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Do you want to die alone, Shaye?
Shaye straightened her shoulders to make her mother happy and pretended to focus on the minister.
“‘To love, honor and cherish...’” His smooth baritone created a perfect harmony with the gentle lap of waves.
Mostly, she heard love, blah, blah, blah.
Love. How she despised the word. People used love as an excuse to do ridiculous things.
He cheated on me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.
He hit me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.
He stole every penny from my savings, but I’m not going to press charges because I love him.
Her mother had said each of those things at one time or another.
And how many times had Tamara’s boyfriends groped Shaye herself, claiming they’d fallen in love with her?
Her, a mere child.
Shaye’s father was another prime example of the “love is all that matters” idiocy.
I can’t live with you and your mom, Shaye. I don’t love her anymore. I love Glenda.
His secretary. Of course, after Glenda had lost her sparkle, he’d fallen for Charlene, then Kasey, then Morgan.
When Morgan divorced him to be with another man, Shaye sent him an I’m so sorry card. What she’d really wanted to send was a Finally getting what you deserve sucks big-time, doesn’t it? card, but none had been available—the very reason she’d started making her own.
Over the years, her Anti-Card business had only grown. There were a lot of people out there who wanted to tell someone to screw off—in a fun way.
She worked close to eighty hours a week, but she loved every second. A love that would never come back to bite her.
Thanks to popular cards like I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like you’re here and You can do more with a kind word and a gun than with just a kind word, she provided jobs for twenty-three like-minded men and women and made more money than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Life, for the weird-looking little girl who’d only ever disappointed her parents, was finally...not good, not really, but good enough.
She sighed.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister said.
Amid joyous applause, the brow-lifted, cheek-implanted groom laid a wet one on Tamara, who returned the kiss with vigor.
How long would this marriage last?
Not my problem. Soon Shaye would be on a plane, returning to Cincinnati and her quiet little apartment. No family. Few friends. Absolutely zero romance.
Life would be worth living again.
The glowing couple turned and strolled down the aisle, hand in hand. The lyrical thrums of a harp echoed behind them.
Daughter duty done at last. As everyone else filed toward the reception tent, Shaye inched closer to the sandy shore, moving away from the masses, escape within her grasp.
“Where are you going, silly?” A bridesmaid latched on to her arm with a surprisingly intense grip. “Remember, we’re supposed to take pictures and serve the guests.”
She swallowed a groan. Basically, the torture had only just begun.
* * *
AFTER AN HOUR of posing for a photographer who finally gave up trying to make the antisocial daughter of the bride smile, Shaye served cake to a line of champagne-guzzling guests. As expected. Most of those guests ignored her, merely grabbing a plate and ambling away. A few tried to talk to her, but quickly retreated when she snapped a cranky reply.
When the line stopped progressing, she glanced up, her eyes narrowed. A man—one of the groomsmen—had claimed his dessert but hadn’t stepped out of the way. Instead, he grinned at her.
“No, thank you,” she said, being preemptive in case that grin meant Let’s get our flirt on.
He balanced the cake in one hand and swirled his champagne flute with the other. His green eyes twinkled with merriment. “I’ll take a little slice of you if you’re serving it.”
Wow. Talk about inappropriate.
Should she throat punch him now or later?
Being nice is a choice, her therapist once told her. You don’t have to be cruel to others, physically or emotionally, to get your point across. All you need to do is communicate your desires in a firm but polite manner.
“I’m not serving myself to anyone.” Choose your attitude. Communicate your desires. “I’m not interesting in flirting, either.” Good? Good.
Groomsman’s grin only broadened. “How about a dance? I’ll do all the flirting, and you can simply enjoy the fruits of my labors.”
“No, thank you,” she repeated. She turned to the man standing behind him and handed over a plate. “Sorry for your wait, sir.”
Groomsman’s grin slipped a little. He drained his glass and set the empty on the table, exactly where it didn’t belong. “I get the feeling your mother...exaggerated about the best way to approach you. I should probably—”
“Shaye, darling,” her mother called airily. The scent of her expensive perfume wafted as she floated to Shaye’s side, blending with the aroma of sugar and spice. “Wonderful. You’ve already met your new stepbrother, Preston.”
Stepbrother? Well, that showed exactly how much contact Shaye had had with her mom these past few years. She hadn’t known groom number six had children. Actually, she hadn’t even met her newest daddy until an hour before the wedding.
Shaye glanced at Preston. “Nice to meet you.”
“A true pleasure,” he said, a little unsure.
He was a very handsome man, but he wasn’t even close to her type: absent.
She gathered two plates to pass to the couple behind him. Communicate desire. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must finish serving the guests before there’s a revolt.” A few ladies at the back of the line looked ready to claw out her eyes just to eat the jelly inside.
Tamara uttered a strained laugh. “There’s no reason to be rude, Shaye. You can do your duties while getting to know your new brother.”
“No, thank you.” He wouldn’t be her brother for long. No reason to forge a relationship already doomed to fail.
Her mother hissed, “I hate when you speak those three little words.”
