Читать книгу Forbidden Craving: The Nymph King / The Beautiful Ashes - Gena Showalter - Страница 20

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

POSEIDON WAS BORED.

He was god of the sea, ruler of fish, merpeople and ocean waves, and nothing excited him anymore. Not even the storms and destruction he’d recently caused. People had screamed, people had died, yada yada yada.

Perched on a boulder beneath a cliff, he traced his fingers through the dappled liquid surrounding him. There had to be something to combat this constant sense of ennui.

Create another hurricane or tsunami? No. The last few had been yawners.

Start a war? No. Too much effort for too little reward.

Abandon the water and enter Olympus? No again. The other gods were selfish and greedy, and he had no desire to deal with them, his temper too sharp.

What could he do, what could he do? Once he would have visited Atlantis—

Atlantis, he thought, straightening. Oh, oh, oh. Was that...yes, yes, it was. For the first time in an eternity, he experienced a flash of excitement.

He hadn’t considered Atlantis and its people—his subjects—in years. Many had called for him, but he’d ignored their pleas for help. The last time he’d offered aid, he’d received no thanks, only complaints.

Perhaps the people—or rather, the abominations, as his brothers often called them—had learned to be appreciative.

There was only one way to find out.

Poseidon grinned.

* * *

SHAYE’S ATTENTION REMAINED on Valerian’s back as he led her through the palace, following the same path they’d taken earlier. She offered no protests. Muscles strained and bunched in his bare shoulders. Blood blended with sand, both splattered all over him, forming lines and circles on his skin.

He’d very nearly killed a man without hesitation or remorse. His own cousin, no less. But the biggest surprise? She’d watched him do it, and she hadn’t flinched.

She’d been too relieved. He’d won, as promised. He would live and keep his crown.

The fight had unfolded like something out of a movie. Valerian had moved with grace and fluidity, each intricate step as beautiful as it was dangerous. Her heart had drummed erratically in her chest, only to stop altogether when Valerian received his first injury. She’d been unprepared for the blast of anger she’d felt toward Joachim.

More than that, she’d been unprepared for the fright she’d felt on Valerian’s behalf.

She could have run—should have run. What better time to escape? Like a girl besotted, she’d stayed. Not because she’d promised Valerian—a promise made under duress wasn’t really a promise, to her way of thinking—but because she’d had to know the outcome of the battle.

In the end, he’d shocked her. He’d purposely missed his cousin’s heart, allowing the man to live to fight another day.

He cared about his people. Even those who defied him. How many other kings could say the same?

And then, what he’d said...

I hereby claim Shaye Octavia Holling as my mate. Your queen.

Again and again the words had whispered through her mind, making her shiver.

I should be...outraged?

Yes, of course. Most definitely.

After all, this thing with Valerian, it wasn’t a game. It was her life. Unlike him, she wasn’t immortal.

Wait. Were nymphos immortal? How old was Valerian?

Anyway. She didn’t get a second chance.

“You did good out there,” she said grudgingly.

“Some women abhor violence,” he said. “Some are titillated by it. Which are you?”

“Neither,” she said. “But I’m certain there are other ways to be, like ambivalent or confused.”

“So...you don’t fear me?” Fear now saturated his voice.

“No.” Truth. He could have harmed her a million times over by now, but he’d only ever treated her gently. He’d even placed himself in harm’s way in order to protect her.

“But you do desire me?” Hope had replaced the fear.

Rather than answer his question—the truth would get her into trouble—she said, “By the way. I’m not your woman.”

He cast her a pitying look. “Cease your protests, Moon. They’ll only embarrass you when you at last admit your love for me.”

So. No more talk of lust. He’d moved on to love. She snorted.

“Are surface dwellers allowed to combat each other with swords?” he asked.

“When countries are at war, yes. When the men are caught up in a personal vendetta, no. Not without consequences.”

“What of protecting yourself or those you love?”

“It’s allowed, but sometimes there are still consequences.”

“You are clearly far better off here.”

Another snort. “I should have known you’d go there.”

They turned a corner and Valerian stumbled—over nothing. His injuries must have weakened him.

Her concern for him doubled. “You need a healer, too,” she said.

“I have you. I need no one else.”

She had a sinking suspicion he meant those words in more ways than one. Despite everything that had happened—or maybe because of everything that had happened—she couldn’t deny this man saw only the best in her.

While she administered aid, would he “accidentally” touch her? Would he purr his warm breath into her ears, over her skin, and let his white-hot gaze devour her?

Better question: Would she be able to resist him?

Already her resolve teetered on precarious ground. Perhaps playing doctor wasn’t a smart move.

“Valerian, O mighty king of the nymphos. Please listen to me. I know absolutely nothing about wound care.”

“I don’t care. I trust you.”

“Trust doesn’t matter. Not in this. I could do more harm than good.”

“And you want me well?” Satisfaction dripped from his tone.

“Uh, don’t read too much into it, big guy. I’d want my worst enemy to get well. Because I’m nice.”

