The Nymph King a-3

by Gena Showalter

  Idiot! Shaye didn't need a lot of experience with men to know she dangled on a precarious edge. If he pushed, she would crumble. She would take the momentary pleasure he offered and be glad for it. But in the taking, she would be no better than the others, forgetting his atrocious crime and throwing herself at his sexy feet.

  She'd be one of those pathetic creatures who did anything for pleasure, everything for love. Just like her mom.

  Make him despise you. Hurt him. Now! Determined, she jerked up her knee. He anticipated the action and jumped backward, out of striking distance. His mouth thinned and firmed.

  "I warn you now." He met her gaze, otherworldly blue against plain brown. Determination against determination. "Fight me if you must, but do not attempt escape. I will punish you, have no doubt."

  She forced herself to snort. "I haven't begun to fight. And what the hell do you mean, you'll punish me?" The fury she didn't have to force. It increased with every word she uttered. "A little while ago you said you could never hurt me."

  "There are ways to punish a woman that will not physically hurt her."

  "And I bet you know every one of them, you sick pervert."

  He released a long, frustrated sigh. "We have not the time to fight right now. Come. I will show you Atlantis before we meet with the others." Reaching out, he offered her his hand.

  She stared at his blunt-tipped fingers, at the calluses and scars slashed across his palm, a contrast to his perfect beauty. As she stared, her anger drained. Total strength lay there, dormant now, but ready to kill at any moment. Except... he could have crushed her with those hands at any time. He'd shown her nothing but gentleness.

  Foolish woman, she chided, placing her hand in his. Of course he hasn't hurt you. He needs a healthy sex slave. His fingers intertwined with hers. At the moment of contact, dark, erotic pulses tingled through her. They'd touched before, and each time had elicited sparks. But this time... it was more intense. A deeper awareness in this skin-to-skin contact she'd wanted so badly but hadn't wanted to want. Gasping, she tried to tug away from him, to sever the connection. He held tight.

  "Mine," he said.

  She bit the inside of her cheek against the pleasure that one declaration wrought. "I don't understand any of this. I don't understand you."

  "You will. In time."

  The dire words—warning? promise?—rang in her head as she climbed the rest of the wooden stairs. At the top, two gleaming crystal doors were held open by giant rubies. Jeweled doorstops?

  Curiosity got the better of her. "Why do you have the entrance propped open like that?"

  "A dragon medallion is needed to open and close the doorways, and I do not wish to wear anything belonging to a dragon." He spat the word dragon as if it was a foul curse.

  What kind of response could she offer to that?

  He tossed a frown over his shoulder. "And you had better not try to search for a medallion. If you do, you will be punished."

  "Will I be punished for breathing?" she snapped. He seemed to be looking for an excuse to punish her.

  "If it is done in the direction of another man, yes." The warning was serious, though the tone lacked true heat.

  "Pig."

  "Lover."

  "Bastard."

  He flicked another glance over his shoulder. This time his lips were curled in a wicked half smile, and knowing intent sizzled in his eyes like blue fire. "Say that while we're naked. I dare you."

  She gulped and tore her attention away from him. A smart woman would have been memorizing her surroundings for possible escape routes instead of antagonizing (aka drooling over) her captor.

  Shaye forced herself to act like a smart woman. Down a long, winding hallway they strode, the walls jagged once again and completely barren, offering no distinguishing marks to help her find her way back. They turned left. Left again. Right. Left. Right. They bypassed several open doorways, but they moved so quickly she had no chance to peek inside. The sound of their footsteps echoed throughout the hall.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "My bedchamber."

  "Your what?" Mouth opening and closing, she dug her sandy, squishy sandals into the marble floor. "Hell, no. Hell. No."

  He could have dragged her along, but he stopped and faced her. His luscious mouth twitched in amusement. "We will not make love tonight unless you beg me for it. Does that appease this sudden fear you have of my room?"

  "No," she gritted out.

