Читать книгу Forbidden Craving: The Nymph King / The Beautiful Ashes - Gena Showalter - Страница 18

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TENSION AND TESTOSTERONE heated the air, burning Shaye’s lungs every time she inhaled. Fury sizzled and snapped between Valerian and Joachim, making everything worse; a raging inferno, barely banked, threatened to destroy, well, everyone.

As a child, she’d lived with emotional people. How many tirades and fits of jealous rage had her mother thrown over the years? Countless. If a husband ever came home late, china was thrown at his head—right along with accusations of infidelity. If a birthday or anniversary was forgotten, tires were slashed.

How many times had her different stepmothers raged?

How often had her father and stepdads experienced mansteria for some silly reason or another?

Shaye had usually hidden in her bedroom.

But none of those people had ever looked as scary as Valerian. The need to kill had darkened his expression. His lips were thinned and pulled back from his teeth—an animalistic scowl.

Until this point, he’d shown her desire, amusement and patience.

“I have a bargain for you, Joachim.” His voice lashed like a barbed whip.

Joachim gave no outward reaction. Although his eyes did bear the same trace of dissatisfaction as Valerian and Shivawn.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll give you my sword,” Valerian said. “You may have it with my blessing, but you must renounce all claim to the girl.”

Traded for a sword? Be still my heart.

“Unacceptable.” Black brows winged into Joachim’s hairline in a display of arrogance. “If you want the girl, you’ll have to renounce your role as king.”

Dorian and Broderick snarled like animals.

Okay. Enough. Valerian had faults—a lot of faults—but judging by the things she’d seen so far, he was a good king. Most certainly, this black-haired man would be a merciless dictator.

“No,” she said. “As acting queen, I refuse on Valerian’s behalf.”

“You don’t have a voice in this,” Joachim snapped at her.

“And you won’t speak to her in such a manner,” Valerian snapped right back at him.

Shaye blew Mr. Dictator a kiss using her middle finger.

Valerian rubbed the back of his neck. “I cannot simply make you king. You know that. My men would never follow someone who hadn’t proved himself worthy.”

“That’s true,” Joachim agreed. “Which is why I’m willing to prove myself worthy.”

Valerian hands flexed, as if he imagined holding a sword. “And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Yeah,” Shaye said. “How do you?”

“Yesterday you were willing to fight me.” Joachim lifted his chin. “Are you still?”

A nod without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Are you willing to relinquish your crown when I best you, thereby proving myself worthy?”

A predatory stillness came over Valerian. He muttered, “I knew it.”

She’d never seen him fight. She’d never seen either of them fight. Joachim possessed the same confidence as Valerian, and yet he also struck her as bloodthirsty.

Could Valerian win?

And what if he were injured?

The thought...displeased her. Because she needed him to remain in charge so that he could escort her home. Not for any other reason. Really.

“What about a game of chess?” she suggested. “Hey. Not that it matters, but are either of you good at chess?”

Valerian’s eyes narrowed on her—and churned with more fury.

“What did I do?” As many insults as she’d tossed at him, he’d only ever smiled at her. But a mention of chess pushed him over the edge?

“You doubt my skill with a sword,” he barked. Then he looked away from her, as if he couldn’t stand her, and that was somehow far worse.

“Such a thing has never been done,” he said to Joachim, his tone careful, even guarded.

Joachim wrapped his fingers around his sword hilt. “Yet such a thing has often needed to be done.”

Well. Shaye had thought tensions were already high. Wrong! The room pulsed with danger.

If she didn’t do something, and quick, the two males would come to blows right here, right now. But what could she do?

Flash her breasts? No, thanks.

Dance a jig, hoping everyone would laugh at her? Bad idea. She had a feeling any dance would be considered a mating dance. No, thanks.

Food fight?

Not great, but not terrible, either. A girl had to make do.

Shaye scooped a handful of the coconut-cream pudding and tossed it at Joachim. Success! The pudding splattered over his cheeks.

As he blinked in surprise—and before she could talk herself out of it—she launched a handful at Valerian.

His gaze returned to her, hot so very hot. And so much better than the fury.

No, no. So much worse!

He gathered as much cream as he could on his finger and licked it away. Her insides quivered.

