Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) (9 page)

She memorized the face of this abomination in front of her. Someday she’d kill him. Slowly. And after, she’d bathe in his blood.

A female slave from the other side of the curtain handed Kyme a silver platter laden with delicacies.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Her slaver’s low voice rumbled, “Serve me, slave.”

“Never.” She hissed and slapped the platter on the table in front of him. Every creature in the room whipped their focus toward Arsenius and Kyme.

“Now.” A growl rumbled from his chest.

Kyme crossed her arms.

The pyrate to her left snickered. “Not quite got her trained yet, eh mate?”

Chapter 8

“Oh, I do.” Her slaver’s voice was steel as he grabbed Kyme’s arm and pressed on her wrist with enough force to threaten he would break it. The fury steaming off him blasted through her. In truth, she didn’t know him or what he was capable of. Did she care to discover if he would go so far as snapping her wrist?

Indignation welled inside her as she snatched the open bottle from the platter and poured him a drink. She shoved the mug in front of him, spilling a few drops on his pristine ivory shirt.

“Forgive me.
Master
.” She exaggerated the word, her mocking smile matching her tone.

He narrowed his eyes but released her wrist. In one gulp, he consumed the foul liquid, slammed the cup down, and demanded a refill. “Damn fine stuff, as usual, Borasco.”

“My pleasure.” The Wind Borne quirked his lips.

Damn them both.

Kyme continued to fill his mug, until the bottle was nearly empty. Still he appeared unaffected. The slaver held his liquor well.

Just how well would he hold it once she sliced open his gut?

***

From above the rim of his cup, Arsenius skimmed the room until he encountered sapphire eyes. Seraphina shook her head, a movement so slight it was almost imperceptible. Bloody hell. Sera was the daughter of Apollo, the sun god. If anything happened within reach of the sun’s rays, Apollo and Seraphina would be aware. Which meant his sister was secured in a place without sunlight.

Sera was the sole mercenary he trusted to help locate his sister. Like him, she chose her targets with care, as he’d learned when he’d first met her. They’d been sent after the same mark, but had managed to work together, forging a mutual respect.

He fell into a deep conversation with a descendant of Hermes on his right, Dolios. They discussed the slave market, the challenges of hiding it from the humans, the declining price of certain breeds. Dolios asked him how he’d acquired Kyme, but Arsenius wasn’t sharing.

“I do have a mission you might be interested in.” Dolios lowered his voice. “I’ve acquired a particularly sensitive assignment and no one here is willing to take the risk. That doesn’t seem to be an issue for you.” He jerked his chin in Kyme’s direction.

“I’m listening.” Arsenius leaned back as he downed yet another shot of rum. His plan was working brilliantly. Before she started too heavily with the hero associations, like Thereus had, she needed a healthy dose of the real Arsenius. Of the hard, ugly reality of his existence. After all, he wasn’t any bloody Achilles.

When she’d regarded him in the Aegean, he almost believed he could be.

Today’s nefarious activities were a necessity for both of them. Damn, but he should have taken a whore. In the room next to her.

He’d suspected Kyme would hate this place—the liquor, opiates, smoke, slaves, fornicating, all of it. Viewing real slaves—and being counted amongst them—seemed to be lashing her as unyielding as a whip. He’d made sure to consume even more rum than his usual, hoping she found it repulsive.

The next part would only get better.

“It’s a minotaur.” Dolios paused.

“I’m still listening,” Arsenius replied dryly, not betraying his true interest. He’d love to add a minotaur to his collection.

“I knew you’d be the one.” The male grinned and lifted his glass in a toast. “As I was saying, a minotaur has breached its covenant. The people of Krete are going mad. The King is outright infuriated. They’d prefer it taken care of. Quietly.”

“Not a problem.”

“The King will pay you handsomely, of course.”

Arsenius shrugged the notion of payment off as inconsequential. It was. “Where on the Isle was the beast last seen?”

Dolios handed him a parchment containing the coordinates.

“I’ll set sail tonight.”

