leaped from the bed and swept up his leathers. The women pouted as he dressed and strapped on his weapons.
“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.
