Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) (26 page)

An instant later, his mouth was on hers, tender but with a heat that threatened to scorch her. His lips demanded hers part, and she opened for him. He slid his tongue against hers and the heat of Arsenius spread through her.

***

Arsenius crouched above Kyme, careful not to let any of his weight fall upon her. What was wrong with him? He’d allowed her to conclude this was somehow her fault. He was such a bastard. If he told her the truth, she might hate him.

A bastard
and
a coward.

He seized what he could, one last kiss. She didn’t push him away. Nay, his passionate mate responded as she always did, her sensuous body melting to his. Her fingers dug into his hair, clutching him closer, her sweet lips as ravenous as his.

Gods, he truly was a scoundrel. She must be in so much pain and he offered not comfort, but seduction. He pulled back and perched on edge of the bed.

“Kyme, I must apologize because I failed you. I’m the reason the minotaur hurt you. I should have stopped him and I couldn’t—I didn’t.” He dropped his head into his hands. She deserved better, more than him.

She sniffed and he twisted to peer at her. Tears misted in her already swollen eyes. “If I hadn’t been so weak, if I’d been a better warrior, like you, or Thereus—”

“That’s not true. Kyme, you…” He straightened. How to explain this to her? He’d never met anyone as brave as his Kyme. Courage was fighting despite the possibility of losing everything. He swallowed thickly. How different they were. There was nothing courageous about what he’d done to the minotaur.

“You’re a good soldier.” Bloody hell. He choked on the stifling awkwardness of his words.
What is wrong with me?
Why was it so damned difficult to utter what was in his heart?

He took a deep breath and tried again. “I fight because it’s what I was made for. I don’t do so for any noble cause. I have nothing in this world, so I fight that way. But it’s not bravery; don’t ever mistake it for that.”

Arsenius opened his mouth to tell her battling the minotaur had been different for him. The rage had dominated him as always, but for the first time, he’d also experienced fear. Terror that if he was too late, or if he failed to kill the beast, she would be lost to him.

Gods, he was pathetic. It was impossible to lose something he had never possessed.

Grimacing, he clamped his mouth shut. Their arrangement depended on one condition—that she never learn the truth of his love for her.

He cupped her chin. “We’re clear then?”

She nodded and he released her.

“Good. How does a bath sound?”

“Wonderful, and…”

“Aye? What, Kyme? You can ask.” He stoked her cheek.
Naught I wouldn’t do for you.

“The Moonlight.”

“Of course. May I carry you?” He hated to move her, but she wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t some great benefit to the excursion. Scooping her into his arms, he trembled with anticipation. At last, he was going to observe this gift of hers manifested. It was almost like viewing her nude.

Oh, wait, afterward he was going to bathe her. Perfect, bloody perfect. He buried his grin in her hair.

Arsenius carried her out of the room, shouting to one of the powder monkeys to prepare the bath. At the mainmast, he lifted her to a fighting platform. The secluded spot would be private enough for her purposes.

Cradling her in his arms, he was unable to conceal the roughness in his voice. “What now?” Kyme’s power was so sensual. As she extended her palms, she uttered a prayer to Artemis. The Moon beamed as though forgetting the world, and shone just for them, enveloping them in its luminescence.

As the Moonlight caressed her hands, it illuminated them, traveling up her arms until her entire body glowed a soft, velvety amber. He grew hard and shifted to provide more room in his breeches.

After a few minutes, Kyme moaned and the glow dissipated. She melted against him, like a feline with a sated stomach, languidly rolling and arching against him, and… Bloody hell, she was aroused. Precisely what comprised this Moonlight?

It didn’t matter. He was a man of action and wasted no time carrying her back to his cabin. The Moonlight functioned like an opiate, for she didn’t appear to be in any discomfort. She was more compliant than when he’d given her the opium.

Even so, he was cautiously gentle as he set her on the bed. Her thighs fell open to welcome him and he knelt between them. With greedy hands, he removed her tunic, his hungry gaze devouring her supple, decadent skin. He pressed his nose to her hair and her ambrosial fragrance sent his cock into full revolt. She moaned while his lips trailed down her neck. The exotic taste of his mate had his whole body trembling with hunger.

Her breasts strained against her bandages with each of her accelerated pants. The instinct to appraise what she had suffered consumed him. He peeled aside the surgeon’s dressings. At the sight of the angry blackish-blue bruises covering her right side, he gritted his teeth. The minotaur hadn’t deserved such a swift death.

Kyme’s whimper jolted him to the task at hand. His arousal deflated. She needed a bath, then rest, not to be subjected to his lust. He lifted her and placed her in the steaming tub. A cloth in one hand, he methodically applied the soap and washed her in a platonic rhythm.

As Arsenius smoothed the cloth across her abdomen, he frowned. She was somewhat thinner. She must not have eaten during her captivity. More guilt churned through his gut. After he wiped his hands on a towel, he snatched the tray of food from his desk.

Tearing off a piece of bread, he lowered it to her mouth. “Eat.”

Yawning, she quirked a brow at him but parted her lips for him to feed her.

After she’d finished the bread, he wrapped her in a towel and carried her to the bed. Her lids slid shut within seconds. He draped the blanket across her body and settled beside her, leaning his head back against the headboard. No sense in denying it. His love for her was irreversible.

The muscle in his left bicep twinged and he shifted to knead it. The sole redemption in this? Although Kyme was his mate, he wouldn’t bond to her until he claimed her. Since claiming her was out of the question, at the end of this, he’d be free to lay with other females. In fifty years. Or mayhap a hundred.

Bloody hell. More like never. He didn’t want any other woman. Just Kyme.

He rubbed his jaw.

There was no redemption at all.

***

Kyme awoke, warm and sated, the pain in her body faded. The sensations were precisely like her hallucinations. Her pulse sped, panic constricting her chest. Was she still in the minotaur’s lair?

