going back to the tent.” Dragging her flailing mother behind her, Shaye raced toward the outside reception area, where laughing voices, soft music and unsuspecting guests greeted her.
She dared a glance behind her. The warriors hadn’t slowed or changed direction. They’d followed her, lust in their eyes.
“Help us,” she shouted, flinging sand with every step. She swept the curtain aside and entered the tent. “Someone call 911!”
No one paid her any heed. They were too busy dancing and drinking themselves into oblivion, thanks to the open bar.
“Let me go,” her mom continued to shout. When that failed to gain her release, she sank her teeth into Shaye’s arm.
“Ow!” Not knowing what else to do, Shaye hooked her foot behind her mom’s ankle and pushed, inadvertently sending the bride hurling into the dessert table. Platters of food crashed to the ground.
Several people glanced at Shaye before concentrating on the fallen bride with confusion and horror.
“There are men—” Shaye pointed “—out there. Dangerous men with swords. Does anyone have a gun? Did someone call 911?”
Tamara jolted to her feet, unconcerned by the red-and-white frosting now streaking her ten-thousand-dollar dress. She elbowed her way past the guests. “Where he is? My love! My heart!”
“Tamara?” Conner, her new husband, rushed to his bride to lock her in his arms, his expression both concerned and incredulous as she struggled to break free. “What’s wrong with you, kitten?”
“I need...him.” The last word was uttered on a relieved, happy sigh.
The six sea gods had just stepped into the tent; they consumed every inch of breathable space and blocked the only viable exit.
The music suddenly stopped. The male guests cowered, as if death had just arrived, and the females gasped in bliss, already moving toward the warriors, reaching out, eager to touch the exquisite display of masculinity.
This couldn’t be happening.
The one in the middle scanned the crowd, as if drinking in every detail...but also searching...searching...and finally locking on Shaye. Satisfaction glowed in his eyes.
She trembled as dizzying warmth speared her. More images rushed through her mind. This man naked and sweaty, pressed against her, licking her...
No, no, no. She forced her mind to blank.
Who were these men?
And how did the tall one make her forget who and what she was, and simply enjoy the pleasures she somehow knew he alone could give her?
He alone? What madness!
She grabbed the cake knife from the floor, icing coating her fingers, holding the weapon in front of her. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest.
After multiple physical altercations with different stepsiblings—and sometimes having to fend off a new stepfather—Shaye had considered self-defense classes prudent. The problem? She’d never had to put the lessons into action.
Wait. There was an even bigger problem. None of her instructors had ever prepared her for a sword-wielding giant.
The warrior in the middle—what was his name?—narrowed his eyes and motioned her over. His kissable, lickable lips lifted in a slow, wicked smile. In the candlelight, he exuded a far more potent sensuality...
A silver hoop winked at his nipple.
Her mouth watered all over again.
“Come,” he said, the single word weighted, as if it had more than one meaning.
She shivered, everything inside her screaming to obey him, to come...to suck that hoop into her mouth while she ground herself against his erection—
Crap! She hadn’t meant to look between his legs, but now she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
Black leather pants molded to his thighs, displaying every muscle...every inch of hardness...every bit of perfection.
Talk about instant inspiration! A new card took shape—a ridiculous card.
A good wine will make you feel sexy, brave and ready for anything. Oh, wait. I meant a sea god.
He took a step toward her. She took a step back, even though she wanted to rush forward.
A laugh burst from her, zero humor, all hysteria. I’m seriously screwed, aren’t I?
MY MATE, VALERIAN THOUGHT, filled with joy, pride and even anger. After centuries of searching, he’d finally found his mate.
The moment he’d spotted her, the world around him had faded, ceasing to exist. Then he’d caught scent of her. Ice and wildflowers.
As legend claimed, he’d known who she was to him in an instant. Known beyond any doubt. His every cell had awakened for her.
I am hers, and she is mine.
There was no woman more beautiful, in this human world or in Atlantis. Her face...utterly angelic, with a luscious little chin, radiant cheeks and a daintily sloped nose. Her eyes were big and brown, a rich brown, almost gold, filled with dark secrets and undeniable determination, offset stunningly by pale, gloriously long lashes.
He’d never seen skin more fair or luminous. Not even on a vampire. Like the very moon he’d spied shining in the heavens, she was soft, dazzling and ethereal.
Moon. Yes. That’s what she was.
His hands itched to reach out, to caress her, to linger and savor, to learn her, to anchor her against him, ensuring she wouldn’t disappear when the sun rose, as unattainable as a dream.
His moonbeam was his wildest dream made flesh.
She was tall, her slenderness making her appear almost fragile. Definitely vulnerable. And yet, she also had delicious curves. Her breasts were more than a handful, and her hips flared. Her legs...oh, those legs. Deliciously lithe, leading straight to the new center of his world.
Possessive hunger consumed him. Already his blood boiled with a seemingly unquenchable fire, his skin tightening over muscle and bone.
Never again would he be able to enjoy another woman.
Enjoy? he thought and nearly laughed. Had he ever truly enjoyed a woman until now?
In seconds, the little moonbeam had become essential to his well-being. But for the first time in his existence—and that’s what he’d been doing until just this moment, existing without really living—he suspected a woman would reject him.
This one had disobeyed him, run from him and now pointed a weapon in his direction. She radiated an icy veneer his warrior instincts
