An Amazon's Equal

By Fionna Guillaume

In a society of Amazon warriors, Pyrena dares the impossible... she falls in love.

Greek legends call them Amazons, but Pyrena and her sisters are not merely warrior women. Wise mistresses of their forest home, they share everything: friends, war, work, meals...and captive men. Love has no place in their community; the men they keep are strictly for pleasure. It seems idyllic, yet Pyrena can’t help feeling there is something missing in her world.

Astrastos marches into battle with one intention: to claim a fiery Amazon for his bed. When he is captured instead, he discovers more than he ever imagined. As they share erotic delights and passionate conversations, he realizes Pyrena is the woman he wants for life.

As they fall inevitably, unstoppably in love, the pressures of captivity grow stronger. Without freedom they cannot truly be together, but how can Pyrena stand alone against everything she has ever known? She must find a way to reconcile her society with her love....or abandon them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fionna Guillaume
• Release date: Oct 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310165412

Fionna Guillaume

Fionna Guillaume specializes in unique erotica and erotic romance. Like her readers, Fionna enjoys interesting heroines, sexy heroes, and a good old-fashioned love story... with plenty of erotic parts. All of Fionna's work is unapologetically erotic and intended for adults (18+) only.

Book preview

An

Amazon’s

Equal

Fionna Guillaume

Copyright 2014 Fionna Guillaume

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters engaged in erotic activities are over the age of 18.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

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Prologue

The Legend

"L isten, young ones, while I tell you the story.

This is the tale of our origins,

of our mother Euphemia,

and of the Goddess, our protector.

Listen, and I will tell you."

Winter was just kissing the woody landscape, and mist bathed the feet of distant mountains. Pale sunlight filtered through the quivering remnants of leaves, casting eerie shadows on Euphemia’s swollen belly. Her eight daughters clustered round with watchful eyes.

The eldest, Yalena, was barely coming to that tender transitional age between girl and woman, but the youngest had been born just one spring ago. Euphemia hadn’t wanted to bear again so soon – babies needed at least a year of nursing to grow healthy, and her last child had barely half – but her husband was insistent. There was little a woman could do to deter a man like Bemus. During each of her frequent pregnancies, he was charming and attentive. He brought home tender cuts of meat, fine fresh vegetables, even exotic herbs and oils to soothe the mother-to-be. But upon the birth of each baby, always female thus far, he reverted to his usual abusive ways. Euphemia hated him. He beat her and the girls, and although he had not yet touched one of his daughters, Yalena’s fast-approaching puberty was worrisome. There were no other women for miles, and Euphemia knew unless she submitted to the pain of her husband’s lust, even with her skin still torn from childbirth, he would take one of the girls. And that would be unforgivable.

Labor pains had been coming all day, but closer together now. An especially strong one approached, crushing Euphemia’s belly in a vise. She gasped and immediately her two oldest daughters stepped forward, reaching out to assist. Yalena eased her into a squatting position, supporting Euphemia’s splayed legs on her own knees. The girl’s arms lent a gentle pressure to the contractions, using each one to quicken the birth. Narella stood ready with warm water and a soft blanket to wrap the baby in. The look of experienced calm was incongruous on her chubby child’s face; it nearly brought Euphemia to tears. It was not right for such a young girl to be disenchanted with the joys and pains of motherhood, when she did not even know what it meant to be a woman.

Euphemia did not scream. She had borne enough children to dull the pain to mere discomfort. A few grunts and soft cries echoed in the woods as the child slid forth into the cold night. Narella caught the baby as it fell, moonlight glancing off its shiny wet skin. The baby let out a bellow of shock, angry to find itself alive in such a chilly world. From the moment of that first cry, Euphemia knew she had another daughter. Weakness overwhelmed her. She let her body fall heavily into Yalena’s muscular arms. Her husband would come soon, expecting a boy. Euphemia knew how violent his disappointment would be.

Hand her to me, Narella, she said wearily. The baby was yelling now, a healthy screech that scrunched up her dark, puffy face. Despite her fear of Bemus’ reaction, when she held the squirming infant in her arms Euphemia felt not even a scrap of disappointment. The baby was perfect. She brought the tiny face to her breast, letting the little head root around for a few moments, emitting squawks of indignation, until the toothless mouth located her nipple.

The baby quieted and Euphemia’s daughters approached at last. Eight inquisitive faces, each slightly smaller and more innocent than the last, crowded round.

