Earth Borne (25 page)

“No!” A rush of power flooded her, lending her the strength to surge to her knees. Where had it come from? The gods, or…Thereus? Shaking her mind clear, she focused on saving her son. She refused to allow Philaeus to corrupt Lucian, regardless of the pact her sister made. An heir, in return for passage to Lapith lands. Kalliste gave her consent after she’d become with child, when she’d been distraught over her fate.

Yet Kalliste wouldn’t have renounced her son, not if she’d had the chance to hold him in her arms. “You can never have him,” she rasped. Her body seethed in agony from the thrashing, yet it was her heart which had been torn to shreds. She’d lost one child to her sins, and she’d not lose another.

“How will you stop me?” He sneered. “I have it, a written contract.” He withdrew a scroll from his jacket pocket, flashed it before her, and then replaced it in his pocket, patting the contract smugly. “Even Thereus will be powerless against it. Not unless he wishes to cause a war.” Jeering at her attempts to rise, he shoved her down with the heel of his boot. “All I have to do is convince Thereus the child isn’t even his. You conjured an enchantment.” He bent to murmur in her ear, the stench of his heated breath blistering against her skin. “Dearest sister, by the time I’m finished, he’ll be throwing the boy out of his castle.”

Unable to counter his statement, she whimpered. She’d seen too many of her brother’s tricks. If her mate so easily dismissed her, what did a child Thereus barely knew mean to him?

Her betrayal would cut him, would reaffirm why he’d never let anyone inside his heart. Would he flee again?

Though despair threatened to overtake her, she repelled the weak emotion. If Philaeus killed her, her centaur might never learn the truth. She must set this right.

“No, Philaeus,” she whispered, “you will not hurt them with your lies as I have done.” Nymph or not, she refused to submit this time. In a flash, her entire body glowed a vibrant green. Her mind grabbed onto the roots of the trees underneath them. They punched through the soil and tore the instrument from his hand. Others knotted themselves around his ankles, dragging him down while he cursed.

She commanded the roots to strap him to the ground. Dozens of thick twisted ropes snaked across Philaeus’s body. One scraped over his mouth and gagged him.

The exertion weakened her. She swayed on her knees, bracing her hands against the earth to remain upright. Drawing on the power of the plants, Melita healed her injuries.

Recovering, she stepped over Philaeus, whose violent attempts at breaking free caused the roots to tear into his skin. Bending, she peered into his crazed eyes. “Go home, brother. There is nothing for you. I could kill you right now.” His eyes narrowed, more in anger than fear. “I won’t. Leave my family alone. Swear to me you will, and I’ll release you.”

He stopped struggling. A savage frigidity in his sneer told Melita he had no intention of renouncing his revenge.

As much as it would solve her problems, she was no murderer. A night spent under her powers might change his mind. For now, she must rest. Using her powers so extensively drained her. Weary, she slumped onto the sleeping furs in the corner. She’d deal with his men if they entered the tent.

The instant she closed her eyes, the tent’s flap rustled.

Chapter 23

Gods, let me not be too late.
Not too late for her to be unharmed, both her body and her soul. If the black-hearted cur laid any hand on her, he’d dismember the appendage. And then, the rest of Philaeus.

Thereus tracked the imprints made by the horses of Philaeus’s party. His hooves tore up the ground as he sped toward them. He snuck through the sparse trees, processing the details of the small camp. The desire to slay Philaeus’s band of swine coursed through his veins, yet more was at risk than Melita’s safety. The volatile truce between Lapiths and centaurs remained too fragile. It would succumb to any act of violence between them.

Employing his centaur stealth, he relied on his hooves’ soft padding to muffle his approach. “Bloody hell,” he cursed between clenched teeth. The bastard was arrogant enough to set up a tent. The sight cut through his already guilt-shredded heart. If Philaeus was secure enough Thereus wouldn’t come for her, what must Melita be thinking?

