Tired of waiting, she yanked one of her hands free, reached up and sifted strands of his hair through her fingers. “Soft,” she whispered.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Let go!”
“Make me.”
With another growl, he snapped away from her hold. Away from her, severing any hint of connection. He perched at the end of the branch, his gaze tracing her tattoos with…longing?
No, he wasn’t perched, she realized. He hovered, floating in place. When he realized he was perusing the war designs her commander had gifted her with each time she had proved invaluable in battle, his focus rose to her face, hatred once again gleaming in his eyes, a piercing red lance aimed directly at her.
Strange that it seemed to cut all the way to her soul.
“Do not touch me again.”
“Then do not lie on top of me.” Slowly she sat up, her gaze never leaving him. “Next time, I might not be so gentle with you.”
“Next time, you’ll be dead before you realize I’m nearby.”
She tsked under her tongue, though his words struck deep. “I’m prepared now. You won’t get this close again.”
“We shall see.”
His arrogance aroused her. Nothing he said was an idle boast. Anything he claimed he could do, well, she knew he possessed the power to do it. She admired that about him. Unfortunately, he admired nothing about her.
What about her upset him so? From the stories she’d heard, he treated only the dragons and their allies with anger. To everyone else, he was polite if distant. No, not true, she thought, playing some of those stories through her head. He loved the nymph king, Valerian, as a brother and had fought beside him on many occasions.
If she gave herself to Layel—don’t think like that, dangerous, you can’t, it’d be the same as before—would his face soften? Would he look at her with admiration? Mirth?
“Why do you hate me?” she asked him curiously.
His head tilted to the side as he studied her. “Why do you care?”
Argh. “Why don’t you fly away and leave me alone?”
“Why don’t you run from me?”
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” The last escaped un-bidden, but once said, she did not want to take the words back.
His fangs elongated as he glared at her, vibrant eyes following her tongue as she ran it over her lips, then dipping to her neck.
“Thinking about biting me?” she taunted, unsure why she did so. She had been bitten by a vampire before, a rogue who’d been starving and had ambushed her while she’d been training a group of younger Amazons, and it had not been pleasant. But the thought of Layel’s teeth inside her vein… She shivered at the deliciousness.
His pupils dilated, his gaze dropping again and remaining on her chest. “Your nipples are hard.”
Were they still? She didn’t want to look away from him and was afraid to touch them. They tingled, they ached. For him, only him. “Thank you for noticing.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Incorrigible wench.” He sighed. “A friend of mine taught me the power of bargaining,” he said, “and now I will bargain with you. While we are here, I will stay away from you and, in turn, you will stay away from me. Agreed?”
She tamped down a wave of disappointment. “Decided not to try and kill me after all, then?”
“For now.”
“Can’t stand the thought of being without me?”
“Do you agree?” he insisted, ignoring her question.
“No.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I never bargain.”
One of his brows arched. “Never?”
“Never. Not for anything.” Bargaining meant that she wasn’t strong enough to take what she really wanted, and Delilah refused to show weakness. Well, she refused to show any more. “Now, I’m done playing. Leave, and I won’t hurt you.”
He was in her face in the next instant. “That sounds like a bargain to me.”
His breath was warm, sweetly scented. His parted lips were close to hers…so wonderfully close. His pale skin glowed, nearly translucent in the light of those electric blues.
All of her body tingled, just like her nipples. Her stomach fluttered with a drugging, almost agonizing heat. She hadn’t ever felt like this, not even with Vorik. She ran her tongue along the seam of her mouth again, this time imagining Layel’s tongue in its place. She craved a taste of him. Just a small taste. Perhaps then her obsession would end. Curiosity only kept him centered in her mind.
Slowly, she leaned toward him. He didn’t meet her halfway, but he didn’t pull away, either. Anticipation swirled through her. Would he allow the touch? “Your lips,” she said.
“What about them?”
“I want them.”
