Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) (19 page)

“Please, Your Grace. Release him, release us both. I vow I shall complete my mission. Do not compromise my cover further.” She lowered her voice. “I will do anything you ask of me.”

She bowed her head once more. Her attention shifted to the right, where, through the trees, she spotted Arsenius. Her eyes stung with the injustice of him being restrained. This experience would no doubt be flushing to the surface the suffering of his past.

How she wished—
What is that?
Another figure stepped into view, and the female had her hands on him. No one touched her male.
Damned licentious Amazons.

Fury welled inside her and she forgot protocol.

***

A female barreled through the trees, her war cry shattering the stillness. Arsenius gaped in utter fascination as she tackled the amber-eyed female.

Kyme, ‘tis Kyme.

She crouched, braced above the female. With a dagger poised at her prey’s throat, she hissed, “He’s mine.”

Damn, now was not the time to be getting aroused. The female beneath Kyme cowered. She trembled and grated apologies as coherently as her compressed chest would permit.

Kyme grunted and released her prey.

Every Amazon in the camp swarmed them.

This would be a very good time for a pair of breeches, or a cloth. Anything.

Kyme threw off her dress and wrapped it around his hips. Her warm hands did nothing to convince his arousal to lie low. A few haphazard braids were planted throughout her hair, hanging wild and loose over her exquisite breasts. The rest of her lithe body was bare for him to worship.

Never once meeting his eyes, she straightened, her back to his chest. By the tight fisting of her hands, he sensed the fury rolling off her. A maiden fetched her a dress, and he frowned as her body was covered once more.

As another female broke the circle, each of the warriors took a step backward and kneeled before her. Judging by the regal set of her shoulders, he guessed at once who she was.

“What is the meaning of this, my child?” The Queen’s voice was hard, but tenderness lay underneath.
She cares for Kyme.
As the revelation struck him, his mind twisted the information around. How to use this to his advantage?

“My Queen, forgive me. This male is not to be touched. He is mine.” His body tensed at her words, to hear her speak them again.
He is mine.

He didn’t know why she’d made the declaration, and he didn’t care. Even if all he received was a moment of false claiming from her, he’d cherish it. His chest puffed at being the first male she’d ever claimed.

Kyme knelt and fingered the hem of her tunic.

“Whatever do you mean, my child?” The Queen waved for her to rise. She did, but kept her face downcast.

The maiden who had fondled him stepped forward, pouting. “He is not marked.”

What marking?

Hippolyta arched her brows, casting a slow perusal of his body. Everyone held their breath awaiting Kyme’s answer. Or hell, mayhap it was just him.

“I did not have time to.” Kyme lifted her head and met the Queen’s scrutiny.

“Did you give yourself to him?”

Whoa.
Arsenius frowned. That was private, wasn’t it?

“No, I did not.”

The Queen slashed her gaze between the two of them, distaste curling her lip. “The truth, Kyme. Did you squander your virtue on this vile half-breed?”

Whoa, he was behaving. No need to start with the insults.

“
No.
” Kyme’s tone contained a hint of indignation. Like him, she no doubt hated when someone didn’t accept her word.

Hippolyta shrugged dismissively. “Then you won’t mind proving it.”

How?
Surely, they weren’t going to…?

“Show me your hands.” The Queen crooked her fingers for Kyme to approach.

Huh?

“My Queen, he does not know.” She shifted on her feet, twisting the ring of Artemis around the middle finger of her right hand.

Ah, so this was the mysterious gift she refused to share with him.

“Here?” She clasped her hands behind her back.

“Now.” The Queen’s tone revealed her patience had drained—time to comply or be punished.

Kyme placed her hands outward, palms up. She murmured a prayer and her hands glowed.

Holy Hades.

Her hands continued to burn brighter until they glowed an incandescent amber. A mere few feet away, the heat coming from her, the fire, the electricity, seared him.

Incredible, beautiful. Like lightning. He must have been gaping like a fool because the Queen cast him a glower of such disdain before relief and possession flashed in her eyes.

Bloody right. Kyme was a weapon the likes of which the world had never encountered. No wonder the Queen would do anything to keep her safe, hidden, and chaste. Kyme’s utter inexperience with men assumed a whole new perspective for him.

Gods, he’d love to swipe the smugness off the Queen’s face.

The corners of Hippolyta’s mouth turned up in a satisfactory smile. “Thank the goddess. Come with me, goddaughter mine.”

Oh no, hell no. This is Kyme’s godmother?

***

Kyme sighed in resignation as her powers dispersed. Now that Arsenius knew, the question was, what would he do? Would their agreement still stand? Would he free her knowing her true value? It was one thing for a male like him to relinquish an object of his desire, quite another to release a weapon as powerful as she.

This changed everything. Resentment toward her godmother for forcing her to do this swelled inside her chest. If she hadn’t shown him, they might’ve had a chance. To what? She scoffed. There was no happy ending for her. No peace in her future. Only war and service.

“Come,” the Queen commanded and of course Kyme followed. A foreign moisture fell from her eye. A tear. She swiped it away before any of the others perceived her weakness.

“Talk to me, goddaughter mine. In truth, I have never beheld such defiance from you.”

“It is not what you conclude.” She swallowed hard.
Yes, it is far more.

“Tell me, for verily I fear for you. If this attachment to this male is what I suspect—”

“It is not.”

“Let me finish, child.” Hippolyta gripped her squarely by the shoulders. “Our race does not bond itself to men. We survive on our own, heads held high in honor and pride. You must recall the legends. It does not end well for those who attempt to conform to this notion of society. Verily, only one of us has ever married, Antiope, and you must recall what came of it.”