The reactions this man roused in her...

A grinning Broderick and Dorian leaned toward her...hoping to get nailed, as well?

She might never understand these nymphos. But. Mission accomplished, tensions reduced.

“Why did you do that?” As Joachim straightened, his armor clinked ominously. “Never mind. The answer doesn’t matter. What say you, Valerian? Shall we fight, the winner awarded the woman and crowned king with all the rights the title entails?”

She had to swallow a shout of denial.

At first, Valerian offered him no response. He took her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. Out came his tongue, licking the pudding on her skin.

Oh, my stars, what have I done?

Delicious heat flowed from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, melting her bones.

Earlier she’d thought she could handle a month with this man. Obviously she couldn’t handle five minutes!

“He declines,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “The woman will choose her own man.”

Valerian leaned into her. “If you think I would risk losing you, you don’t know me at all.”

Was he serious? “Um, like I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times, I don’t know you. We literally just met.”

Frustration and disappointment flashed in his beautiful eyes, and she kind of wished she could take back her words. Even though they were true!

“Valerian?” Joachim prompted.

Without looking away from her, Valerian stood and said, “No.”

His cousin hissed with surprise.

“We’ll fight for the crown, only the crown, and not the girl,” Valerian finished. “She’s mine, no matter what.”

Shaye gaped at him. She meant more than his kingdom?

“Agreed,” Joachim replied.

Valerian splayed his arms, encompassing the room and everyone inside. “What is your weapon of choice?”

“Swords, of course. The weapon of a true warrior.”

“To the death, then.”

“No,” she said, horrified.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Joachim said. “I don’t hate you and never have. We were friends once, as children, but I should have been crowned after my father.”

“And yet Poseidon chose my father.”

“I was too young. Now I’m older. And how long since Poseidon has deigned to visit us? Decades.”

For a long while the two males engaged in a staring contest. Finally Joachim cursed and blinked.

Valerian lifted his chin. “Go to the arena, cousin. I’ll be there shortly.”

“That’s the last command you’ll ever give me.” Scowling, Joachim pivoted on his heel and strode away.

Shaye had to put a stop to this.

“Dorian,” Valerian said, not giving her a chance to speak. “Gather the rest of the men. They’ll bear witness to the battle—they’ll see what happens to those who think to usurp my rule. Broderick, go and prepare my gear.”

Chairs skidded backward. Footsteps pounded.

I can’t believe this is happening, Shaye thought.

She’d been kidnapped from her mother’s wedding—shrug. She’d been dragged underwater, through a portal and into a lost city—yawn. She’d been chosen as the king’s mistress—could someone pass a nail file?

This battle...it was a nightmare.

“I’m asking you not to do this,” she said to Valerian. They were alone now, no one else in sight. “He’ll make a terrible king.”

Valerian sat down and once again regarded her through narrowed eyes. “He will never be king.”

Ugh. She’d insulted his skill again, which hadn’t been her intention.

“So you’ll win,” she said. “What will happen afterward?”

He popped a grape into his mouth. “You’ll admire my strength.”

Probably. Not that she’d admit such a horror aloud.

With a sigh, she plopped into her chair.

They finished their breakfast as if they’d never been interrupted. As if her stomach wasn’t churning with nervousness.

When they finished, he pushed to his feet and held out his hand, palm up. A silent command.

“They are awaiting us in the arena.”

She studied his palm, knowing the moment she intertwined her fingers with his, warmth would rush up her arm. Such a drugging warmth. She would tingle and ache.

Her throat constricted.

She stood, keeping her arms at her sides. “Go ahead. Lead the way.”

He frowned and beckoned her with a single wave of his fingers.

Stubborn, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Their gazes locked in challenge. The long length of his black lashes cast shadows over his cheeks. How did a man with honey-blond hair have such dark eyelashes?

“I need your touch, Shaye.” The words dripped with determination, but drifting beneath them was a very clear challenge: every resistance will be met and conquered until you’ve soared over the sweet edge of surrender. “My victory depends upon it.”

“No way.”

“Nymphs are strengthened through sex,” he said.

What! “I am not having sex with you.”

Not even to save him?

Well...

No. What? Can’t believe you’re even considering this. Death was an exaggeration on his part, surely. A way to get her into bed.