“That’s it?” The male cocked his head. “You don’t have any other questions?”

“Just one.” He leaned in with a wicked grin. “You want it alive or dead?” Dolios swallowed thickly. Oh, aye, the man feared him. Rightfully so.

“A-Al…” The male fingered his collar. “Alive, I suppose, since the King wishes to execute him. I-If you can,” he added.

Arsenius shot him a smirk that asserted,
I can do anything.

Borasco, that bastard, rose and the room grew silent. “Gentlemen, ladies, my fellow pyrates and slavers extraordinaire, please share with us what you’ve brought tonight.”

Arsenius appreciated the malice rolling off Kyme, her tightly clenched fists. He’d love to kill the male too, but Borasco was one of his best allies. Perhaps someday. If he ever found Lena again. If he ever determined doing good deeds would earn him redemption.

Then again, if he sought to purify the world of evil, the one he should assassinate was himself.

A female slaver swept her arm toward her enormous male slave, who stood even taller than Thereus in centaur form.
What species is the lad?
Arsenius didn’t have to guess long, though, as his proud owner rambled on about the youth being a son of Demeter and a giant. The way she bragged—
he’s not even fully grown yet. He’ll make me a fortune on the market
—twisted Arsenius’s gut. He searched the slave’s countenance. Hell, he wasn’t any older than seventeen or eighteen and already he was an expert. Vacant eyes stared at the wall. The way the slave slid off his breeches without hesitation told Arsenius he’d done this presentation a hundred times.

He pitied the lad, sympathizing with precisely how that felt. Except, he’d rarely been given the decency of being clothed. Aye, he knew. Clenching his jaw, he fought back those dark beasts, those monsters also known as his memories. He did not enjoy being reminded of his master and mistress. Of how they’d both taken out their sick needs on his body.
So strong and not even fully male yet
, his mistress had whispered in his ear. Just like this lad.

Not strong enough.
He’d cursed his father every second he’d been a slave. Being owned by those two had been a thousand times worse than the galley—a type of slave ship humans referred to as hell on earth. To this day he couldn’t take enough baths, couldn’t scrub away at the dirt enough to get clean.

Arsenius cursed under his breath.
Not ever again.
He’d healed, conquered his past. The lightning bolt—the one that sparked his
morphos
—had cleansed him, purified him. Besides, when that comfort failed, there was always rum, women, or fighting to block everything out.
Damn.

A wave of exclamations snapped him back to the present. The lad was nude now, and gods was he big. He made Thereus look like a pony. Every male in the room shifted. A few seemed aroused rather than intimidated.

The females were transfixed. Hell, even Kyme. He nearly slapped a hand over her eyes, but didn’t because he shouldn’t care.
Let her gape.
He didn’t suffer from feelings of inadequacy. He was gloriously made and he knew it. Even so, Kyme didn’t have to peruse the male for quite so long before she flushed and averted her stare.

“Enough, Maera. Put your plaything away. Has anyone brought anything of true value to present?” Borasco focused on Kyme, a pointed request to witness her in action.

Not yet. Let her get a true taste for this first.

Seraphina crooked her fingers for her slave to step into the center of the room. With extreme caution, she removed the creature’s manacle. Gods, what was he? A Panotius?

While the slave tossed flaming swords in the air, Arsenius caught Sera’s gaze. He managed to suppress a grin. He kept her secrets, as well as she did his. Her sanguine hair was bound in a harsh braid against her head and she was clothed from the neck downward in skin-tight leather. Aye, because anything that came into contact with her skin was instantly incinerated.

A hush fell across the room as the slave extinguished his swords and unwrapped the covering from his head, revealing two enormous ears. The appendages hung to his waist, causing the crowd to gawk out of disgust rather than captive interest.

The slavers called forth their possessions. One could imitate anyone’s voice. Another was a contortionist. Some were dancers.

“Food, slave.” Arsenius snapped his fingers. “I wish to eat while I’m being entertained.” The words fell bitter on his tongue. He’d rather watch Thereus preen than this parade of slaves.

