The Nymph King a-3

by Gena Showalter

  "But I would like to."

  As he spoke, his face swam before her mind. Perfect masculinity, rugged and untamed. If she dared touch him, his hair would be silky soft, and the gold strands would tickle her palms. She knew it.

  "Will you let me know you, Shaye?" he asked quietly.

  She could make out the shadowed outline of his body, just beyond the doorway. She watched his strong fingers trace the lace separating them. Was he imagining the cloth was her body? Imagining those fingertips circling her nipples, trekking down her stomach, past her panties and—A shiver racked her, and she frowned.

  This type of reaction was unacceptable.

  "No," she said. "There will be no getting to know each other." Already she wanted him. What would happen if she actually learned what made him tick?

  She valued her independence, her solitariness, and being with a nymph would strip those things away layer by precious layer. So many times now, she'd seen women become mindless around them, forgetting everything except sex. Shaye refused to allow the same fate to befall her.

  "I need something from you, little Shaye, and I am willing to deal with you. Bargain," Valerian said, interrupting her thoughts. "Negotiate."

  Her eyes narrowed on his large silhouette. "For what, exactly?"

  "I will be silent for the rest of the night if you agree to give me your affections."

  She snorted. "You're not getting my affection."

  "Compliments, then. Will you give me compliments?"

  "No. Absolutely not."

  He sighed with regret. "Won't you give me something?"

  "I'm giving you grief, aren't I?"

  He paused, chuckled. "So you are."

  Stop talking to him and find a way out of here, her mind shouted. Steps clipped, she approached the far, jewel-encrusted wall. In the hall and dining area, the walls had been bare, as if someone had stolen the gems. Here, wealth abounded. Maybe... She brightened. Maybe one of the jewels was actually a latch that would open a door into some sort of corridor.

  "I wish to become your slave, Shaye. I wish to cater to your every desire, to see to your every pleasure." Valerian's voice was smooth, mesmerizing. "Do you not desire such things from me?"

  She struggled to harden herself against him, to retain the wall of ice around her emotions. If she ever decided to—God forbid—enter into a relationship, it would not be with a nymph (aka male whore). No matter how irresistible. Shaye knew herself well enough to know she despised sharing. She'd shared her parents with their ever-changing lovers. She'd shared her childhood with sometimes cruel, rarely caring stepsisters and brothers, with loneliness and disappointment.

  If ever she gave herself to someone, it would be to a man who wanted her and only her. A man who would give up his life to make her happy. She, in turn, would do the same.

  Was she asking and offering too much? Absolutely. But it was what she wanted, and she wouldn't settle for less—even though she knew it was an impossible dream. Perhaps that was why she wanted it in the first place. If she couldn't have it, she didn't have to worry about heartbreak.

  Valerian talked a good talk, and God knows he could probably walk a delectable, mind-shattering walk all over her body, but he'd do the same for any and every woman who caught his fancy. He wanted "now" from her, a momentary dalliance, no ties afterward.

  No, thank you.

  She could have had that on the surface.

  Silently she worked the room for two hours, feeling every ounce of wall and floor she could reach. To her vast disappointment, frustration and fury, she found no hidden latch. She was stuck here. If she were home, she would be peacefully tucked in bed right now. Alone. And lonely, her mind piped up.

  "Shut up, you stupid brain," she muttered. Lonely was good. Besides, she had a fulfilling life. She would have woken up in the morning, had coffee with her assistant and discussed the day's events. She would have presented a new card idea, probably something along the lines of Congratulations on your new promotion. Before you go, would you mind taking the knife out of my back? You'll probably need it again. Her assistant would have laughed, the rest of the staff would have laughed, and she would have felt like a smart, appreciated person. Not like a confused, horny teenager.

  "Go to sleep, moon," Valerian said, cutting into her thoughts. "I sense you're upset. Since I cannot comfort you as I would like... "

  "Well, you're responsible for it." She tangled a hand through her hair, nearly ripping out the strands. "Please, Valerian. Take me back to the beach."

