Earth Borne (2 page)

The trees blurred for an instant, and from their midst stepped…
My brother?

Thereus swallowed hard as Lord Agrius, a man more like a father than a brother to him, strode forward. His horse half—a smoky black—trotted in a measured pace as disbelief, bewilderment, and hurt flashed across Agrius’s pewter-grey eyes.

A few steps away, he halted, shaking his head and snorting. “I did not believe it. Not even when Father sent me here to greet you.”

Every speech he’d prepared in his mind retreated, ebbing from his tongue like the tide. Thereus valued this male’s good opinion more than any other’s, even Arsenius’s. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he swept a hand to rake back his damp locks. His gut churned and every ounce of confidence he’d mustered retreated from his body, leaving him weaker than a lad gaining sea legs.

He could have faced any of his brothers, or even his father, but not Agrius. Not Agrius.

“Yet here you are.” Agrius’s brows pinched together, his eyes misting. “I care not how or why, but I thank the gods you are returned to me.” He leapt forward and crushed Thereus in his embrace. After a few minutes, he pulled away. “How is it that you’re alive?”

The pain in his question stabbed into Thereus. He scraped his hand across the back of his neck, all of the fantastical tales and arguments he’d fashioned slipping from his mind. “The truth? I ran off. Made a new life for myself, one I controlled.” He straightened his shoulders and feigned an air of confidence.

Agrius sniffed. “No, that’s not the truth, but I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.” Clapping Thereus on the shoulder and sighing, he strode away, calling over his shoulder, “Welcome home, brother.”

Damn.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. If Agrius didn’t believe his stories, would anyone? This mission was going to prove far more difficult than he’d ever conceived.

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 gaping guards, and proceeded into the throne chamber.

As he inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh-cut blossoms—honeysuckle, his favorite—permeated the air. A dozen of his staff had lined up to greet him. He’d had the intention to sneak into his home, snare a few personal items, and 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 the gods for your safe return to us.” Though the frame of her grey mare was no match for his breadth and height, her formidable presence commanded the room.

He might be Lord, but 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.” Alkippe smoothed the front of her long-sleeved verdant cape. “She will be in momentarily, I assure you.”

He froze. Had he heard her correctly? As he regarded the centauress, no hint of a jest sparkled in her silver eyes.

Ah, hell, no. My wife? What in Hades is she doing here?
Raking his fingers through his locks, he paced the chamber. 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 chamber. 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 ruminate on the fifty-mile run. 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. Malformed and far too loose, they threatened to come apart at any moment, just like him.

The Portal shimmered and a maiden strolled into his Great Hall. Her honey scent blasted through him. His wife had carried a faint trace of sweet nectar, yet this fragrance overpowered the scent he remembered. 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 torn brown dress was of an inexpensive cotton and smudged with dirt, as were her cheek and brow. The fabric clung to her, accentuating her softer, rounder curves. Her dark brown hair was also uncharacteristically disheveled. Yet her eyes, matching the color of her hair, were as bright and intelligent, her skin as creamy, as he recollected.

Thereus stared, unable to come to terms with the fact that he’d left
this
creature. He’d been a fool, and he’d not be one twice.

Across the chamber from him, she froze, a sharply indrawn breath escaping her before she curtseyed. “My Lord.”

So formal, too formal.
He wasn’t a Lord, had never been one. His animal half roared in protest.
He
craved nothing more than to shift into human form, sweep up her skirt, and take her, in front of everyone. Thereus reined him in hard, arguing the case of civility. Still, he couldn’t bear such distance between them.

In a few swift steps, he was at her side. “Is that any way to greet your long-lost husband, dear wife?” He grinned at her before gathering her in his arms and ravishing her with a kiss. She gasped at his forwardness but to his shock and delight, she didn’t protest his kiss, as had been her way. Her sweet tongue met his with timid passion, her body becoming soft as butter in his arms. He tangled one hand in her dark locks, the other caressing her cheek. While he would love for this kiss to last forever, he was on the verge of losing control of his horse. There were only two options: end this or throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest dark corner.

While the latter appealed to him the most, he was unsure of her willingness. Another odor mixed in with her sweet fragrance. Experience told him it must be her repulsion, as it had been with Kalliste. His keen sense of smell denoted no repugnance as he drank her in. Only lust, and the sharp note of fear. Dear gods, she was afraid of him. Had he mistaken her eagerness? Was he still a monster to her?

He wrenched his lips from hers, chest heaving.

Damn, why the hell did I come back?

Chapter 2

Thereus’s kiss was so ardent that a tear escaped her eye. He
was
alive. For one glorious moment, he’d held her again and Melita pretended his tenderness was for her. Though it had been so wrong, she’d indulged in his taste, in his dark masculine scent, and in the strength of his arms. Had she one request before she died, this would have been it.

Thereus was even more magnificent than she recalled. His centaur half was robust, larger than any horse she’d ever imagined. His human half was no less intimidating. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t hard, pure muscle. Though she was a tall woman, in the land of centaurs, the males towered above her. Even Thereus must be at least seven or eight inches taller than her. He hadn’t changed at all, her beautiful, perfect male. How massive he was, how powerful.