He’d wronged her in so many ways, and not only this evening. Once he had her safely within his castle, he’d never hurt her again. He’d trust her first, and not permit his pride to determine his actions. It was the most humbling thought he’d ever conceived.

His fists clenched, eager to pummel his enemy. He’d not risk the truce, but he’d damn well ensure Philaeus never harmed Melita again. The bonded male in him howled for retribution, for bloodshed. And for his bonded mate to watch him reclaim her honor. His body thrummed with the intense anticipation of a battle to be fought. To be won.

Aye, he loved a good fight.

***

Melita squinted as the tent flap opened. Anticipating guards, her hands glowed verdant.

Thereus’s dark locks, followed by his sleek, muscular horse body, strode inside, and she dropped her hands into her lap. Her breath hitched, words frozen in her throat as his gaze raked the room, over the bizarre scene of Philaeus rooted to the ground, and rested on her. Instead of joy or relief, he scowled. “I should have guessed you’d need no rescuing,” he grumbled, folding his arms across the expanse of his chest.

She curled her fists. The small tent stifled with the absurdity of the situation. There he poised for battle, a dark warrior come to her rescue. Here she sat, having already freed herself, yet she remained in this tent.

Had he truly intended to rescue her? Her heart leapt into her throat, then plummeted to the depths of her stomach. Perhaps, he’d come to claim his retribution.

“What are you doing, sleeping in the corner?” His tone stung with accusation. She braced against the hardened steel of his stance. His hooves shuffled along the padded earth, his fists remained clenched tightly enough to reveal his whitened knuckles. He snorted as his sneer came to rest on Philaeus.

The strength she’d coalesced to overpower Philaeus surged. “Where would you have me go, my Lord? I am welcome nowhere.” She tilted her chin, fear as much as defiance pounding through her. She blinked, determined he wouldn’t detect her tears, and then she worked furiously at ensuring there weren’t any.

He cursed as he stepped over her victim, no doubt trying to avoid contact with her lethal roots. Philaeus squirmed beneath, but her roots held firm, his protests muffled.

“They only do what I command them.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.” His stance softened and he chuckled. “Ah, hell.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Nymph, you’ve cheated me of one gratifying fight.”

At his light tone, her breath caught in her throat. Here to rescue her. Why? Was it love, or a sense of duty?

She wouldn’t have him for duty. She didn’t deserve his love, either.

Thereus crouched in front of her, and those piercing emerald depths lay siege to her defenses. “Come home, Melita,” he whispered, causing her to quiver at his gentle tone. “Return with me.”

She pursed her lips. His vulnerable and pleading eyes mesmerized her. He may be able to forget her sins, but they weighed down every last ounce of strength she possessed. “Why?”

His mouth curved into a grin. “Because you’re mine. You belong with me. We’ve much to discuss, much to overcome, but I have it on good authority, from the wisest King alive, mind you,” he winked, “that no bond worth its weight in gold comes easily.” Another flash of vulnerability crossed his face before he blinked it away.

“I can’t.” Shame constricted her throat, the words drawing from her like a needle threading flesh. “Not after what I’ve done.”

Arms of steel clasped around her and lifted the weight she wasn’t strong enough to bear on her own. Thereus pressed his forehead against hers. “By the gods, Melita, I’ve wronged you more than you have me.” He rasped out the words, like a man plucking daggers from his flesh.

No more jesting from her carefree centaur. He stood before her, as exposed and raw as she was. “’Tis I who must beg forgiveness, love.” The muscles in his neck flexed and bunched as he stumbled over the words.

Her love for him soared. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. This was her male.
Her
male.

Tonight, she met him not as Kalliste, but as Melita.
His bonded mate.

Thereus leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Come home, sweetling.” He inclined his head toward the tent flap and the muted shuffling of the soldiers outside. “We’ll talk of everything once you’re safe.” Rising, he strode to Philaeus. His features hardened once more, Thereus knelt next to Philaeus’s head and unsheathed a dagger.