His shoulders straightened with a jolt. “No?” He’d probably meant the denial as a statement, but it emerged as a question.
Closer…a little closer… Still he remained in place. His breath hitched in his throat; she caught the slight sound and reveled in it. Closer… Just before their lips met, however, a harsh male curse echoed through the night—and it wasn’t Layel’s.
Whoever had shouted snapped him from her…spell, he would probably have said. Magic, indeed. How she wished she were capable of wielding enchantments. She would bind this man to the tree, keeping him in place until she at last knew the taste of him.
Layel straightened, fury once again falling over his mesmerizing features, overshadowing any hint of heat. “I let you distract me from my purpose this time. It will not happen again.” And then he was in the air, flying away from her as hastily as if she were a gorgon, able to turn him to stone with a glance.
Delilah sat there a moment, shaken to the core. She would have believed she’d dreamed the entire encounter if not for the fire raging in her blood, infusing all her limbs.
What was she going to do about that man?
* * *
LAYEL SOARED THROUGH the trees, dewy branches slapping him in the face. He was glad for the sharp sting, for it helped calm his riotous, traitorous body. He was a bastard. Wicked, evil, wanting someone he should not.
That female…
She was a menace. Yes, a menace. Damn her! Why did she have to smell like rainflowers and look like a goddess? Why did her skin have to appear as smooth as golden velvet? Why did her eyes have to glow so vibrant a violet? She was violent, harsh, as bloodthirsty as any vampire. Unworthy, his mind shouted.
Yet he could not stop thinking of her. Could not stop picturing her, naked and straining against him. Wet, hot, tight. Eager. For him. For his possession.
He should have killed her.
But once again he hadn’t been able to do that. Only the sound of Zane’s curse had stopped him from kissing her, which would have been certain ruination. I am sorry, Susan. So sorry. Not only did I fail you once, I seem to be failing you yet again.
“—only because the gods might place us on the same team,” a woman was snapping. “Otherwise I would slit your throat here and now.”
“Try it and see what happens.” There was fury in Zane’s voice. But also… No, surely not. Surely not confusion. Zane usually revealed only two emotions: desire to kill and desire to maim. There was no uncertainty in his black-and-white world.
“As if you could hurt me,” the female said. “You have only to look at your cage to see what happens when you attempt something so foolish.”
“You will pay for this, woman.”
The woman in question laughed, a sound of true glee. “Poor baby. All muscle and no brain.”
Layel burst through a thicket and stopped abruptly, taking in the scene. Zane was trapped inside a makeshift cage, hanging from a tree. The second Amazon woman—Nola, he recalled—balanced on a branch, facing him and grinning.
When she sensed Layel’s arrival, she lost her smile and whipped to face him. Her lips parted, and her hands fisted at her sides in preparation for battle. “Come to try and kill me, too?”
; Though he concentrated on the female, Layel kept Zane in his peripheral vision. The warrior’s cheeks were bright red, stained with mortification. He’d been defeated by a woman. Layel would have laughed if not for the fact that Delilah had knocked him on his ass earlier.
“Well?” Nola prompted.
A moment later, Delilah appeared at Layel’s side. He stiffened as her rain-kissed scent once more assailed him, as her body heat wafted to him. Could he never escape them?
This close to her again, he remembered the worst part of his encounter with her. She had desired him, had hungered for his kiss. Her nipples had begged for his touch. And he’d almost given her both. Teeth cutting into his cheeks, he stepped away from her, not even trying to hide the action. He hated that he was forced to act so cowardly, hated the weakness she caused in him. But he simply could not be near her.
She aimed a furious glare at him just as a moonbeam hit her directly, revealing dirt smudges all over her body. Sadly, they did not lessen her appeal. “So. You thought to kill me and your friend thought to kill mine,” she said.
“Do not pretend surprise.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the top and bottom of her lashes fusing together. “Surprise? Ha! I’m merely thrilled you are both incompetent.”
