The Nymph King (11 page)

The fantasy came to a halt when she wiped the naughty juice away and scowled over at him. “You're staring at me, and I don't like it. Stop.”

Her voice held a strangled edge, as if she fought a wave of anger—or desire.

“Yes, I'm staring,” he said. “You are a beautiful woman.” He popped another grape into his mouth and relished her dismayed shock. Normally he ate his share of fish, as well as the fruit, but right now he hungered only for Shaye. His woman. His mate.

“Do you have no reaction to my words, then?” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I all but called you dishonorable.”

“Why should I react to your words? They are true. I
would
rather steal someone from their home than cook for myself.”

Her mouth fell open, forming a delightful
O.

He arched a brow. “My easy admission surprises you, I see.”

“Well, yeah.” She regarded him warily.

“I have only ever taken those in need of a better life, Shaye, or those I thought I could give an easier life, whether they thought they needed it or not. The men who prepared this meal were slaves to the
demons before I stole them. They were forced to steal, kill and destroy, and would have one day become the main course of a demon meal. Believe me, they are grateful that I took them.” He leaned back on the bench, stretching out the long length of his legs, watching her, gauging. “Perhaps, though, you will help me see the error of my ways. I am more than willing to let you try to convince me of my terrible deeds—over and over again. I listen best when the speaker is naked.”

As he watched her, a flush of pink suffused her cheeks. Another blush. The hedonistic women of his acquaintance were as comfortable with sex and erotic banter as he was. That Shaye found the topic risqué enough to blush excited him. Mesmerized him.

He had to touch her.

He was just leaning toward her, outstretching his hand to see if that blush of hers gave off any heat and perhaps spread to her breasts, when two of his warriors strode into the room. Disappointed, he fell back into his chair.

Both men wore wide, toothy smiles of sheer bliss. Their faces were completely relaxed, utterly radiant. Power emanated from them. Each wore gilded breastplates, black pants and jewel-studded armbands. After their night of loving, they were ready to train.

“Good morning, great king,” Broderick said. His voice had never sounded so joyful.

“This is the best of days, is it not?” Dorian sighed happily.

They whistled as they circled the table and heaped their plates with food. They must have worked up
hearty appetites during the long hours of the night. Valerian glared at them. He had yet to sample Shaye's sweetness—yes, he knew she would taste sweet—so no, this was not the best of days.

A few seconds later, Shivawn entered. He wasn't smiling, wasn't relaxed. No, he was stiff and glowered at everyone. He slammed himself onto the bench beside Valerian, hair beads rattling, and silently filled his plate with the food in front of him. He didn't bother to reach for anything more.

Had his woman denied him? Valerian wondered. He and Shivawn probably wore the same expression. “Where is your chosen?”

“Sleeping,” Broderick and Dorian replied in unison, as if he'd asked the question of them. Their grins grew wider, and they slapped each other on the backs.

“Flying through the gates of Olympus,” Dorian added.

“Did you stop and make sure the women were willing before you bedded them?” Shaye asked, her tone dripping with loathing.

Dorian blinked at her, the question foreign to him.

Broderick chuckled. “Your woman is amusing,” he said to Valerian.

“Amusing?” She popped to her feet with an angry growl. “I am not amusing when discussing rape.”

At least she hadn't denied the fact that she belonged to him, Valerian thought, pleased.

“As if a woman would turn me down,” Broderick said.

“Believe me, it happens,” Shivawn muttered. He swiped up his plate and stalked from the room without another word.

Everyone watched him leave, each with a different
reaction. Broderick—laughter. Dorian—intensified confusion. Shaye—satisfaction.

“FYI, gentlemen,” she said, drawing attention back to herself. “Just because your mojo entrances a woman doesn't mean she truly, deep in her soul, wants you.”

“Mojo?” Having no more room on his plate, Dorian eased into the empty seat beside Valerian. “What is that?”

“Doesn't matter.” Shaye crossed her arms over her chest, causing the neckline of her shirt to gape and reveal soft hints of her breasts. “What matters is this—if the women knew you, your personality, your likes, your dislikes, your past, your plans for the future, would they want you still?”

If a woman knew you
echoed through Valerian's mind. Not an altogether welcome thought, either. He'd never taken the time to discuss his life—past, present or future—with any of his bedmates. He hadn't cared to discuss it, and they hadn't cared to ask. Still, the question intrigued him.

