Forbidden Craving. Gena Showalter

witch in Shivawn’s arms, moaning, mindless with pleasure, and a terrible rage had blackened his mood.

      Your mood is always black.

      True. But never to such a terrible degree.

      Joachim’s bed partner had tried her best to reignite his passions, but she’d failed miserably. He should have given her an orgasm anyway. He might have strengthened, at least a little bit.

      Instead, he’d sent her away to find another lover.

      Fool! He was as weak as before. But at least Valerian, too, was weakened this day, having gone without a woman’s touch—his mate’s touch. If his claims were to be believed.

      Mate. How Joachim longed to find his own mate; that one woman who would love him above all others.

      He sighed. He didn’t want to take the pale woman from Valerian. She didn’t excite him. Not like the dark-headed witch, with her lush curves.

      What was her name? She hadn’t said. Hadn’t spoken at all. He wondered what her voice would be like. Low and husky? Sweet and soft?

      If he’d had the opportunity to choose her, the night would have ended differently. Now Shivawn would pay for taking her, forcing Joachim to push Valerian into issuing a challenge before the appointed time.

      Do nothing until you’re ready, his father had told him. Until you’re absolutely certain you’ll win.

      Joachim liked and admired his cousin, but he liked and admired power more.

      He’d never enjoyed being told what to do. He preferred to give the orders, forcing others to do his bidding. Even his women. He was master. He was commander.

      Never bend, never break.

      His cousin ruled with an iron fist, expecting total and complete obedience, even from family.

      Perhaps the appointed time had arrived. Joachim had an opportunity to take the crown at long last.

      Valerian had offered to fight him, true, but Joachim wouldn’t become king if—when—he won. And he would win. His cousin’s honor would prevent him from doing the dirty deeds, the things that needed to be done. Like kicking a man while he was down.

      My specialty.

      No, Valerian had to willingly agree to surrender his throne. Would he?

      His cousin had spent an entire night considering his limited options. Surely he’d realized there was only one way to keep the pale woman.

      “I will be king,” Joachim snarled.

      Some men were meant for greatness. Some were not. Valerian had made many foolish mistakes lately.

      The first: he’d left the nymph females behind to lay siege to this palace, citing their safety mattered more than the strength of the army.

      Nothing mattered more than the strength of an army!

      The women were now lost, probably captured, with no trace of them in either the Inner or Outer City.

      Yes, Valerian had a contingent of men searching. But that wasn’t enough. The women wouldn’t need finding if the king had brought them along.

      The second mistake: Valerian had slept with the three humans who’d exited the portal, thinking of his own needs rather than the needs of his men.

      I would have thought of the men.

      A lie.

      A lie he embraced, using it to fuel his ire.

      Everything fueled his ire this day.

      The pale woman was a means to an end. He’d seen the way Valerian hovered over her, protecting her, silently willing the other warriors away from her. The only reason Joachim had chosen her—he’d hoped his cousin would do anything to keep her.

      He would find out if his hope had paid off.

      And perhaps, when he became sovereign, he would simply take the dark-haired witch from Shivawn.

      He grinned at the thought.

      Oh, yes, he was going to like being king.

      * * *

      VALERIAN’S CONFIDENCE SOARED. Shaye had willingly placed her hand in his. The contact had set his every nerve ending on fire.

      Would she always affect him this way?

      As he led her down the hall, he smiled at her over his shoulder. His breath caught. The dome cast rainbow flecks over her rosy cheeks. Those roses...the only source of color in her skin. She could have been a dream, a ghost or a phantom come to torment him.

      Like a siren, she lured and tempted him.

      Her pale hair tumbled down her back. Some of the ends curled while some fell straight. What he would give to sift his fingers through the thick mass. His home? His crown? His life?

      Yes, each of those things.

      He would willingly go to his death for this woman.

      She scowled at him, her rich, brown eyes crackling with a fire of their own. “Why are you smiling?”

      “I’m with you.” However long it took, he would chip at her resistance, and he wouldn’t stop until she’d caved. I’ll have you begging for me, Moon. “Why wouldn’t I smile?”

      “Um, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m being a cranky witch? And FYI, I shouldn’t have to explain something so simple to you.”

      “FYI?”

      “An acronym. Usually it means ‘For Your Information.’ In your case it means ‘Fact, You’re Idiotic.’”

      He chuckled, his confidence only intensifying. He knew the ins and outs of warfare better than most and knew this woman was brandishing her crankiness like a weapon.

      The only viable conclusion: she was at war with her own desires.

      He couldn’t have been happier.

      No, not true. He would’ve been a lot happier if they were both naked and in bed.

      “Why don’t I kiss you out of your crankiness, hmm?” he asked, practically purring the words.

      She sucked in a breath. “Tell me. Will one kiss lead to one touch?”

      “Only if I’m lucky.”

      “You’re not.”

      “Believe me, I know. Otherwise I’d be the main course at breakfast.” As he spoke, he pressed his fingers against the pulse in her lower palm. It raced.

      Oh, yes. She’ll be mine. And soon...

      While her mind hadn’t yet accepted him as her mate, her body already recognized him as such.

      What she would learn: when the body desired someone, the mind would create excuses to seize the opportunity to take. Anything to assuage the ache.

      Her awareness of him would ultimately become her downfall.

      “Do you ever wear a shirt?” she grumbled.

      “Once upon a time, yes. Then I noticed the way your gaze caressed my chest, and I decided it was in my best interest to forgo shirts for the rest of my days.”

      “Caressed?” she sputtered. “My gaze did no such thing.”

      He tsk-tsked. “You lie to me, and you lie to yourself. I expected better of you.”

      “Well, too bad.” She attempted to yank her hand from his, but he tightened his grip. “Get used to disappointment, because that’s all your supposed mate will ever offer you.”

      “Another lie.” He tugged her in front of him before pressing her against the wall. “Let’s bargain. From now on, if you lie to me—or to yourself—I get to spank you.”

      Her eyes narrowed