Her employees were probably missing her. Or had they not yet noticed her absence? She was always the first one there and the last to leave, her time spent locked inside her office.

Whatever. If she wanted to leave, she’d have to walk out the front door. And what better time? Valerian could be sleeping.

Unbidden, his image rose front and center in her mind. He was so strong, so proud. So danged sexual. A hedonist to the extreme, with skin that looked like dark, lickable cream, hair as radiant as spun gold, and eyes...oh, his eyes. Those turquoise irises beckoned. They teased. They promised. His long, dark lashes acted as the perfect frame, the perfect contrast.

Stalling?

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

Her heart drummed a staccato rhythm—da-dum da-dum dadada-dum—as she clasped the knob and twisted. Would Valerian be out there, awake and waiting?

“Good morning, Shaye.”

His husky voice jolted her, and as she flattened a hand over her throat, she belted out, “Crap!”

He stood just in front of her, his muscled arms crossed over his massive chest, his legs braced apart. Their gazes clashed, her treacherous heart losing track of its rhythm and skipping a beat.

He looked even more unbelievably mouthwatering than before.

Golden hair tumbled onto his forehead and shoulders. He was still shirtless, his body roped with the tightest abs she’d ever seen. A leather band wrapped around him, holding a sword against his back.

Trembling now, she licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze raked over her, and she suspected he had just peeled away her clothing. “Waiting for you, of course. You are gorgeous.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. His voice had dipped as he’d uttered the compliment. A take-no-prisoners timbre. Pure temptation and utter decadence.

He’s a lecherous abductor. Dangerous in every way.

Right. She mentally reinforced the icy walls around her heart.

“Did you like your painting?” he asked.

A shiver tripped along her spine. “Yes. No.”

He arched a sandy brow. “No?”

“Honestly? I both love and hate it. You painted an almost-smile on my face.”

“A look you tried to hide from me but couldn’t.”

He had amused her on several occasions. But...

He was that aware of her?

Dang him. He was seducing her again, and he wasn’t even trying!

It wasn’t fair. He had experience. She didn’t. But just as he was learning about her, she was learning about him. He wasn’t needlessly cruel or even merciless. He clearly loved and respected his men and wanted the very best for them.

“Be honest,” she said. “If we got married and had a daughter—” ovaries threatening to exploded again “—what would you do if some man came along and kidnapped her?”

Tension radiated from him. He raised his chin. “I would kill the bastard.”

A pang of envy—all for a make-believe daughter! Her own father would be too afraid of someone like Valerian to act against him.

“You would kill someone for doing exactly as you’ve done,” she said softly.

A muscle ticked beneath his eye. “I will die without you, Shaye. You would sentence me to death?”

He didn’t mean he would literally die. No way, no how. “You’re describing love at first sight. Which I don’t believe is possible.”

“No, I’m describing mate at first sight.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Everything and nothing,” he replied cryptically. He waved a hand through the air, a regal command to move on to the next topic. “Did you dream of me?”

She allowed the subject change because she’d made her point and given him something to consider.

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. She had. She’d dreamed of his hands on her body, caressing her...of his mouth doing delicious things.

His lush lips inched into a surprised but pleased smile. “Tell me. Every detail.”

“You were naked,” she told him.

His grin spread, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“And you were tied up...”

He appeared intrigued. “I had no idea bondage would excite you.”

“Oh, I adore the idea of tying you up.” She paused dramatically, and just like the Shaye in the painting, she fought a grin of her own. Maybe he knew her better than she’d given him credit for, after all. “You were secured to an anthill, being eaten alive.”

He barked out a charming laugh. “Such a cruel woman, my Shaye.”

His Shaye. Tremors nearly toppled her, her good humor vanishing in an instant...replaced by stunning desire.

He propped his shoulder against the side wall, a pose of carnal relaxation. Fall into my arms, his posture proclaimed. I’ll catch you.

“I dreamed of you, too,” he said.

Shivers cascaded through her. “Do tell.”

“You were naked, as well.”