He wanted that with Shaye, he realized. He wanted to tell her about himself and watch her reaction, hear her thoughts. He wanted to listen to her tell him about her own life. Wanted to know what gave her joy. What she secretly desired with every ounce of her being.

Too, he found himself wondering what type of man she had favored in the past. Scholar? Warrior? How had these men treated her?

Had she loved them?

His hands clenched at his sides, one nearly snapping the bench arm in half. A need to maim, destroy, kill any man who'd once held this woman's affections consumed him. Searing. White-hot. Hotter than even a dragon's fire.

Perhaps it was hypocritical of him—all right, it
was
hypocritical, considering his own debauched past—but he didn't like the image of his woman splayed and open for anyone save himself. Her passion—his. Her heart— his. He didn't want her deepest desires awakened by anyone but him. Couldn't tolerate the thought.

He yearned to brand his very essence into her every cell. She'd know no scent but his own. Feel no touch but his own. Crave only him, as he craved only her.

“Well, I see my chosen has quenched one hunger,” a male voice suddenly said from the doorway.

Valerian stiffened as his eyes narrowed on his cousin. Joachim, who obviously still thought to claim Shaye, stood poised, ready. He wasn't dressed for training, but for war. Silver armor etched with battle scenes covered him from head to toe.

Valerian didn't stand. If he did, he would have leapt over the table and attacked. Joachim wanted to war, so they would war. It was past time he showed his power-hungry cousin the error of his ways. Beginning now.

T
ENSION AND TESTOSTERONE
sparked around the room, hot enough that Shaye felt burned. Fury sizzled and snapped; a raging inferno, barely banked, burned in Valerian's turquoise eyes.

Shaye was used to being around emotional people. How many tirades, fits of jealous rage, had her mother thrown over the years? Countless. If a husband came home late, crystal china was thrown at his head—right along with accusations of infidelity. If a birthday was forgotten, tires were slashed.

Yet Shaye didn't know how to react to such potent fury from Valerian. Someone who, until this point, had shown only desire, amusement and patience. Well, he'd given glimpses of anger, but nothing like this.

The need to kill was there in his expression. His lips were thinned, his teeth bared like an animal's. He was cold, capable of any evil deed.

“I have a bargain for you, Joachim.” Never had his voice sounded more brusque.

Joachim gave no outward reaction, though his eyes did bear traces of the same dissatisfied tension Valerian and Shivawn possessed. Seemingly unconcerned, he leaned against the towering door frame, a column of twisted gold filigree. “I am listening.”

“I will give you my sword,” Valerian said. “You may have it with my blessing, but you must renounce all claim to the girl.”

“Unacceptable.” Joachim removed his helmet and anchored it at his side. His black brows were winged arrogantly. “Make me king, and you can have her. She will be yours to do with what you will.”

Shaye laid her palms on the table, looking back and forth between the men. She didn't know what to do, what to say. She felt as helpless now as she'd felt watching her parents fight as a child.

Tense, Valerian shook his head. “I cannot simply make you king. You know that. My men would never follow a man who had not proven himself worthy.”

“True,” Joachim allowed. “That is why I'm willing to prove myself worthy.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Yesterday you were willing to fight me. Are you still?”

Valerian's hands clenched and unclenched. “Yes.”

“But are you willing to give up your reign of leadership if I best you, thereby proving myself worthy?”

A predatory stillness came over Valerian. For a long while he didn't speak. Considering his options? Shaye wondered. Finally he said, “Such a thing has never been done,” his tone careful, guarded.

Joachim's hand tightened over his sword hilt. “Yet such a thing has often
needed
to be done.”

Shaye had thought tensions already high. With Joachim's last words, the room began to pulse with danger. More than ever, she didn't want these larger-than-life men fighting over her. With swords, for God's
sake. She didn't want Valerian fighting, period. Strangely, the thought of him getting hurt unsettled her.

Only because you don't want to be stuck with someone else, someone less tolerant,
she assured herself.

She eyed his opponent. Joachim appeared confident in his ability to win. He radiated the same arrogance as Valerian, yet at the same time he glowed with a blood-thirstiness that did not encompass the king.

“Why don't you fight me instead?” she found herself asking Joachim. The words slipped from her unbidden. “It would be my greatest pleasure to cut off your balls and feed them to you.”

