Valerian considered his own blade, resting against his back. The Skull. Large, sharp and lethal. One of the finest swords ever made. No, the finest ever made. Crafted by Hephaesteus himself, the blacksmith of the Greeks. The weapon had slayed many of his enemies, rending them with injuries that could not be mended. The sword was the only one of its kind, with a twisted frame and elongated skull tip that were envied by every soldier who spied it.
He would hate to give it up, but his mate held so much more importance to him. Even a mate who wanted nothing to do with him.
Would Joachim accept the Skull?
Valerian released a sigh of his own, the answer remaining a mystery—as much a mystery as the best way to win Shaye’s well-guarded heart.
She’d scoffed at money and jewels. She’d shown no interest in his crown.
Did she have enemies in need of slaying? If so, he would gladly gift her with their severed heads.
He pushed a hand through his hair. Uncertainty was foreign to him. And horrible and challenging but also exciting.
Winning her—appeasing Joachim and overcoming Shaye’s own resistance—had awakened his deepest warrior instincts.
“You will be mine,” he told her. “Somehow.”
“Majesty?”
He closed the door with a quiet snick and focused on the warrior who’d returned at last, bearing the supplies Valerian had requested. A canvas, an easel and three colors of paint. Black, white and red.
He dismissed the warrior and carefully placed the canvas on the easel. He spent hours painting, losing himself in the joy of creating. The subject of his art had never appealed to him more. Had never mattered to him more.
When he finished, he stood back to study the image and ensure he’d gotten every detail right. His chest swelled with pride. He had. Oh, he had.
Let Shaye try to resist him now...
* * *
THREADS OF LIGHT flowed from the crystal dome above, gradually brightening the bedroom. Different-colored shards shot in every direction, a lovely rainbow spray of blue, pink, purple and green.
Shaye eased up, surprisingly relaxed. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before scanning the room, hoping an exit would reveal itself in the bright light of day. The bathing pool still steamed and bubbled with hot water. Violet cloth still draped the windows. Columns still rose to the ceiling, majestic and—
She gasped. A painting had been hung on the wall, beside the vanity. A painting that hadn’t been there last night.
It was a painting of her. A close-up of her face. In black and white, with only spots of color. Twin pink circles highlighted her cheeks while her lips were dark red.
Her eyes somehow sparkled with mischief, her eyelids at half-mast, heavy and slumberous; she looked ready and eager for a man. But not just any man...
Her lips were slightly kiss-swollen, a smile threatening to break free.
Valerian must have spent the entire night working on it.
Is this how he sees me?
Her mind rebelled. She wasn’t mischievous, and she rarely smiled. He must have painted his desires—the way he wanted her to be.
Disappointment delivered a one-two punch to her midsection.
Can’t you be nice for once, Shaye?
Why can’t you be more like your stepsister, Shaye?
What will it take to get rid of your perma-scowl, Shaye?
Mumbling under her breath, she lumbered from the bed and crossed the bridge, avoiding the surrounding pits. Why did Valerian have those death traps in here, anyway?
Wait. The palace—fortress, whatever—used to belong to the dragons, he’d said. They must have used those pits to fly in and out of the room.
And how scary that she had begun to think like an Atlantean, considering the different races as part of everyday life.
Anyway. Maybe she could climb down? Or scale down with a sheet, since she didn’t have a ladder.
Yeah, and she could also fall to her death.
So. No scaling.
Shaye used the surprisingly modern bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up, hoping the water would also wash away her darker emotions. A pipe dream.
She wanted to go home, and she wanted to go home now. Nothing and no one confused her there. Nothing and no one made her wish for more, for better.
Her employees were probably missing her. Or had they not yet noticed her absence? She was always the first one there and the last to leave, her time spent locked inside her office.
Whatever. If she wanted to leave, she’d have to walk out the front door. And what better time? Valerian could be sleeping.
Unbidden, his image rose front and center in her mind. He was so strong, so proud. So danged sexual. A hedonist to the extreme, with skin that looked like dark, lickable cream, hair as radiant as spun gold, and eyes...oh, his eyes. Those turquoise irises beckoned. They teased. They promised. His long, dark lashes acted as the perfect frame, the perfect contrast.
Stalling?
As quietly as possible, she tiptoed toward the door. The closer she was, the stronger Valerian’s masculine scent became, a heady mixture of aroused man and determined warrior. Her skin prickled with heat. She tried to hold her nose, to fight the scent’s allure and the weakening effect it had on her.
Her heart drummed a staccato rhythm—da-dum da-dum dadada-dum—as she clasped the knob and twisted. Would Valerian be out there, awake and waiting?
“Good morning, Shaye.”
His husky voice jolted her, and as she flattened a hand over her throat, she belted out, “Crap!”
He stood just in front of her, his muscled arms crossed over his massive chest, his legs braced apart. Their gazes clashed, her treacherous heart losing track of its rhythm and skipping a beat.
