He laughed, his husky amusement irritating her. She scowled. Marina was not a woman to be mocked.
"The gods would not be so stupid as to place a doorway to their precious surface kingdom," he said. "They hate us. They want us to remain here, forgotten."
"Of course they would erect a doorway to the surface. If there is a way in, there has to be a way out."
"True, but a doorway would place the human world in danger, and... No, the gods would never do such a thing." His words dismissed her, as did his tone.
"Then how did Darius bring his human bride here? She was not sent by the gods. My spies claim Darius left Atlantis and brought her here."
Layel frowned and stroked two fingers over his jaw as he considered her. "The portal is not for your use, Marina."
She jerked her chin up. "So you know it's there? You know it exists, and yet you tried to pretend it does not?"
He gave a negligent shrug. "I know everything. And yes."
"You are not the Jewel of Dunamis," she said, her eyes slitting. "You cannot possibly know everything."
"Ah, Dunamis." He dragged out each syllable as if they were a caress to his senses. "A thing no longer yours to command," he said with a smirk.
The razor-sharp points of her teeth gnashed together. Every sovereign in the land had owned the jewel at some time or another, and Marina had possessed it all too shortly. "I will get it back, I assure you."
His wide shoulders lifted in another shrug. "I do not have to be Dunamis to know that the portal brings only death to Atlanteans. If you enter, the gods will kill you."
"Darius survived. Besides, the gods do not care what we do. They will not harm me, I assure you." She paused, a heavy silence encompassing her as Layel's warning echoed through her mind. Even the sounds of the demon camp and the idle chatter of her men drained away. She might sound assured, but she did not feel that way.
What if the vampire was right? The gods had ignored them for so long, had made their preference for the mortals so clear...
No. No. She wouldn't let the possibility of their anger affect her decision.
"I do not like that you have known about the portal and never thought to tell me," she said with deceptive calm, traipsing her finger over the seam of her lips.
"Perhaps it amused me to think of your ignorance."
"Are you frightened of the gods, Layel?" She smiled slowly. Innocently. Mockingly. "Do you fear their wrath? You must, you poor, poor baby. Otherwise, you would have used the portal to find yourself another human bride."
Though his expression remained neutral, impassive, and still revealed not a hint of his emotions, his teeth elongated and sharpened. He must be furious, she thought with a smug inner grin, for the man did not like to be reminded of the woman he had loved and lost.
"Best you watch your tongue, demon," he said softly. "Before you lose it."
Her head canted to the side, her own teeth lengthening. "Best you recall whom you are threatening."
The blue of his eyes sparked with flecks of red. "You do not want a war between our people, and you are very close to beginning one."
Marina dragged in a frustrated breath. If she wasn't careful, he would leave, and she would be forced to find her slave on her own. Forced to battle Darius and his dragon army alone, because she wanted control of the portal. Badly.
If only she still possessed Dunamis, she would not need Layel or anyone else. She would know exactly what battle plan would work, would know exactly what her enemy planned.
Oh, how she cursed the jewel's loss!
She did not like this feeling of helplessness. She liked even less the necessity of catering to another creature—especially the seductive and enigmatic Layel.
"We both know you hate Darius," she said, padding a few steps away from him. His closeness unnerved her. She watched as trees swayed against the breeze. "He killed your lover, and you have never had revenge."
Layel didn't answer for a long while. When he did, his features were blank, revealing no emotion, but his voice was thick with dry amusement. "Such subtlety warms my heart. Truly it does."
"You do not have a heart."
"True," he said, his amusement richer. "Tell me something. Why do you wish to travel to the surface? You are a queen, and you possess everything you could ever wish."
"Are you truly so foolish you do not know?"
When he made no reply, she added, "Think of it. On the surface, we will be the gods. Not kings and queens, but gods who are worshipped and revered. Humans will be forced to obey our every command and we will drink from their bodies anytime we desire, no longer reliant on animals to sustain us."
