The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(36)

Both men wore wide, toothy smiles of sheer bliss. Their faces were completely relaxed, utterly radiant. Power emanated from them. Each wore gilded breastplates, black pants and jewel-studded armbands. After their night of loving, they were ready to train.

"Good morning, great king," Broderick said. His voice had never sounded so joyful.

"This is the best of days, is it not?" Dorian sighed happily.

They whistled as they circled the table and heaped their plates with food. They must have worked up hearty appetites during the long hours of the night. Valerian glared at them. He had yet to sample Shaye's sweetness - yes, he knew she would taste sweet - so no, this was not the best of days.

A few seconds later, Shivawn entered. He wasn't smiling, wasn't relaxed. No, he was stiff and glowered at everyone. He slammed himself onto the bench beside Valerian, hair beads rattling, and silently filled his plate with the food in front of him. He didn't bother to reach for anything more.

Had his woman denied him? Valerian wondered. He and Shivawn probably wore the same expression. "Where is your chosen?"

"Sleeping," Broderick and Dorian replied in unison, as if he'd asked the question of them. Their grins grew wider, and they slapped each other on the backs.

"Flying through the gates of Olympus," Dorian added.

"Did you stop and make sure the women were willing before you bedded them?" Shaye asked, her tone dripping with loathing.

Dorian blinked at her, the question foreign to him.

Broderick chuckled. "Your woman is amusing," he said to Valerian.

"Amusing?" She popped to her feet with an angry growl. "I am not amusing when discussing rape."

At least she hadn't denied the fact that she belonged to him, Valerian thought, pleased.

"As if a woman would turn me down," Broderick said.

"Believe me, it happens," Shivawn muttered. He swiped up his plate and stalked from the room without another word.

Everyone watched him leave, each with a different reaction. Broderick - laughter. Dorian - intensified confusion. Shaye - satisfaction.

"FYI, gentlemen," she said, drawing attention back to herself. "Just because your mojo entrances a woman doesn't mean she truly, deep in her soul, wants you."

"Mojo?" Having no more room on his plate, Dorian eased into the empty seat beside Valerian. "What is that?"

"Doesn't matter." Shaye crossed her arms over her chest, causing the neckline of her shirt to gape and reveal soft hints of her breasts. "What matters is this - if the women knew you, your personality, your likes, your dislikes, your past, your plans for the future, would they want you still?"

If a woman knew you echoed through Valerian's mind. Not an altogether welcome thought, either. He'd never taken the time to discuss his life - past, present or future - with any of his bedmates. He hadn't cared to discuss it, and they hadn't cared to ask. Still, the question intrigued him.

He wanted that with Shaye, he realized. He wanted to tell her about himself and watch her reaction, hear her thoughts. He wanted to listen to her tell him about her own life. Wanted to know what gave her joy. What she secretly desired with every ounce of her being.

Too, he found himself wondering what type of man she had favored in the past. Scholar? Warrior? How had these men treated her?

Had she loved them?

His hands clenched at his sides, one nearly snapping the bench arm in half. A need to maim, destroy, kill any man who'd once held this woman's affections consumed him. Searing. White-hot. Hotter than even a dragon's fire.

Perhaps it was hypocritical of him - all right, it was hypocritical, considering his own debauched past - but he didn't like the image of his woman splayed and open for anyone save himself. Her passion - his. Her heart - his. He didn't want her deepest desires awakened by anyone but him. Couldn't tolerate the thought.

He yearned to brand his very essence into her every cell. She'd know no scent but his own. Feel no touch but his own. Crave only him, as he craved only her.

"Well, I see my chosen has quenched one hunger," a male voice suddenly said from the doorway.

Valerian stiffened as his eyes narrowed on his cousin. Joachim, who obviously still thought to claim Shaye, stood poised, ready. He wasn't dressed for training, but for war. Silver armor etched with battle scenes covered him from head to toe.

Valerian didn't stand. If he did, he would have leapt over the table and attacked. Joachim wanted to war, so they would war. It was past time he showed his power-hungry cousin the error of his ways. Beginning now.

TENSION AND TESTOSTERONE sparked around the room, hot enough that Shaye felt burned. Fury sizzled and snapped; a raging inferno, barely banked, burned in Valerian's turquoise eyes.

Shaye was used to being around emotional people. How many tirades, fits of jealous rage, had her mother thrown over the years? Countless. If a husband came home late, crystal china was thrown at his head - right along with accusations of infidelity. If a birthday was forgotten, tires were slashed.

Yet Shaye didn't know how to react to such potent fury from Valerian. Someone who, until this point, had shown only desire, amusement and patience. Well, he'd given glimpses of anger, but nothing like this.

The need to kill was there in his expression. His lips were thinned, his teeth bared like an animal's. He was cold, capable of any evil deed.