The Nymph King (12 page)

God save her from male arrogance. “Sorry I don't share your confidence,” she said dryly.

He frowned. “If the thought of dragons scares you—”

“Terrifies me,” she interjected.

“How will you react when I introduce you to the vampires?”

A strangled gasp wheezed from her throat, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “I'm not meeting vampires.”

“They are our friends.”

He'd said
our.
He hadn't said
my.
But
our,
as if they were already a couple. “You told me those creatures were in Atlantis, but I never thought you'd make me interact with them! Vampires drink blood, Valerian.”

“They will not drink yours.”

Grrr. There was no arguing with him. He had a response for everything. “That's right, they won't. I'm not meeting them, and I'm not staying here.”

“Vampires are our allies. You have nothing to fear from them. You have nothing to fear from anyone in this land. I will always protect you. With my own body, if necessary.” His voice dipped with sexy, husky promise, once again flashing images of naked bodies, sweat-soaked skin and quivering pleasure through her mind. Grrr!

“You know, if you had any chance of convincing me to stay here—which you didn't—you blew it with talk of dragons and vampires.”

He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “How you distract me, woman. Why are we discussing this now? I have a battle to win. A woman to claim,” he said as he tugged her back into motion.

Crap. The battle. In the distance she could make out the sound of swords clanging together. Grunts. Male laughter. Excitement.

“I'm going to say this one more time. I don't want you to fight.”

He lost his air of affection. He stopped, turned and took a menacing step toward her. Close enough that she felt the heat of his skin, the heady scent of it. Saw the flecks of blue and green in his eyes, brighter than the most precious jewels. He became utterly wrapped in malevolence.

“I warned you what would happen if you voiced such doubt in my ability again. I am powerful, a force to be feared, and I will have your faith.”

If he expected her to apologize or back away, he did not get his wish. She stepped toward him, destroying even more of the open space between them. Where she attained such bravado, she didn't know. She only knew she could not let him in that ring. “And I told you I didn't give a shit about your warning.”

Sconces blazed from the walls, their glow flickering over the contours of his face. Shadows and light fought for dominance, playing over his cheeks. He suddenly appeared even more harsh than he had a moment ago.

Tendrils of desire, the same consuming desire she'd
encountered when she'd first watched him stride from the ocean, glittered inside her.

“You will,” he said, right before he tangled his fingers in her hair and jerked her to him. Instantly his lips slammed into hers with such force she gasped.

He used her open mouth to his advantage. His hot tongue pushed inside, past her teeth, past any thought of resistance. His big body engulfed her, set her on fire with ethereal flames. Flames that spread with dizzying speed. Wondrous speed. In mere seconds she went from cool, uncaring, untouchable Shaye to wild, aching, never-stop-touching Shaye. A woman who existed only for pleasure. For sex and debauchery. For
this
man.

He consumed her. Dark need consumed her. And she discovered that she liked being consumed.

His tongue worked hers with expert precision, causing her nerve endings to leap to blissful life. Her nipples hardened, her thighs ached, her stomach quivered. His taste was pure sexual heat, exotic, addictive. She shouldn't want to, knew she should pull away, but she found herself winding her arms around his neck and accepting him fully, demanding more.

A feral growl of satisfaction escaped him, raw, as if he couldn't hold it back.

“Do you want me?” he whispered fiercely.

As always the sound of his wine-rich voice excited her. More so than ever before. He'd been made for her, only her, his every action, every breath, existing simply to please her. The thought was intoxicating. Like the man himself. Heady and sultry and drugging.

“Do you want me?” he asked again.

“No,” she forced out, then contradicted herself by
licking the seam of his lips. Who was this wanton woman she'd become?

Valerian's woman
drifted across her mind.

His callused hands slid from her neck over each vertebra of her spine and settled softly on the curve of her hips. His fingers gradually scrunched up the hem of her shirt.

“
I
want
you,
” he said fiercely. Warm breath fanned her cheek.

