Forbidden Craving: The Nymph King / The Beautiful Ashes

Rather than answer his question—the truth would get her into trouble—she said, “By the way. I’m not your woman.”

He cast her a pitying look. “Cease your protests, Moon. They’ll only embarrass you when you at last admit your love for me.”

So. No more talk of lust. He’d moved on to love. She snorted.

“Are surface dwellers allowed to combat each other with swords?” he asked.

“When countries are at war, yes. When the men are caught up in a personal vendetta, no. Not without consequences.”

“What of protecting yourself or those you love?”

“It’s allowed, but sometimes there are still consequences.”

“You are clearly far better off here.”

Another snort. “I should have known you’d go there.”

They turned a corner and Valerian stumbled—over nothing. His injuries must have weakened him.

Her concern for him doubled. “You need a healer, too,” she said.

“I have you. I need no one else.”

She had a sinking suspicion he meant those words in more ways than one. Despite everything that had happened—or maybe because of everything that had happened—she couldn’t deny this man saw only the best in her.

While she administered aid, would he “accidentally” touch her? Would he purr his warm breath into her ears, over her skin, and let his white-hot gaze devour her?

Better question: Would she be able to resist him?

Already her resolve teetered on precarious ground. Perhaps playing doctor wasn’t a smart move.

“Valerian, O mighty king of the nymphos. Please listen to me. I know absolutely nothing about wound care.”

“I don’t care. I trust you.”

“Trust doesn’t matter. Not in this. I could do more harm than good.”

“And you want me well?” Satisfaction dripped from his tone.

“Uh, don’t read too much into it, big guy. I’d want my worst enemy to get well. Because I’m nice.”

“Nice?”

“All right. That’s fair. I’m sometimes nice.”

He pushed out a breath. “I meant I trust only you to be with me while I’m in such a weakened state.”

How did he always manage to say the exact right thing to melt the ice around her heart? “But why? You don’t know—”

“Not this again, little Moon. I know you. But, if it will make you feel better, you can tell me all about your life while you patch me.”

“I can, can I?” she asked dryly. “How generous of you.”

“If you’re nice, you’ll agree. You’ll distract me from my pain.”

Her concern instantly resurged. “You’re in pain?” Stupid question. He’d been slashed by a sword. Of course he was in pain.

He winked at her over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “So. Much. Pain.”

Well. She pursed her lips. “If you’re talking about blue balls—”

“Blue balls?” His shoulders shook, and she heard the rumbling purr of his beautiful laughter. “Oh, but I like your wicked mouth, Moon.”

Unbidden, her lips inched into a half smile. “Well, I’ve somehow managed to resist you for twenty-four hours. That’s got to be a record, right? Your groin must be seriously neglected.”

“I’m glad you understand. Kiss it and make it better?”

She snorted. “In your dreams.”

“Yes, please. You’ve seen my life, yes? My dreams always come true.” His tone was husky and rich but also honey warm, as if the thought of her ravishment was an exquisite bliss. As if, in his mind, she was already naked and he was already inside her.

She would have to remain on full alert with this man. Being with him, she suspected, would be like shooting herself full of heroin. Addictive, wild, a high beyond imagining, but also lethal and stupid. So, if she could resist taking that first, experimental taste—well, a second taste—she wouldn’t have to deal with withdrawal.

Her new mantra: Resist! “I think I’m more of a nightmare waiting to happen.”

He brought her knuckles to his lips and stroked them with his tongue. “If you have sex with me, I’ll be healed by the time you’re screaming my name. Win-win for both of us.”

Shivers down her spine, fire in her blood. He said nothing else, letting her mind and body battle for supremacy.

Stay strong. Be cold.

If he touched her... Wait. He was touching her, his hand clutching hers, and it felt good.

“I’m going on record right now,” she said.

Once again he looked over his shoulder. This time he silenced her. He licked his lips, as if he knew exactly what reaction he’d caused in her and planned to exploit it by whatever means necessary.

A foreign part of her—a part happy to reveal itself only around him—urged her to reach up and run her fingers through his hair...across his beautiful face. His decadent flavor was still in her mouth, the press of his lips imprinted on her memory.

The very reason she had to resist him.

“Sex isn’t happening.” There. Stated now, so that he had no excuse later. Because, if a nymph’s pheromone could drug, what could a nymph’s penis do? “If you push me, I’ll resent you.”

“Will you resent me the same way you hate me?”

He’d just had to remind her about that, hadn’t he? Her free hand fisted, and her belly quivered. “No,” she said.

He sighed. “If you insist on abstaining—”