"You would risk the gods' wrath for dessert?" He tsked under his tongue. "Silly demon. Can you truly be so foolish?"
As the sound of his renewed amusement echoed from the forest, her irritation with him intensified. Bastard. Could he not see the rightness of her fantasy? "You know as well as I that there is nothing sweeter than human blood."
"I have done without for so long, I hardly remember the taste."
She tried another line of persuasion. "Have you ever longed to fly until you see nothing but heaven? I have. Here, we never reach anything but crystal and water. I crave freedom, Layel. True freedom." Never mind she repeated the same words her slave girl always gave her. This was different. This was her desire.
Several moments dragged by in silence. Layel liked doing that, liked making her wait for his response. Patience was not part of her nature, and waiting now, when the matter held such importance, proved impossible. "On the surface, you can seduce a thousand human women if that is your desire. You can find another human to love," she added on a whispery catch of breath.
His lips dipped into a wistful frown, giving his features a lethal kind of beauty. In that moment, she knew that she had him. Knew that he would help her in any way necessary.
With a conscious effort, she kept the blaze of triumph from her expression. "Together, we can control the portal. Together," she added, "we can destroy Darius and his army and get inside his palace. That is where the portal resides, isn't it?"
He nodded, one slow decline of his chin.
"Fire kills you. My demons are impervious to it. And your vampires can do things we cannot. Darius will never be able to fight both our armies at the same time."
Utter silence reigned for several long moments.
Her fists clenched as she awaited his answer.
"Very well," he said smoothly, as if he hadn't kept her waiting. He nodded again. "I will help you."
"You will not regret this decision." That was the truth, for a dead man could not regret anything. Once Layel no longer proved useful... She grinned. "From this day forward, let it be known vampires and demons are allies."
His lips pursed, but he didn't deny her words. "My spies saw the human male and a female slave headed for Javar's palace."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "The former dragon king is dead. His palace is empty. Why go there?"
"If there is a portal at Darius's palace, doesn't it stand to reason that there is one at Javar's, as well? The human will want to travel through it. You can kill him and we can take the first and easiest portal, then worry about the other."
Her eyes widened. "You are right. We will kill the human, steal back my slave, and I will take possession of one of the portals. Perfect." And so much easier than she ever could have imagined.
"Don't you mean we will take possession?" he asked, one brow arched. "Yes, of course," she lied glibly. "We."
"I will gather the rest of my army and return within the hour." Offering no other explanation, he disappeared, moving so quickly it was as if he'd never been there.
Marina finally allowed her smile of victory to emerge. Life suddenly seemed so sweet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bright light poured from the crystal skyline, so bright Gray had to squint to prevent his eyes from watering. Even the trees looked white—wait. They were white.
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sp; His head pounded, and several minutes passed before he was able to orient himself completely. He lay on a soft bed of foliage. Jewel knelt beside him. The long length of her silky black hair tumbled down her shoulders, caressing his skin and drifting a magical sea-storm fragrance in its wake. She wore an expression of intense concentration as she gently massaged a grainy paste into his arm wound.
The injury burned as if she'd poured molten lava inside it.
"What kind of poultice is that?" he asked between gritted teeth. His voice cracked with each word, his throat raw.
Startled, she gasped. Her hands still, and she blinked over at him. "You're awake."
"Seems like it, doesn't it?" Reaching up with his good arm, he massaged his temples, his neck, The ache slowly receded.
Her gaze bore into his, deep and penetrating, the otherworldly blue of her irises mesmerizing. "How do you feel?"
"Like shit."
"I've done my best to make you more comfortable."
Maybe he should have lied, he thought, studying her crestfallen features. Told her he felt like spring roses, or some other romantic crap women liked to hear. He'd hurt her feelings, and the knowledge didn't sit well inside him. Plus, he had pride—more than most and more than he should—and he didn't want the woman he planned to bed to think of him as a pansy-assed weakling who couldn't take a little pain.
