“I...” She cleared her throat.
She’d been born in the US, though her family had come from a small village in Mexico. Different sicknesses killed her parents and sibling. Probably the reason she’d decided to become a doctor. She’d moved from foster home to foster home, from bad to worse to not too bad to worse again. Probably why she’d been so eager to hook up with Ethan. At eighteen they’d married.
Gonna have a family of my own again, she’d thought.
Shivawn sighed. “All right. We’ll return to my chamber. You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.”
Her heart kicked into overdrive. Remain calm. She twisted in her chair. He stood there, strong and sure.
The guard remained in place but pretended to study the floor.
“Brenna,” Shivawn repeated, extending his hand.
He was a handsome man, with brown hair and green eyes, and a part of her wished she were a normal woman who enjoyed men and sex and...fun.
Oh, I miss having fun.
But she shook her head in negation.
His shoulders slumped, his lips compressing into a thin line. “Why do you continue to deny me even the smallest concession?”
She hoped her narrowed gaze told him everything she wished she had the courage to say: You, caveman. Me, captive. Us, enemies.
The fact that he and his buddies saw nothing wrong with abducting women, well, they clearly needed some sense knocked into their thick skulls.
“Have I hurt you in any way?” he asked.
She shook her head a second time. He hadn’t, and it still shocked her.
He stepped forward, his features softening. “I only wish to give you pleasure.”
No. No! Fact was, she didn’t think she was capable of experiencing sexual pleasure. Too many bad memories would taint the experience.
Again, she shook her head. “I’m staying here.”
“Joachim doesn’t need you. I do.”
“No.”
He stopped. His lips pursed.
Would her continued refusal cause him to erupt in fury? Would he try to force her? Would he morph from nice guy to beast?
A terrible sickness churned inside her stomach.
“I will never hurt you, Brenna. I will always protect and defend you. I’ll even cherish you.”
Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t.
She’d been watching and listening and she’d picked up a few tidbits. Every nymph had a mate. Someone he obsessed over.
She wasn’t Shivawn’s mate. Clearly. He wanted her, but he didn’t need her. Not the way the king seemed to need the white-haired girl, Shaye.
One day, Shivawn would meet his mate and happily wash his hands of Brenna. What would happen to her then?
“No,” she repeated. If ever she decided to risk being with a man and battling the worst of her memories, it would be with one far less intimidating. Someone who couldn’t snap her neck with a flick of his wrist.
“Brenna, please. Give me a chance.”
She jabbed her finger in the direction of her patient. “He needs me.”
Shivawn regarded her for a long while, different emotions playing over his face. Disappointment. Regret. Resolve. Finally he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.
She breathed a sigh of relief and, shockingly enough, disappointment. She’d liked his company?
Forget him. She rotated back to the injured warrior and smoothed a hand over his too-cold brow. No progress.
Would he survive? He’d lost so much blood.
He was a lot bigger than Shivawn. Probably a lot stronger, too. Which meant he was more dangerous.
Actually, his disposition made him more dangerous. He’d challenged the king to a sword fight. But right now he was as weak as a babe and utterly helpless.
She hated to see anyone suffer. No one knew better than Brenna how it felt to lie in bed, broken, beaten and near death.
With a sigh, she leaned forward, as if pulled by a power stronger than herself, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead; she willed him to get better.
“No touching,” the guard said.
The patient’s eyes blinked open, as if the kiss—innocent as it had been—had given him the strength he’d needed to awaken at last. He spied her hovering over him and frowned. Confusion darkened his eyes.
She straightened with a jolt of panic.
“Did I die, then?” she heard him say.
His voice was strained. He’s feeble. He can’t hurt you. Still...she had to force herself to remain in place.
Hand shaking, she once again flattened her palm on his brow. He’d warmed, but only slightly.
He leaned into her touch. “Did I enter Olympus?”
A nymph’s idea of heaven? She shook her head.
His gaze darted around the room. “Why are you here? Why am I—” His words ground to a halt. “Valerian,” he grated. “The fight. I lost.” He tried to sit up.
She gently pushed him down and smoothed his hair from his face, attempting to soothe him and defuse his anger.
If he decided to fight her, she’d...what?
Shockingly enough, he relaxed.
Drawing in a deep breath, he even reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
Remain calm, remain calm, please, remain calm. Patients touched her all the time. She’d had to train herself to maintain a casual expression.
When she attempted to pull away, he tightened his grip.
“What are you doing here, Shivawn’s woman?”
Her pulse hammered in her neck as she pointed to his bandaged wounds.
He studied her more intently, his brows drawing together. “You are a healer?”
She nodded and once more tried to extract herself from his hold, but once more he tightened his grip.
“Can you not speak?” he asked.
He wasn’t the first to ask, but he was the first to ask without any hint of pity. He looked curious, nothing more.