He had failed at so many things these last few years, her words struck all the way to the bone. He’d failed to destroy all of the dragons. He’d failed to numb himself to the pain of Susan’s death. He’d failed to render the death-blow to Delilah, a woman who threatened the memory of his one and only love.
He wanted to strike at her. Hurt her. Do not approach her. She’s merely baiting you. “The god told us that there will only be one survivor of this game. One. We shall see which of us is left standing.”
“Do not threaten my sister,” Nola shouted, stepping toward him. “I have decapitated men for less.”
He did not doubt that.
Gaze never leaving him, Delilah held up a hand. The other Amazon stilled and pressed her lips together. “You have tried to prick my temper from the first,” she said. “Well, now you have succeeded. Taking you down will be fun, vampire.”
He studied her hauntingly lovely features. “I fear the pleasure will be all mine. But perhaps, at the end, I won’t kill you,” he replied. “Perhaps I’ll let you live. As my dessert.” The taunt was meant to infuriate her further, torment her, make her crazed—heightened emotions had ruined many a good warrior in battle—but the moment he realized what he’d said, he felt tormented. He longed to put his mouth on her, drink in the sweetness of her blood and savor every drop.
The same urge must have welled inside her, because her pupils dilated. Her mouth parted on a gasp of hunger. “I’m going to enslave you,” she whispered fiercely. “You’ll obey my every command, and all of Atlantis will know that Layel, king of the vampires, belongs to Delilah. You’ll have me for dessert only when I permit it.”
He thought, frighteningly, that she just might be able to do it. Without a word. Just a look, a breath in his direction. A touch, as when she’d held a strand of his hair between her fingers. Pathetically, he was reduced to a creature of sensation when around her. Even his scalp had become sensitized, each hair a thread of desire. For her. Never again, never again, never the hell again.
“The day I bow to you will be the day—No. Such a day will never come.” There was barely a pause before he added, “Do you know why Amazons were created? Because the gods were trying to create males—and they failed.”
He expected her to lash at him. She inched backward, instead, features so stricken his chest ached. “We are both mistakes,” she said softly.
Cursing himself, he flew to the top of the tree that Zane hung from and slashed the rope with his claws. As the cage, suddenly free, tumbled to the ground, he hissed at Nola in warning.
Then Layel left the area and never once looked back. He had never hated himself more.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN LIGHT CROWNED the land, Layel found himself whisked to the beach as abruptly as he’d been whisked to the island. The only difference was that he didn’t feel as though he was falling through a tunnel. He’d been sharpening a rock into an arrowhead in the woods one moment, and standing on sand, his hands empty, the next. Without shade, his skin heated. Not painfully, just not comfortably. At least the sun was not as bright and hot as it had been yesterday. Perhaps he would not blister. After all, the god had promised the elements would not affect the Atlanteans adversely any longer.
A quick shift of his focus revealed that all the other creatures were lined up beside him, looking about in confusion.
Unable to stop himself—would it always be so?—he searched for Delilah. At first, he did not see her. Perhaps she had been spared, returned to Atlantis.
Good, that was good. What little sleep he’d gotten, she had ruined, for she had haunted every one of his dreams. Smiling at him, beckoning him to join her in bed. Nipples pink and hard, legs spread, feminine core wet and needy. Tattoos, his for the tonguing.
In his dreams, he’d been unable to resist. He had licked her, all of her, and she’d writhed against his tongue. He’d even bitten the center of her desire—something he’d never done to Susan for fear of hurting her tender flesh—and Delilah had begged him for more.
Even now, his body reacted instantly at the thought of her, tightening, hardening. Preparing. He should have spent the night hunting dragons and slaying his foes, but he had not. He had thought: what if I destroy members of Delilah’s team? That would place Delilah in danger of losing and thereby in danger of execution.
When that woman died, it would be by his hand. No one else would be allowed to harm her. He had even commanded Zane, still sulking from his encounter with Nola, to abstain from hunting and killing.