“Nice?”

“All right. That’s fair. I’m sometimes nice.”

He pushed out a breath. “I meant I trust only you to be with me while I’m in such a weakened state.”

How did he always manage to say the exact right thing to melt the ice around her heart? “But why? You don’t know—”

“Not this again, little Moon. I know you. But, if it will make you feel better, you can tell me all about your life while you patch me.”

“I can, can I?” she asked dryly. “How generous of you.”

“If you’re nice, you’ll agree. You’ll distract me from my pain.”

Her concern instantly resurged. “You’re in pain?” Stupid question. He’d been slashed by a sword. Of course he was in pain.

He winked at her over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So. Much. Pain.”

Well. She pursed her lips. “If you’re talking about blue balls—”

“Blue balls?” His shoulders shook, and she heard the rumbling purr of his beautiful laughter. “Oh, but I like your wicked mouth, Moon.”

Unbidden, her lips inched into a half smile. “Well, I’ve somehow managed to resist you for twenty-four hours. That’s got to be a record, right? Your groin must be seriously neglected.”

“I’m glad you understand. Kiss it and make it better?”

She snorted. “In your dreams.”

“Yes, please. You’ve seen my life, yes? My dreams always come true.” His tone was husky and rich but also honey warm, as if the thought of her ravishment was an exquisite bliss. As if, in his mind, she was already naked and he was already inside her.

She would have to remain on full alert with this man. Being with him, she suspected, would be like shooting herself full of heroin. Addictive, wild, a high beyond imagining, but also lethal and stupid. So, if she could resist taking that first, experimental taste—well, a second taste—she wouldn’t have to deal with withdrawal.

Her new mantra: Resist! “I think I’m more of a nightmare waiting to happen.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips and stroked them with his tongue. “If you have sex with me, I’ll be healed by the time you’re screaming my name. Win-win for both of us.”

Shivers down her spine, fire in her blood. He said nothing else, letting her mind and body battle for supremacy.

Stay strong. Be cold.

If he touched her... Wait. He was touching her, his hand clutching hers, and it felt good.

“I’m going on record right now,” she said.

Once again he looked over his shoulder. This time he silenced her. He licked his lips, as if he knew exactly what reaction he’d caused in her and planned to exploit it by whatever means necessary.

A foreign part of her—a part happy to reveal itself only around him—urged her to reach up and run her fingers through his hair...across his beautiful face. His decadent flavor was still in her mouth, the press of his lips imprinted on her memory.

The very reason she had to resist him.

“Sex isn’t happening.” There. Stated now, so that he had no excuse later. Because, if a nymph’s pheromone could drug, what could a nymph’s penis do? “If you push me, I’ll resent you.”

“Will you resent me the same way you hate me?”

He’d just had to remind her about that, hadn’t he? Her free hand fisted, and her belly quivered. “No,” she said.

He sighed. “If you insist on abstaining—”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of the day—” he grimaced “—talking with you.”

Probably shouldn’t laugh.

Really, he could have claimed she owed him.

Once a date had felt entitled to sex after paying for dinner. If not for her self-defense classes he might have succeeded in his endeavor to exact payment. But Valerian acted as if only her delight would spark his own.

No self-defense class in the world could protect her from his appeal.

“How altruistic of you,” she finally said, forcing a dry tone.

“Tell me. Have you had a bad experience with sex?” he asked gently. “Because I would be happy to return to the surface and punish anyone who ever hurt you.”

The urge to lean against him, simply enjoy being with him, bombarded her. “No.” Try zero experiences, buddy. How would Valerian react to that?

And she wanted to lean against him? Fear raised its ugly head to screech, Fool!

Why begin something destined to end?

“What if Joachim challenges you again?” she asked, changing the focus of the conversation. “Or what if he just stabs you in the back without bothering to engage in a fair fight?”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Joachim lost. Everyone knows his skill is inferior to mine. Whether he kills me in the future or not, he’ll never be accepted as leader.”

They turned another corner, torches lighting the hallway, revealing familiar nicked-and-scuffed walls.

At the entrance to the master suite, he opened the door with his free hand.

She released him to soar inside—and gasped.

The large bed had been made, with a new comforter. A pink comforter.

Jewelry had been scattered over the vanity. Every piece boasted pink diamonds or pink crystals. A full-size mirror hung on the wall, the frame made from pink-veined marble.

Steam curled from the bathing pool, twining around the pink flower petals that floated on the surface.

“I can’t...how did you...?” Use your words.

An impossibility at the moment.

“I sent a man to the Outer City bright and early this morning to buy things I thought you’d like. I want you comfortable in this room. Want it to be ours, not mine.”

She swallowed the lump growing in her throat.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“This, Shaye, is only the beginning.”

* * *

STANDING THERE, VALERIAN drank in the sight of his mate. Then he drank in the sight of the bed. He wanted Shaye there, splayed and open for his view. His touch.