As great her hatred for Philaeus, the notion of his death churned her insides. “Please,” she whispered, “do not harm him.”

Thereus’s head snapped up. Vengeance flashed in his eyes and his hands shook as he clenched the blade’s handle.

She scrambled forward to halt his retribution. “Please.” Her nymph sentiments aside, the assassination of Philaeus would destroy their races.

Thereus growled, the dagger hovered above Philaeus’s chest. “You, Lucian, won’t be safe, so long as he breathes.”

She pressed a calming hand on his forearm. “His death would herald thousands more.” He snarled as though justice and revenge battled in his mind. “Consider what your father would do.” A heavy exhale through his nostrils signaled victory tilted in her direction.
Praise Demeter.
“Grab the scroll from his breast pocket. Without it, he’ll have no just cause and this misunderstanding can be forgotten.” A wave of her hand and the roots receded from his chest. Thereus tugged the parchment free and handed it to her. She tucked it into her skirt pocket, intending to burn the vile contract later.

With another wave of her hand, she removed the roots from Philaeus’s head and the gag from his mouth. While he sputtered and choked, Thereus pegged him with his own deadly bindings—the stone-hard glare of a savage bonded male.

***

Philaeus’s forehead beaded with sweat. His leaden gulps echoed in the tent, his eyes wide and bulgy, like a fish thrown out of water. His gargled pleas made about as much sense, too.

“I’d like to gut you like the bilge rat you are.” Thereus dragged the tip of his knife from Philaeus’s throat to his stomach. His lips pressed into a grim smile while Philaeus floundered against the roots. The copper tint of blood stung Thereus’s nose, the plants cutting into his prey’s flesh. It combined with the acrid stench of urine as the wretched bastard’s bladder renounced any shred of courage.

He tossed the dagger between his hands. Philaeus’s gaze darted back and forth with it—a dog chasing a ball, only in dread, not delight.

The fine blade weighed as much as a sword, or mayhap that was the burden of his father’s expectations. He caught the blade in his right hand and flicked his wrist to point the tip at Philaeus’s throat. Bloody hell. What
would
Cheiron do?

Thereus was finished with not doing right by his mate. The image of Philaeus striking Melita with his filthy hands flashed through his mind, igniting his rage. Twisting his face, he peered at his mate, at those shining mahogany depths imploring him to do as she requested. To be the worthy male she deserved.

Doing right by one’s mate didn’t always mean slaughtering her assailant. Sometimes, it was about sacrificing the blood one craved so she could be at peace.

Aye, he’d love to have his vengeance, but the lily-livered caitiff beneath him wasn’t worth the effort.

Perhaps Melita did hold his reins, after all.

He bent to Philaeus’s ear and growled low enough so Melita wouldn’t hear. “You step near my family again, Lapith, and I’ll feed you yer ballocks through yer nose.”

The bastard whimpered and bobbed his head with short, jerky nods.

Thereus’s lip curled in disgust. He’d better not regret this. Sheathing his dagger, he rose and angled toward Melita. She beamed at him in gratitude, making his effort of restraint seem like a feat of Heracles he’d performed for her. His chest puffed as he plucked her from the ground and set her astride his back.

Unwilling to tempt his bloodthirst any longer, he stormed from the tent and galloped to Westgard.

Thereus’s shoulders sagged in a deep sigh. He had her back, and well, at least physically she appeared unharmed. A light was missing from her eyes. Had he done that? Had he extinguished the fire in her soul? He prayed to the gods not.

What had been a lie and what was truth about their time together?

Melita slumped against him, asleep. Poor nymph. He beat back any lingering betrayal over her true identity. For once, he would draw upon the wisdom of his ancestors. If he studied this with a clear mind, he was the cause of everything. Melita had made the best of his bad situations. He owed her everything. Lucian, his castle, his village.

He would die for her, or more likely, would kill a legion to be with her. But would she reciprocate? Never in his existence had he been so vulnerable, and he loathed the sensation.