There was a reason she should push him away. Yes, there was definitely a reason. A reason she should…drag his mouth back to hers. Taste him again. Feel the strength of his chest straining against her, feel the barely leashed power humming through his blood. Her nipples beaded tighter and hurt, actually hurt, for contact.

He released her shirt and reached under it, his fingers tickling her skin. She gasped in wonder.

“Your nipples ache for me, I know it.” His hot gaze lingered on the area in question, making them pearl all the more.

“No, they don't,” she denied.

“It would be my pleasure to prove it to you. I could stand you in front of a mirror, slowly remove your top, baring your flesh inch by precious inch. I could cup your breasts in my hands, framing your nipples as they cry for me.”

She should have been used to it, expected it even, but the picture he described tunneled into her mind. Valerian behind her, his arms reaching around her, kneading her breasts. One of his phantom hands began a slow, languid glide down her stomach, stopping at the pale curls between her legs.

“I hate that idea,” she lied breathlessly. “Hate it.” She brought her hands to his chest, her palms over
his
nipples. They were hard little points her tongue yearned to lick. To suck. As her fingertip curled in the steel loop anchored there, she wanted to lick and suck that, too.

He groaned. “I like the way you hate.”

Oh, she did, too. Their breaths mingled together. Their gazes locked, a sultry clash of turquoise against brown, passion against passion.

“Hate me some more,” he breathed.

She didn't think to resist. She rose on her tiptoes—her body seemed to have a mind of its own—placing her lips just in front of his. His hands tightened on her waist, the grip needy, hard, commanding. Not allowing escape. He urged the lower half of her closer to him, so close, until she nestled against the long, hard length of his erection.

A hot, raspy gasp shuddered from her. Spears of pleasure arced through her, spawning other bursts of sensation. Needed sensation. Welcome sensation.

“I want to hate you, too,” he told her in that same soft tone. “I want to hate you hard and fast, the first time. Slow and tender, the second.”

“My king,” someone called.

Shaye heard the voice distantly and despised the interruption.
More kisses.
She wanted more kisses.

As if Valerian didn't notice the voice—or simply didn't care—his gaze slid to her mouth. Wicked intent gleamed in his eyes. So much desire blazed from him, she had trouble catching her breath. He was a man ready to give her as many kisses as she desired.

“My king,” the voice said again, this time projecting equal measures of reverence, impatience and eagerness.

Valerian's fingers clenched at her waist. “I don't want to stop hating you,” he said softly, a growl.

Saying “You must” almost killed her.

“Must hate you?”

“Must stop.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. His nostrils flared, as if her taste lingered there. “For now,” he allowed.

“Forever.”
What are you, stupid?
She gulped. She'd never been kissed with such passion. Such fervor. As if the man doing the kissing savored her. Would be destroyed without her. And she wanted like hell to experience that urgency again.

Dangerous,
her mind whispered.

But totally worth it,
her body responded.

“Don't ever hate me again,” she forced out. She tugged from his embrace, turned away, suddenly cold and empty. Hollow, as she'd been through her entire childhood.

He gripped her shoulders and spun her around. His eyes were compressed to tiny slits, his thick lashes nearly intertwining top with bottom. “My greatest pleasure will be—what is it your people say?—making you eat your words.”

“Valerian,” another man called. Joachim, this time. She recognized the deep baritone. Impatient now. Valerian didn't face him. “The woman is not yours to kiss.”

Shaye drew her arms over her middle, tamping down a tremor of dread. She glanced over her shoulder, only to see that the dark-haired man resembled an angel of death. Great. A sign?

“Yet,” Valerian said, the single word more lethal than a sword. His eyes never left her face. “Yet.”

A
FTER ONE FINAL LOOK
at Shaye, Valerian whipped around, facing his cousin and shoving the moonbeam behind him, his body acting as a shield. How dare his first kiss with Shaye, his mate, his one and only, be interrupted. And by
this
man! Fury seethed and bubbled through his blood, a rushing river of molten lava.