What’s her name, Mama? asked five-year-old Ophelia. Euphemia did not even pause and think about her answer. In her heart, she had expected another girl all along, and the name was already there, waiting.

We’ll call her Charmian. It means ‘a little joy,’ for that is certainly what she is.

The girls fell silent for several minutes. Most of them had watched many births before, as sister after sister came into the world. Nevertheless they stared in wonder at the newborn at their mother’s breast. There was no noise, not even from the year-old baby snuggled in little Thea’s arms. Everyone was absorbed in the miracle of new life, in the powerful, feminine moment. They were at peace with one another, and with the world.

The idyllic scene was shattered in an instant. Crashing branches announced Bemus’ approached. His muscular physique might have appealed to most women – as it had to Euphemia at first – but his wife and daughters had learned early on that a handsome body did not make a decent man. His bearded face broke into a grin when he saw the bundle in Euphemia’s arms.

My lovely wife! he bellowed.

The girls instinctively formed a barrier between him and their mother, but Bemus barreled through with ease.

How is my first son? He looks to be eating heartily. I’ll give him my father’s name, to carry on the family line.

No one spoke. The girls stared at him with frightened eyes. Bemus looked from one to the other, his smile fading, the lines of his face growing hard. He turned his iron gaze on Euphemia last. She physically shrank, but met his eyes with determination.

You have another healthy daughter. I have named her Charmian.

Bemus emitted a wolfish growl of rage.

Another?! You are cursed, woman!

His hand met her cheek with a sound like pottery cracking. Euphemia’s face erupted into blotches of crimson. She stumbled to her knees. The newborn baby began to cry, echoing the terrified wails of her eight older sisters.

Obviously you are incapable of bearing sons, Euphemia, Bemus said. His voice was soft, the way a tiger’s step is soft when nearing its prey. Some god must have made you defective. No matter; I can look elsewhere for satisfaction. Which one shall I try next, then? What about the eldest brat, where is she? Yalena! Come here, girl!

No! Euphemia’s voice rang out in the night. She struggled to stand, grasping at Bemus’ sleeve while she clutched her screaming baby. No!

He shook her off with a savage kick in the belly. Euphemia collapsed, groaning. She curled herself around the infant, protecting her in the curve of her body.

Run, Yalena! she gasped.

Yalena’s eyes sprang open with terrible understanding. She turned to dash away, but Bemus was too fast. He grabbed her arm, wrenching it painfully behind her back. She was large for her age, and strong – hard work and her father’s many punishments had seen to that – but though she struggled and twisted with all her might, Bemus’ grip was solid.

He bore her to the ground, yanking the heavy winter skirt up over her hips. Yalena yelled and kicked, beating at his face with her free arm, but he ignored the blows. Euphemia dragged herself along the ground, hugging little Charmian to her chest. Sobbing, she reached for her husband, pawing at him, pleading with him.

Bemus, stop! Sweet Goddess, help us!

As it happened, that very moment the Goddess was passing overhead on her way to the coast where seafaring people were holding a celebration in her honor. But She heard the desperate cry and turned her gaze down to the woods. One look told her everything: the swarming girl children, the screaming mother, and the man pumping madly into a smaller figure pinned beneath him. Without hesitation the Goddess descended.

She appeared in their midst like a burst of light, brighter than the sun. Bemus screamed and fell backwards out of Yalena’s scratched and bleeding body, shielding his eyes. But the women were not blinded by the light; they only squinted, mouths open in awe. Even the newborn stopped crying to stare at the vision. The Goddess was so beautiful, she defied imagination. Her gown was cut in the old style, with her breasts fiercely bared above a tight bodice, and a wide skirt of many flounces. Divine rage colored her face, but her eyes gentled as she looked upon the ten huddled forms.

My daughters, she said, ignoring the whimpers of the man writhing on the ground. I heard your call and I see your pain. This abomination cannot continue. From today onward each of you shall bear only daughters, and they too shall bear daughters, all the women of your lineage. Until this terrible wrong is righted I endow you with the power to dominate at will, and the skills to hunt, fight, and govern better than any man. You will grow in strength and numbers, always teaching these things to your daughters. Do not let them forget this day.

The brilliance of the Goddess overtook them, filling their eyes and souls with rapture. Bemus let out one last groan, and then fell limp as the Goddess ripped the breath from his undeserving lungs. Rising up, She spoke one last time to the amazed women.

Remember: I have blessed you, but every blessing is in its way a curse. Do not let any man use you, but do not emulate this horror either. Use your women’s wisdom. It will tell you when the time is right to seek reconciliation with the men of the world. Until then you shall live in strength and prosperity, a colony of sisters.

