The Nymph King

He grinned his most debauched grin. “What any man wants from you. Your body. You will belong to me. Now, come.”

Instead of obeying, she bared her teeth in a scowl, revealing a white row of perfection. Why wasn’t she entranced by him? Why wasn’t she begging for his touch? The mystery intrigued him.

“You can’t do this,” she spat. “Get out of here before the police arrive and you’re arrested.”

Police? Arrested? Valerian frowned. “You will change your mind about my possession of you, this I swear.” He maneuvered around the women still vying for his attention and closed the distance between himself and the moonbeam. Her dark eyes widened with his every step. The closer he came, the more her delectable fragrance drew him like an invisible chain. Except…

One of his warriors reached her first, his strong arms wrapping around her from behind and swooping her into his arms. She screamed and kicked, fighting like an enraged vampire famished for blood.

A feral growl rose in Valerian’s throat, and he bit back a wave of utter fury. Fury over her torment; fury over his intense sense of possessiveness. Mine. She belongs to me. He’d never experienced a moment’s jealousy in his life. He and his men shared women all the time. But the sight of another man holding his little moonbeam nearly undid him.

“Mine,” he barked. Even though he wanted to rip the warrior’s arms away from her, he remained still. “She’s mine.”

Shivawn paused, the beads in his hair clanging together. The moonbeam continued to fight in his arms, pounding her fists into his face, making him bleed and grimace.

If he dropped her and hurt her, Valerian seethed, he would die.

“But, my king, you said you didn’t want any of these surface women. You said they were for us.”

He had, Valerian realized. The reminder sent another wave of dark fury pounding through him. He’d never broken his word to his warriors before; they would expect him to keep his promise today, and rightly so. Which meant one of his men would expect to claim this woman, his mate, for his own, stripping her, pleasuring her, watching her climax.

He couldn’t allow that.

Every instinct he possessed demanded he do something, anything, to prevent it from happening. Yet there was nothing he could do now and he knew it. Eyes narrowing and hands clenching at his sides, he said, “I will carry her,” an edge of steel to the words.

Shivawn regarded him silently for a protracted moment, then shrugged, handing her over. “She’s a wild one. Be careful of her legs, for she’ll try to kick your manhood.” The moment his hands were free, Shivawn grasped another woman, a dark-haired beauty who looked less than pleased by the happenings around her.

Hmm. Very odd. Another unhappy one. What was wrong with these surface females?

Valerian forgot about her, however, as he gently clasped the moonbeam in his arms. She stilled, delicious little bumps breaking out over her skin. She kept her face away from him and wrapped her hands over her stomach. Unable to resist, he burrowed his nose into her neck, breathing in her fragrance of…snow and wild flowers—yes, that’s what her scent was—relishing the softness of her pale skin.

“Do you smell my scent?” he asked her.

“N-no. Should I?”

His shoulders slumped with disappointment.

“If you don’t put me down,” she said stiffly, as if each word were forced from her throat, “I’m going to claw out your eyes and eat them in front of you.”

He chuckled, disappointment forgotten. She had a sweet face and a bloodthirsty nature. What a delicious contradiction. “Why are you not begging for me to pleasure you?”

“Are you kidding me?” she gasped out. “Someone needs to check into Egos Anonymous, I see. Now put me down!”

“You did not answer my question.”

“And I’m not going to. For God’s sake, put me down!”

“I want to hold you. Forever.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, but this time she didn’t reply.

“I wish I could give you what you ask,” he said, “but too well do I like where you are.” The side of her body was pressed into his chest, and everywhere their skin touched, he burned. “Perhaps, though, I would be willing to bargain with you. Perhaps you could convince me to grant your request.”

Finally she cast her glance in his direction. When their gazes met, blue against golden brown, he sucked in a breath. Awareness sizzled inside him, stronger than before. Such beauty. His nostrils flared, and he knew his pupils dilated. His body hardened painfully.

She gulped, and her already pale skin became pallid. “No bargaining. Just put me down. Or do you and your steroid goon squad plan to rape us?”

“Rape?” he asked, unfamiliar with the word. Judging by her tone, it was not favorable. “Explain this rape to me.”

She did. And in the most disgusted voice he’d ever heard.

He chuckled again. Unconcerned male pig? Unwilling female? “Sweet moonbeam, how you amuse me. I’ve never forced a woman in my life, and I will never have to. No, when I get you into my bed, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me.”

Chapter Four

WHEN I GET YOU INTO BED, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me.

To Shaye, the utter confidence in his voice was more frightening than if he’d screamed the words. As it was, a delicious heat wove through her blood. A heat that begged her to stop resisting and enjoy every stolen touch, every caress of the man’s breath on her skin.

Never mind that the other women in the tent were petting the warrior as if he were an innocent house cat. Make that an innocent blow-up doll. They were begging—yes, begging—him to make love with them. Moaning, even, and groaning. Sounds of rapture continually wafted to her ears.

Give in, her body beseeched. Taste him. One taste won’t hurt you.

Panicked by her weakening will, Shaye slammed her palm into her captor’s nose. His head whipped backward, and blood trickled onto his lip. “Why did you do that?” he demanded after a shocked pause.

Thankfully, his hold on her had loosened. Shaye bowed her back, and he struggled to maintain his grip on her. She managed to squirm free and tumble to her feet. Get out of here! common sense shouted, drowning out her body’s ever-growing wails for her to stay. She stepped forward, dragging her wild gaze in every direction, scanning for her mom. Her breath emerged in shallow, ragged pants.

She saw Preston, lying unconscious on the floor. When he’d protested the warrior’s actions, one of them had hit him. She saw Conner, her mom’s new husband, frantically searching the crowd. But there was no sign of her mom. Damn it! Where was she? They might have a rocky relationship, but Shaye couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her behind.

Shaye stepped forward, intending to follow Conner’s lead and push through the masses, but the warrior behind her seized her wrist in a viselike clamp. Her blood ran hot from the sensual touch, then cold from fear.

He’d asked her if she smelled him, and she’d said no. Well, she’d lied. She inhaled his erotic, virile fragrance every time he was near, and it fired her hormones into a frenzy. Now was no different.

“You hit me,” he said. Undiluted shock layered his words, as if no one had ever dared raise a hand to him before. “Why did you do that?”

Silent, Shaye turned around and kneed him in the balls. Just lifted her leg and boom. Contact. He doubled over, a strained wheeze gasping from his throat.

“Not so hot for my body now, are you?” she mumbled, never stopping her search.

“That…hurt,” he gritted out.

“Of course it did, and there’s more where that came from if you grab me again.”

Without another word, she darted away, still looking…looking…There! Finally. In the corner, her new stepdad had his arms wrapped around her mom, locking a struggling Tamara in place.

Shaye jumped over fallen chairs and skirted around upturned tables, slipping and sliding along a river of red punch. Someone snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her against a stone wall of a chest—and it wasn’t her warrior. This man’s scent was different, not quite as exotic. Even his skin felt different, not quite as hot. His arms possessed a faint dusting of dark hair.

She screamed and slammed her head backward, hitting him in the chin. Her entire body vibrated with the force of the blow. He growled something, and she didn’t have to know his language to know he was cursing. His arms fell away; she whirled on him, ready to fight.