“May I recommend the two of you sit down and discuss your problems before you resort to bloodshed?” Shaye suggested primly. She tried to sidestep him. When that didn't work, she peeked around his shoulder.

“No.” Joachim. Smug expectation colored his face. The man truly thought to win and become king.

“No,” Valerian replied, even knowing Shaye didn't want him to fight. While he did not want to deny her anything, fight he would. Even though he was at a disadvantage. While Joachim had spent the night gaining strength thanks to his sexual conquests, Valerian had…not. He had not even self-pleasured.

Without looking behind him, Valerian reached back, palm extended, for Shaye to place her hand in his. She'd refused twice before and coercion had been necessary. He expected her to refuse once again. But he had to try, had to touch her once more before entering the arena.

Shock pounded through him when her fingers slowly laced with his. Her hand was soft and delicate, the bones fine, the skin smooth. He couldn't help himself. He stood in place, tracing his fingers over hers. Her nails felt perfectly rounded, and he knew they were painted the color of coral shells. More than anything, he wanted to suck them into his mouth.

She squeezed his hand, and his shock intensified. Did she offer him comfort? A silent warning? He didn't know, but he reveled in the action.

Was she coming to care for him?

She'd responded to his kiss so passionately, erupting from cool to blazing in seconds. She'd responded, and she'd wanted. Just as he had. He'd bedded many women over the years, more than he could count. Yet none had ever stirred his heart like she had. A simple kiss, and he'd burned for her uncontrollably. He hadn't wanted just her body. He'd wanted all she had to give.

Later,
he promised himself.
Later.

“I am waiting,” Joachim said, impatient.

Valerian's eyes narrowed. “Come,” he said to Shaye, ignoring his cousin. Anger fueled his steps as he ushered her down the rest of the hallway.

Joachim remained in place, watching them.

Valerian barreled past him, shoving the foolish man out of the way. No one would treat him with such disrespect. By the time their private war ended, anyone who harbored thoughts of taking his place would see the error of his ways.

Perhaps he should take Shaye to his room and place a guard at the door. He wasn't sure he wanted her to see his most vicious side, the animal inside him. An animal
that maimed and conquered. Already she protested the confrontation.

Yet as much as he wanted to protect her from the beast inside him, he wanted her to see it, to know his strengths and know that he could take care of her. Whoever, whatever the enemy.

“Well, this is fun,” Shaye said dryly.

“Wait until the battle actually begins,” Valerian replied.

Joachim's gaze bored into his back, and he felt the heat of it as he strode forward. Sand flung from his boots. The arena overflowed with warriors, he noticed. They circled the walls, brimming with anticipation and eagerness. Good. He wanted all of his men to witness the coming event.

Several warriors had brought their women, and these females stood interspersed with the men. They were draped in Atlantean robes, violet and yellow and rose-colored scarves woven with silver thread. Sapphires, rubies and emeralds sparkled from the soft materials, and all of the scarves split at the bottom, offering glimpses of thigh. Fine, metal links looped around the women's waists, showcasing the shapely curves of some, the lean delicacy of others. They ranged in age, size and beauty, but each had her own appeal.

None of them, dressed as finely as they were, compared to Shaye. Not even close.

Valerian stopped in front of Broderick. “Is all ready?”

“I have taken care of every detail.” Broderick grinned and wound his arm around his chosen, a pretty brunette. “Women and war in one day. The gods must be smiling upon us.”

Smiling…or cursing. “Watch this little morsel for
me,” Valerian said, gently thrusting Shaye at him. She
humphed.
“Guard her well and allow no one to touch her.” He paused, considered Broderick's past liaisons, and added, “Not even yourself.”

Broderick's grin faded, and he lost all traces of his enjoyment. “Keep her with me, but do not touch her? This is the wench who fought you. What if she tries to run away?”

“She won't.” He turned his gaze on Shaye and met her rebellious eyes. “Will you?”