“Why? They’re polite.”
“You,” her mother said, pointing to one of the other horrendously clad bridesmaids. “Take over the cake. Shaye, you will come with me.”
Strong fingers curled around Shaye’s wrist. A second later she was being dragged out of the reception tent to the edge of the beach.
Sand squished between her sandaled toes as a warm, salty breeze wrapped itself around her, swishing her grass skirt over her knees. Sunlight had faded completely. Now slivers of ethereal moonlight illuminated their path. Waves sang a gentle, soothing song.
Her mom’s velvety-brown eyes—eyes exactly like her own—narrowed slightly. She dropped Shaye’s hand as if contact could cause premature wrinkles. “Do you want to kill my hopes and dreams? Because that’s what you’re doing.”
Shaye wrapped her arms around her middle. “Your hopes and dreams...for me?”
“Of course for you! At the rate you’re going, you’re going to die alone, not just unloved but despised. I’ll never have a grandbaby.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dying alone. I imagine it’s quite peaceful.”
“Would it kill you to be nice?” Tamara smoothed a wisp of hair from her face. “To pretend you have a heart for just a few hours?”
That stung. Badly. “I’ll worry about me, and you worry about you, okay? This kind of upset could cause you to shrivel up like a raisin.”
Horrified, Tamara patted the skin around her eyes. “I just had Botox. I shouldn’t have a single line or wrinkle. Do you see a wrinkle? Tell me!”
A new card flashed through her mind.
There’s only one person worthy of dating you—YOU!
“Mother, you inspire me,” Shaye replied honestly.
Somehow mollified, Tamara brushed her fingertips over the side of her face. “Yes, well. I try.”
“So...are we done here?”
“No! Not even close.” Her mom stomped a high-heeled foot. “Tell me why you spurn everyone. Tell me why you never date.”
She used to date. She’d quickly discovered men never called when they said they would. Most hadn’t been interested in getting to know her as a person; they’d wanted to get her out of her clothing. Some guys had admired other women while they were out with her.
Some had lied straight up. One had used her for her money. Another had cheated on her.
Relationships were too much trouble for too little reward.
Shaye twirled a strand of the grass skirt around her finger. Instead of explaining her reasons to her mother, she said, “I love you, and I’ll call you when you return from your honeymoon. Now I’m going home.”
“You’re not going anywhere, young lady. Not until you’ve apologized to Preston.” Tamara shoved a finger in her face. “You treated him shabbily, and I won’t have it.”
Had she treated him shabbily?
Shaye valued and prized honesty, and that’s what she’d given him. Shouldn’t he thank her?
Would she ever understand the complexity of human interactions?
“Mother. Nannies raised me.” A gentle reminder. “Your orders hold no sway with me.”
The color drained from Tamara’s cheeks. “But... I’m your mother.”
“And I’m the Ice Princess of Bitterslovakia, the Grand Duchess of Rancorstonia and the Queen of Hostileland.” The many names Tamera had called her over the years.
Waves splashed in the distance as her mother snapped, “All I’ve ever wanted was a nice, normal daughter. Instead I’m stuck with you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You won’t be happy until you’ve ruined my wedding.”
Fighting the newest sting, Shaye allowed a familiar icy numbness to encompass her. The same numbness she’d relied on during her childhood. A sweet relief against depression and desolation.
Tamara stared past her. “Conner tried to tell me. You’re jealous of me. Admit it! I should have disowned you long ago. Conner says negativity must be purged to allow positivity to flourish.”
Wow. Of all the things her mother had said over the years, that little gem might have cut the deepest.
She thinks I’m the problem.
Wow. Just...wow!
As a little girl, Shaye had craved her mother’s attention, approval and adoration more than breath. But nothing she’d tried had worked. Not gifts or fits or pretending to be the woman’s shadow. Once, Shaye had even run away.
The police had found her, and the nanny had come to pick her up.
“Why don’t you do us both a favor and take responsibility for your own life,” Shaye said, her voice as cold as her internal armor.
The tears began to pour down Tamara’s cheeks. “Conner and I wanted so badly for this day to be perf—” Her eyes widened and glazed with lust. “Perfect,” she finished on a dreamy sigh. “Hmm. So perfect.”
Her voice had dropped to a husky purr.
“Mother?”
“Man.” Tamara stretched out her arms. “My man.”
“I don’t understand.” Shaye dragged her gaze to the ocean—her mouth fell open in shock.
There, rising from the water like primitive sea gods, were six gloriously tall, muscled barbarians. The moon glowed behind them reverently, providing each male with a golden halo.
The warriors were shirtless, revealing washboard abs and skin so tanned it made her think liquid gold had been poured over steel. They looked like supermodels. Only better. Yes, so much better.
Unbelievable...surreal...magnificent.
As the six warriors focused on Shaye, molten air snagged in her lungs, melting her precious ice armor.
The urge to strip and splay herself atop a table to offer her body as the dinner buffet bombarded her. She would be an all-you-can-eat buffet. No charge.
She moistened her lips. Her mouth watered, her skin tingling, and her stomach clenched.