Yes, she did. Thousands of years ago, Antiope had fallen in love with the hero Theseus. After they married, he betrayed her. The Amazons attacked in an attempt to rescue her and many died, including Antiope.

Her godmother leaned forward. “Tell me about this male. Why did you claim him?”

She steadied her pounding heart. “The slaver and I have come to an agreement. A pact—pleasure without consequence.” Though she was beginning to doubt such an arrangement existed.

Hippolyta pursed her lips. “You have done well, Kyme. Are you certain you wish to claim him?”

Kyme hoped her tone assumed the correct note of detachment. “Please, my Queen. Serving my sisters is the sole path in my life. As year after year passes, I am alone in being devoted to Artemis.” She blew out a long breath. “My Queen, I wish a taste of this bounty of life as well. This male is attractive to me. Nothing more. He understands he cannot take my virtue and that I will return to my home once I have completed our mission. I swear my gift and my chastity are in no danger of being lost. You know the strength of my will.”

Her godmother regarded her with piercing precision. “Very well, Kyme. I shall hold you to your word. If you dishonor your sisters, you know what my command to you will be.”

She swallowed hard. Yes. Death for Arsenius, by Kyme’s own hand. “It is agreed. Thank you, Godmother.” She dipped her head and masked her grin as her stomach fluttered. She was permitted to mark Arsenius, to claim him as hers. It would mean no other could place her hands on him, not for any purpose.

The question that remained was…

How would her slaver react to becoming her slave?

Chapter 18

Again testing the strength of the ropes binding him, Arsenius swore if he heard one more whisper of
chaste Kyme
, he’d forget his resolve, break free, and teach those jealous harlots respect.

His growl reverberated low in his chest. Their snickering grated on his nerves. It begged to question, as Kyme was not deaf, how had she withstood their taunts for so long?

Earlier, four of them had teased him with their knives as they’d released him to tend to his bodily needs. He hadn’t cared that they’d leered at him with lust in their eyes. That they’d wet their lips as they’d ogled his body. He was nothing more than a pyrate’s booty to them.

What cut him was the way a handful of those females jested about him being with Kyme.

Such was the way of the world though, wasn’t it? Kyme was beautiful, clever, an admirable fighter. Of course, they envied her.

In truth, she was not only all of those things. She was a powerful being, and mocking her was not only hurtful, it was foolish. And dangerous. An intelligent man, or woman, made not enemies of those possessing such power. In his mind, they were lucky Kyme had taken a vow to protect them.

Arsenius, however, had not.

Twigs snapped to his left.
She’s near.
Arsenius knew it not by sight, sound, or smell. Some other sense was at work upon him. He detected her presence, and sure enough, with the grace of a huntress who’d been trained in forest combat, Kyme slipped from the trees.

His hearing accounted for the other seven women in the camp. They were either at the fire or posted as guards. He had a few moments of glorious privacy with Kyme.

Treading to his side, she bit her lip, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Though she tried to conceal it with a mask of calm, he sensed the storm of unease flowing from her. She softened, smoothing his shorn hair. Sorrow clouded her eyes as she brushed her fingers over the wound on his head.

At once, his arms ached not from being bound, but with the urge to hold her.

“I am sorry they have treated you thusly.”

“‘Tis just hair. It will gr—”

She pressed two fingers to his lips. “Speak not, lest you betray your thoughts and they kill us both.” She held up a flask, some meat, and bread. First, she brought the flask to his lips and he moaned to taste not water, but spiced wine splashing against his tongue.

A drop slid from the corner of his mouth. She wiped it away with her finger, but popped that fingertip into her mouth, and wrinkled her nose. He would have laughed, but not here, not like this.

As she popped a morsel of bread into his mouth, Arsenius grinned at how much he enjoyed this, being cared for by her. Since his mother had died when he was twelve, he’d never had anyone nurse him.

Kyme’s nurturing instincts seemed so natural. She never failed to fascinate him. How he loved discovering her depths.

She lifted her chin, her gaze penetrating him. What troubled her so? The glint of a blade flashed as she lifted a dagger between them. Was this the marking they spoke of?

Though he knew not what it entailed, he didn’t care. She was his mate and he yearned to be hers, in any way. He gave her a rough nod.

She grasped the knife and grazed the tip down his chest. The blade traced his muscles, never penetrating his flesh, merely teasing. His muscles tensed in response to her. Where would she mark him? How? The anticipation was killing him. As she lowered the knife, he hardened and cursed. His cock should not have responded thusly to a blade.

She fell on her knees in front of him and removed the tunic she’d wrapped about his hips. As she gripped his rigid erection in her hands, he questioned his eager acquiescence.

But then her sweet, hot mouth fell upon him. She glided her tongue along the length of him and wrapped her lips about the tip. Curling one fist around him, she sucked him into her mouth. He clenched his jaw, barely recalling why he shouldn’t release the roar in his chest.

Inside her.
Perhaps not how he desired most, but a dying man welcomed any salvation. He’d never permitted any woman’s mouth on him, never imagining he’d enjoy such personal contact, not after what he’d endured. His time spent with women was always about a quick release for him. He took his time pleasuring them, but he never let them have control over him.

Every touch from Kyme amazed him.

He’d prayed never to be chained again, ever. Here, with her, it was a healing of sorts. He did not regret it. Not even as the hot sting of her dagger cut into the flesh of his thigh.
Hell, yes.
Damn, Kyme was skilled with a knife.

She moaned deep in her throat as she savored him. Her left hand cupped his sac while she pleasured him with her lips and tongue. In her right hand, her dagger marked the flesh of his upper left thigh, at the juncture of his hipbone. He didn’t watch, for fear of his frenzy seizing him, but he sensed it would be a deep wound, the scar permanent and unmistakable.