Kyme shoved a grape into his open mouth, and even the harsh slap of her fingers against his lips had his cock hardening. He scowled at his body’s reaction to her.

She thrust another grape in his mouth; he caught her wrist, tugging her close and murmuring against her ear, “You’re next.”

She stiffened as he guessed she would. “Never. I will not perform for your amusement.”

“You will do as I command, slave.”

“Dine in Hades, slaver.” She wrenched her wrist free.

The current slave finished, bowing at his exit. Arsenius rose, gripped Kyme’s arm, and slapped a dagger into her palm. “You kill anyone and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Her fingers closed around the blade handle. “I’ll be sure to kill you…last.”

Good. She was starting to truly despise him. He’d only have to push her a little further.

“Perform, slave!” the man on Arsenius’s left cried out.

“Is she that well-trained?” Borasco laughed.

“See for yourself.” Arsenius eased back down and poured another drink.

To his surprise, a slight, tawny-hided satyr took him up on the offer. He circled Kyme, assessing her like livestock.

“A bit on the thin side, but pleasing enough. I’ll take her off your hands, for a handsome price. Will have to do something about that scar, though. Ugly as hell.” He sneered at her. “Still, I’d love to have her for my own little games. Last Amazon I killed was eighty years ago—some weak, red-haired creature.”

Kyme punched the blade through the satyr’s lung so fast Arsenius almost missed it. Crimson fluid bloomed through his ivory shirt and he sputtered before collapsing in a seeping pool of blood. Arsenius wrenched his gaze from the satyr’s body. Foolish male. He’d made the most grievous and fatal error of admitting to harming one of her sisters.

A seven-foot-tall dog-headed male, the satyr’s bodyguard, made a lunge for Kyme. Thereus tackled him. The two of them wrestled on the ground while Arsenius bolted toward the Amazon.

The Kynokephaoi sent a stream of small daggers in Kyme’s direction before Thereus managed to subdue him. Arsenius lunged for her, tackled her to the ground, and covered her body with his, blocking several of the blades with his back. Not a soul breathed or moved. Glancing to the left, he beheld Thereus squeeze the life from the bodyguard. Arsenius rose to face the others as he extracted the daggers from his back.

Careful not to allow the beast of his frenzy to observe the blood, he forced his vision off his lifeless former peer. “Hell, forgive me, Borasco.” He straightened his shirt before reaching inside his coat. “Guess she requires a bit more training.”

A round of weak laughter followed, but the air was thick with the putrid stench of fear. He withdrew a satchel of gold coins and tossed a few of them onto the table in front of Borasco. “This should cover the damage.”

Although the bodyguards tensed, none made any advancement on him, Kyme, or Thereus. If they were upset by the bastard’s death, they didn’t express it with any action. Apparently, no one cared enough to risk their own necks to avenge the satyr.

“Thanks, my friend.” The winged male chortled. “Haven’t seen such entertainment in centuries. If that poor bastard wasn’t dead, I would have sworn you roused him to do it. Now, that was a demonstration. Good luck selling her.”

Fool.
He kept his mouth shut as he grabbed Kyme and shoved her at Thereus. “Take her home.” He refused to even glimpse at her, the fury in his blood boiled too hot. Moreover, the bottle of rum finally burned its way into him. It was going to be one hell of a night.

On impulse, he plucked a few more coins and handed them to the female slaver, Maera. “He’s mine.” He pointed at her slave. She nodded, obviously too shaken to counter him. The lad regarded him with wary eyes but trailed him out of the building.

Once on the streets, Arsenius tossed him the satchel of coins. The lad’s eyes widened as though in disbelief…and hope. “Go home, lad. If I ever see that thing,” he pointed to the youth’s oversized genitals, “on the slave market again, I’ll sell you myself.”

Arsenius spun on his heel and strode off, leaving the youth to contemplate the possibilities of his new freedom. He caught up to Kyme and Thereus. The second they gained some distance between them and the building, he applied a lethal grip on the Amazon’s arm. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.”