Suddenly light-headed, she backed up a step. “Is it too much to hope I was tied to an anthill?”

“Yes.” He stepped toward her, intent and intense. “You were splayed on my dinner table, ready to quench my hunger.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, deliciously wicked. “I devoured you.”

Breathe; she had to breathe. The oxygen she did manage to draw in burned her throat, singed her lungs. As he’d spoken, his words had painted a picture in her mind. A terribly beautiful picture as vivid as the one he’d painted on the canvas.

His tongue...on her...in her...

“Come,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll feed your hunger.”

Yes, oh, yes. I want him.

No! She batted at his wrist. “I’d rather starve than feast on your body.”

“I wasn’t planning to feed you from my body...yet.”

Oh. Disappointment—

Did not bloom. Nope. Not even a tiny spark.

“What about the warrior?” she asked. “Joachim?”

The muscle began to jump under his eye again. “I’ll deal with him when he awakens. Until then, you need sustenance if you’re to keep up your strength.”

Well. Maybe if she starved herself, he’d take her home? “No, thank you. I’m good.”

His eyes narrowed. “We could bargain,” he cajoled.

What was with the man and his bargaining? “I eat and you’ll...what?”

“Kiss you anywhere you’d like.”

Save me.

She had to force her mind to blank. “Um, you really need to work on your bargaining skills. They suck.” Had her voice shaken?

“I understand.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “You would rather I offer you an orgasm.”

“What!” Her cheeks fused with heat, and a tremor stole over her. “No!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes?” Her cheeks burned hotter. “Yes. Very.”

“Too bad.” Valerian took another step toward her, his masculine scent wafting to her, filling her nostrils. Strong and spicy—so arousing her tee abraded her nipples and an ache throbbed between her legs.

She’d never been a sexual creature, and these new sensations rocked her to the core. How long could she fight them? How long could she resist this man?

“What thoughts are rolling through your head, hmm?” he asked, his voice huskier than before.

Did he know she was aroused? No, no. He couldn’t. Please!

“I was—” What? She wouldn’t admit the truth, but she wouldn’t lie, either. “You’re right. I’m hungry.”

For several seconds he remained quiet. She used the time to cool her molten desires, reciting math equations in her mind.

Men = Heartbreak × Wasted Time.

Of course: Heartbreak = Wasted Time.

So: Men = Heartbreak × (Heartbreak) = Relationship.

Therefore: Relationship = Pain + Suffering.

Conclusion? Men = Pain + Suffering.

“Come, Moon.” Once again, he extended his hand. “I will feed you.”

“Food?” she asked, just to be certain.

“Food.”

Very well. She placed her hand in his. Such heat! Such strength! His calluses delighted her.

Contact had been a mistake. A big—really big—mistake. But she didn’t pull away. He brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss...to lick and taste, and she shivered.

“Valerian.”

“Shaye.” He smiled at her, a slice of heaven in a life that had been hell.

To distract herself, she drafted a new card. Roses are red, Valerian is sex. This poem makes no sense. Trouble.

CHAPTER TEN

JOACHIM LAY IN HIS BED, his arms propped under his head. He stared up at the glistening ceiling, wishing he could take comfort in something, anything. Or someone. Would he even recognize comfort nowadays?

Night had long since passed, and morning had arrived. He shifted and eyed the wall of weapons he’d acquired over the years. A weapon for every man, woman or creature he’d slain. Their numbers were so vast, he’d stopped keeping count.

He wasn’t ashamed of his violent past. Far from it. He reveled in his victories. The bloodier the better.

He was a man without honor, compassion, or mercy. A mistake, his mother had once said. The true nymph king, his father had then retorted.

So. Joachim’s behavior with the redhead had shredded his pride.

After leaving his cousin and the pale-haired female, Joachim had brought the lushly rounded redhead to his chamber. He’d been poised to enter her—ready to burst. She’d been writhing in passion, opening herself wider, pleading for more.

So of course he’d stopped. Just stopped! Like a trembling lad about to claim his first female, afraid of blowing his load before he was able to sheathe himself completely.

