Lapith lands, southeastern Thessaly
Year 223 of the reign of Lord Theron, leader of the Karkinos
Cyane of the Pegaeae, spring nymphs, crept through the narrow tunnel toward the hidden vault. Pausing to listen for guards, she pressed against the wall and rubbed her chaffed wrists. Blasted King Philaeus and his vendetta against the nymphs. She’d spent the past week in his dungeon, bound and bled of her powers. Tonight, the Amazons had stormed the castle and freed the nymphs, including herself. She shouldn’t have lingered here, but, well, that fiend had poached her powers and she wanted them back.
Philaeus’s minions had hauled her to this vault many times, to be drained of her energy. Usually, a dozen sentinels stood guard. Yet this eve, the space was eerily quiet.
Even so, the smooth ebony walls revealed her image, like a looking glass, making her edgy. Squinting at her reflection, she tucked a stray lock under her hood. Hopefully, her masculine garments would fend off any unwanted attentions on her journey home to the Isle of Krete. After I retrieve what’s mine.
Stealing forth once more, she peered into the vast, shimmering cavern. Shelves brimming with glowing vials lined the walls. And one of those bottles was hers.
There. On the fourth row, in the middle, rested a radiant azure flask. My powers.
As she was about to slink alongside the wall and fetch her bottle, a figure prowled into the chamber from the opposite side and headed straight for that exact shelf.
Oh, no, don’t you dare.
The imposing masculine form stalked through the shadows. She rocked on the balls of her feet, praying he sought something else. But no, he halted right in front of her vial, his large hand reaching for it. Why mine?
“Argh!” Cyane charged forward, her form morphing in and out of solidity as she transformed between water and woman. A power Philaeus hadn’t been able to steal.
She shot toward the male, knocked the flask right from his fingers, into her hand, and sprang to the far side of the cavern.
“Give that back!” He spun around, snarling, but she smirked at him from the other end of the enormous chamber.
“Why, it’s mine, you thief.” Scoffing, she waved the bottle and sashayed toward the tunnel. Easy.
The male growled from across the room, and the next moment, his roar resounded in her ears as he charged straight into her and swiped the flask out of her grip.
Oomph! She crashed to the floor, wheezing, and curled her hands into fists. Ho, this wasn’t finished yet.
Cyane rushed toward the male again, this time hopping astride his back and wrestling with one massive arm. Sweet gods, his grasp was iron-tight. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on while he bucked and whirled about, trying to fling her off.
Irksome male. She gritted her teeth. Well, if he wished to play foul… She might be disguised as a lad, but she was a nymph. Flashing the extent of her seductive powers through him, she struck the male with a fierce blow of lust.
“Ughn.” He crumpled to his knees, and she wrenched the flask free of his fist. Only one way to end this.
Cyane uncorked the vial, brought the rim to her lips, and guzzled the shimmering liquid. “Many thanks for the amusement.” She flung aside the empty vessel and strutted past the male.
Cool metal enclosed her right wrist, snapping shut. She swiveled about, only to have another clasp close around her left wrist. Panic fluttered inside her chest, but she forced herself to calm and concentrate on transforming into water.
The morphos wouldn’t come, and the dread clambered higher. She wrenched, but the metal wouldn’t bend.
Gods, no.
“Heh, lad. The amusement’s only begun.” His deep, rumbling voice rolled through her, clenching her stomach. “You’ll be coming with me.”
***
Theron, leader of the Karkinos, scowled at his captive. This vial wasn’t the only one the lad had consumed, or how else could Theron explain the bolt of passion that had shot through him? The thief had probably sampled a good number of those nymph powers. Wait until he told his brother Talos about this vexatious imp.
No matter. These healing powers were their last hope. Although the stripling lad had consumed them, they might still study the powers, perhaps extract them, and find a way to save his people.
Which meant, the lad was coming with him.
He rose, yanked on the five-foot long adamantine chain, and strode from the chamber, dragging the male behind him. After he transported the youth to his people’s healers, they’d determine how to proceed.
Once outside, Theron stuck two fingers between his lips and whistled. An instant later, his warriors joined him, a dozen massive, iridescent blue crabs shrinking and blending together to form a conveyance.
“Release me. I’m not going anywhere with you.” The stripling squirmed and squealed, his face concealed by the shadows of his hooded cloak.
“Aye, well, you should have thought of that before you left me no choice.” He tossed the lad into the rear of the wagon, shut the lid, and hopped aboard the seat above. The crab-driven conveyance propelled forward, faster than one drawn by horses, into the woods. Toward their home.