She studied her fingernails. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

He expelled a hot breath. “I do not want to punish you, Shaye, but I will if you force me.”

“If
I
force you?” She glared up at him. “Now there's Barbarian Mentality 101 if I've ever heard it. Perhaps I need to make a card for women who find themselves stuck with a Neanderthal. It could say something simple like, ‘Got Razors'?”

He did not even pretend to understand what she had just said. “Promise me you will stay here. If I am worried about you, I cannot concentrate on the sword being swung at me.”

She paled once again, a lovely ice queen. He drank in her snowy beauty.

“Promise me,” he said again, tenderly this time.

Her expression softened ever so slightly. “Fine. I promise. But only for the fight.
The fight I don't want you to participate in.
After that…”

Satisfied, he looked to Broderick. “When I return, I want her in the same condition I have left her. Not a single bruise.”

“As if I would ever hurt a woman,” his friend grumbled.

“As if I would allow him to hurt me,” Shaye said, her chin tilted stubbornly.

Broderick arched his brows, a who-is-this-woman expression on his face. Valerian fought a grin.

The brunette at Broderick's side pointed an accusing finger at Shaye. “I don't like you standing near Broderick.”

Shaye rolled her eyes.

Broderick regained his amusement and grinned. “Rissa is possessive of me, what can I say?”

“Just make sure she keeps her hands off Shaye.”

“I can take her,” Shaye said. Her dark brown eyes glowed with challenge.

“I know you can, moon, but if you were to hurt her I would owe Broderick another woman.” He clasped her delicate shoulders in his hands and rubbed her arms. Brave, sweet thing. “I would rather not have another battle on my hands.”

Shaye's lips pressed in a mutinous line, and she peered down at the sands. At least she didn't offer another rejoinder.

He wanted to kiss her just then, to thrust his tongue into her mouth and feel her heat, her wetness. Taste her sweetness. He couldn't. Not yet. Not again. Not with Joachim's challenge hanging over their heads.

“Valerian!” a female squealed from behind his mate. “Valerian!”

His muscles stiffened. Damn it! Already Shaye resisted him, and she'd made her dislike of his past lusts very clear. Yet now, heading straight toward him, was one of the three women from the other night. She
shoved her way through the crowd, swathes of red hair trailing behind her.

“My sweet king. I came to wish you well.”

Shaye, too, stiffened—before she was shouldered out of the way. He scowled, was about to issue a stinging rebuke, but the redhead's hands were suddenly caressing his bare chest, lingering over every curve and hollow, pulling gently at his nipple ring, then riding the ridges of his abdomen and cupping his backside.

“I just heard about the fight, and wanted to cheer for you.”

“Isn't this special,” Shaye said, an airy breeze to her tone. “A Lust family reunion.”

Eyeing the newcomer, Valerian said, “Our association is at an end, sweet.” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to inflict unnecessary hurt. He felt guilty for not learning her name. “Joachim is your lover now. Warm his bed this night, for he will need all the loving he can get.”

Her pink lips dipped into a pout, and she traced her fingertip over his navel. “I don't want to warm his bed. Joachim didn't please me like you always do.”

“Did. Always did. I have a mate now,” he reminded her. His guilt increased.

“You can please more than one woman at a time, I know for a fact. The three of us can—”

“This conversation is boring.” Shaye sighed, but the breathy exhalation held a sharp bite. “I believe your cousin is ready to cut your head off. You might want to hurry out there.”

Jaw clenched, Valerian wrapped his hands around the clinging redhead's waist and handed her to one
of his men. Whom, he didn't care. She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. Instead of simply quieting her, everyone in the arena stopped speaking.

He did not want an audience for the conversation he needed to have with Shaye. “I will speak with you about this later,” he said, his eyes only for her.

She shrugged as if she didn't care, but she couldn't hide the fire in her gaze.

He had to force back a chuckle of satisfaction. His woman did not like others to handle him. She might deny it, but he knew women very well. She was jealous.

Finally, something was going right in this seduction.