As he had peered down at her, the sense of all-consuming need had abandoned him, there one moment, gone the next. An image of the dark-headed witch he’d wanted so badly at the selection ceremony had flashed through his mind.

He yearned to tangle his fingers in her curls, to put his mouth on her ripe little body—to roll her body under his. Hers, and only hers.

Craving a specific female was new to him.

Next he’d pictured the little witch in Shivawn’s arms, moaning, mindless with pleasure, and a terrible rage had blackened his mood.

Your mood is always black.

True. But never to such a terrible degree.

Joachim’s bed partner had tried her best to reignite his passions, but she’d failed miserably. He should have given her an orgasm anyway. He might have strengthened, at least a little bit.

Instead, he’d sent her away to find another lover.

Fool! He was as weak as before. But at least Valerian, too, was weakened this day, having gone without a woman’s touch—his mate’s touch. If his claims were to be believed.

Mate. How Joachim longed to find his own mate; that one woman who would love him above all others.

He sighed. He didn’t want to take the pale woman from Valerian. She didn’t excite him. Not like the dark-headed witch, with her lush curves.

What was her name? She hadn’t said. Hadn’t spoken at all. He wondered what her voice would be like. Low and husky? Sweet and soft?

If he’d had the opportunity to choose her, the night would have ended differently. Now Shivawn would pay for taking her, forcing Joachim to push Valerian into issuing a challenge before the appointed time.

Do nothing until you’re ready, his father had told him. Until you’re absolutely certain you’ll win.

Joachim liked and admired his cousin, but he liked and admired power more.

He’d never enjoyed being told what to do. He preferred to give the orders, forcing others to do his bidding. Even his women. He was master. He was commander.

Never bend, never break.

His cousin ruled with an iron fist, expecting total and complete obedience, even from family.

Perhaps the appointed time had arrived. Joachim had an opportunity to take the crown at long last.

Valerian had offered to fight him, true, but Joachim wouldn’t become king if—when—he won. And he would win. His cousin’s honor would prevent him from doing the dirty deeds, the things that needed to be done. Like kicking a man while he was down.

My specialty.

No, Valerian had to willingly agree to surrender his throne. Would he?

His cousin had spent an entire night considering his limited options. Surely he’d realized there was only one way to keep the pale woman.

“I will be king,” Joachim snarled.

Some men were meant for greatness. Some were not. Valerian had made many foolish mistakes lately.

The first: he’d left the nymph females behind to lay siege to this palace, citing their safety mattered more than the strength of the army.

Nothing mattered more than the strength of an army!

The women were now lost, probably captured, with no trace of them in either the Inner or Outer City.

Yes, Valerian had a contingent of men searching. But that wasn’t enough. The women wouldn’t need finding if the king had brought them along.

The second mistake: Valerian had slept with the three humans who’d exited the portal, thinking of his own needs rather than the needs of his men.

I would have thought of the men.

A lie.

A lie he embraced, using it to fuel his ire.

Everything fueled his ire this day.

The pale woman was a means to an end. He’d seen the way Valerian hovered over her, protecting her, silently willing the other warriors away from her. The only reason Joachim had chosen her—he’d hoped his cousin would do anything to keep her.

He would find out if his hope had paid off.

And perhaps, when he became sovereign, he would simply take the dark-haired witch from Shivawn.

He grinned at the thought.

Oh, yes, he was going to like being king.

* * *

VALERIAN’S CONFIDENCE SOARED. Shaye had willingly placed her hand in his. The contact had set his every nerve ending on fire.

Would she always affect him this way?

As he led her down the hall, he smiled at her over his shoulder. His breath caught. The dome cast rainbow flecks over her rosy cheeks. Those roses...the only source of color in her skin. She could have been a dream, a ghost or a phantom come to torment him.

Like a siren, she lured and tempted him.

Her pale hair tumbled down her back. Some of the ends curled while some fell straight. What he would give to sift his fingers through the thick mass. His home? His crown? His life?

