Free Moon Borne (Halcyon Romance Series Book 1) by Rachael Slate Page B

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