  A pause. Heavy. Thick. "What is so important there that you must return to it?"

  "My home." Paid in full. "My job." Her only real source of accomplishment.

  "What was your job?"

  He'd used past tense. She made sure to use present. "I make anti-greeting cards," she said proudly.

  "Tell me of these anti-cards," he beseeched.

  It was a subject she embraced. "There are many companies that produce sappy I love you, I miss you type salutations. Not mine. They say just the opposite."

  "I am not surprised," he said, chuckling. "Can you not make such cards here?"

  She could, but she didn't want to, so she ignored his question. God, how was she going to get out of here?

  "I notice you do not mention friends and family," he said a short while later.

  Knowing exactly where this conversation was headed, she should have stopped it then. Should have told him to get lost and leave her alone. But for some reason, she didn't. Couldn't. "That's right," she found herself saying.

  "Why?"

  She leaned her forehead against the cool wall and squeezed her eyes closed. Lie. Make him feel guilty. "I don't have many friends," she admitted instead, the truth a tangible entity that refused to be denied, "and I don't get along with my family."

  "Why?" he repeated.

  Why, indeed. "You might have noticed I don't have the sweetest of personalities."

  He barked a quick laugh. "Yes, perhaps I did notice."

  "That tends to drive people away." The way she intended. Her hands slid up the glittering stone and anchored beside her head. Telling him about her life was dangerous, giving him ammunition against her, but she couldn't seem to end it. He called to something deep inside her. Something... primitive.

  "You have not driven me away," he said quietly.

  "No, I haven't." She sighed. Why hadn't she? Why hadn't he run from her? Run as fast as his feet could carry him?

  "What is so important about your home and job that you cannot stay here with me? I can be your family. I can be your friend. You can sell the cards to me."

  "I worked hard for my home. It's mine. I worked hard to make my job a success. I have nothing here."

  "But you could." He was still speaking in that soft, tender voice. Let me give you everything, his words implied.

  A hot ache squeezed at her chest. She needed to fortify herself against this man, she reminded herself. "Why are you doing this to me? You could have any of the other women. They would eagerly come to you and do anything you asked of them."

  "They are not you."

  A simple sentence, yes, but it rocked her to the core. Scowling, she straightened. "What's so special about me, hmm? I defy you to name one thing."

  For a long while he didn't reply, and that both elated and defeated her. Stupid, she chastised herself, to crave praise from him. The goal was to convince him he didn't want her. Right? "Well?"

  Still nothing. Not a single remark or declaration.

  "I didn't think so," she finally muttered. She turned her back to the door and stomped toward the bed, battling despair. She needed to think, to consider all her options. Chatting it up with her abductor wasted valuable time.

  She'd stay awake all night if she had to, but she wasn't giving up. She would find a way home. She wouldn't sleep, even though she needed the rest. In slumber, she would become even more vulnerable to Valerian. He would be able to sneak into the room and do whatever he wanted to her—and s
he would have no idea.

  But deep down, she knew that was a lie. A defense against him. When that man pleasured a woman, the woman would know it. Even in sleep, she would know. Her body would sing and weep with pleasure.

  The man was a menace.

  A menace who couldn't name one thing about her that he liked. Bastard.

  "Don't come inside this room," she barked. "Do you hear me? And don't speak to me again. I need silence."

  "Shaye."

  His guttural growling of her name froze her in place. He'd sounded like he was in pain, like he was about to fall down a long, dark, never-ending pit. "What?" She hoped for a waspish tone, but the question emerged as nothing more than a wisp of air. Was he hurt?

  "You are the woman of my heart. The one I have been awaiting the whole of my life, though I didn't know it until I spied you. There isn't one thing that makes you special to me, but all things. Now sleep. Tomorrow promises to be a day ripe with unpleasantness."

  Just like that, her knees buckled. She would have fallen flat on her face if she hadn't grabbed the edge of the bed and held herself upright. Dear God. Those words. No one—not her mother, not her father, not brother or sisters or an endless string of nannies—had ever spoken to her like that. Made her feel so important, so necessary.

