The Nymph King. Gena Showalter
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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-forsin 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 Six
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 selection 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