Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

  “There are other warriors here,” he said. “Men just like me. You’re welcome to seduce anyone who catches your eye.”

  He’d never had a problem sharing, and doubted he ever would.

  “Dibs!” one said.

  “On whom?” another asked.

  The brown-skinned goddess fluffed her hair. “All of them.”

  The black beauty punched the pillow. “Greed will be the death of you—because I’ll kill you dead!”

  The nymph pheromone usually erased inhibitions to reveal true desire, but these humans struck him as particularly susceptible. Willing to kill for pleasure?

  The perfect females.

  “There are hundreds of warriors here,” he said. “More than enough to sate each of you for months. Years.”

  If they heard him, they gave no notice. They continued arguing among themselves…until the heat of anger morphed into the heat of desire. Lips kissed and hands wandered.

  Well. I’d say my job here is done.

  * * *

  CLANG. WHOOSH. CLANG.

  Sweat trickled down Valerian’s bare chest and back as he swung his sword. The heavy metal slammed into his opponent’s upraised weapon.

  Broderick toppled, crash-landing, dirt flinging in every direction. Some of the grains sprinkled over Valerian’s freshly polished boots.

  He waited for his friend to stand, but Broderick remained prone. “Get up, man.”

  “Can’t,” was the panted reply. “Also, I don’t want to.”

  Valerian frowned. Four times he’d put the fierce Broderick on the ground. In only one hour.

  And Broderick wasn’t even the worst case!

  If his men grew any weaker, the fortress would be lost the first time they were challenged. They needed sex. Today.

  The humans would probably love a go at his nymphs, but they would have to choose one warrior, only one. The more nymphs they bedded, the more addicted to the pheromone they would become, until they lived and breathed for their next nymph lover. And yet, the second the females made their selection, fights would break out among his army.

  “I hate this,” Broderick muttered, his voice strained. He sat up, head bent and anchored in place by his upraised hands, his golden hair shielding his eyes. “Weakness is for women, babies and the elderly.”

  Nods throughout the room.

  Valerian slashed his sword’s tip into the sand. A tip that had been shaped and honed into the image of a skull—a tip that inflicted irreparable damage to his opponents.

  His gaze traveled the ranks of his army. Some of the men were sitting on a bench, sharpening their blades, while others leaned against a stone wall, their expressions lost, faraway. Only Theophilus appeared ready for anything more than a nap.

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. Though Joachim was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, his head was tilted to the side as he gazed up at Valerian with undeniable sparks of fury.

  What was his cousin angry about now?

  “Line up,” Valerian commanded the entire group. “Now.” The sharpness of his voice finally snagged everyone’s attention.

  The men stumbled into a clumsy zigzag formation. What he saw? Skin stretched tight with strain, shaky grips and unsteady legs. At this rate, Valerian would be the only one to offer any sort of resistance if the dragons attacked. And the dragons would attack. Darius the Heartless, their exalted king, wasn’t known for his forgiving nature.

  “I need you ready for action.” His hands fisted at his sides. Defeat wasn’t something he allowed. Ever.

  A warrior won. Always. Without exception.

  Broderick sighed and scrubbed a hand down his grim features. “We need sex, Valerian, and we need it now.”

  “I know.” He considered his options. There were few.

  Possibility number one: he could send a handful of soldiers into the Outer City a few miles away. Sirens—women who seduced with their voices—lived there, and they could be convinced to move into the fortress.

  First problem: sirens sided with dragons, and they could strike the nymphs while they were weak.

  Second problem: sirens usually killed those they bedded, an impulse as fierce as a nymph’s need for sex.

  Third problem: since the march to the fortress, the females of Atlantis had avoided nymphs as if they came with a side of plague.

  Word had spread. Give yourself to a nymph, and you lose yourself to his dark, sexual hunger.

  Possibility number two: rethink possibility number one.