  "I wish only to show you the Outer City from my window." He sighed another of those long, drawn-out exhalations. "Unfortunately there is not time for anything more."

  Glaring, she anchored her hands on her hips. "You're lying. Your kind always has time for sex."

  "My kind?" The smile quickly faded from his face. "By that I hope you mean the honest kind. I vowed never to lie to you, and I will not. My honor demands nothing less. I said I will not touch you tonight until you beg for it, so that is the way it will be."

  Shaye didn't allow his fervent vow to sway her. Even if he kept his word and kept his hands to himself, they would be near a bed. Most likely a decadent, made-for-sin bed. What if she saw it, lost her will to resist, and made a pass at him? "Your honor doesn't mean shit to me. I'm not going to your bedroom."

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. An inferno blazed in his eyes, a churning tempest of blues. From cerulean to azure to the palest violet. "Very well," he said, each syllable precise. "We will not steal a moment for ourselves. We will join the others. I can only hope your prudish nature will prevent my men from choosing you."

  "Choosing me for what?" she bit out, ignoring the "prudish" comment. She suspected the answer, and she almost screamed when it came.

  His brows arched, and his lips dipped downward. "For their bedmate, of course."

  CHAPTER 6

  VALERIAN HAD TO CARRY his intended mate to the dining hall. Something he enjoyed immensely, even though she kicked and shouted profanities the entire way. Her breasts pressed into his back, her legs draped over his stomach.

  He grinned. Oh, but he liked this woman's spirit. How amusing she was. He only wished he knew her name. Up Yours, indeed. She refused to tell him the truth, and that he didn't like. He hadn't cared before, with other women, but knowing this one's name seemed necessary for his survival.

  "I will not be your sex slave, and I will not be your army's sex slave. Do you understand me? I won't!"

  No, she would be his lover. His mate. His. And only his. Earlier he had seen the way his men glanced at her, the way their gazes had trailed over the curve of her waist, awaiting glimpses of the pale skin beneath her grass skirt.

  Perhaps he would not keep her dressed that way, as he'd first thought. Perhaps he would drape her in thick, dark cloth from head to toe. As it was, one of his warriors would probably try to select her. What man could resist the fire burning beneath the cool facade, begging for release?

  Valerian would kill before he allowed another man to have her.

  He'd told her that his honor would not allow him to lie, but really, honor meant nothing in the face of losing her. He'd lie, he'd cheat, he'd do whatever was necessary to ensure that no other man tried to claim her.

  As he turned a corner, Valerian wished the little moonbeam would have let him take her to his room. He would have shown her the city view as promised, yes, but he also would have utilized the stolen time to the fullest. He would have tempted and tantalized her until she thought only of him. A forbidden caress, a lingering, heated glance. His men would have seen how much she desired him, only him, and would have been less inclined to choose her.

  Now he would have to think of something else.

  "Take me back to the beach," she said, beating her fists against his buttocks. "Right now, damn it! I'm through playing nice. Do you hear me?"

  "I am not sure how many different ways I can tell you that this is your home and you are staying here forever." Perhaps it was best they hadn't gone to his room. Now he could get the select
ion process over with. Now he could prove she belonged to him. Now his men could concentrate on their chosen.

  He, of course, could then concentrate on... Up Yours. "What is your name?" he asked. While her continued defiance was amusing, it was also frustrating.

  "When the cops hear about this you'll... you'll... this is kidnapping, you bastard."

  That she didn't want him and would have been happiest if he'd left her on the surface world was as humbling as it was shocking. "You are frightened," he rationalized. "I am sorry for that."

  "Frightened? Ha! I'm pissed."

  Despite her denial, he knew she was scared. Her heartbeat drummed erratically against his back, and he could feel the shallow exhalations of her breath against his skin. She fought the emotion, however, showing only fury. His admiration for her increased.