Gray frowned. Wait He was not going to bed this woman. Think about it, sure, but that's as far as he could allow it to go. Much as he imagined every touch, scent and sound, every breathy sigh that would purr from her lips as he dragged his tongue over her nipples, between her legs—he cut off that line of thought, hoping to slow the amount of blood pumping into his dick—starting a sexual relationship with a non-earth girl wasn't smart One, he wouldn't risk pregnancy—did human and Atlantean DNA even mix? And two, he simply didn't do flings.
What's more, a man involved sexually with a woman tended to relax his guard and lose his edge, thinking of nothing but getting the woman naked again. Gray snorted. He hadn't slept with Jewel, but he thought of her naked constantly. Hell, he'd already lost his guard with her. He'd passed out in front of her, for God's sake. The reminder mortified him, but how much more relaxed could a man get?
"You're doing great. My feeling like shit is a good thing," he said grudgingly.
"True," she replied after a moment's contemplation. Her expression brightened, and she offered him a soft, sweet smile. "A man who feels like shit is a man who's alive."
He pressed his lips together to smother a laugh. Hearing Jewel cuss, no matter that the dirty words sprang from such a luscious, made-for-sin mouth, was like hearing his potty-mouthed dad sing a chorus of hallelujah. It just didn't fit with their respective personalities. But damn if he didn't get a thrill every time Jewel talked dirty.
She returned her attention to his arm, massaging the grainy, feels-like-fire substance into his wound. "Do you remember anything that happened last night?"
"You mean my passing out like a little girl?" His adrenaline rush must have crashed hard-core. "Yeah, I remember."
"What about after?"
He searched his mind and shook his head. "No."
Tendrils of different emotions curled over her expression: relief, disappointment, resignation. "While you were out, you muttered in Klingon. Something about a Khesterex thath—a screwed up situation."
His cheeks reddened. He felt the burn of it, and that made him all the more embarrassed. "How do you know about Kling—" He frowned. "Never mind. I don't want to know." Passing out in front of a woman was bad enough. Passing out in front of Jewel and muttering in Klingon was an ego killer. He'd tried his damnedest to make her see him as strong, capable. Invincible.
Too late now.
"Help me up," he said darkly. "You need to remain—"
"Help me up or I'll do it myself."
With a growl, Jewel slid her arm under his neck and applied pressure, helping him rise. The higher his head, the more lightheaded he felt.
"Want to lay back down?" she asked smugly.
"Hell, no." He raised his knees, planted his elbows there, and dropped his face in his waiting hands. "Just give me a minute. Damn injuries." His stomach rolled in protest, and didn't stop rolling. "Yes, damn it. Back down I go."
She eased him onto the ground, remaining at his side. He liked her there more than he should have, liked the feel of her against him. Liked the way her scent encompassed him.
She was beginning to get under his skin.
"You could be a lot worse, you know, and if you don't lie still, you will be."
"Wounds aren't to be recovered from, they're to be conquered. I'm not worried. I've beaten worse." Trying not to wince, Gray motioned to his arm with a tilt of his chin. "The poultice. What is it?"
"Sand," she answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to rub a potentially bacteria-infested clump of mud into an injury.
He jerked his arm away from her, his eyes wide with horror. "Sand? Did you say sand? As in, off the ground, stepped on, spit on, God knows what else has been done on it, sand?"
Confused, she nodded. "Are you hard of hearing, as well as stubborn and foolish? Yes, sand. Now give me back your arm."
"No. Putting dirt in a wound can cause an infection and an infection can cause a limb to rot off. And what do you mean, I'm stubborn and foolish?"
"The sand possesses many healing qualities your body needs." Her shoulders squared, and she pulled her gaze away from him, concentrating on the wound. "Stubborn because you refuse to listen to reason, instead doing whatever you think is right Foolish for the same reason." As she spoke, she wound a strip of white cloth around the injury.