1

Becoming Euphemindra

"Euphemia’s daughters grew strong and wise, each with skill in battle, art, farming, medicine, and craftsmanship greater than any man’s. And they encountered men in plenty. Stories of the nine sisters, beautiful and wild as birds of prey, spread across the world. In other lands we are called Amazons, you see, though our proper name is Euphemindra – ‘the daughters of Euphemia.’ Caravans paraded close to our woods, hoping to catch a glimpse. Platoons broke off from their armies, each soldier determined to have an untamed beauty for his wife. But none succeeded.

Invaders, as you know, are always defeated, killed or routed by our warriors. All, that is, but the finest, young and handsome ones, those who are fair of face and strong of limb. They are stripped of their belongings and kept in a special tent. For the rest of their lives they reside in comfort, ready for whenever a woman desires one. But that, my dears, is a story for another time, when you are older.

The storyteller drew a final flourish from her lyre and a grin spread across her wide, leathery face. She loved sharing the tale of their origins with the little girls, building pride in their community and reminding them of all the struggles they had overcome. Her young audience looked hardly anything like their ancestress. Euphemia’s dark hair and olive skin had been passed on to her daughters but the men they collected were a diverse group: soldiers from all corners of the world, slaves captured from caravans, men from every walk of life and background.

The girls had blue eyes and brown, some slanted, some almond-shaped, others round as chestnuts. Hair ranged from black and tightly curled, to smooth sheets of ebony, to blond ringlets, to copper-colored waves. Their faces, too, came in all shapes and colors, every shade of the earth. Some young bodies were like saplings, while others’ childish pudginess would grow voluptuous in time. They were physically diverse, but each considered the other her full sister. All shared the common blood of Euphemia and her daughters.

The nine sisters’ simple hut had grown over the generations into a forest city. Thousands of women worked together, lived together, and fought together, surrounded by a dense barrier of trees. Permanent tents spread for miles, ringed by fields for crops and animals, along with smithies and potteries and paper-makers. The Temple of the Goddess, its spire rising in great sweeping arches toward the sky, sat in the center of town – the very spot where She had appeared so many years before.

In the main street of the city walked a slim young woman leading a honey-colored horse. Pyrena’s mare had thrown a shoe the day before, when she raced with three of her sisters. She had won, of course – no mare could run like her Dagger – but the horse needed to be battle-ready, and a missing shoe was unacceptable. With a brusque gesture, Pyrena pushed her fringe of red-gold hair behind her ears. Like all women past puberty, her hair was cut short, just brushing her jaw. Long hair gave enemies something to grab onto, and anyway she liked the airy style.

Just a little farther, Dagger, and you’ll have a brand new shoe. Won’t that feel nice?

She smiled and rubbed the horse’s broad forehead. Dagger, like all mares ridden by the fighting women, was named after her mistress’ favored weapon. The blessing of the Goddess extended to animals as well, so all their horses were mares. Whenever the Euphemindra needed a stallion, ram, or bull for breeding they had to capture it. Luckily, many foolish caravans passed near their woods, so they were seldom in need of male creatures. Or male humans, for that matter.

She and Dagger had been inseparable for four years, ever since Pyrena selected her from a paddock full of yearling fillies. That was the same day she met the Goddess for the first time, in the form of menstrual blood. No woman could ever forget such a wonderful day. Pyrena smiled, savoring the memory.

*

She remembered her excitement when she discovered the rust-colored stains on her thighs. It must have started during the night, while she was asleep! She ran to tell her mother, Kalonice, who smiled congratulations and forced her to sit still for the ceremonial bath. Pyrena’s monthly cycles had begun later than most girls – she was fourteen already – and she’d been waiting impatiently for her entry into womanhood.

After bathing, they walked together to the edge of the forest. A morning breeze tingled on Pyrena’s skin. She stood beside the waiting trees, naked, wet, and exhilarated. Pyrena was sure she could feel a new, feminine power within her.

Kalonice tenderly combed Pyrena’s long hair while the girl stared straight ahead, trying to control the beating of her adolescent heart. When it was free of tangles, Kalonice cut the hair bristle-short, following the line of her daughter’s scalp. Heavy water-soaked locks fell to the ground with a plopping noise. A breeze scurried across Pyrena’s bare back, sending shivers up her spine. She felt light, as if freshly born.