  Gods, he wanted—nay, needed—her. To kiss her. To know the taste of her tongue. He'd come close to kissing her in the cave. But one touch of her sweet little tongue, and he would not have been able to stop. One touch and he would have needed a second and a third. He knew it. He would have spread her legs, laved his tongue through her heat, then pounded inside her to the hilt. So deep she would only have been able to gasp his name.

  He knew women and knew this one would be violent with her passions. Look at the way she reacted to anger and fear, like a hissing, scratching wildcat. Her sexual desire would be no different. Once she unleashed her inner fire, she would erupt into flames, burning her lover to sated ashes.

  That passion belonged to him, he mused darkly.

  Frowning, he came to a halt. "Will you attack any man who attempts to claim you?" With a gentle tug, he moved her body down his. Slowly, so slowly. Their naked stomachs brushed, and she sucked in a breath. His muscles jumped in excited reaction.

  She might deny it, but she was aware of him in a very sexual way.

  "Will you attack them?" he repeated. He'd plant the suggestion in her mind, if necessary.

  "Damn right I will." Her eyes glared amber fire at him, daring him to contradict her or threaten to punish her. "I'll fight to the death. Their deaths."

  As if he would punish her for something he wanted desperately. His lips edged into a contented smile. Since he could not make her admit her desire for him—yet—this was the next best thing.

  Get this over with. Urgency filling him, he intertwined their fingers and pulled her behind him. They quickly bypassed the training arena, as well as the kitchens. "Do you like the palace?" he asked before she could begin protesting again. See the beauty, he silently commanded. Sconces decorated the walls, flames flickering inside and illuminating the path.

  Her eyes locked on the murals, murals so vivid they almost looked alive. Sensual multihued scenes, all, where naked men, women and creatures of every race writhed in different stages of orgasm. He and his men had painted the scenes to make the palace theirs, not the dragons'.

  Nymphs were natural wanderers, flittering from one location to the other, always searching for the next sexual conquest. They'd never cared where they resided. But Valerian had grown weary of that type of existence. He'd wanted more for himself, more for his people. He could not pinpoint exactly what had made him feel this way; he only knew that a sense of restlessness had been growing inside of him for months and that the thought of wandering had no longer held any appeal.

  When he learned a mere hatchling of a dragon had been left in charge of this palace, he'd decided to take it. Quickly. Easily.

  And so he had.

  He did not regret the decision. Once he'd entered the palace, his restlessness had been replaced by rightness. Valerian tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he needed to take the woman at his side the same way he'd taken the dragon palace. With cunning. With precision. With an absolute lack of mercy.

  Oh, yes. Slowly his lips lifted in a grin. She would soon find herself on the receiving end of a full-scale, irresistible attack. He could hardly wait to begin.

  "Do you like the palace?" he asked again.

  She hesitated before saying, "I'll be honest. Your home... the walls, remind me of you."

  Our home, little moonbeam, our home. "Thank you."

  Frowning, she slapped at his hand, trying to force him to release his hold. "That wasn't a compliment."

  "Being told pictures of sex make you think of me is not a compliment?"

  Her mouth fell open, but she snapped it closed. "That's not how I meant it, and you know it."

  He chuckled. "Deny it all you want, but every time you look at me you think of naked flesh and writhing pleasure."

  "Don't forget the gag and rope," she growled. "Let me go."

  "I like the sound of the rope."

  "You would, you dirty pervert."

  The air was heavy with anticipation and excitement as he stepped into the dining hall. Up Yours stilled, gasped. He stopped and wrapped an arm around her waist. For once, she didn't protest. Didn't fight. Shock probably held her captive.

  "We have arrived," he announced. A contingent of warriors lined one side of the room. A sweet-smelling cluster of females lined the other. And a large wooden table etched with fierce dragon heads separated them.

  He'd meant to destroy the table, for he wanted no dragon possession in his home. But he'd found no other table large enough for his men.

  Perhaps he'd keep it and love his woman on it.