“Broken,” she said, motioning to her neck with her free hand.
He...didn’t flinch, and amazement filled her.
He released her to trace his fingers over her neck, where the pulse still fluttered wildly. His fingers brushed the soft skin, as if searching for an injury.
She shivered, both appalled and...needy? What was wrong with her? She hadn’t reacted to a man in years.
“How?” he asked.
People always asked, as if they were inquiring about the weather or about where she bought her shoes. In the beginning, the question had thrown her, brought back the horrible memories of being pinned down and choked by her enraged, jealous husband. She used to answer with a casual, “Car accident,” but she doubted this archaic warrior would understand what that meant.
Brenna bit her lip and, tentative, wrapped one of her hands gently around his neck and shook, then pointed to her own neck with the other.
His eyes narrowed, and his hands closed over her wrists, far more gently than before. “Someone choked you?”
Nod.
“A man?” The words were so quiet she barely heard them.
Again she nodded.
“No touching,” the man in the doorway suddenly barked. “The king’s orders. Release her, Joachim.”
She’d forgotten about the guard.
Joachim’s gaze spit hate at the male. A second later, the two men engaged in a heated conversation in a language she’d never heard. During it all, Joachim retained his gentle grip on her.
She finally managed to wrench free. Relief swept through her, and she rubbed her wrist. Where he’d touched, her skin had warmed. Sensitized.
Joachim was frightening, volatile and violent, traits she absolutely abhorred. She shouldn�
�t like his touch. No, she shouldn’t.
“Would you like me to kill him for you?” Joachim asked, surprising her.
She blinked in confusion and pointed to the sentinel at the door.
“Good luck with that,” the man in question said.
Joachim ignored him. “The one who hurt you.”
She hesitated a moment. The idea appealed to her. No denying that. Most of her problems would die with her ex. His continued threats. Her fear of every shadow and unexplained noise. Her inability to date another man, certain her ex would harm him out of spite. Not that she wanted to date. But how could she justify such an action?
Killing Ethan would be an act of hate. Would make her as despicable as he was.
So. She forced herself to shake her head.
“Power is good,” he said, his voice nothing but smoke and gravel. “Hurting a woman is not.” His eyelids drifted closed...
He pried them open. Determined to stay awake?
She didn’t know whether he believed what he’d said or not. Either way, he struck her as someone who would be uncontrollable in the midst of a rage. After today’s sword fight...
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Brenna.”
“Brenna,” he said, as if he savored the sound on his tongue. An instant later, his mouth pulled tight in a grim line. Fury darkened his eyes, churning like a violent sea. “Where is Shivawn?”
She found herself rising from the bed, trembling. In the blink of an eye, he’d become angry. Why? What had she done?
He frowned as his eyelids dipped shut once more. “Why are you backing away from me, woman? Are you going back to your lover?” The last was said with a sneer.
Before he could rise from the bed to grab her, she turned and fled the room, unsure where to go. Only knowing she had to leave this place. Had to leave him.
* * *
“FOLLOW HER,” JOACHIM commanded. “Make sure she arrives at her destination safely.”
“You had best watch who you order about,” the warrior posted at his door growled—before doing as commanded and taking off after Brenna.
He cursed. He’d never felt so powerless, and the feeling infuriated him. He didn’t want her to be with Shivawn. He wanted her here. With him. Wanted her to talk to him and touch his brow again.
Had he been able, he would have vaulted from the bed and forced her to return. He was master here.
You are master of no one. You can’t even govern yourself.
He’d let anger drive her away before he could comfort her for the horrors of her past. Before he’d thanked her properly for taking such good care of him.
She had feared his anger. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Now Shivawn would have the privilege of comforting her.
Joachim wanted to blame Valerian for this predicament, but he couldn’t. He’d issued the challenge, and his cousin had beaten him fairly. As a man who valued power above all else, he respected Valerian’s win.
And, at the moment, he understood his cousin’s need for the pale woman...understood his willingness to do anything to keep her.
Just then, Joachim would have done anything to have Brenna.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DESIRE PLAGUED VALERIAN as he stormed into the dining hall. The worst desire of his life. And the best. Wooing was hard. Literally! But he’d made progress with Shaye. He knew it. They’d talked, gotten to know each other better—her primary objection to his courtship would soon be obliterated entirely—and even flirted with each other. She’d laughed. She’d enjoyed his company.
There at the end, she’d forgotten to keep him at a distance. She’d opened up and let him in. At least emotionally.
Soon she would trust him fully. Physically. Until then, he just had to survive. And he would. Because she would kiss him again.
Their kiss...
She’d erupted, become a living spark. She hadn’t hidden her desire but had reveled in it. Her body had burned for his, desperate for him to quench her sexual thirst.
Only thing to do now was drink himself into oblivion.
He halted when he spied Shivawn at the table, a different flask in each hand. The man already possessed red, glassy eyes and wobbled in his chair.