  “You’ve been with humans,” Dorian said. “I can smell them on you, and it’s destroying my ability to concentrate.” With his obsidian hair, godlike features and mischievous sense of humor, women of every race usually flocked to him. There was nothing mischievous about him right now; he radiated jealousy and resentment. “I almost—almost—want to have my wicked way with you.”

  Guilt consumed Valerian. He’d taken care of his needs while neglecting those of his men. He had to make this right.

  There was a third possibility: entering uncharted territory. Why the previous owner of the palace hadn’t thought of it, Valerian wasn’t sure and didn’t care.

  No risk, no reward.

  He studied his men. They were a range of heights and colors, from the palest ivory to the darkest onyx. Some were cut with muscle while others were stacked.

  “I found the portal into the human world,” he said, bracing his hands behind his back. “A small group of us can venture there and convince whatever females we find to return to Atlantis with us.”

  A chorus of “Yes” immediately erupted. Smiles abounded.

  “Thank you, great king.” A beaming Shivawn patted the shoulder of the man beside him.

  “We can’t stay long.” Not with dragons foaming-at-the-mouth eager to reclaim the fortress.

  “Perhaps I’ll find my mate,” someone called.

  Everyone cheered.

  Valerian nodded in agreement. When a nymph mated, he mated for life, no matter his age or circumstances. His body would never crave another; his heart would beat only for one. The one.

  The very idea should have been terrifying to him. But just like the other warriors, Valerian wanted his mate more than he wanted…anything.

  His twin brother had died years ago, leaving a hollow ache in his chest. An ache he prayed his mate would fill. He’d searched for her. For centuries. No stone in Atlantis had been left unturned. Eventually he’d begun to despair. What if I don’t have a mate?

  I do. I must.

  He wouldn’t give up hope.

  His father had told him a nymph would know his “one” the moment he scented her, and she would, in turn, recognize him, choosing him above all others.

  “I’ll lead five of you to the surface.” Valerian wondered what kind of world waited on the other side of the portal. Dangerous, no doubt. “We’ll go in, find as many women as possible as fast as possible and return with those who wish to follow us.”

  Joachim’s dark brows knit. “Why don’t we simply take the women we want? Why must we give them a choice?”

  “We aren’t dragons.” In other words, they weren’t barbarians.

  “Well. My ravishment of you can be postponed, it seems.” The dryness of Dorian’s tone failed to mask his excitement.

  Broderick frowned. “What if human females want nothing to do with us?”

  Laughter erupted.

  Grinning, Valerian patted him on the shoulder. “Good one.”

  Broderick’s frown melted, revealing a smile. He snickered. “I thought so.”

  “How will we decide who beds whom?” Shivawn asked.

  “My elite will go first, from the highest ranked to the lowest.” The elite had fought in more wars, were stronger, faster and needed sex more than an average solider. “I have no need to choose, of course.”

  Broderick rubbed his hands together. “How soon can we leave?”

  There was no reason to wait and every reason to hurry. “We leave now.”


  CHAPTER TWO

  A BAREFOOT BAY destination wedding. Complete with a wide expanse of glistening beach, crashing cerulean waves, a magical pink-gold sunset and a warm, sultry breeze. White rose petals formed a line along the fine-grained sand; as the wind blew, a few of those petals danced and twirled away. The couple even now pledging their undying love stared deeply into each other’s eyes, their hands clutched tightly, their lips parted in expectation of the coming kiss.

  They presented a beautiful sight—but Shaye Holling only wanted to gag.

  However, she maintained her smile, brittle though it was, and fought the urge to adjust her ill-fitting seashell bikini top. The grass skirt itched her calves.

  The more horrid-looking the bridesmaids, the more exquisite the bride, eh?

  Thanks, Mom.

  Yep. Her mother was the bride.

  Shaye shifted uncomfortably, her shoulders burning. She’d been standing in the sunlight for only half an hour, but her ultrapale skin had already turned a lovely shade of lobster red.

  In fact, the richly dressed crowd of onlookers no longer eyed the bride and groom. Instead, they stared at Shaye.

