The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(38)

"Dorian," Valerian said, "gather the rest of the men. I want them to watch 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 and into a lost city - yawn. She'd been chosen to be the king's mistress - could someone pass a nail file? All of that suddenly seemed paltry, dreamlike.

This battle, though... it was pure nightmare.

"I'm asking you not to do this," she said to Valerian. They were alone now, no one else in sight. "He obviously doesn't want me. He just wants to hurt you and take your crown."

Valerian sat down, leaned back in the bench and regarded her intently. "Do you fear for me, moon?"

She snorted. Inside, though, she trembled with fear. "I could care less about you, actually." Lie. Stupid of her, yes, but a lie all the same. His safety did matter to her, she admitted silently. He'd said all those nice things to her. His touch electrified her. And he was... sweet, damn it. "I just don't want to be pawned off on that Joachim jerk." Truth.

Casually, he popped a grape into his mouth. "I told you I would do whatever was necessary to keep you and I meant it. Now I am not going to take offense at your lack of confidence in my skills as a warrior because you have yet to watch me fight. You do not truly know me."

"And I might not have a chance to know you. Not that I want to," she added quickly. "But still."

"I will, however," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "take great offense if this lack of faith ever occurs again."

Her eyes focused on him with forced unconcern. "I'm shaking. Really."

His eyes rounded with incredulity, and he shook his head. "Have you no sense, woman? I've just warned you of my wrath and you mock me?"

"Two words - hell, yes."

Far from angering him, though, her words seemed to amuse him. "I like your wit, Shaye. I also like your courage. You please me, for you are a worthy mate. A worthy queen to my warriors."

Queen? Hardly. Look at the mess that her own life had become. Like she really needed to be in charge of other people. And as for the other, well, she didn't want Valerian to like her. Okay, she did. She just didn't want to want him to like her. The more he liked her, the more determined he'd be to keep her, the harder he'd pursue her and the tougher it would be to resist him, to remember who and what he was - and the less she would want to escape.

"Come. I have tarried enough, yet I was unable to resist stealing a moment alone with you." He pushed to his feet and held out his hand, palm up, a silent command for her to take it. "They are awaiting us in the arena."

She studied his palm, powerless to turn away. She knew that if she intertwined her fingers with his, warmth would tingle up her arm. Such drugging warmth. Unwanted warmth. Dangerous warmth.

Her throat constricted. She stood, keeping her hands at her sides. "Lead the way."

He remained where he was, beckoning with a single wave of his fingers.

She crossed her arms over her chest.

His lips dipped into a disbelieving frown as he realized she was refusing him yet again. "I allowed you to refuse once. I will not allow you to do so now. I need your touch, Shaye. I need your strength. My victory depends upon it."

Ah, hell. Way to stick a knife in her. Their gazes locked in challenge. The lush length of his black lashes cast decadent shadows over his cheeks. How did a man with blond hair have such dark eyelashes? They should have been pale, like hers. "Sorry," she said. And she was.

"You are stubborn," he said. "And you want to be cold."

She raised her chin. "I assure you, I am cold. I'm a bitch."

"Given time," he added smoothly, "I will heat you. I will make you burn."

The words were laced with promise, dripping with determination, and drifting beneath them was a challenge: every resistance will be met and conquered until you've soared over the sweet edge of surrender.

She gulped, but still didn't allow herself to reach for him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You have a choice. Take my hand or be carried in my arms."

"You didn't mention my third choice. Leaving." She skidded around the chair and backed away, a single step.

"You? Leave?" He shook his head. "No, you are too brave. I will give you till the count of three to decide, then I will make the decision for you. One."

Another step backward.

"Two."

Yet another.

"Thr - "

She rushed forward and clamped onto his hand. At first contact, the warmth she'd feared speared her, spreading up, spreading out, overtaking her entire body. But if he had chased her and thrown her over his shoulder - and he would have - the sensations would have been so much worse. More potent.

She scowled up at him. Light banked his features, giving him a breathtaking radiance no one person should possess.

He grinned. "That was not so hard, was it?"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

He chuckled, but his laughter didn't last long. His expression grew serious. "I have your scent in my nostrils, moon, and can find you wherever you are. Wherever you go. Do not think to try and escape from me during the battle." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the dining hall, dragging her with him.