Shivawn was young, nearing one hundred years of age. A babe, really, when compared to Valerian’s six hundred three. Shivawn was a strong warrior, though, and swift on his feet. He’d never hesitated to render a deathblow when necessary. In fact, whenever an enemy required torturing, Shivawn had often volunteered for the job.
Good man, that.
However, Shivawn could be impulsive, allowing his emotions to lead him.
Emotions were unreliable. They changed often and rarely offered a clear—or truthful—picture about circumstances.
Perhaps Shivawn preferred emotion to logic because his father had been as cold as ice, utterly without emotion. Very much like Valerian’s own father.
Both males had died while battling demons who’d claimed to be allies, only to change their minds directly after peace talks; they’d slaughtered every nymph present.
Such was the way with demons.
While nymphs strengthened through sex—pleasure—demons strengthened through death—sorrow.
Babe that Valerian had been, he’d rallied the army and attacked the demon camp the very next day. Rivers of blood had spilled. Demon blood.
His first victory—the first of many.
Where was his victory now? He could defeat a horde of demons, but not one small wisp of a woman.
“Females,” Shivawn groused.
“Females,” Valerian agreed.
He plopped beside the warrior and confiscated one of the flasks. “As your king, I’m entitled to half of your belongs.”
“Better than the alternative, I suppose, which is all my belongings.” Shivawn gulped from the remaining flask.
Valerian drained the contents of his own in a single gulp, but found no comfort in the ensuing burn.
“My bedmate doesn’t want me,” his friend said, his tone bitter. “How is that possible? I’m a nymph.”
“As am I. I’m king. I rule this place. My word is law. Except with Shaye.” She had a mind of her own. A trait he liked, admired...but currently despised.
He would like it again just as soon as she decided she trusted him.
“Maybe—maybe Brenna prefers other women?”
“Have you tried wooing her?”
“Woo? Who has time to woo?” Shivawn’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand her. She actually fears me. Fears me, as if I’m a monster out to hurt her. I’ve never hurt a woman, Valerian. Never. All women worship me. Desire me.” He sighed heavily.
“Not all women. Clearly.” Valerian appropriated the other flask and drained it. “Why are you complaining, anyway? Brenna isn’t your mate. Why don’t you focus on the woman who does want you? The one you slept with.”
“I would, but she’s currently in bed with someone else.”
At least Shaye hadn’t turned to another.
His grip tightened on the flask, cracking the center. He would die before he allowed another man to touch her.
Even if she wanted that other man?
He...didn’t know.
Valerian gnashed his teeth. Her happiness mattered to him. If she couldn’t be happy with him, he would have to give her up, wouldn’t he?
The thought blackened his mood. He would just have to woo her harder.
“Why don’t you focus on another woman?” Shivawn asked. “Just because you can’t finish with someone else doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy someone else.”
“I don’t want another woman.” He couldn’t abide the thought of having anyone other than Shaye in his bed.
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His arms craved Shaye, only Shaye. His legs craved her. The heart slamming against his ribs craved her. She exuded a special scent, and every part of him recognized every other woman as an imitation. An impostor.
Shaye had wrapped him in a terrible and wonderful and hated and loved cloud of lust. How could he win her?
He planned to buy her a stable of ponies. On his way to the dining hall, he’d sent a man into the Outer City to purchase the pink pony he’d seen. The first of many.
What else could he do? She missed her job. Those anti-cards. And she was toying with the idea of writing a book.
First thing in the morning, he would deliver paper and ink.
Would she react as she had when she’d spied the new decorations in their bedroom? A mix of shock, joy and delight had radiated from her.
He could only hope.
“...than they are worth,” Shivawn said, cutting into his thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about Shaye. You’ll have to repeat your statement.”
Frowning, Shivawn plucked a crumb from the table and tossed it aside. “I hate that we nymphs must rely on another being for our survival. Women are more trouble than they are worth.”
Shaye would say men were more trouble than they were worth, he was sure. “One way or another, people rely on other people. That’s a fact of life for everyone, Shivawn. We were never meant to exist in solitary confinement.”
A moment passed in silence.
Finally Shivawn sighed. “Females,” he repeated. He stood, stalked to the kitchens and returned with an armful of new flasks.
“Females,” Valerian agreed. He claimed his 50 percent and quickly drained the contents, no longer experiencing any kind of burn.
“I explained to Brenna I can give her more pleasure than she’s ever known. Did she care? Noooo.”
Valerian frowned. His friend sounded so...cocky.
His cheeks heated as he recalled the time he had said similar words to Shaye; he slouched in his seat. Perhaps I’m not so irresistible after all.
In his defense, he would have loved hearing about her ability to pleasure him.
“Perhaps Brenna needs to hear a few testimonials from my former lovers,” Shivawn continued.
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