  And why not? Red skin. White hair. Brown eyes. Blue seashells. Green skirt. I’m a freaking rainbow.

  She shifted again and dang it, her coconuts dipped, forcing her to adjust.

  Silver lining: a new idea for her business, Anti-Cards, popped into her mind.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Because of you, I found religion. I finally believe in hell.

  She sighed. Her mother’s long silvery-white hair—so like Shaye’s own—waved down her back, a perfect mimic of the creamy satin slip dress billowing at her ankles. Nowhere was there a woman more gorgeous than Tamara soon-to-be Waddell. No one more surgically enhanced. No one else who went through men like sexual Kleenex.

  Okay. There was probably someone else who went through men like sexual Kleenex. But come on! This was her mom’s sixth marriage.

  Tamara looked over at her and frowned. Back straight, Shaye, she mouthed. Smile.

  A straight back displays your breasts to their best advantage, Shaye.

  A smile is honey and men are flies, Shaye.

  Do you want to die alone, Shaye?

  Shaye straightened her shoulders to make her mother happy and pretended to focus on the minister.

  “To love, honor and cherish…” His smooth baritone created a perfect harmony with the gentle lap of waves.

  Mostly, she heard love, blah, blah, blah.

  Love. How she despised the word. People used love as an excuse to do ridiculous things.

  He cheated on me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.

  He hit me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.

  He stole every penny from my savings, but I’m not going to press charges because I love him.

  Her mother had said each of those things at one time or another.

  And how many times had Tamara’s boyfriends groped Shaye herself, claiming they’d fallen in love with her?

  Her, a mere child.

  Shaye’s father was another prime example of the “love is all that matters” idiocy.

  I can’t live with you and your mom, Shaye. I don’t love her anymore. I love Glenda.

  His secretary. Of course, after Glenda had lost her sparkle, he’d fallen for Charlene, then Kasey, then Morgan.

  When Morgan divorced him to be with another man, Shaye sent him an I’m so sorry card. What she’d really wanted to send was a Finally getting what you deserve sucks big-time, doesn’t it? card, but none had been available—the very reason she’d started making her own.

  Over the years, her Anti-Card business had only grown. There were a lot of people out there who wanted to tell someone to screw off—in a fun way.

  She worked close to eighty hours a week, but she loved every second. A love that would never come back to bite her.

  Thanks to popular cards like I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like you’re here and You can do more with a kind word and a gun than with just a kind word, she provided jobs for twenty-three like-minded men and women and made more money than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  Life, for the weird-looking little girl who’d only ever disappointed her parents, was finally…not good, not really, but good enough.

  She sighed.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” the minister said.

  Amid joyous applause, the brow-lifted, cheek-implanted groom laid a wet one on Tamara, who returned the kiss with vigor.

  How long would this marriage last?

  Not my problem. Soon Shaye would be on a plane, returning to Cincinnati and her quiet little apartment. No family. Few friends. Absolutely zero romance.

  Life would be worth living again.

  The glowing couple turned and strolled down the aisle, hand in hand. The lyrical thrums of a harp echoed behind them.

  Daughter duty done at last. As everyone else filed toward the reception tent, Shaye inched closer to the sandy shore, moving away from the masses, escape within her grasp.

  “Where are you going, silly?” A bridesmaid latched on to her arm with a surprisingly intense grip. “Remember, we’re supposed to take pictures and serve the guests.”

  She swallowed a groan. Basically, the torture had only just begun.

  * * *

  AFTER AN HOUR of posing for a photographer who finally gave up trying to make the antisocial daughter of the bride smile, Shaye served cake to a line of champagne-guzzling guests. As expected. Most of those guests ignored her, merely grabbing a plate and ambling away. A few tried to talk to her, but quickly retreated when she snapped a cranky reply.

  When the line stopped progressing, she glanced up, her eyes narrowed. A man—one of the groomsmen—had claimed his dessert but hadn’t stepped out of the way. Instead, he grinned at her.

