Forbidden Craving

by Gena Showalter

  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.”

&
nbsp; 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.”

  “‘Mean’?” He frowned. “I’ve been the epitome of nice, catering to your every whim.”

  “Did you not steal me from my home? Have you not refused over and over again to return me?”

  He tossed his arms up. “This again.”

  “This always.”

  “Perhaps I can give you something better to think about.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on her thigh; she sucked in a breath.

  What she didn’t do? Rebuke him.

  Slowly, languidly, he slid his fingers higher. He stopped only a few inches away from the center of both their worlds.

  “Shall we bargain, sweet Shaye?”

  The pink tip of her tongue swiped over her lips and almost proved his undoing. “I’m listening.”

  “Give me time.” Would she find ten years objectionable? Five? Probably. He sighed. “A year. A mere blip in a lifetime. If I fail to win your affections, I’ll return you to the surface.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” She bit into a strawberry of her own. “By the end of that year, I would be considered dead. My business would fail. My home would be sold. My bank accounts would be emptied.”

  He tensed with incomparable need, once again overcome by the desire to lick juice off her lips and chin...to dribble the sweet but tart droplets into her navel...between her legs. She would writhe as his tongue followed every path taken by the liquid. She would tunnel her hands through his hair while her knees squeezed his temples.

  “Valerian?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

  He blinked. Their gazes met...heated.

  She had to suspect the direction his mind had gone—and she had to like it. Her pupils were blown, those velvety-brown irises utterly consumed.

  “How long do you propose?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything.

  She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. “A week.”

  Risk losing her forever for a mere seven days of her company? No! “Six months.”

  “You ask for far too much.”

  “I ask for far too little when I long to demand an eternity.”

  A moment passed in heavy silence. Then she grated, “If I’m going to consider this bargain thing, I need to know a few things first.”

  “Anything.”

  She arched a brow. “Be honest. Do you want to wear my skin?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes or no? I have to know how deep this stalker slash creeper thing goes.”

  “No?”

  “Do you want to hump my eyeballs?”

  “Interesting, but no.”

  She drew in a deep breath, held it and released it. “A month,” she said. “I’ll stay a month.”

  A month. A mere four weeks. Or thirty days. Or 720 hours. Or 43,200 minutes. Or 2,592,000 seconds.

  Not. Long. Enough.

  Could he win her in the allotted time frame? With anyone else, he would have said yes. With Shaye...

  “Well?” she prompted.

  Two of his warriors strode into the room, saving him from having to reply.

  Both men sported wide, toothy smiles. Unlike the day before, each sported a relaxed posture. Strength radiated from them, so strong it was nearly tangible.

  “Shaye, meet Broderick and Dorian.”

  Broderick had an arm slung around Dorian’s shoulders. They smiled at Shaye.

  They wore gilded breastplates, black pants and jewel-studded armbands, ready to train.

  “Good morning, great king.” Broderick patted him on the back. “This promises to be a pleasurable day.”

  “Highly pleasurable,” Dorian agreed.

  The males whistled as they circled the table and heaped their plates with food. They must have worked up hearty appetites.

  Valerian glared at them, actually...envious? Yes. Yes, he was. A first for him. Another blow to his pride.

  Shivawn entered the room. He wasn’t smiling or relaxed but stiff; he glowered at everyone. He slammed himself onto the bench beside Valerian, the beads in his hair rattling, and silently filled his plate.

  “Problems?” Valerian asked him.

  “Maybe one or two. My woman vomited when we reach
ed my room,” Shivawn muttered.

  “Did you touch her?” Shaye asked, inserting herself into the conversation. “Fair warning. Your next words dictate my next actions.”

  “No,” Shivawn snapped. “I obeyed orders.”

  “Well, you just saved yourself a painful forking.” She set the fork in question beside her plate. “Let’s discuss the fact that you’ve decided to act like a child and pout.” She shook her fists in front of her face. “Boo hoo. Poor you. Now you’ll actually have to work at a relationship before having sex. Oh, the travesty!”

  “Women love me,” the warrior grated.

  “Wrong. They love your pheromone.” Her gaze slid to the others. “There’s a big difference, guys. Huge. Without that magic drug—and it’s a drug, I don’t care what your king says—I wonder if anyone would ever want any of you. You’ve got A-plus looks, sure, but after last night’s ceremony? You’ve got solid F-minus personalities.”

  Having been on the receiving end of her sharp tongue more than once, Valerian sat back and enjoyed the show—enjoyed her.

  She was born to be a queen.

  And really, her words made him think. He’d never before taken the time to discuss his life—past, present or future—with any of his bedmates. He hadn’t cared to discuss his secrets, and they hadn’t cared to ask.

  He wanted Shaye to know him. All of him. The good, the bad and the ugly. He wanted to tell her about himself and gauge her reaction, hear her thoughts.

  He wanted to know her. All of her. No detail was too small. He wanted to know what had given her joy, what had pained her. He wanted to know about the men she’d dated.

  Had she favored scholars? Warriors? How had the men treated her?

  Had she ever been in love?

  Valerian’s hands clenched on the arms of the chair, nearly snapping the wood. A need to maim, destroy and kill any man who’d once held this woman’s affections consumed him, hotter than a dragon’s fire. Her passion—his. Her affections—his.

  Her heart—his!

  He yearned to brand his very essence into her. She would know no scent but his. Would feel no touch but his. Would crave him, only him, as he craved her, only her.