least, to look away from her. Already he clung precariously to a sense of honor he wasn’t sure he possessed anymore. The longer he stood there, the worse it would be for him.
How he longed for the night she would breathe her sighs in his ears, or across his chest—or lower still. And how dare Joachim attempt to lay claim to her!
Valerian scowled. Shaye was meant for him, and only him, and those who thought otherwise deserved a painful death.
He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted her, and not being able to have her immediately was...hard. Very, very hard.
I have to win her. I cannot let another have her.
Perhaps his cousin would become so enamored of his current lover he would forgot all about Shaye. If not...well, Valerian would just have to think of something Joachim would find irresistible. Something he would place above the importance of a bedmate.
Joachim was a good man—at times—and a strong warrior with a—slightly—loyal heart. What were the man’s weaknesses? Women? Beyond a doubt. Women were the weakness of all nymphs. Power? Definitely. Weapons? Most surely. Joachim collected them, taking them from every warrior he’d ever killed or bested and hanging them on his bedchamber wall.
Valerian considered his own blade, resting against his back. The Skull. Large, sharp and lethal. One of the finest swords ever made. No, the finest ever made. Crafted by Hephaesteus himself, the blacksmith of the Greeks. The weapon had slayed many of his enemies, rending them with injuries that could not be mended. The sword was the only one of its kind, with a twisted frame and elongated skull tip that were envied by every soldier who spied it.
He would hate to give it up, but his mate held so much more importance to him. Even a mate who wanted nothing to do with him.
Would Joachim accept the Skull?
Valerian released a sigh of his own, the answer remaining a mystery—as much a mystery as the best way to win Shaye’s well-guarded heart.
She’d scoffed at money and jewels. She’d shown no interest in his crown.
Did she have enemies in need of slaying? If so, he would gladly gift her with their severed heads.
He pushed a hand through his hair. Uncertainty was foreign to him. And horrible and challenging but also exciting.
Winning her—appeasing Joachim and overcoming Shaye’s own resistance—had awakened his deepest warrior instincts.
“You will be mine,” he told her. “Somehow.”
“Majesty?”
He closed the door with a quiet snick and focused on the warrior who’d returned at last, bearing the supplies Valerian had requested. A canvas, an easel and three colors of paint. Black, white and red.
He dismissed the warrior and carefully placed the canvas on the easel. He spent hours painting, losing himself in the joy of creating. The subject of his art had never appealed to him more. Had never mattered to him more.
When he finished, he stood back to study the image and ensure he’d gotten every detail right. His chest swelled with pride. He had. Oh, he had.
Let Shaye try to resist him now...
* * *
THREADS OF LIGHT flowed from the crystal dome above, gradually brightening the bedroom. Different-colored shards shot in every direction, a lovely rainbow spray of blue, pink, purple and green.
Shaye eased up, surprisingly relaxed. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before scanning the room, hoping an exit would reveal itself in the bright light of day. The bathing pool still steamed and bubbled with hot water. Violet cloth still draped the windows. Columns still rose to the ceiling, majestic and—
She gasped. A painting had been hung on the wall, beside the vanity. A painting that hadn’t been there last night.
It was a painting of her. A close-up of her face. In black and white, with only spots of color. Twin pink circles highlighted her cheeks while her lips were dark red.
Her eyes somehow sparkled with mischief, her eyelids at half-mast, heavy and slumberous; she looked ready and eager for a man. But not just any man...
Her lips were slightly kiss-swollen, a smile threatening to break free.
Valerian must have spent the entire night working on it.
Is this how he sees me?
Her mind rebelled. She wasn’t mischievous, and she rarely smiled. He must have painted his desires—the way he wanted her to be.
Disappointment delivered a one-two punch to her midsection.
Can’t you be nice for once, Shaye?
Why can’t you be more like your stepsister, Shaye?
What will it take to get rid of your perma-scowl, Shaye?
Mumbling under her breath, she lumbered from the bed and crossed the bridge, avoiding the surrounding pits. Why did Valerian have those death traps in here, anyway?
Wait. The palace—fortress, whatever—used to belong to the dragons, he’d said. They must have used those pits to fly in and out of the room.
And how scary that she had begun to think like an Atlantean, considering the different races as part of everyday life.
Anyway. Maybe she could climb down? Or scale down with a sheet, since she didn’t have a ladder.
Yeah, and she could also fall to her death.
So. No scaling.
Shaye used the surprisingly modern bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up, hoping the water would also wash away her darker emotions. A pipe dream.
She wanted to go home, and she wanted to go home now. Nothing and no one confused her there. Nothing and no one made her wish for more, for better.
Her employees were probably missing her. Or had they not yet noticed her absence? She was always the first one there and the last to leave, her time spent locked inside her office.
Whatever. If she wanted to leave, she’d have to walk out the front door. And what better time? Valerian could be sleeping.
Unbidden, his image rose front and center in her mind. He was so strong, so proud. So danged sexual. A hedonist to the extreme, with skin that looked like dark, lickable cream, hair as radiant as spun gold, and eyes...oh, his eyes. Those turquoise irises beckoned. They teased. They promised. His long, dark lashes acted as the perfect frame, the perfect contrast.
Stalling?
As quietly as possible, she tiptoed toward the door. The closer she was, the stronger Valerian’s masculine scent became, a heady mixture of aroused man and determined warrior. Her skin prickled with heat. She tried to hold her nose, to fight the scent’s allure and the weakening effect it had on her.
Her heart drummed a staccato rhythm—da-dum da-dum dadada-dum—as she clasped the knob and twisted. Would Valerian be out there,