He looked even more unbelievably mouthwatering than before.
Golden hair tumbled onto his forehead and shoulders. He was still shirtless, his body roped with the tightest abs she’d ever seen. A leather band wrapped around him, holding a sword against his back.
Trembling now, she licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze raked over her, and she suspected he had just peeled away her clothing. “Waiting for you, of course. You are gorgeous.”
She shifted from one foot to the other. His voice had dipped as he’d uttered the compliment. A take-no-prisoners timbre. Pure temptation and utter decadence.
He’s a lecherous abductor. Dangerous in every way.
Right. She mentally reinforced the icy walls around her heart.
“Did you like your painting?” he asked.
A shiver tripped along her spine. “Yes. No.”
He arched a sandy brow. “No?”
“Honestly? I both love and hate it. You painted an almost-smile on my face.”
“A look you tried to hide from me but couldn’t.”
He had amused her on several occasions. But...
He was that aware of her?
Dang him. He was seducing her again, and he wasn’t even trying!
It wasn’t fair. He had experience. She didn’t. But just as he was learning about her, she was learning about him. He wasn’t needlessly cruel or even merciless. He clearly loved and respected his men and wanted the very best for them.
“Be honest,” she said. “If we got married and had a daughter—” ovaries threatening to exploded again “—what would you do if some man came along and kidnapped her?”
Tension radiated from him. He raised his chin. “I would kill the bastard.”
A pang of envy—all for a make-believe daughter! Her own father would be too afraid of someone like Valerian to act against him.
“You would kill someone for doing exactly as you’ve done,” she said softly.
A musc
le ticked beneath his eye. “I will die without you, Shaye. You would sentence me to death?”
He didn’t mean he would literally die. No way, no how. “You’re describing love at first sight. Which I don’t believe is possible.”
“No, I’m describing mate at first sight.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Everything and nothing,” he replied cryptically. He waved a hand through the air, a regal command to move on to the next topic. “Did you dream of me?”
She allowed the subject change because she’d made her point and given him something to consider.
“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. She had. She’d dreamed of his hands on her body, caressing her...of his mouth doing delicious things.
His lush lips inched into a surprised but pleased smile. “Tell me. Every detail.”
“You were naked,” she told him.
His grin spread, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“And you were tied up...”
He appeared intrigued. “I had no idea bondage would excite you.”
“Oh, I adore the idea of tying you up.” She paused dramatically, and just like the Shaye in the painting, she fought a grin of her own. Maybe he knew her better than she’d given him credit for, after all. “You were secured to an anthill, being eaten alive.”
He barked out a charming laugh. “Such a cruel woman, my Shaye.”
His Shaye. Tremors nearly toppled her, her good humor vanishing in an instant...replaced by stunning desire.
He propped his shoulder against the side wall, a pose of carnal relaxation. Fall into my arms, his posture proclaimed. I’ll catch you.
“I dreamed of you, too,” he said.
Shivers cascaded through her. “Do tell.”
“You were naked, as well.”
Suddenly light-headed, she backed up a step. “Is it too much to hope I was tied to an anthill?”
“Yes.” He stepped toward her, intent and intense. “You were splayed on my dinner table, ready to quench my hunger.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, deliciously wicked. “I devoured you.”
Breathe; she had to breathe. The oxygen she did manage to draw in burned her throat, singed her lungs. As he’d spoken, his words had painted a picture in her mind. A terribly beautiful picture as vivid as the one he’d painted on the canvas.
His tongue...on her...in her...
“Come,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll feed your hunger.”
Yes, oh, yes. I want him.
No! She batted at his wrist. “I’d rather starve than feast on your body.”
“I wasn’t planning to feed you from my body...yet.”
Oh. Disappointment—
Did not bloom. Nope. Not even a tiny spark.
“What about the warrior?” she asked. “Joachim?”
The muscle began to jump under his eye again. “I’ll deal with him when he awakens. Until then, you need sustenance if you’re to keep up your strength.”
Well. Maybe if she starved herself, he’d take her home? “No, thank you. I’m good.”
His eyes narrowed. “We could bargain,” he cajoled.
What was with the man and his bargaining? “I eat and you’ll...what?”
“Kiss you anywhere you’d like.”
Save me.
She had to force her mind to blank. “Um, you really need to work on your bargaining skills. They suck.” Had her voice shaken?
“I understand.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “You would rather I offer you an orgasm.”
“What!” Her cheeks fused with heat, and a tremor stole over her. “No!”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes?” Her cheeks burned hotter. “Yes. Very.”
“Too bad.” Valerian took another step toward her, his masculine scent wafting to her, filling her nostrils. Strong and spicy—so arousing her tee abraded her nipples and an ache throbbed between her legs.
She’d never been a sexual creature, and these new sensations rocked her to the core. How long could she fight them? How long could she resist this man?
“What thoughts are rolling through your head, hmm?” he asked, his voice huskier than before.