  “No, thank you,” she said, being preemptive in case that grin meant Let’s get our flirt on.

  He balanced the cake in one hand and swirled his champagne flute with the other. His green eyes twinkled with merriment. “I’ll take a little slice of you if you’re serving it.”

  Wow. Talk about inappropriate.

  Should she throat punch him now or later?

  Being nice is a choice, her therapist once told her. You don’t have to be cruel to others, physically or emotionally, to get your point across. All you need to do is communicate your desires in a firm but polite manner.

  “I’m not serving myself to anyone.” Choose your attitude. Communicate your desires. “I’m not interesting in flirting, either.” Good? Good.

  Groomsmen’s grin only broadened. “How about a dance? I’ll do all the flirting, and you can simply enjoy the fruits of my labors.”

  “No, thank you,” she repeated. She turned to the man standing behind him and handed over a plate. “Sorry for your wait, sir.”

  Groomsmen’s grin slipped a little. He drained his glass and set the empty on the table, exactly where it didn’t belong. “I get the feeling your mother…exaggerated about the best way to approach you. I should probably—”

  “Shaye, darling,” her mother called airily. The scent of her expensive perfume wafted as she floated to Shaye’s side, blending with the aroma of sugar and spice. “Wonderful. You’ve already met your new stepbrother, Preston.”

  Stepbrother? Well, that showed exactly how much contact Shaye had had with her mom these past few years. She hadn’t known groom number six had children. Actually, she hadn’t even met her newest daddy until an hour before the wedding.

  Shaye glanced at Preston. “Nice to meet you.”

  “A true pleasure,” he said, a little unsure.

  He was a very handsome man, but he wasn’t even close to her type: absent.

  She gathered two plates to pass to the couple behind him. Communicate desire. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must finish serving the guests before there’s a revolt.” A few ladies at the back of the line look
ed ready to claw out her eyes just to eat the jelly inside.

  Tamara uttered a strained laugh. “There’s no reason to be rude, Shaye. You can do your duties while getting to know your new brother.”

  “No, thank you.” He wouldn’t be her brother for long. No reason to forge a relationship already doomed to fail.

  Her mother hissed, “I hate when you speak those three little words.”

  “Why? They’re polite.”

  “You,” her mother said, pointing to one of the other horrendously clad bridesmaids. “Take over the cake. Shaye, you will come with me.”

  Strong fingers curled around Shaye’s wrist. A second later she was being dragged out of the reception tent to the edge of the beach.

  Sand squished between her sandaled toes as a warm, salty breeze wrapped itself around her, swishing her grass skirt over her knees. Sunlight had faded completely. Now slivers of ethereal moonlight illuminated their path. Waves sang a gentle, soothing song.

  Her mom’s velvety brown eyes—eyes exactly like her own—narrowed slightly. She dropped Shaye’s hand as if contact could cause premature wrinkles. “Do you want to kill my hopes and dreams? Because that’s what you’re doing.”

  Shaye wrapped her arms around her middle. “Your hopes and dreams…for me?”

  “Of course for you! At the rate you’re going, you’re going to die alone, not just unloved but despised. I’ll never have a grandbaby.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with dying alone. I imagine it’s quite peaceful.”

  “Would it kill you to be nice?” Tamara smoothed a wisp of hair from her face. “To pretend you have a heart for just a few hours?”

  That stung. Badly. “I’ll worry about me, and you worry about you, okay? This kind of upset could cause you to shrivel up like a raisin.”

  Horrified, Tamara patted the skin around her eyes. “I just had Botox. I shouldn’t have a single line or wrinkle. Do you see a wrinkle? Tell me!”

  A new card flashed through her mind.

  There’s only one person worthy of dating you—YOU!

  “Mother, you inspire me,” Shaye replied honestly.

  Somehow mollified, Tamara brushed her fingertips over the side of her face. “Yes, well. I try.”