I’m...turned on? By strangers?
What’s wrong with me?
The men continued to prowl toward her. They were so close she could see the silvery water droplets sliding down their chests and gathering in their navels.
Other droplets slid lower...
Her gaze snagged on the man in the middle, and she forgot how to blink.
Dangerous, her most feminine instincts whispered. Lethal.
He was taller than the rest of the group, his dark blond hair hanging in a wet tangle around features that had been chiseled by a master. His eyes... Oh, glory hallelujah, his eyes. They were blue-green, neither color blending with the other but standing alone, so wickedly mesmerizing she felt the pull of them all the way to her bones.
Her nipples hardened, and an ache suddenly throbbed between her legs.
There was something wild about him. Something untamed and savage. His confident swagger, perhaps. The deceptively calm glint in his expression that said he did what he pleased, when he pleased.
As she stared at him, he stared at her. He studied her face, searing arousal flickering in those magnificent eyes, the blue-green deepening and mixing at last, becoming smoldering turquoise.
Raw, masculine perfection.
“Mine,” her mom said on a wispy catch of breath. “All mine.”
A previously missed detail hit her awareness. The warriors carried swords.
They’re armed for war.
She gulped. The one in the middle cocked his finger, beckoning her to join him.
Shivering, drowning in the flood of his maleness, she struggled to shake her head no.
Go to him, her stupid whoremones beseeched.
She shook her head, violently this time.
He frowned at her. “Come here.” His husky voice drifted across the small distance, almost as intoxicating and heady as a caress.
In seconds, a sensual fog wove through her mind. Her knees quaked, and another shiver traipsed the length of her spine.
What would happen if he actually touched her?
What would happen if he trailed those luscious pink lips along her every curve and hollow?
Images flashed through her mind. The man’s mouth on her breasts, his fingers slipping deep inside her, her legs parting to give him better access...
He’s seducing me without even trying.
Either that, or she was seducing herself!
“Come here,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Tamara said, already stepping toward him. The dreamy glaze in her eyes had darkened with eagerness. “I need to touch you, or I’ll die. Please let me touch you.”
The part of Shaye that recognized how dangerous these men were also realized there was something wrong with the entire situation—she still couldn’t bring herself to care.
Must fight this!
Scowling, she reached out to latch on to her mom’s arm and jerk Tamara to a halt. “Don’t go near them.”
“Let me go.” She struggled against Shaye’s hold. “I’ve never been so in love. I need to be with my man.”
“We’re 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?
CHAPTER THREE
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 longed to melt.
A moan of pleasure sounded a few feet away. He didn’t have to look to know a female had just offered herself to a warrior, and that warrior had eagerly accepted.
“Sheathe the beast.” There were too many unknowns around them. Dropping their guard—or their pants—would be foolish. “Gather the unmated females.” He spoke in his native tongue, never taking his gaze from the object of his fascination. “Only those who wish to accompany us.”
His moonbeam would have to be convinced.
She retreated a step. When she realized what she’d done, she stilled. She straightened her shoulders and raised the blade higher.
My woman has courage. I couldn’t be more proud of her.
His shoulders straightened.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “What do you want with us?”
Her pink-as-roses lips moved sensuously, entrancing him.
Going to taste those lips every day for the rest of my life...
“Hello, handsome.” An unfamiliar female voice sounded beside him.
He tore his gaze from the moonbeam at last—surely one of the most difficult things he’d ever done—and glanced down. Three females now surrounded him, purring as they caressed him and rubbed against him.
“Only the unmated ones?” Broderick asked, his eyes closing in surrender as a pretty brunette licked his collarbone. “You’re sure? This one really wants to come with us.”
“Only the unmated ones,” he confirmed. He’d never—wittingly—taken a married woman from another man, and he wouldn’t start now.
If the little moonbeam is mated?
He stiffened. She’s mine! Only mine!
Needing no other encouragement, his men leaped into action, beckoning unmated females to wait outside the tent. Broderick had to pull the trio off Valerian. They protested, only to glom on to the other warrior.
Smiles abounded from his army and the chosen alike.
Mated females cried in distress before attempting to shove their way out of the tent.
One of the human males decided to object. He pointed a small, black handheld device in Valerian’s direction. A gun, he thought the weapon was called.
Before a shot could be fired, Dorian sneaked up behind him. A sword hilt slammed into his temple, and he collapsed.
Excellent. Valerian returned his attention to the moonbeam. She remained in place. Slowly he approached her, her dark eyes widening.
The closer he got, the more her delectable fragrance drew him like an invisible chain. Except...
One of his warriors reached her first, his strong arms wrapping around her from behind. Shivawn disarmed her and swooped her up into his embrace. She screamed and kicked, fighting like an enraged vampire out for blood.
A feral growl rose in Valerian’s throat, and he bit back a wave of fury. Fury over his woman’s torment; fury over his intense surge of possessiveness. Mine! She belongs to me! He’d never experienced a moment’s jealousy in his life, and yet the sight of another man holding his little moonbeam pushed him into madness.