous searching had revealed to be the ship’s log. For a pyrate, he took his duties as captain seriously. First into battle, first in bravery and cunning, and of course, the log. No wonder his men obeyed him without question.

Like the rest of the cabin, the log lacked anything personal. The quality of the penmanship was the sole clue about its author. The slaver wrote in exquisite loops and curves. He’d been high born. What had happened to change his circumstances? Few nobility would stoop so low as to claim an occupation of any sort, and a slave trader was quite possibly at the bottom.

After a few more lines, the slaver closed the book and replaced his quill in its holder. He rose and changed his clothes, acting as though she were not present. He didn’t even hesitate to strip nude—again—in front of her. Well, with his back to her.

What a glorious back it was. So powerful, so hardened. His scars shone like badges of honor, proclaiming his strength.

Kyme wet her lips. Would he try to kiss her again? If he did, she’d teach him how sharp her teeth were.

Even while he tugged on his boots, he dismissed her presence.
Fine, he can leave if he chooses to, and so can I.
She sprang from the bed and shot to the door as he was about to close it.

“No, you stay.”

“The hell I will, slaver. You can’t keep me caged forever.” She let the bitterness in her heart seep through into the tone of her voice. “I need some air.”

“Not today. Tomorrow, we dock at Myrina. You can have the air you wish then.” The door closed in her face. She slammed her fist into it.

“Don’t even try to break this lock,
Amazone
.” The warning rang strong in his voice, followed by the click of a key turning the lock.

She resisted the urge to throw his log at the door.
Tomorrow… Tomorrow I’ll soak in some freedom. Then I shall begin my interrogation.
If the slaver revealed enough, she would bypass being sold, kill him outright, and seek his buyer on her own. Hippolyta would plead her case to Artemis, she hoped.

Sighing, Kyme curled on the bed. As she closed her eyes in anticipation of sleep, one nagging notion forced its way into her mind, threatening to overthrow her perfect scheming.

What if I can’t kill him?

***

Arsenius collected Kyme in the late hours of the morning. With much difficulty, he’d managed to stay away from her for the entire night. He planned to repeat that torture for every night to come. His efforts today should secure his plan. He had to control this lustful beast inside of him that threatened to break loose at any moment. By the gods, he’d been through worse. He could handle this.

Or so he believed before Kyme caught sight of Thereus. The centaur wasn’t in his centaur form at the moment. An everyday human lower body replaced his horse half. Of course, on him it manifested as anything but ordinary.

The appreciation on Kyme’s face nearly set Arsenius off.

“Aw, Kyme. Try not to look too disappointed.” Thereus grinned. “I can’t exactly go prancing through human territory, now can I?” He winked at her and bent in closer to whisper, but not quietly enough.

“Besides,” Thereus lowered his mouth to Kyme’s ear, “this form has certain benefits when interacting with members of your sex and race, as you can imagine.”

Arsenius’s fists clenched, demanding he strangle Thereus for making Kyme blush. Yet her gaze fluttered to him… Were her fantasies not of the centaur, but of him?
Damn, mayhap I should thank the bastard.

Instead, Arsenius glared harder at Thereus.

His first mate shrugged. “What? Come on, it’s true, of course. Most females can’t handle the full centaur form.” He chuckled, flexing his large bicep.

Kyme huffed and climbed down the ladder into a longboat. Two other boats joined them and they rowed toward the shore.

The
Adrasteia
and the Lamiae ship receded behind them into the mist as the town of Myrina came into view. It was a busy port of commerce, for divine creatures and humans. Arsenius never stopped here without picking up a new mission. They landed in a secluded area of the beach. He waved to Venn, one of the Wind Borne, to conceal the boats. The large winged male was a descendant of the Anemoi, wind gods. Other than the fluffy snow-white wings adorning either side of his powerful body, he looked nothing like the angel humans sometimes mistook him for. Like Thereus, he was able to change his form, to utilize the
morphos
, and did so now, his wings dematerializing. His many piercings flashed in the sun as he obeyed Arsenius’s command, a cunning gleam in his pale blue eyes. To his race, scrambling the minds of humans was child’s play.

Although Arsenius appreciated the male’s telepathic ability, the notion of anyone accessing his dark memories made him cringe.

Their group followed the stone path to the brothel—the last one in a row of bright cottages lining the shore. Like the other buildings on Limnos, Madame’s brothel was made of stone with a red-tiled roof. Unlike them, however, two Corinthian columns adorned her doorway in homage to a temple of Aphrodite. An extensive veranda encircled the second floor, from where several of her employees displayed their wares.

A maiden welcomed them and they followed her into the foyer. Plush crimson carpets swallowed their footsteps. Marble statues in suggestive poses greeted them, but the ceilings were painted with murals that left nothing to the imagination. Sandalwood incense permeated the air, laced with the passion of every assortment of carnality being fulfilled.

Kyme’s eyes widened as she perused her surroundings. No doubt, she’d never stepped inside such an establishment before. This brothel didn’t keep slaves, but he wasn’t about to reveal that to her.

He hoped she’d assume the worst. Besides, she would soon learn all manner of unpleasant things about him. He let out a slow breath and steeled himself against the coming storm. Tonight would seal her hatred for him, which was the key to him finding the strength to sell her.

Madame awaited them in the foyer. A successful mistress always knew when to expect her clients. As he approached, he allowed Marguerite to offer him a warm welcome, kissing both his cheeks and running her eager hands down his chest, though he normally didn’t.

Her touch was more abrasive than the brushes the lads used to scrub the deck, but he forced his grimace into a grin.

Thereus beckoned a lithe redhead and scampered upstairs with her. Sucking in a deep breath, Arsenius debated whether to join him. Especially as Marguerite displayed her tall, voluptuous body in a most inviting manner. She leaned one hip against the countertop, her full breasts almost toppling out of the bodice of her blood red dress. Her cheeks were dusted with far too much rouge, her blonde curls tousled as though she’d just gotten out of bed. Which was probably correct.

Marguerite was a nymph. She should have been irresistible.

She wasn’t.

His focus drifted to the Amazon. A purity existed in her that had naught to do with her innocence. Her world was as light as his was dark. Those brief glimpses of vulnerability, coupled with her fiery spirit, made her so much more sensuous. Kyme was… Well, perfect. He swore at the absurdity of his reflections, and the pain they undeniably caused him.