Yes, each of those things.

He would willingly go to his death for this woman.

She scowled at him, her rich, brown eyes crackling with a fire of their own. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m with you.” However long it took, he would chip at her resistance, and he wouldn’t stop until she’d caved. I’ll have you begging for me, Moon. “Why wouldn’t I smile?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m being a cranky witch? And FYI, I shouldn’t have to explain something so simple to you.”

“FYI?”

“An acronym. Usually it means ‘For Your Information.’ In your case it means ‘Fact, You’re Idiotic.’”

He chuckled, his confidence only intensifying. He knew the ins and outs of warfare better than most and knew this woman was brandishing her crankiness like a weapon.

The only viable conclusion: she was at war with her own desires.

He couldn’t have been happier.

No, not true. He would’ve been a lot happier if they were both naked and in bed.

“Why don’t I kiss you out of your crankiness, hmm?” he asked, practically purring the words.

She sucked in a breath. “Tell me. Will one kiss lead to one touch?”

“Only if I’m lucky.”

“You’re not.”

“Believe me, I know. Otherwise I’d be the main course at breakfast.” As he spoke, he pressed his fingers against the pulse in her lower palm. It raced.

Oh, yes. She’ll be mine. And soon...

While her mind hadn’t yet accepted him as her mate, her body already recognized him as such.

What she would learn: when the body desired someone, the mind would create excuses to seize the opportunity to take. Anything to assuage the ache.

Her awareness of him would ultimately become her downfall.

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” she grumbled.

“Once upon a time, yes. Then I noticed the way your gaze caressed my chest, and I decided it was in my best interest to forgo shirts for the rest of my days.”

“Caressed?” she sputtered. “My gaze did no such thing.”

He tsk-tsked. “You lie to me, and you lie to yourself. I expected better of you.”

“Well, too bad.” She attempted to yank her hand from his, but he tightened his grip. “Get used to disappointment, because that’s all your supposed mate will ever offer you.”

“Another lie.” He tugged her in front of him before pressing her against the wall. “Let’s bargain. From now on, if you lie to me—or to yourself—I get to spank you.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. An action that expressed anger. And yet, she couldn’t quite catch her breath. An action that expressed arousal. “And if you lie to me?”

“You get to spank me.”

Her pulse raced faster. “Why would I ever agree to such a bargain?”

“Because you’re desperate for any excuse to put your hands on me without admitting you want me.”

Her lips pursed. “Fine,” she said.

What! She’d just accepted? If so, he would lie to her right here, right now—which would mean he would have also lied to her about never lying to her, so he would actually need two spankings.

“You’re gorgeous,” she added, and his excitement plummeted. “Your muscles are exceptional, and I could stare at them all day. But I also like to look at lions, tigers and bears, oh my. Touching them would be detrimental to my health. They’d eat me!”

“So would I.” Unwilling to give up, he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “Slowly. Thoroughly.”

She shivered and softened against his. “No?”

Do not smile. “You can tell yourself it won’t mean anything. A momentary pleasure, nothing more.”

“Right,” she said, her voice low and husky with want. “Because that’s all it would be.”

He nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Of course, I would then have to spank you for saying so. For lying to us both.”

Another shiver. Her hands settled on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “How could I know whether I had lied or not...until you’d actually pleasured me?”

A spark of triumph, every fiber of his being demanding he push her for more. Here. Now. She craved his mouth on hers, and he had to strike while she was receptive.

Honor be damned.

But he straightened. Only in the midst of a struggle did a man reveal his true character. Valerian would prove to Shaye she could trust him at all times, even when he had to forgo what he wanted most.

Wide brown eyes regarded him warily. She’d expected him to pounce.

How would she have reacted? Accepting at first, angry afterward?

So vulnerable, his little Moon. What kind of life had she led? Had someone hurt her? Had a man betrayed her trust?

Proving his worth wasn’t just important, he realized. Proving his worth was imperative.

“Valerian?” His name drifted from her lips, a husky entreaty...a confused plea.