  She barely knew Valerian. In their short time together, she'd railed at him, desired him, cursed him and hit him. Now, with a few words, he made her long to throw herself at him. To destroy every wall she'd ever built, melt every piece of ice she'd ever surrounded herself with, and just throw herself at him.

  "Dear God," she whispered, horrified. Everything she'd ever secretly dreamed of hearing had just come from Valerian's lips. How was she going to resist him now?

  CHAPTER 9

  VALERIAN SPENT the entire night posted at Shaye's door. She'd finally obeyed him, had at last slipped into sleep. Stubborn girl that she was, she had fought it until the end.

  He was hyperaware of her every movement. Every sound she made. For hours she'd searched for a way out of the room, then she'd paced and muttered under her breath about "stupid men," "stupid emotions" and "stupid mystical cities coming to life." But her steps had eventually slowed, her curses eventually ceased. He'd heard her drift into unconsciousness with a soft sigh. A quick peek had confirmed that she did indeed sleep, sprawled on the cold, hard floor, her hair spilling around her like a snowy curtain.

  He suspected she'd avoided the bed on purpose, and he was still frowning about that fact. Did she think he would not take her if she was not on a bed? Silly woman. He would take her wherever, however he could get her.

  Gods, he wanted so badly to touch her.

  Just one touch... Such a heady thought. Surely there was nothing wrong with placing her on the bed. He was her man, after all, and it was his duty to see to her comfort.

  He shouldn't—he knew he shouldn't—but he allowed himself to enter the room. He swept aside the lace that covered the doorway. Much as he might crave sexual contact with her, he would not touch her in that way. That had been his promise to Joachim... and to Shaye. And he would keep that promise. Gods help him, he would keep it.

  His steps quiet, he moved toward her. She still lay on the ground, on her back, one hand over her head, the other next to her ear. He sucked in a breath.

  She looked like a winter goddess, a snow nymph, lovelier than Aphrodite herself. That pale hair ribboned around her delicate frame, the strands so silky they glistened as if they'd been sprinkled with starlight. Her eyelashes were light, only a shade darker than her hair. Her lips, those soft, lush, all-your-dreams-come-true lips were parted, begging to be kissed.

  Resist, he commanded himself. Resist her allure.

  Too late.

  She uttered a breathy, sleep-rich sigh. His inexhaustible desire clamored to instant life, reaching for her. Frantic for her. He wanted that sigh in his ears, on his chest—lower still—her breath warm and caressing. If only she didn't appear so soft and vulnerable, so ripe for the taking...

  She was to be his greatest satisfaction, his greatest pleasure.

  Damn Joachim to Hades, wanting something—someone—that belonged to Valerian! As the curse echoed through his mind, he found his lips lifting in wry humor. Could he blame the man for coveting such an enchanting morsel as Shaye?

  Hades, yes! he decided in the next instant. He scowled. She was meant for no man save himself, and those who thought otherwise deserved a painful death. Valerian had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Shaye, and not being able to have her immediately was... difficult. Hard—literally.

  Bending down, he scooped her into his arms. She was as light as he remembered. As soft. As warm. As lovely. "I will have you yet," he told her. "Say nothing if you agree with me."

  Of course she made no reply.

  He was grinning, his humor restored, as he carried her to the bed. Gently he placed her on the mattress, his arms already protesting her loss. He removed her sandals and traced his finger over her coral-painted toes. As he straightened, he smoothed the hair from her face and reveled in the feel of her glorious skin. As cool as she looked, she was surprisingly, wondrously hot.

  "Dream of me, moon," he whispered.

  The pink tip of her tongue emerged and swept over her lips. A wave of desire swept through him as he imagined himself meeting her tongue with his own. Twining. Dueling. Tasting.

  Sucking.

  "I'll dream of you, I have no doubt." Lingering a moment more, he traced his fingertip over the seam of her lips. She sighed breathily again. His stomach clenched; every muscle in his body hardened.

