The Nymph King (9 page)

“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 she 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?

V
ALERIAN 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.”

 

T
HREADS 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.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, damn it. She should have been searching for a way out, not dreaming of her sexy captor. Of his hands on her, tracing the arch and planes of her lips, holding her to his chest. Cherishing her.

“Diabolical man,” she muttered. Surprisingly, she wasn't stiff or sore as she eased up. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then scanned the room, hoping the way out would reveal itself in the light of day. The bathing pool still steamed with hot water, like
a natural spring. Cloth still draped the windows. Columns still rose to the ceiling with Roman majesty.

Except for the lace-covered doorway, no exit magically presented itself.

I have to get out of here,
she thought, suddenly urgent,
before
he
comes to get me.

He. Valerian. Unbidden, his image rose in her mind. Strong, proud. Sexual. A hedonist to the extreme, with skin that looked like dark, lickable cream, hair as radiant as spun gold, and eyes… God, his eyes. They beckoned. They teased. They
promised.
His turquoise irises were as mesmerizing as a turbulent ocean and just as deep. Those long, dark lashes acted as the perfect frame, the perfect contrast.

What are you doing mooning over him? Dummy! It's time to leave.
Fighting a rush of desire, she lumbered to her feet—and tripped over her sandals. So. He'd taken off her shoes. She should be grateful that was all he'd removed.

Shaye used the surprisingly modern bathroom and washed her face, hoping the water would also wash away her unwanted feelings. Then she circled the room, seeing everything she'd seen the night before—a prison.

There might not be a secret exit, she thought then, but there
was
a way out. The front door. Was Valerian still guarding it?

As quietly as possible, she tiptoed toward the lace. The closer she came, the stronger Valerian's masculine scent became, a heady mixture of aroused man and determined warrior. Her skin prickled with delight. She tried to hold her nose, to fight the scent's allure and the weakening effect it had on her.

Once at the doorway, she clasped the material and inched it to the side. All the while, her heart drummed a staccato rhythm.
Da-dum da-dum da-dum.
Would he be there, awake and waiting? Or had he thankfully, blessedly, fallen asleep?

“Good morning, Shaye.”

She gasped. Valerian stood just in front of her, arms crossed over his massive chest, legs braced apart. Their gazes linked, clashed. Her treacherous heart lost its rhythm and skipped a beat. He looked as unbelievably mouthwatering as before. Shirtless. His body roped with the tightest abs she'd ever seen. Golden hair tumbled onto his forehead and shoulders.

She licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”

His blue gaze raked over her, peeling away the shells, parting the grass. “Waiting for you, of course.”

A shiver tripped along her spine. Oh, his voice. How could she have forgotten that take-no-prisoners voice? Pure temptation. Utter decadence. She mentally reinforced the icy walls around her.
He's a lecherous abductor. Dangerous in every way.

Yes, she'd wanted to throw herself at him last night. Now, in the light of day, she told herself that had been a moment of impaired judgment. A moment of exhaustion and insanity.

“Did you dream of me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. She had. She'd dreamed of his hands caressing her, of his mouth devouring her.

His lush lips inched into a surprised but pleased smile.

“You were naked,” she told him.

His grin spread; his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“And tied up…”

He arched his eyebrows in smug expectation. “I did not know the idea of bondage would please you.”

“Oh, I love the idea of tying you up.” She paused dramatically. “Just like in my dream, you'll be secured to an anthill and the little things will eat you alive.”

His grin faded completely, but the twinkle in his eyes did not diminish. “Cruel woman.” He propped his shoulder on the side wall, a pose of carnal relaxation.
Sink into my arms,
his posture proclaimed.
I'll catch you.
“I dreamed of you, too. Naked.”

Suddenly light-headed, she backed up a step.

He showed no mercy, and stepped toward her. “You were splayed for my enjoyment.” His eyes were heavy-lidded now, wicked. Intent. “And enjoy you I did. Twice.”

She dropped the curtain in place, cutting the sexy man from her view. Breathe, she had to breathe. The oxygen she did manage to draw in burned her throat, singed her lungs. He had only to speak, and his words began to paint a picture in her mind. A terribly beautiful picture.

His rich chuckle floated across the small distance, wrapping her in a decadent shiver. “There are robes in the closet if you wish to change,” he said. “The shells look…uncomfortable.”

That hadn't been the word he'd wanted to say, she knew. There had been a wicked inflection in his voice, as if he'd meant to say “easily removable” or “exquisite.” So, change? Hell, yes. “Will you take me home today?” Her voice trembled.

“You
are
home.”

She flipped him off, taking a small amount of satisfaction from the action, even though he couldn't see it.
Then, with nothing else to do, she trudged to the closet. She'd given the gowns inside only a cursory inspection last night. Changing clothes
would
be nice.