He didn't protest further. Instead he watched her, watched the way she nibbled on her bottom lip as she worked. Images probed at the back of his mind. Dark images, dangerous images. Erotically seductive images. Last night he'd dreamed of battling a demon and a vampire, but what he remembered most was dreaming of Jewel. Kissing her. His lips had moved against hers, savoring the softness. His tongue had dueled with hers, devouring the sweetness. All the while, the soft mounds of her naked breasts had pushed into his chest, her pink, pearled nipples creating a delicious friction.
The pleasure he'd received from that one dream-kiss had astounded him. He still remembered the taste of moonlight and stars. And magic. Yes, she'd tasted of magic and possibilities.
In his dream, he'd known her thoughts. Known she craved him like she craved air to breathe. Known she loved him—loved him more than her own life.
Known, too, that she carried a secret she feared would destroy them both.
What had that secret been? He couldn't remember, and fought to bring the answer to the surface of his thoughts. No luck.
Right now, Jewel's gaze was downcast, her long, thick lashes shielding the otherworldly blue of her eyes he found so fascinating. Perhaps that was best. He didn't have the strength to keep from drowning in them right now. He wondered, though, what thoughts swam through her mind. He couldn't read her as he'd been able to in his dream.
"Time to bandage your neck," she said, cutting into his thoughts. "Hopefully that wound will be better healed." Her sensuous voice swept over him, and he felt himself growing hard. Always hard.
He wasn't a teenager, damn it. He should have better control over his body. Who was master? Him or his dick?
Me, his dick said confidently. As if there was ever any question. Oh, shut up.
Jewel slapped her hands together, back and forth, causing sand crystals to fly in every direction. "Turn, please."
He shifted to his side to give her easier access, and a sharp pain tore from his neck to his toes. "Damn it," he growled. "A stupid bite shouldn't have caused this kind of damage."
"You're right. A bite like that should have caused much worse damage. Be thankful you're alive." "I'm thankful," he grumbled.
Gingerly her fingers probed at his throbbing neck. She had to lean closer to him, and her female scent again
filled his nostrils. More of her hair glided over his bare chest—when had she removed his shirt, or had he done it?—and the lush fullness of her breasts pushed against his chest.
Just like his dream.
If he'd had the energy, he would have jerked her to him and learned if she tasted like his dream. Like heaven and hell, sin and deliverance. His mouth watered for her tongue; his body tensed for the weight of her.
Not smart to fraternize with the locals, James. Remember?
He felt, actually felt, her nipples harden against him, going from soft to utterly lickable in seconds. Being smart was overrated.
One kiss didn't a sexual relationship make, he rationalized. Would she even be receptive to him? He studied her expression. Her rosy lips were parted; her breath emerged a little shallow. Two twin circles of pink colored her cheeks. She might not know it, she might deny it, but she wanted him. She wanted him bad. All the signs were there.
He almost, almost decided it didn't matter that he had no energy. He wanted to kiss her. Only the thought that he'd do a poor job of it in his weakened condition and have her think he didn't know how to pleasure a woman correctly kept him still.
"What do you think?" he asked. "How does it look?"
"Better than I'd hoped." She nodded with satisfaction. "You'll heal with barely a scar." "Maybe you need to lean in and take a closer look."
Her gaze flicked to his in confusion. When she saw the heat in his eyes, the color in her cheeks deepened prettily. "I'm going to start charging you for your sexual invitations."
"Excellent plan. I'll pay you in kisses."
She chuckled, a throaty purr better suited for bed than banter. "It will only be considered payment if I accept."
"You'll accept," he said, his tone laced with utter confidence. "I have no doubts. I have a feeling you'll even thank me."
She rolled her eyes. Using another strip of cloth, she began rubbing sand into his neck. He tried not to cringe at the thought of bacteria and microbes. All right, he also tried not to shout at the burning pain. "You're one hundred percent positive there are healing qualities in that disgusting stuff, right?"
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