Did he know she was aroused? No, no. He couldn’t. Please!
“I was—” What? She wouldn’t admit the truth, but she wouldn’t lie, either. “You’re right. I’m hungry.”
For several seconds he remained quiet. She used the time to cool her molten desires, reciting math equations in her mind.
Men = Heartbreak × Wasted Time.
Of course: Heartbreak = Wasted Time.
So: Men = Heartbreak × (Heartbreak) = Relationship.
Therefore: Relationship = Pain + Suffering.
Conclusion? Men = Pain + Suffering.
“Come, Moon.” Once again, he extended his hand. “I will feed you.”
“Food?” she asked, just to be certain.
“Food.”
Very well. She placed her hand in his. Such heat! Such strength! His calluses delighted her.
Contact had been a mistake. A big—really big—mistake. But she didn’t pull away. He brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss...to lick and taste, and she shivered.
“Valerian.”
“Shaye.” He smiled at her, a slice of heaven in a life that had been hell.
To distract herself, she drafted a new card. Roses are red, Valerian is sex. This poem makes no sense. Trouble.
CHAPTER TEN
JOACHIM LAY IN HIS BED, his arms propped under his head. He stared up at the glistening ceiling, wishing he could take comfort in something, anything. Or someone. Would he even recognize comfort nowadays?
Night had long since passed, and morning had arrived. He shifted and eyed the wall of weapons he’d acquired over the years. A weapon for every man, woman or creature he’d slain. Their numbers were so vast, he’d stopped keeping count.
He wasn’t ashamed of his violent past. Far from it. He reveled in his victories. The bloodier the better.
He was a man without honor, compassion, or mercy. A mistake, his mother had once said. The true nymph king, his father had then retorted.
So. Joachim’s behavior with the redhead had shredded his pride.
After leaving his cousin and the pale-haired female, Joachim had brought the lushly rounded redhead to his chamber. He’d been poised to enter her—ready to burst. She’d been writhing in passion, opening herself wider, pleading for more.
So of course he’d stopped. Just stopped! Like a trembling lad about to claim his first female, afraid of blowing his load before he was able to sheathe himself completely.
As he had peered down at her, the sense of all-consuming need had abandoned him, there one moment, gone the next. An image of the dark-headed witch he’d wanted so badly at the selection ceremony had flashed through his mind.
He yearned to tangle his fingers in her curls, to put his mouth on her ripe little body—to roll her body under his. Hers, and only hers.
Craving a specific female was new to him.
Next he’d pictured the little witch in Shivawn’s arms, moaning, mindless with pleasure, and a terrible rage had blackened his mood.
Your mood is always black.
True. But never to such a terrible degree.
Joachim’s bed partner had tried her best to reignite his passions, but she’d failed miserably. He should have given her an orgasm anyway. He might have strengthened, at least a little bit.
Instead, he’d sent her away to find another lover.
Fool! He was as weak as before. But at least Valerian, too, was weakened this day, having gone without a woman’s touch—his mate’s touch. If his claims were to be believed.
Mate.
How Joachim longed to find his own mate; that one woman who would love him above all others.
He sighed. He didn’t want to take the pale woman from Valerian. She didn’t excite him. Not like the dark-headed witch, with her lush curves.
What was her name? She hadn’t said. Hadn’t spoken at all. He wondered what her voice would be like. Low and husky? Sweet and soft?
If he’d had the opportunity to choose her, the night would have ended differently. Now Shivawn would pay for taking her, forcing Joachim to push Valerian into issuing a challenge before the appointed time.
Do nothing until you’re ready, his father had told him. Until you’re absolutely certain you’ll win.
Joachim liked and admired his cousin, but he liked and admired power more.
He’d never enjoyed being told what to do. He preferred to give the orders, forcing others to do his bidding. Even his women. He was master. He was commander.
Never bend, never break.
His cousin ruled with an iron fist, expecting total and complete obedience, even from family.
Perhaps the appointed time had arrived. Joachim had an opportunity to take the crown at long last.
Valerian had offered to fight him, true, but Joachim wouldn’t become king if—when—he won. And he would win. His cousin’s honor would prevent him from doing the dirty deeds, the things that needed to be done. Like kicking a man while he was down.
My specialty.
No, Valerian had to willingly agree to surrender his throne. Would he?
His cousin had spent an entire night considering his limited options. Surely he’d realized there was only one way to keep the pale woman.
“I will be king,” Joachim snarled.
Some men were meant for greatness. Some were not. Valerian had made many foolish mistakes lately.
The first: he’d left the nymph females behind to lay siege to this palace, citing their safety mattered more than the strength of the army.
Nothing mattered more than the strength of an army!
The women were now lost, probably captured, with no trace of them in either the Inner or Outer City.
Yes, Valerian had a contingent of men searching. But that wasn’t enough. The women wouldn’t need finding if the king had brought them along.
Forbidden Craving Page 9