A muscle ticked in Joachim's jaw. Valerian's lips twitched as he fought back a…grin? A scowl? The two men at the table chuckled, thankfully relaxing.

“That I would like to see,” the too-handsome-to-be-real one said. Black hair, violet eyes. If she remembered correctly, his name was Dorian.

“Shaye will not be fighting,” Valerian said.

“As if a woman could best me,” Joachim snorted. “Well, Valerian.” He straightened, his armor clinking ominously. “What say you? Shall we fight, the winner made king with all rights to the woman?”

Slowly Valerian eased to his feet. “I accept. However, winner will
remain
king and
keep
the woman.”

“Only time will tell,” was Joachim's satisfied reply.

“Now wait just a minute.” Shaye slapped the table, frustrated when the bowls failed to shake and the food and drink failed to spill. “You're acting like children. There's no reason to fight.”

Valerian leveled her with a fierce gaze. At least she'd
gotten his attention. “In this, moon, you will not have your way. My cousin is in dire need of a lesson.”

“He's your cousin?” She scrubbed a hand over her face. This was worse than she'd thought. “There were times I wanted to kill my family, Valerian, but you have to resist the temptation.”

“You will not change your mind?” Joachim asked him, ignoring Shaye as if she were not even in the room. “When you lose?”

Dorian and Broderick snarled like animals at the insult to their king, then there was only silence. Wave after terrible wave of Valerian's fury wrapped around Shaye, and she was immensely grateful it was not directed at her.

“Are you. Calling me. A liar?” Each syllable seemed to be ripped from him.

Joachim's cheeks colored bright, vivid red. “My apologies. That was not my intent.”

Only slightly mollified, Valerian splayed his arms, encompassing the room and everyone inside. “We have witnesses. Dorian and Broderick will hereby attest to my consent to this battle—and the outcome.”

Panic unfurled sharp fists inside of Shaye, beating painfully. They were going to do it; they were going to fight. The knowledge was there, churning in their eyes.

“What is your weapon of choice?” Valerian asked his cousin, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Swords, of course,” was the reply. “The weapon of a true warrior.”

“To the death?”

Joachim considered the idea and frowned. “I do not want to kill you, Valerian. I do not hate you. We were
friends once, as children, but I was born to rule. Commands should be mine to give, not receive.”

For a long while the two men simply stared at each other. Finally Valerian nodded. “Go to the arena, Joachim. I will be there shortly.”

“Another command.” Joachim looked as if he meant to protest but ultimately nodded. He turned on his heel and strode away. Shaye was not given time to argue.

“Dorian,” Valerian said, “gather the rest of the men. I want them to watch what happens to those who think to usurp my rule. Broderick, go and prepare my gear.”

Chairs skidded backward. Footsteps pounded.

I can't believe this is happening,
Shaye thought.

She'd been kidnapped from her mother's wedding— shrug. She'd been dragged underwater and into a lost city—yawn. She'd been chosen to be the king's mistress—could someone pass a nail file? All of that suddenly seemed paltry, dreamlike.

This battle, though…it was pure nightmare.

“I'm asking you not to do this,” she said to Valerian. They were alone now, no one else in sight. “He obviously doesn't want me. He just wants to hurt you and take your crown.”

Valerian sat down, leaned back in the bench and regarded her intently. “Do you fear for me, moon?”

She snorted. Inside, though, she trembled with fear. “I could care less about you, actually.” Lie. Stupid of her, yes, but a lie all the same. His safety did matter to her, she admitted silently. He'd said all those nice things to her. His touch electrified her. And he was…sweet, damn it. “I just don't want to be pawned off on that Joachim jerk.” Truth.

Casually, he popped a grape into his mouth. “I told
you I would do whatever was necessary to keep you and I meant it. Now I am not going to take offense at your lack of confidence in my skills as a warrior because you have yet to watch me fight. You do not truly know me.”

“And I might not have a chance to know you. Not that I want to,” she added quickly. “But still.”

“I will, however,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken, “take great offense if this lack of faith ever occurs again.”

Her eyes focused on him with forced unconcern. “I'm shaking. Really.”

His
eyes rounded with incredulity, and he shook his head. “Have you no sense, woman? I've just warned you of my wrath and you mock me?”

“Two words—hell, yes.”

Far from angering him, though, her words seemed to amuse him. “I like your wit, Shaye. I also like your courage. You please me, for you are a worthy mate. A worthy queen to my warriors.”

