Forbidden Craving. Gena Showalter

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, awake and waiting?

      “Good morning, Shaye.”

      His husky voice jolted her, and as she flattened a hand over her throat, she belted out, “Crap!”

      He stood just in front of her, his muscled arms crossed over his massive chest, his legs braced apart. Their gazes clashed, her treacherous heart losing track of its rhythm and skipping a beat.

      He looked even more unbelievably mouthwatering than before.

      Golden hair tumbled onto his forehead and shoulders. He was still shirtless, his body roped with the tightest abs she’d ever seen. A leather band wrapped around him, holding a sword against his back.

      Trembling now, she licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”

      His gaze raked over her, and she suspected he had just peeled away her clothing. “Waiting for you, of course. You are gorgeous.”

      She shifted from one foot to the other. His voice had dipped as he’d uttered the compliment. A take-no-prisoners timbre. Pure temptation and utter decadence.

      He’s a lecherous abductor. Dangerous in every way.

      Right. She mentally reinforced the icy walls around her heart.

      “Did you like your painting?” he asked.

      A shiver tripped along her spine. “Yes. No.”

      He arched a sandy brow. “No?”

      “Honestly? I both love and hate it. You painted an almost-smile on my face.”

      “A look you tried to hide from me but couldn’t.”

      He had amused her on several occasions. But...

      He was that aware of her?

      Dang him. He was seducing her again, and he wasn’t even trying!

      It wasn’t fair. He had experience. She didn’t. But just as he was learning about her, she was learning about him. He wasn’t needlessly cruel or even merciless. He clearly loved and respected his men and wanted the very best for them.

      “Be honest,” she said. “If we got married and had a daughter—” ovaries threatening to exploded again “—what would you do if some man came along and kidnapped her?”

      Tension radiated from him. He raised his chin. “I would kill the bastard.”

      A pang of envy—all for a make-believe daughter! Her own father would be too afraid of someone like Valerian to act against him.

      “You would kill someone for doing exactly