“Contact—any contact—helps.”

“Fine.” She clasped his hand.

The warmth she’d feared speared her, spreading up and out and soon overtaking her entire body.

He closed his eyes, as if savoring her.

Once again, her insides quivered. Such an innocent touch, and yet he affected her so...wantonly.

“One day...” he said.

A promise...or a warning?

He stalked out of the dining hall, dragging her with him.

“Slow down,” she said, struggling to keep up. “Please.”

He could have ignored her, but he obeyed. As if her words carried weight with him.

A girl could get used to that.

Her gaze snagged on the wall, where white marble was inlaid with silver stone, crumbling in spots. There were also scratch marks, she realized, as if someone had taken a tool to every inch.

“What happened here?” she asked.

“I was told humans invaded.”

Her gaze pierced his back, where hard muscle and sinew strained under his beautiful bronzed flesh. “Humans willingly visit Atlantis?”

“Some do, yes.”

Wow. People actually knew about this place, yet they’d managed to keep it a secret. If they’d returned home, that was.

“How long have you lived here?”

“My army claimed the palace from the dragons only a few weeks ago.”

Claimed. Aka “stolen,” she was sure. “In stories, dragons spew fire and eat humans as tasty snacks.”

“Stories are correct.” He sounded amused.

“Won’t the dragons want their palace back?”

“Oh, yes.”

Her eyes widened at his nonchalance. “And that doesn’t bother you? The thought of battling such fierce creatures?”

“No. Why should it?” He stopped to glare at her, his chest seeming to expand right before her eyes. The heat of his skin caressed her, and the heady scent of him filled her nose, fogging her head.

Sconces blazed from the walls, their glow flickering over the contours of his face. Shadows and light fought for dominance, playing over his cheeks, making him appear menacing.

“I’m fiercer,” he said. “I’m stronger.”

Hello, male arrogance. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t share your confidence,” she said dryly.

He frowned. “If the thought of dragons scares you—”

“Terrifies me,” she interjected. In this land, you were either predator or prey. Since she wasn’t a predator...

“How will you react when I introduce you to the vampires?”

A strangled gasp wheezed from her throat. “I’m not meeting vampires.”

“They are our friends.”

He talks as if we’re already a couple.

“Look. I know you told me those creatures existed, but I never actually thought you’d make me interact with them. Vampires drink blood, Valerian.”

“They won’t drink yours, Shaye.”

She sighed. There was simply no arguing with him. He had a response for everything.

“Let’s bargain,” she said. “You won’t introduce me to vampires, and I’ll...” What?

In the distance, swords clanged together. Grunts sounded, and male laughter abounded.

“I like where you are headed with this conversation,” he said. “We’ll revisit what you’re willing to do after the fight.”

“No. We finish it now.” She jumped in front of him to stop him and flatten her hands on his chest—oh, how he burned. “Forget the vampires. Win the fight, and I’ll kiss you.”

Desire flared in his eyes. The same consuming desire she’d encountered when she’d first watched him stride from the ocean.

“Give me a preview of this kiss,” he said.

Desire consumed her. “Or what? You’ll lose? I don’t think so, babe.” Babe? Her cheeks heated. What an embarrassing slip of the tongue. “You’ll do anything to keep your crown.”

“Obviously I won’t. I’m fighting my cousin, risking my crown, to keep you.”

“I thought there was no real risk for you.”

His eyes gleamed with calculation. “Kiss me now, and I’ll end the fight as quickly as possible. I won’t drag it out.”

Well...

Her gaze lowered, lingering on his lips, and her breath caught in her throat. If her touch strengthened him, how much more so would her kiss? And he needed his strength, right? The future of his kingdom was at stake!

“Fine,” she whispered, already rising on her tiptoes.

He needed no other prompting. He tangled his fingers in her hair and slammed his mouth onto hers. His hot tongue pushed inside, past her teeth, past any thought of resistance.

In seconds she felt burned alive. The woman who’d once eschewed dating became wild. Someone who existed only for pleasure, sex and debauchery. For this man.

Valerian consumed her. Dark need consumed her—and she discovered that she liked every second of it.