“Breakfast awaits.” His harsh tone would have sent anyone else running for cover; his need for this woman was so great he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to keep his hands to himself. “Come.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he’d used the wrong word, considering their conversation. If “wrong” now meant “right.”

She bristled. “Are you secretly a tease?”

At any other time, he might have laughed at the intended insult. “No, Moon. I’m a warrior determined to win the war rather than a single battle, and that is hot, hard truth.”

“You mean cold hard truth.”

“No, it’s definitely hot.”

Her mouth opened and closed and, in her delightfully stunned state, she offered no protest as he linked their fingers to lead her through the commons, the central meeting point for the barracks.

Several couples had decided to camp there and now lay intertwined out in the open. Unlike the frantic moans that had rung out last night, silence reigned.

“You nymphos need a sexual etiquette coach.”

He stopped only long enough to pierce her with a hard stare. “Nymphs. Nymphs.”

Eyes full of innocence, she said, “Nymph... Ohs.”

Frustrating female.

“So, what are we going to do about Joachim?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’ll deal with him when he wakes up. Give me an answer this time. I hate not knowing our plan.”

We and our, she’d said. Not I. Not your. But we and our.

He liked that she considered him a partner in this. “Worry not. We will do whatever is necessary to remain together.”

“Whatever is necessary.... Are you talking about—” she gulped “—committing cold-blooded murder?”

“Yes.” He kicked a pile of clothing out of the way and turned a corner. “But I would swing the blade, and you would merely watch.”

“Yeah, because that’s the problem I had with the plan.” She sighed. “Is cold-blooded murder not a crime here?”

“The strong govern the weak. If the weak refuse to obey, they must be pruned from the vine. In what way would it be crime?”

“And you wonder why I want to go home,” she muttered.

He wished he could wipe her memory of the surface world! “You will never be harmed here.”

“Because you plan to protect me. Yeah, yeah. But I’m sure I’m considered a weakling to the rest of your world. At least physically. So what’s to stop the strong from attempting to govern me when you aren’t around?”

“You are my queen. You govern others. They do not govern you.”

A fresh, warm scent wafted to him just before the dining hall came into view, the table piled with food. The male centaurs and Minotaurs he’d hired from the Outer City had prepared a feast to welcome the new additions to the household.

Shaye’s stomach growled, and he experienced a flicker of guilt. He hadn’t fed her dinner.

He would have to take better care of her in the future. His woman should never go hungry.

“Usually at this time of day, my warriors surround the table,” he said. Now he and Shaye were alone. Even the servants were gone. “You’ll have to wait to test your power.”

“One, I’m not your queen yet. Two, I don’t want to order anyone around.”

His pulse leaped. She’d said yet! “You order me around all the time.”

“Supposed queen, remember?” she said and fluffed her hair. “If you don’t like my rule, you can cut me loose.”

He snorted.

She eased into the chair at the head of the table and eyed him. Expecting him to balk, he was sure. When he didn’t, she shrugged and filled a plate with food.

As she swallowed a bite of coconut cream, her eyes closed in sweet surrender. “Oh, wow. Who prepared this? Surely not your army. They may look like beefcake, but I seriously doubt they know how to cook it.”

“As if I would allow my men to cook,” he said, filling a plate of his own before taking the chair beside hers. “They would inadvertently poison us.”

She popped a grape into her mouth. “So...you’re a chauvinist. Your men belong on the battlefield but never in the kitchen.”

“Not even close. Food can mean the difference between life and death.” He leaned back and bit into a strawberry. How he would have loved to trace the fruit over her lips and lick the juice away. “The kitchen is a battlefield in its own right. My men simply have no real talent for it.”

“Perhaps they’re too much like you. Arrogant, bossy, pigheaded, stubborn, half-witted, spoiled, demanding, self-absorbed and morally corrupt.”

When she paused for breath, he grumbled, “Is that all?”

“No. Horny. Overbearing. Mean.” She paused, tapped a finger against her lips before nodding. “That’s all.”

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