Arsenius jerked beside her. “Kyme, what’s wrong?”

She shrank from him. “How can I know you’re real?” She squinted into the room. “Is any of this real?”

“
Shh
… It’s over, Kyme. I killed him. I’ll show you his head if you wish.” A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Feel me, Kyme.” He grasped her hand to his chest where the steady thudding of his heart defied the arguments on her tongue.

“Are you convinced I’m real?” A wicked grin curved his lips.

The closeness of his large, muscular body sent heat coursing through her. She recalled the feral glaze in his eyes as he’d destroyed the minotaur. His power, the raw heat of him, the dark scent of his masculinity. Oh yes, he was real.

His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed silver. The effect she had on him was evident. Her perusal drifted down his body, to the bulge swelling in his breeches. Yes, that was also irrefutable.

If she grasped him, if she closed her fist around his hard length, she didn’t have to guess what his response would be. The growl deep in his chest sent a shiver of feminine power coursing through her.

Licking her bottom lip, she let her hand trail. As her fingertips skimmed the top of his breeches, his hand seized hers. She tilted her chin up. Clenching his jaw, he plucked her hand as though it was soiled.

Humiliation flamed her cheeks. Their conversation from the eve before came crashing back at her.

He’d pronounced she was a good soldier, never refuting her statement of weakness. A good soldier, but definitely not someone he wished to have touching him. She swallowed back her coward’s tears.

“You’re injured, Kyme. You should rest.” His tone softened. “Adrasteia will be sure to prolong the minotaur’s suffering in Tartarus.”

More tears spilled down her cheeks. “The minotaur didn’t hurt me. I did this to myself.” She sniffed and shoved the crimson sheet off in a huff. “When I escaped my cell.”

Arsenius grew rigid beside her, his skin paled, and the vein in his neck throbbed.

Regret left a bitter taste on her tongue. Why had she told him? He was just like her godmother, repulsed by weakness.

She opened her mouth to lash out at him, but he sprang from the bed as if it were aflame.

***

Rather than having collected some semblance of control, this rage threatened to drown him. The animal in him demanded more blood. More of the minotaur’s blood.

He couldn’t breathe for the shame constricting his chest. His worst fears had proven true.

I was too late.

If he hadn’t taken so bloody long to breach the labyrinth, Kyme would not have been forced to escape. She wouldn’t have been injured.

The bastard had kept his mate, his Kyme, in a cell.
A cell.
Memories of his enslavement cast crimson across his vision. Fury gripped him, his frenzy rolling in waves beneath the surface of his skin.

His instincts demanded he seize Kyme and make love to her until she forgot about everything except the safety of his arms. Damn, he had to retreat before he lost himself to the beast inside.

“The minotaur told me you spoke to Hippolyta.” She clutched the sheet to her bare skin, her midnight blue eyes accusing. “What did she say to you?”

Arsenius froze in the middle of tugging on one boot and forced himself not to peek at the temptation of her nude flesh. “Not now,
Amazone
.”

The door slid shut behind him and he clicked the lock into place. The briny breeze rushed over him, cooled his rage, and cleared his head. He strode to the side of the ship and leaned against the railings.

Claiming Kyme consumed his mind. Thrusting deep inside her and never letting go. The almost-bonded male in him was horrified that he’d denied his mate.

After having witnessed Kyme’s powers, he refused to ask her to relinquish her gift.
Not for me.

He wasn’t worth the exchange. Artemis wouldn’t punish her for shedding her virginal state. Without constant worship from humans, the gods didn’t possess the powers, or interest, they used to.

Hippolyta was another story. The Amazon Queen’s threat echoed cruelly in his mind. With Kyme’s ability gone, she’d be worthless to her godmother. He didn’t doubt the formidable Queen would exact her revenge on him by slicing Kyme’s throat. His hands clenched the wood.
No.

He would not fail his mate again. He would protect her against all threats, even if that meant not revealing to her the Queen’s true purpose.

Even if it meant protecting her against himself.

His emotions swirled, as turbulent as a spring storm on the Aegean. He hated deserting Kyme’s side, but he didn’t dare stay. If he did, if he stole one more kiss, his next actions would be beyond his control.

His conviction solidified. He wasn’t going to risk touching Kyme.

Not now.

Mayhap not ever.

Chapter 25

A knock at the door wrenched Kyme from the fog of sleep. “Enter.” Her voice was still raspy.

Arsenius stepped inside. “How are you faring?” He inclined his head toward her injuries.

“I am well, thank you.” This formality between them stung far worse than any bruise or broken rib.

“Good.” He crossed his arms and steadied his gaze on the far wall. “We delivered the minotaur’s head to the King this morning.” She raised her brows, because clearly he wished to say more.

“The minotaur, he ah, murdered one of Ares’s daughters. Not Lena,” he added with haste.

Not Lena.
Those words hung in the air, sorrow dripping with hope.

She lowered her lashes. No words existed to comfort him, nor would she offer her touch. Too many words had gone unspoken between them last night. The dawn’s light poured in through the portholes, bringing clarity with its warmth. Her behavior had been childish, her defensiveness unjustified.

Underneath this misery, beneath the shame and anger, Kyme cared about how Arsenius viewed her. His good opinion suddenly seemed the most important, beyond even her godmother’s.

She clutched the sheets around her middle. He’d come to her last night to apologize. She’d been so distracted by her tempestuous emotions, she hadn’t absorbed his confession.

I failed you.

His confession warred in her mind with her godmother’s—
Show no weakness.
Through every ounce of training, every grueling battle, Hippolyta had disciplined Kyme with those words. If she were in the Amazon camp, she would be subject to her Queen’s scornful glower and the snickering of the others.