“Are you, at last, ready to begin?” Joachim demanded behind him.

With a final glance at Shaye, he turned. It was time. Joachim stood in the center of the sandy arena, swinging a spear over his head, loosening his muscles. The metal whistled and zinged in the air like a war cry. In his other hand, he held a silver shield. Except for the color, Valerian's shield was exactly the same, with two wings embossed on each side. In the center of both shields rested a sword.

Joachim replaced his helmet, covering his skull and ears. The movement caused his armor to glint.

Valerian held his hand out, and Broderick slapped a spear into his grip. He felt its familiar weight, nodded. Broderick then handed him a shield. He handed it right back. “Remove The Skull from the center and replace it with another sword,” he commanded.

“But, my lord, you have never—”

“Do it.” He had never used a sword other than his
own, but he did not want to inflict irreparable damage to his cousin, and that was what The Skull would do.

He didn't want Joachim to die. As Joachim had pronounced earlier, they
had
been friends as children. The best of friends. Then Valerian's father died and Valerian had to take control, become leader. That was when Joachim's resentment first sprouted.

Valerian wanted his cousin to live, forever an example of what happened to those who challenged the king.

“Any sword will do,” he said. “Any save The Skull.”

A pause, then the shield was taken out of his hands. Footsteps. The cool press of the shield's handle. His gold shield, yes, but his sword no longer lay inside of it. A plain, sharp-tipped blade now held the honor. He nodded in approval. This battle was not just about Shaye. Not anymore.

“Your helmet, my king,” Broderick said.

“No.” He kept his gaze on Joachim. “Not this time.”

Broderick frowned. “What of your other armor?”

“No.”

“I hope you pound each other to a bloody pulp,” Shaye mumbled behind him. “This is stupid.”

Her words elicited several male chuckles and several feminine gasps of horror. He suspected that her anger was merely a defense against something she feared. Losing him? He should be upset by her lack of faith, but he was strangely thrilled.

“How dare you say such a thing,” the redhead said accusingly.

“She is allowed to say whatever she wants,” Valerian informed everyone, “for she will one day be your queen.” He tossed her a glance over his shoulder and
saw that she now wore an expression of pique. “That doesn't mean I will always give in to her desires. This time, however, I will take great pleasure in granting part of her request.”

“I, too, will enjoy granting part of her request,” Joachim said.

Valerian scowled at him. He hefted the weight of his spear in one hand, his shield in the other, and stepped into the arena. Determined, he circled Joachim. The man watched him, never slowing his swinging lance. “Shall we begin?”

“We shall. I've wanted to be king for a long time,” Joachim admitted.

“I know. But what makes you think you will be a better commander for my army? You are too war-happy, too ravenous for control.”

“Such qualities should be lauded.”

“Lauded? When the hunger will never be appeased? There will always be someone else to conquer. Were you to rule my army, you would lead them straight into war. In the end, I have every faith you would conquer Atlantis and all the kings and queens inside, but you would also destroy the entire city.”

“Better to rule a decimated land than not to rule at all.” With a roar, Joachim leapt at him.

Their spears clashed together midair. Immediately Valerian countered, ducking low, pivoting and slashing. He missed as Joachim sliced to the side.
Clang.
Their spears met again. In the next instant Joachim raised his lance and Valerian rammed it high. He spun, aiming for his cousin's neck.

Joachim darted out of the way with a grin.
“Getting slow, Valerian.” He removed his helmet and tossed it aside.

Valerian stabbed forward, his spike and shield swinging simultaneously. Joachim quickly lost his smile as he was forced to duck. He stumbled backward. Valerian's spear nearly sank into his stomach, but Joachim blocked, swung. Thrust.

That low thrust grazed Valerian's thigh, slicing cloth rather than skin. Valerian dropped to one knee, absorbing the next blow with his shield. When he regained his footing, he lunged forward. The tip of his weapon whizzed past Joachim's side, taking a hunk of armor with it.