When the hair was all sliced away, Kalonice gathered it up. A trickle of blood had begun to roll down Pyrena’s legs after the warm bath, and her mother wiped it away with the hair.

This is the last remnant of your girlhood, Kalonice said, handing over the matted hair and blood, And the first step toward becoming a woman. The Goddess blesses us with blood each month, so we can obey her law: before one can take blood, one must give blood. Go into the forest and bury this somewhere only you and the Goddess know. From now on it will be your own private seat of power. As long as you keep it secret, no one can have power over you.

Pyrena nodded, clutching the ball to her chest. Then she turned and ran into the forest. Her bare feet slapped the ground, skidding over roots, leaves, and brambles, but she did not hesitate. She knew just where she was going to bury her treasure.

When she was a little girl, she had found a tree with branches spaced just right for her to climb to the very top. Pyrena felt secure in its sturdy boughs, where she could look down into the forest with no one knowing she was there. She called it ‘the eagle’s nest,’ because when she first arrived the place was so clotted with twigs and leaves it looked as though some huge bird had built a home there.

It took perhaps ten minutes to locate the special tree. When she arrived Pyrena was breathing hard, every nerve tingling with excitement. Two of the tree’s roots came together in a perfect V – an unmistakable signal from the Goddess.

She found a sturdy stick and set to work, prying clumps of sod from between the roots. When she had a sizeable hole, she gently laid the clot of hair and menstrual blood inside. As she tenderly packed dirt over top, she spoke aloud to the Goddess.

See, Divine Mother, where I leave this piece of myself! I offer it to you, giver of blood, taker of blood!

Her skinny young body shone with sweat as she hurried back to her mother. Kalonice waited at the entrance of the woods, beaming. She dipped her head, acknowledging her daughter’s newfound independence, her contract with the Goddess, and her entrance into the world of women. Only one event remained to complete the day’s ceremony.

Are you ready to pick your companion? Kalonice asked.

This was what Pyrena had been waiting for. She nodded vigorously, unable to keep her eager eyes off the horse pastures. Kalonice laughed – she knew Pyrena’s passion for horses. Euphemindra girls were allowed to pet, groom, and ride gentle old mares as much as they liked, but they could not have a horse of their own until they entered into womanhood. The pivotal event in a young girl’s life was when she caught and gentled her own warhorse.

All the yearling fillies ran together in a special pasture. They were not handled from the day they were separated from their dams, and thus ran unchecked for six months of their lives. Alienated from human contact, they grew skittish and unruly, a challenge for even the most experienced horsewoman. Upon their first menstruation, however, each untried Euphemindra girl was expected to capture a wild filly by herself. Once caught, the horses become permanently attached to their mistresses, following them faithfully and defending them to the death.

Pyrena had dreamed of this day ever since she watched an older sister catch a balky chestnut filly. For years she had spent free afternoons among the herds, watching, learning, and waiting. She was more than ready to claim a filly of her own. For a moment she stood, naked in the morning, savoring the moment before launching herself over the fence and into the paddock.

The fillies’ heads shot up in unison. Wary brown eyes fixed on Pyrena’s slight form. A rope halter hung over her shoulder, slapping against her naked hip. She took a step toward the horses, and it was as if a lion had bounded into their midst. Every animal spun on its haunches, tails whipping like banners as they took off toward the end of the paddock. Pyrena noticed a golden filly near the front of the pack. She’s mine. That’s the one I want.

Pyrena didn’t run after them. Instead, she approached at a steady pace, ignoring the sun’s uncomfortable heat on her bare shoulders. The fillies stood with nervous grace, tails and ears alert as she drew nearer. Before long they dashed away again, but Pyrena patiently followed, not rushing, not pressing. By the time the horses finally allowed her into their perimeter, Pyrena’s chosen filly hovered on the far outskirts of the herd.

The horse appeared to be on tiptoe, flicking her ears back and forth between the human and the rest of her herd. Pyrena slowly extended her hand, cupped as though it were holding something. The filly stretched out her nose, then spun, snorting, and darted back into the surrounding horses. They milled around as Pyrena slipped between them, but most had decided this girl was no threat. She moved among the shifting horses, pursuing the golden one. The filly was curious. She extending her nose toward the girl’s outstretched hand, but always backed away. Slowly, persistently, Pyrena continued toward her.

At last she was permitted touch the filly’s soft nose. Pyrena

Reviews for An Amazon's Equal

[Davide B · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Nice story, like the way the author tied it all together. Good characterizations.