Queen? Hardly. Look at the mess that her own life had become. Like she really needed to be in charge of other people. And as for the other, well, she didn't want Valerian to like her. Okay, she did. She just didn't
want
to want him to like her. The more he liked her, the more determined he'd be to keep her, the harder he'd pursue her and the tougher it would be to resist him, to remember who and what he was—and the less she would want to escape.

“Come. I have tarried enough, yet I was unable to resist stealing a moment alone with you.” He pushed to his feet and held out his hand, palm up, a silent command for her to take it. “They are awaiting us in the arena.”

She studied his palm, powerless to turn away. She
knew that if she intertwined her fingers with his, warmth would tingle up her arm. Such drugging warmth. Unwanted warmth. Dangerous warmth.

Her throat constricted. She stood, keeping her hands at her sides. “Lead the way.”

He remained where he was, beckoning with a single wave of his fingers.

She crossed her arms over her chest.

His lips dipped into a disbelieving frown as he realized she was refusing him yet again. “I allowed you to refuse once. I will not allow you to do so now. I need your touch, Shaye. I need your strength. My victory depends upon it.”

Ah, hell. Way to stick a knife in her. Their gazes locked in challenge. The lush length of his black lashes cast decadent shadows over his cheeks. How did a man with blond hair have such dark eyelashes? They should have been pale, like hers. “Sorry,” she said. And she was.

“You are stubborn,” he said. “And you want to be cold.”

She raised her chin. “I assure you, I
am
cold. I'm a bitch.”

“Given time,” he added smoothly, “I will heat you. I will make you burn.”

The words were laced with promise, dripping with determination, and drifting beneath them was a challenge:
every resistance will be met and conquered until you've soared over the sweet edge of surrender.

She gulped, but still didn't allow herself to reach for him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You have a choice. Take my hand or be carried in my arms.”

“You didn't mention my third choice. Leaving.”

She skidded around the chair and backed away, a single step.

“You? Leave?” He shook his head. “No, you are too brave. I will give you till the count of three to decide, then I will make the decision for you. One.”

Another step backward.

“Two.”

Yet another.

“Thr—”

She rushed forward and clamped onto his hand. At first contact, the warmth she'd feared speared her, spreading up, spreading out, overtaking her entire body. But if he had chased her and thrown her over his shoulder—and he would have—the sensations would have been so much worse. More potent.

She scowled up at him. Light banked his features, giving him a breathtaking radiance no one person should possess.

He grinned. “That was not so hard, was it?”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

He chuckled, but his laughter didn't last long. His expression grew serious. “I have your scent in my nostrils, moon, and can find you wherever you are. Wherever you go. Do not think to try and escape from me during the battle.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the dining hall, dragging her with him.

Hissing a breath between her teeth, she fought to keep up with him, flying forward at neck-breaking speed. “Slow down. And what do you mean, you've got my smell in your nose?” She recalled yesterday, how obsessed he'd been with making her smell him.

“Just that your essence is branded into my every cell,” he said, not bothering to face her. “As mine will soon be in yours.”

“There will be no branding!”

“Actually, there will be no stopping the branding.” Utter confidence cascaded from his voice.

Another promise.

Don't engage him. Don't encourage him.
Her gaze snagged on the wall. White marble inlaid with silver stone, crumbled in bits and pieces. Scratch marks, as if someone had taken a tool to every inch. Changing the subject she said, “What happened here?”

“Humans invaded, is my understanding.”

Her gaze whipped to his back. Hard muscle and sinew strained under bronzed velvet. “Humans know about Atlantis?”

“Some do.”

Wow. People actually knew about this place, yet they'd managed to keep it a secret. “Have you always lived in this castle?”

“No. My army claimed the palace only a short time ago.”

Claimed. Aka “stole,” she was sure. “Who did it belong to before you?”

“The dragons.”

She skidded to a stop, forcing him to stop, as well, or drag her prone body. “Dragons? Did you say dragons used to own this property? And you stole it from them?” That explained the dragon murals, the dragon etchings, the dragon medallion he'd told her about.

Slowly he faced her, his expression confused. “This upsets you. Why?”

“Dragons spew fire and eat humans as tasty snacks. They'll want their palace back.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened at his nonchalance. “And that doesn't bother you? The thought of battling such fierce creatures?”

“No. Why should it?” His chest seemed to expand before her eyes. “I am fiercer. I am stronger.”