As the fiery rays of dawn scattered across the sky, they pulled to a halt inside Karkinos territory. What might appear to be an ordinary shoreline to foreign eyes was in fact an extensive network of above and underground structures. A vast array of tunnels connected the system, linking the chambers together.
This was the current home of his people, the Karkinos. Once spurned by the gods, they were all that remained of the mythical race of crab shifters.
All that remained, and they were dying.
He fisted his hand, snatching on to a flutter of hope. The vial the youth had consumed—it contained the power to cure disease.
Like the one afflicting his people.
Or so the rumor claimed. This was their last chance. None of the healers, Oracles, or gods he’d beseeched had been able to offer them a cure. None, until yesterday, when one of his scouts had reported a nymph kept captive by the leader of the Lapiths, King Philaeus.
Theron would have bargained, traded, pled, offered every treasure in his possession in exchange for the nymph, but when he’d arrived last night, he’d discovered the nymphs already freed. By those blasted Amazons. His lands bordered with theirs and they’d often butted heads about hunting grounds.
It had only been by divine governance that a fleeing nymph had answered his questions, whispering about the chamber of vials—and the one he’d sought.
His last hope.
Too many had already perished and he refused to lose even one more soul.
Theron hopped from the conveyance, barking to the guards, “Bring him to the throne room.” He tore off his leather arm greaves and shrugged out of his chest plate, depositing them into the arms of his steward. “Gather the council. Find Talos. And someone crack open the bloody reserves of mead. We have a victory to celebrate.” He marched through the tunnel leading into the throne chamber and plopped on top of his crushed shell throne, dropping his head into his hands. This had to be good news. He refused to condone anything less.
With swift efficiency, his servants obeyed his commands. One set of guards dragged the writhing youth into the chamber, his boots digging through the dirt the entire way. A flare of empathy sparked in Theron’s chest, but he quickly snuffed it out. The notion of explaining their circumstances to the stripling flitted through his mind, which was even worse. This male had no reason to help them.
Theron had learned the hard lesson of not trusting in people’s good will. To save his race, he’d have to be willing to do anything.
He’d have to be rigid. Resolute.
Ruthless.
He clenched his hands and beckoned the guards closer with a jerk of his chin. “Release him.”
His men obeyed and the lad stopped struggling.
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” Theron rose from his throne and stalked toward the prisoner, who stiffened. Good. “The tonic you drank was mine. Therefore, you are now mine.” He prowled behind the male, hoping his actions intimidated as much as his words.
The youth balled his fists and tilted his chin upward.
“You will forget—” The words stuck in his throat as another eerie bolt of desire shot through his veins. What in Hades? He certainly hadn’t been abstinent long enough to explain away lusting after this lad. Theron seized the hood of the youth’s cloak, tugging it down.
Short, tight curls of ebony and blue framed a face too soft and delicate to belong to a male.
He reared and snapped his fingers at his servants. “Leave.” He’d been deceived. “You’re not male.” The creature wore a man’s clothing—dark breeches and an ivory tunic beneath a hooded jacket, and heavy boots. His, or rather, her slender stature and high-pitched tone could easily be mistaken for a lad’s. Right?
“Strange,” the female’s lilting voice chimed as she twisted to regard him. Thickly-lashed azure pools eyed him in dismissal. “I was going to say the same thing about you.”
***
Cyane huffed at the fiend who’d dared to capture her. In the dim torchlight of this modest earthen chamber, she examined him. Towering above her, the striking male was tall and broad, his chest bare. He’d removed his protective garments, but his bronzed flesh stretched across his expansive muscles, appearing thick and impenetrable, like plated armor. Burnished leather breeches encased his powerful thighs and he stomped about in sturdy boots as he prowled in a sidestepping fashion. His firm, sensuous lips parted in a snarl and his nostrils flared in suspicion. A tightness in his ruggedly sculpted jaw suggested mistrust. He raked a hand through his short, umber locks. Grey eyes, the hue of a stormy sea, pierced her with their foreboding promise of the tempest within.
Yet she’d caught him off guard and she wielded the upper hand. Bolstering her nymph powers, she perched her hands on her hips. “Release me. Surely, no honorable male would hold captive a female against her will.”
“Who said anything about me being honorable?” He snorted, circling her. Finally, he puffed and scratched his jaw. “Nay, this is even better. The powers belong to you, and that means you’re just the nymph I was looking for.”
Cyane swallowed against the tightness in her throat. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned confronting him. “Well, a pity for you, because I refuse to aid anyone so callous and full of greed.” She whirled about and stormed toward the archway, but her wrists yanked backward, bound by the chain, which seemed to obey him. Ugh.
