Read Wicked Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 3) Online
Authors: Rachael Slate
Tags: #General Fiction
Wicked Lord of Thessaly (Halcyon Romance Series Book 3)
Her arrow pierced his centaur heart
When Eione, daughter of the Lapith Lord Macareus, accidentally shoots the centaur Agrius, she must choose between saving his life and finishing him off. Their races might not be at war anymore, but for her family, the hostility never ended. Yet she can’t kill the male with gentle eyes, whose touch ignites her with so much more than a desire for peace.
But captured his human one
Lord Agrius risked his life in venturing to Lapith lands, trespassing through enemy territory to retrieve the sacred water that could cure his brother’s grief. The lovely huntress who shot him yet saved his life entices him to risk far more. But claiming her as his mate means he’ll have to steal her hand—and hazard a war.
On the run for their lives and their hearts
After her family arranges a betrothal to another, Eione convinces Agrius to flee with her. As dark times drive a chasm between their races, they’ll have to choose—blood or love—and which one is worth dying, and killing, for.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Rachael Slate
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First Edition July 2016
Edited by Kelley Heckart
Cover design by NovelArt Designs
Formatting by NovelArt Designs
Epub: ISBN 978-1-988396-00-2
Kindle: ISBN 978-0-9948764-9-2
Indeed, you bleed just as we do
When the Olympian gods overthrew the Titans, they divided the rule of the world. Zeus proclaimed himself Supreme Ruler and governed the skies. Poseidon claimed the oceans. The Underworld, and the souls of the dead, fell to Hades. All were content with the arrangement.
Until Hades met Persephone.
Their forbidden love blasted through Mt. Olympus, initiating a cataclysmic rift between the gods. The imbalance in the heavens nearly shattered the fragile human world below. In punishment, Zeus cursed Persephone. Nine months of each year, she would remain by her mother’s side, tending to the human harvests. The other three months were hers to spend with her husband, Hades, in the Underworld.
The arrangement pleased none.
Centuries have passed. As humans turn their devotion to Science, the powers of the Olympian gods diminish. In an attempt to regenerate their divinity, the gods have procreated, breeding new species of being—such as centaurs, winged ones, and mermaydes. With the unique strengths of their individual godly parents, these descendants have thrived in their own worlds, alongside humans but hidden from view.
The rift in Olympus widens as each god gains new strength. When the Fates intervene with a damning wager, these descendants become the answer to Persephone’s curse. Hades and Persephone’s quest to reclaim their love will pit god against god, in a tournament unmatched since time began. Victory will lie in the union of warriors—exceptional females who control the elements and the males whose love makes them strong.
If they succeed, love will be theirs to claim.
But if they fail, their love will fall to ruin.
It is the eve of war, and the battle for the power of the Huntress of the Bow begins now.
Lapith lands, southeastern Thessaly
Year 57 of the reign of King Pirithous III
Or the human year, 1688
Eione lowered the tip of her bow, aimed, and loosed the arrow straight into the stag’s flank. At this distance, and in the dim morning light, most would have missed. But the silver spark of her gift flamed from her hands, and sure enough, the beast went down.
Excellent.
She plucked her sack from the ground next to her feet and rushed through the dense forest, sprinting toward her kill. If she worked quickly, she could butcher the animal and deliver the meat to the villagers before her eldest brothers—the twins—had even rolled out of bed. She’d tossed a few coins at the castle nymphs to ensure they kept her twin brothers
entertained
.
She snorted and dashed around a tree, slipping her blade from her side to finish off the stag should it still be breathing. Hunting offered her little pleasure, other than being able to feed those in her village that her brothers Myron and Nileas would turn away. Men, women, and children starved while her family feasted on extravagant platters and cast the remnants to the castle dogs.
Brutes.
There.
She slowed her pace, murmuring a prayer to Artemis, goddess of the hunt, that her kill would be swift. Hunting on her family’s land was forbidden to the villagers, but no one had banned consuming the results of Eione’s pastimes. Indeed, her family encouraged her archery, and never questioned whether she left her spoils for the scavengers.
She didn’t dare risk the villagers setting foot inside the forest, so she would use the sled she’d fashioned to transport the meat to them. The limited time she had to work before her brothers would charge into the woods—hunting for sport—meant she’d honed her butchering skills to an art.
A wheezing grunt echoed off the trees ahead, followed by shuffling and a twig snapping.
Damn.
She flattened her spine against a willow tree, chest heaving.
I’m not alone.
Had someone else discovered her kill?
Gripping the blade tighter, she steeled her shoulders, preparing to face whoever dared interrupt her. If it was someone within the castle, she’d have no choice but to abandon the carcass. Eione peered around the tree’s trunk. A low, deep cursing grumbled from a male sprawled across the forest floor. What in Hades was he doing?
Already taking apart her kill?
Never.
She slid her blade back into place and strung her bow instead, stepping from the tree’s shadow as she aimed the arrow at the intruder’s chest. “Ho, there. What are you—”
No.
Her threat stuck in her throat and the strength drained from her arms, the string of her bow limp.
This man wasn’t stealing her kill.
He
was
her kill.
***
Agrius choked on the dozen curses resting upon the tip of his tongue. Framed by the dawn’s gilded rays, this beauty stepping from out of the woods struck him silent. As ethereal as Artemis, goddess of the hunt. He blinked. Perhaps she
was
the goddess.
Agrotere. Huntress.
No.
Her lower lip trembled as she tightened the string of her bow, panic flickering in her rounded violet eyes. Flares from the dawn glinted across her golden locks, casting her in an unearthly glow that stole his breath.
Not that he had much breath left. Her arrow had struck him, sure and fierce, piercing his centaur heart. Each winced pant seared through the horse half of his body. If he didn’t
morphos
, he’d find his end, bleeding out on this earthen floor.
Slowly, and forcing his features not to grimace and provoke her fear further, he held up one placating hand. “Please,
Agrotere
, I mean you no harm.” Though he could well assume why she would believe he did. He was deep in Lapith country, far from his family’s lands. Far enough away that many had never encountered one of his kind. And sheltered enough to give credit to the old tales.
Centuries ago, Lapiths and centaurs had been at war. A devastating series of battles had decimated both of their races.
For some, the conflict had never ended.
He swallowed hard, pressing his hand to the wound, trying to halt the flow of blood. The arrow must come out, and he must
morphos
, or die.
This delicate female before him seemed intent on driving yet another arrow into his flesh.
“You are trespassing on Lapith lands, centaur. My father, Lord Macareus, is cousin to the King.”
Oh, hell. A noblewoman? A relative of King Pirithous III also, who didn’t care whether his subjects upheld the treaties of peace between their races.