His taste was pure sexual heat, raw masculinity, exotic and addictive; his tongue worked hers with expert precision, her every nerve endings leaping to blissful life. Her nipples hardened, the apex of her thighs ached, and her stomach quivered.

She wound her arms around his neck, accepting him fully, demanding more; a feral growl of satisfaction escaped him.

“I want you,” he whispered fiercely and as always, the sound of his wine-rich voice excited her.

He was made for her, only her—his every action, every breath, they happened simply to please her.

The thought intoxicated her. Like the man himself.

“I want you,” he repeated. “Give me everything.”

“Never,” she forced herself to say. Then, of course, she contradicted herself by running his bottom lip between her teeth.

His callused hands slid down the ridges of her spine to settle softly on the curve of her hips.

“I need your breasts in my hands. Please, Shaye.”

Yes! Oh, yes. Her nipples hardened more, and they hurt. They actually hurt, desperate for contact.

He tunneled his hands under her shirt, his fingers tickling her skin. She gasped in wonder when his thumbs grazed each aching crest.

“I wish I could stand you in front of a mirror and slowly remove your top, baring your flesh inch by precious inch,” he said. “I would cup your breasts in my hands, framing your nipples with my fingers as they pearled for me.”

Her knees trembled. “I should hate the thought,” she told him, breathless. She brought her hands to his chest, brushing her thumbs over his nipples. They were hard little points she wanted to lick and suck. And, as her fingertip curled in the steel loop anchored in the right one, she wanted to lick and suck that, too. “Should absolutely, positively hate it.”

He groaned. “If this is the way you hate...”

“The pheromone. Only the pheromone.”

“No.” He grated the negation.

Angry with her now?

She licked the seam of his lips, and his anger returned to passion. Their breaths had mingled. Now their gazes locked, a sultry clash of turquoise against brown, passion against passion.

“Hate me some more,” he told her.

She rose on her tiptoes—her body seemed to have a mind of its own—placing her lips just in front of his.

He kissed her harder than before, his hands returning to her waist and tightening, his grip needy, firm and commanding.

His message was clear: she could not escape.

Why would she want to escape?

He pulled her closer, until she nestled against the long, rigid length of his erection. A hot, raspy gasp left her, spears of pleasure arcing through her, spawning other bursts of sensation.

“I want to hate you, too,” he told her in that same soft tone. “I want to hate you hard and fast the first time, slow and tender the second.”

Behind them, someone cleared his throat. “My king?”

Shaye heard the voice distantly and despised the interruption. More kisses. She wanted more of Valerian’s kisses. And he very clearly wanted to give them to her. Wicked intent gleamed in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, my king,” the voice said. “The fight...”

Valerian’s fingers clenched on her hips. “I don’t want to stop hating you,” he said softly, the words nothing but a growl.

Saying “You must” almost killed her.

He brushed his nose against hers. “Must hate you?”

“Must stop.” Never stop!

He ran his tongue over his teeth. Then his nostrils flared, as if her taste lingered there. “For now,” he stated. “I will.”

She gulped. She’d never been kissed with such passion or fervor. As if the man claiming her lips truly savored her and would be utterly destroyed without her.

He’s dangerous, her mind whispered. He made her hope, even though there was only one way the relationship would end. Painfully.

All relationships ended. Period.

But going from the beginning to the end will be worth the heartbreak later on, her body responded.

She tugged from his embrace, suddenly cold and empty. Hollow, as she’d been through her entire childhood.

His eyelids compressed to tiny slits, his thick lashes nearly intertwining top with bottom. “You melted for me. That isn’t reason to withdraw from me, Moon. That’s reason to rejoice.”

“Valerian,” yet another man called. Joachim, this time. She recognized the deep baritone, now filled with impatience. “Have you decided against fighting me? Do you concede the victory to me?”

Shaye drew her arms over her middle, tamping down a tremor of dread. “No,” she said. “He doesn’t.”

Valerian cupped her cheeks. His gaze searched hers. He had to wonder why she’d protested the fight before but supported it now.

The answer—whatever he’d decided it was—didn’t please him. He scowled.

Did he think she wanted him to lose now that they’d kissed? Now that fear held her in an obvious choke hold?

“I will never concede,” Valerian said, the words more lethal than the sword strapped to his back. His eyes never left her face. “Never.”