“I brought you here for a purpose, nymph, and you’ll do exactly as I command. Forget everything else. You now belong to me.”
His words sent shivers coursing along her spine. He wasn’t the first male to declare such to her. Vile King Philaeus. If she were anything but a nymph, she’d seize the dagger in her boot and slice his throat right here and now. Sadly, the blood running through her veins prevented her any act of violence.
Still, she could resist.
“No, I’ll never help you. Make me your prisoner. See how that goes for you.” She scoffed and dismissed him. He wasn’t worth the breath in her lungs. Thieving a nymph as though she were nothing more than a prize to possess. Ha. Her bloodsworne brothers would make quick work of him, if they were present. An image of Rhoetus fluttered in her mind and she prayed he’d found what they’d come for.
While she fumed in the corner, another male paused in the archway of the chamber, carrying a bundle, no, a person, in his arms.
A child?
Cyane’s throat dried as she observed the weak and sickly lad. Her senses told her instantly—this child suffered from a malicious disease. And she could cure him.
“Please.” The second male approached her and knelt before her with the child in his arms. “I don’t know what my brother Theron has spoken or done, but my son needs your help. I beseech you, save him.” Kind sea-green orbs glistened at her, pleading with the tears unshed of a grieving parent.
Brother? Indeed, both mates were similar in size, with the same bronzed complexion, short dark locks, and chiseled strong features. However, this man actually appeared to have manners to complement his good looks. She studied the child. His sickness was severe, and yes, it would kill him. Unless she healed him. And afterward, what? Would these males grant her freedom, or keep her on a shelf like a potion to be stored until they sought her aid again?
Her brothers had warned her to be wiser when sharing her gift. Some could accept her healing and release her. But there were others whose covetousness would never allow them to relinquish their grip. She slanted her stare toward the first male, the one who’d captured her. Which was he?
No matter the consequences, she couldn’t let the child perish. The father’s pain tugged at her heart and she inclined her head. She’d regret this, she was certain. “If I save your child, will you release me?”
“Nay.” The first male folded his arms across his expansive chest, flexing those brawny arms.
“Then why should I help you?”
“Because, lass,” his steely voice sealed her fate, “you have no other choice.”
***
Theron forced his voice hard and his stare even harder. In another world, he’d release her. If he did so in this world, he’d condemn his people.
Talos’s son Keyx would be healed first. The lad was the only heir they had between them, for Theron had no children, and never could he imagine any. Not after what Keyx’s mother had done to Talos…
The nymph’s azure depths flashed, narrowing on him. Set into a heart-shaped face with a pixie nose and plump burgundy lips, those pools drew him into their depths. Threatened to tow him under. He shrugged off the attraction, forcing nonchalance. She was a creature of healing. He didn’t doubt she’d cure the lad.
What other choice did she have?
None. He’d made certain of it.
“Fine,” she huffed, “but you’ll have to release these manacles.”
He gave a sharp nod, knelt beside her, and undid one clasp. Her muscles tensed for an instant before deflating in resignation. Satisfied by her submission, he undid the other clasp. She rubbed her wrists before crawling toward Keyx. “What are you doing?” he frowned while she straddled the lad.
“Healing him. Now, leave me be so I can work.”
He opened his mouth, but the maiden’s body transformed into a fluid substance and splashed down atop Keyx, soaking him. Theron glanced at Talos. “What in the bloody hell?”
The water vanished…inside the lad? After a few minutes, he coughed, then spat a dark fluid onto the earth beside him.
Talos gathered his son into his arms while the substance on the ground rose, molding once again into the form of the nymph.
As soon as she had wrists, Theron slapped the manacles around them. No resistance from the lass. Instead she heaved, spewing a murky liquid.
He squinted at the quivering female. “Are you well?”
“Ugh, what do you care?” She wiped her mouth and cast him a sour glare.
Nothing less than what he deserved. Still, he peered toward the boy and relief puffed his chest at the flush of color in Keyx’s cheeks. Even more at the joy misting in Talos’s eyes.
Aye, he’d do anything for them. Even if that made him a monster.
The nymph staggered, attempting to rise, but her legs buckled. He swept her into his arms, scooping her against his chest, and carted her toward his chamber. She didn’t last long enough to reprimand him before her eyes shuttered.
That was quite the power she possessed. He tossed his head at the simplicity of it. The pestilence corroding through his people had been cured with a splash of her waters.
Gently, he set her on his bed and tugged the furs over her. Then he paced to the opposite side of the room, leaned against the dirt wall with folded arms, and stood vigil.
This one tiny maiden was their miracle.
No way in Hades would he allow her to slip through his claws.
***
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