Besides, Layel had decided to let her live. For a little while longer, anyway, and even though she tormented him. Even though she threatened his resolve. He did not know why he’d decided such a thing, did not want to think about it anymore. When he did, her exquisite face flashed inside his mind, violet eyes gleaming with hurt, the frequency pushing Susan out of his mind bit by bit.
Where was she? he wondered again. His gaze continued to cut through the masses, past Zane—what kind of king am I, to concentrate on an enemy rather than a loyal follower?—past Nola and Brand. Why would she have been returned to Atlantis? Unless someone had injured her after Layel left her. Or killed her.
A red haze swam over his vision. If someone had—There. He spotted her and relaxed. Then hissed. She stood behind the dragon named Tagart, who stood on the other side of Brand.
She was so tiny, he could barely see her face through the crack of light between those huge warrior bodies. Her blue hair gleamed, and her eyes were so vibrant that as the sun hit them they seemed to cast lavender beams in every direction. Layel’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like seeing her so close to his greatest enemy.
As if she sensed his perusal, her eyes swung to him and their gazes locked in a heated clash. This time there was no hurt on her expression. No emotion at all, really. That disappointed him when it should have delighted him.
Better this way. Waves echoed in his ears and salt saturated the warm breeze, but Layel would have sworn he could hear the shallowness of her breathing and smell the sweetness of her rain-scent. Perhaps she was not as unaffected as she appeared.
Tagart shifted, widening the distance between himself and Brand and gifting Layel with a better view of Delilah. She still wore the small leather coverings over her breasts and the tiny leather skirt that hung to just below the curve of her bottom. Her sandals were still laced up her calves, hugging lean strength and smooth skin.
She’d clearly taken a bath, though. Dirt no longer smeared her, and the tattoos on her upper temples, arms, waist and thighs gleamed brightly. Those tattoos…more than ever, he wanted to touch them. Trace the curling designs with his tongue. Did she have any more? Designs he could not yet see? What did they mean? Why did she have th
em?
Stop! Do not think of her like that.
His eyes lowered. He meant to cast his attention to the sand, but instead it latched on to her breasts. Even as he watched, her nipples hardened into tight little points, as if begging for his attention. Layel was ashamed for noticing, for craving, and forced himself to look down. Little bumps broke out over the flat plane of her stomach. Her navel dipped deliciously, he noticed, another spot for his tongue to enjoy.
You love Susan. And more, you are a king, a warrior. Act like one. Every ounce of his strength was needed to finally—
“Good morning, contestants. I trust you slept well, and that you are as eager as we are for the games to begin. So, without further ado…say hello to your teammates,” a god-voice suddenly pronounced. This voice was deeper than the one yesterday, harder. A different god?
In the blink of an eye, Layel was whisked to the other side of the beach, standing in a new line—though this one was only half as long—and facing yet another row of Atlanteans. His teeth gnashed together as irritation flooded him. Being moved around like a puppet grated on his every nerve.
Zane stood across from him. He tried to snag the soldier’s attention but failed. Following the direction of the man’s gaze, he realized Zane was staring at Nola, who occupied the same side of the beach as Layel. Lust glittered in the warrior’s expression. Lust and confusion and perhaps a little awe.
Delilah was in Zane’s line.
Dread curled Layel’s stomach as suspicions danced through his mind. Surely this god was not so cruel. Surely this heavenly sovereign would not pit friend against friend, man against woman.
“Yes, you will compete against your own kind. And, yes, you will compete against the opposite sex.” A laugh, booming, strong, full of mirth, though edged in steel. Did the god read minds on top of all his other powers, then? “What better way to test your cunning, determination and survival instincts?”
Just as the water had done yesterday, the sand between the two lines of creatures swirled together, faster and faster, rising…rising…until the outline of a body formed. A few wayward grains drifted into Layel’s mouth, and he spit them out in disgust.
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