  He couldn't tear his eyes from her, but he knew he had to leave her soon, or he wouldn't be able to do so at all. The longer he stayed, the more his control would slip. Already it clung precariously to a sense of honor he wasn't sure he possessed anymore. A sense of honor he truly despised for the first time in his existence.

  One look at Shaye and she was all he thought about, all he craved, wanted. Needed.

  Leave! Now. Slowly, so slowly, he backed out of the room. His gaze remained on her heavenly form for as long as possible. When the lace finally blocked his view, his hands tightened into fists. He leaned his forehead against the cool wall.

  I have to win her. I cannot let another have her.

  Straightening, he paced the length of the antechamber, skirting around lounge chairs and armor. The thick soles of his boots thumped against the onyx floor. For the first time in weeks, not a single member of his army had approached him during these twilight hours. They were locked in their rooms—or in the halls beyond—floating on the clouds of ecstasy found only in a woman's sweet arms.

  Even Joachim had stayed away.

  Valerian prayed his cousin became so enamored of his current lovers that he forgot all about Shaye. If not... well, Valerian would just have to think of something Joachim would find irresistible. Something he'd place above the importance of a bedmate. What?

  Joachim was a good man (at times), a strong warrior, with a (slightly) loyal heart. What were the man's weaknesses? Women? Beyond a doubt. Women were the weakness of all nymphs. Power? Definitely. Weapons? Most surely. Joachim collected them. From every warrior he'd killed or bested, he had taken their weapons and hung them on his bedchamber wall.

  Valerian's gaze strayed to his own blade, resting against an onyx chest. The Skull. Large, sharp. Lethal. One of the finest swords ever made. No, the finest ever made. Crafted by Hepaesteus, blacksmith of the gods. The weapon had slayed many of his enemies, rending them with unmendable injuries. It was the only one of its kind. Its twisted frame and elongated skull tip were envied by every soldier who spied it.

  He hated to give it up, but his mate held much more importance to him. Even a mate who wanted nothing to do with him. Would Joachim accept it?

  He sighed, the answer remaining a mystery. As much a mystery as how to win Shaye's well-guarded heart. Jewels? Pretty clothing? If he thought, even for a moment, that she valued those things, he would
sweep her up that very second and take her into the Outer City. He would buy her everything she desired. But so far she had seemed unimpressed by his wealth, wanting only to return home.

  Did she have enemies in need of slaying? If so, he would gladly lay their lifeless bodies at her feet.

  He pushed a hand through his hair. Uncertainty about a female was foreign and horrible and challenging and exciting. Winning her—defeating Joachim and overcoming Shaye's own resistance—awakened his deepest warrior instincts. He'd gladly present Hades with his soul and live forever damned, just to be with Shaye.

  "She will be mine," he vowed to the heavens. "She will be mine."

  THREADS OF LIGHT flowed from the crystal dome above, gradually brightening the room. Different-colored shards shot in every direction, a lovely rainbow spray. Blues, pinks, purples, greens. Shaye tore her tired gaze from them and stared directly above the—she gasped. The ceiling above her was composed of glass, not crystal, and she was given a full view of her reflection.

  She was splayed atop a bed of red silk sheets, her pale hair and skin a startling contrast. Her eyes were at half-mast, heavy and slumberous, with dark circles under them. One of her arms rested at her side; the other was raised and bent at her temple. Still wearing her seashell bra and grass skirt, she could have been taken straight from the pages of Beach Bunny magazine.

  She looked ready and eager for a man.

  Not just any man, though...

  She gulped and rolled to her side. She shouldn't be on this bed, she thought, recalling how her knees had given out and she'd tumbled to the floor, too exhausted to get up.

  Her gaze narrowed on the door. Had Valerian entered without her knowledge? Had he carried her here? Seen her like this? Posed her like this? That... that... Calm down. Nothing you can do about it now.

  At least he hadn't woken her up and tried to seduce her. Not that she would have had the strength to send him on his way. Not last night. Not after the things he'd said to her.