  The walls were plain onyx and ivory. Before, sapphires and emeralds, diamonds and rubies had glittered from the wide expanse, but they had been removed by human soldiers months ago. Those humans had been slaughtered by dragons, providing the opportunity Valerian needed to sneak his men inside and conquer.

  Usually nymphs only attacked when provoked, keeping their bestial natures under strict control. Yet dragons were enemy to the only ally they possessed: the vampires. Unlike every other race in Atlantis, the vampires did not curse the nymphs for their power over women; they did not seethe with jealousy. Layel, the king, found it amusing.

  Wiggling at Valerian's side, his mate said, "I'm not placing myself on the menu of this—this smorgasbord." Her elbow slammed into his stomach, almost knocking the air from his lungs.

  "Be still, woman."

  "Die, bastard."

  His men watched them with varying expressions of horror. He'd taught each of them the surface language, for he believed knowledge equaled power, so they knew exactly what the little moonbeam had said to him. Women simply did not act that way. Not with Valerian, at least. Women loved and worshipped him. They fought for his notice. They begged for his touch.

  They did not command him to die!

  He was not embarrassed by this display, however. No, he was elated. If Valerian, the most desired of the nymphs, failed to woo her, his men would know that they were destined to fail with her, as well. And by choosing her and failing, they would be forced to sleep alone this night, something they would hope to avoid. For right now, they wanted sex. Not love, not a mate. Just sex.

  Valerian had to force himself to frown when he tapped her bottom, knowing it would encourage her antics all the more.

  She screeched. "Did you just spank me? Tell me you didn't just spank me, Valerian, before I introduce your nose to my fist. Again."

  Ah, he loved hearing his name from her soft, pink lips. Because her face was so pale, the color of her lips stood out like a beacon, lush and begging to be sampled.

  "I'm waiting," she growled.

  "No. You're beautiful."

  At first her expression softened and he was given a glimpse of a sweet and vulnerable female. He almost kissed her, unable to help himself. Then fury sparked in her eyes, driving away the heart-melting image. "Don't talk to me like that. I don't like it."

  He blinked. She would rather he utter mean things? Interesting. Confusing and odd, as well, but something to ponder. Why would a woman want such a thing? Was it a defense against him?

  "My king," Broderick prompted. "We are ready. We have instructed the women to remain in line unt
il they are chosen."

  A quick count revealed more men than women. "My elite will pick first," Valerian said. They had fought in more wars, were stronger, faster, and needed sex more than an average solider.

  The elite cheered. The others groaned in disappointment.

  "Stay quiet," he said to his woman, knowing very well she would do the opposite. "And stay in this line. My men need a good look at you."

  To his utter delight, she retorted, "Like hell. No matter how eager everyone else might be, I will not quietly accept this T-and-A pageant. I will not passively stand here."

  Except... she didn't bolt. No, she pressed into his side, allowing him to surround her with his strength, though she still wouldn't face him. Her shoulder brushed his chest, and several strands of her silky hair caught in his nipple loop. He could hear the erratic beat of her heart, could feel the warmth of her soft, soft skin.

  He splayed his fingers over her rib cage, and she shivered.

  He had to see her face, had to see what emotions lingered there. Helpless, he cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. Their gazes clashed and held. The rest of the world faded away, as it always seemed to do when he looked at her. Her eyes were dark velvet, rich and warm, absolutely riveting in her pale face.

  "What is your name?" he found himself asking again.

  "There's no reason for you to know," she said breathlessly. She licked her lips, then ran the plump bottom between her teeth. His cock jumped in reaction. "I'm leaving soon. Very soon."

  As if he would ever allow this delicious morsel to leave him. "If I promise to help you drive these men away," he whispered, "will you tell me?"

  "I—maybe." Her eyelids slitted, and the length of her lashes cast spiky shadows over her cheeks. "Why would you help me?"

  Why indeed. The answer should be obvious to her. "I want to keep you for myself." He stated the words as baldly as possible, smiling slowly, eagerly. He needed an extreme reaction from her. Anything to appall his men further.