Thereus’s jaw was cut square and sharp, his features as sleek and refined as the midnight black of his horse coat. His piercing emerald eyes, lined with thick dark lashes to make any woman sigh in envy, never failed to draw her in. The roguish grin often curling one corner of his mouth, and the resultant dimple in his right cheek, softened the intimidation of his brawny form. He wore naught but a leather vest tonight, and the endless rippling of muscles along his chest provoked her nymph half.

Breaking their kiss, his breaths came heavy and his muscles tensed, as if his arms refused to release her. “My apologies, Kalliste, I didn’t intend to—”

Her sister’s name upon his lips sent an opposing spear through her heart. Now that she was in his arms, surely he’d perceive she wasn’t Kalliste, would smell a scent very different from his wife’s.

Instead, he frowned at her tears. “Have I upset you? Offended you?” The concern in his drawn brows appeared so genuine.
How can he not see who I truly am?
Or, who she wasn’t?

“I-I,” she stuttered, unable to offer any explanation. Melita had marched into this hall expecting to meet her executioner. She’d never once anticipated she’d have to continue her ruse.

Before she had to offer an explanation, Alkippe cleared her throat. “Milord, please allow me to escort milady to her chambers. I’m afraid in our eagerness to greet you, there was no time to properly dress milady, and surely she wishes to make herself presentable. She will join you for the evening meal.”

Melita sent a sigh of relief in her friend’s direction. Meeting Thereus’s dark stare, she gave a weak smile. “Yes, Alkippe is quite right.” Judging from the hard set of his jaw, he wasn’t convinced, but he nonetheless released her from his arms.

She sprinted out of the hall, too stunned to process her situation.

“Oh, this is wonderful, Melita! I
knew
he was alive, that he would return to us.” Seeming in great spirits, the silver-haired centauress kissed both her cheeks once she’d closed the doors to her chamber. “I told you everything would work out. The gods have chosen this fate for you. Come, we must hurry.” She beamed as she helped Melita out of her dress and into the steaming bath. “Milord has returned, and he believes you to be his wife, and—”

“Enough, this is not great news.” She groaned. “Now, I’m not merely deceiving villagers and servants, but a centaur
Lord
. One who knew Kalliste.” She dropped her head into her hands.
My half-sister.
Six years ago, they’d journeyed from their homeland in the Vale of Tempe, along the Peneios River, to their destination—the Meteora of Westgard Castle.

Kalliste was Thereus’s bride.
Not me.
No, Melita was but the illegitimate daughter of the Lapith King, Pirithous III. Abandoned by her nymph mother, she’d been raised amongst the King’s servants. Both Kalliste and her half-brother, Philaeus, spurned her as surely as her father. As a half-nymph, she unwillingly exuded a sensuality that attracted far too much masculine attention. When Kalliste became betrothed, she gratefully followed her to Westgard for a chance at a new life. Her sister’s unkindness was nothing compared to the cruelty of Philaeus.

From the moment her feet touched the earth on Lord Thereus’s lands, she’d felt at home. Safe. Protected. The ancient woods surrounding the village below had become a true home to her. While others might question the castle’s almost haphazard appearance, she deciphered the secrets of its beauty. The far east wall that appeared crumbled was in actuality one of the most secure, fortified with ancient wards. The atrium, with its rugged overgrowth of plants, contained elaborate pathways and some of the rarest plants on Earth. Melita tended it herself. A wildness, an untamed charm lay in Westgard, one that called to her. It was here, five years ago, that she first saw Lord Thereus, and her heart had never recovered.

Though a servant here, she’d never been abused or mistreated. Even Kalliste had begun to see her as a confidante. So much had her circumstances changed that she now mourned her sister’s death each and every day. She owed so much to the woman she’d never be able to repay.

Melita drew in a deep breath. Soon she would be joining her sister. “Even if he’s not guessed it yet, he’ll soon figure out I’m not his wife. I have to tell him.” A sigh puffed from her lips. “Yes, I must tell him.” Though she spoke the words firmly, she wasn’t as convinced as she sounded.

“Oh, no, Melita. You cannot. Not yet, at least.” With a sly grin, Alkippe answered Melita’s questioning stare as she helped her from the tub and into her dress. “What you don’t understand is, just as that fateful night so long ago, milord’s horse wishes to bond with
you
.”

She snorted a denial and sank onto the seat in front of her dressing table and mirror. She didn’t believe in this mated centaur bond. Most likely, it was a tale centaur wives told themselves, dismissing their husbands’ infidelity. Everything in her experience taught her that men had wandering eyes, and hands, and… No. Bonded males did
not
exist.

“There.” The centauress tied the last green ribbon in Melita’s braid. “March yourself out there, use your nymph talents to seduce him, and let milord perform the bonding ceremony.”

“I will not.” The image of seducing Thereus flashed in her mind, far too tempting. She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip while the nymph in her admired the coveted image of Thereus. His horse half consisted of an enormous black stallion, rugged yet graceful. His human half burst with strength—a frame twice the breadth of hers and thick arms that beguiled her feminine senses whenever he flexed.