Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

  “There’s something I must do. I’ll return shortly,” Delilah said, rising swiftly to her feet and blocking Tagart.

  Layel froze. Move, woman! He’d finally convinced himself to act.

  She remained in place. She was not as tall as the dragon, so Layel’s arrow would nail her right between the eyes. Sweat beaded his skin. He could try and release the arrow into Tagart’s face, catching an eye perhaps, missing the Amazon, but that wouldn’t necessarily kill or even slow the bastard.

  “We aren’t done here,” Tagart snapped at Delilah. “There’s still much to discuss.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Try and stop me and see what happens. Besides, you owe me a thank-you for this.”

  “A thank-you? What for? What are you going to do? Make a bed and seduce me?”

  There was a shocked pause. “Something is seriously wrong with the men around here,” she muttered.

  The warrior’s lips formed a thin line. Obviously he wanted to press her, but for whatever reason decided to quiet his objections. “Fine. Go. But don’t cry for our forgiveness if you’re the reason our team fails.”

  “You expect failure, then?”

  He sputtered. “No.”

  The group’s centaur rose on all fours and approached her. Ever the mediator, the horse-man said, “Tagart makes a fine point. Now is not the time—”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Delilah interrupted. “I’m not staying here. I’m heading into the forest to think, alone. Don’t you dare follow me.” Quick as a snap, she palmed one of her wooden daggers and twirled it in her hand. Gave it a toss, caught it. “Understand?”

  No one said another word.

  Waning sunlight caressing her, Delilah stalked away from them. Her hips swayed, a mating dance Layel was not the only male to notice. All of her teammates watched her, lust blooming in their expressions. Layel battled a fierce urge to fly from the tree and slash each of their throats as she headed into the woods. Finally, she disappeared from view and he relaxed.

  Now. Act now. There was no better time. Nothing else mattered. Revenge would be Susan’s, rest would be his. Focus, focus. Damn him, the centaur blocked every killing shot, unintentionally protecting Tagart. Well, then, he’d just take out the centaur, too, he decided.

  “I can’t believe you,” an angry female voice whispered fiercely.

  Awareness slithered over his skin with all the finesse of a gorgon’s reptilian hair. Hard, biting and undeniable. His shaft swelled, the hated traitor. But he couldn’t deny that a part of him had expected her, had…hoped. Damned female.

  Slowly he lowered the bow and arrow and floated from the tree, landing in front of Delilah. Her raindrop scent immediately invaded his nose, heady, erotic. Her lavender eyes flashed as if a lightning storm brewed inside of them.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  She arched a dark brow, and he could tell that his question offended her. As if he should expect better of her. Perhaps he should. “I smelled you.”

  He traced his tongue over the tip of one fang, simply flicking it back and forth. She was that aware of him? As aware of him as he was of her? With the questions, there was an intensification of the ever-present arousal that plagued him every time she approached.

  Hunger. Only hunger, he assured himself. Of their own accord, his eyes sought her neck. Once more, her pulse was hammering. Wild. Once more, his mouth watered.

  She tilted her chin to the side as she studied him, her anger seeming to drain away. “You’re paler than usual. Why?”

  “Return to your new friends,” he snapped, as waspish as Tagart had been. He didn’t want her noticing things about him. Especially little details, the kinds of things a lover noticed. He didn’t want her concerned for him on any level.

  Her other brow joined the first in a stubborn race to her azure hairline. “I like where I am. You can walk away from me.”

  He didn’t. His feet were rooted in place. This woman…drew him, held him, for reasons that had nothing to do with his thirst for blood.

  There. He had admitted it without issuing an excuse. He still hated the knowledge with everything inside him, still planned to resist, but he could not deny her effect on him any longer. He wanted to be near her.

  Why her, after so many years?

  Why now?

  “If you need blood,” she said, choosing to overlook his lack of response to her demand, “take mine.”

  A more tempting offer had never been made. “Why would you offer such a thing?”

  She shrugged, probably trying to appear casual, unaffected. Yet vulnerability darkened her violet irises to a deep purple-black.

  “Why?”

  Lush red lips pressed together in a mutinous line.

  He gulped. So lush, so red, they were ripe for the plucking. “My answer is no, no matter the reason.” But the need to drink from her and only her was strong, nearly uncontrollable.

  Eyes narrowed, she stepped toward him. “You came to kill me, and I offered my blood. I will not tolerate hatred from you now.”

  An excellent point. “I was not aiming for you,” he admitted.

  “Liar.”

  “Always you question the truthfulness of my claim when I’m not lying.” He could not have silenced the admission for any price.

  Surprise descended over her expression, coloring her cheeks a vibrant pink. “Who then?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t do it.” His self-disgust threatened to choke the life out of him.

  Understanding dawned. Exactly what did she think she understood? “You should not even be here,” she said. “Spying for your team is cowardly.”

  “Please. You only wish you were on the other side of the island, listening to my team strategize. Besides, I don’t need to spy to defeat you. I’ve pinned you beneath me, remember?” The moment the words escaped him, the memory of when she’d pinned him flashed in his mind. Her legs straddling him, her core so close he had only to lift his head to taste her.

  She clearly remembered, too.

  Her pupils dilated and that rosy color spread from her cheeks, slowly overtaking her from jaw to collarbone. As she closed more of the distance between them, she dabbed at her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “Stop,” he commanded, even as he inched toward her, as well. That tongue…

  A moan escaped her, a whimper. “I can’t.”

  What are you doing? Acting like the coward she had called him, he ceased moving toward his downfall and actually backpedaled—until he hit the tree.

  Still Delilah advanced. “One of us could be the person to die tonight,” she said huskily.

  “We will not be chosen,” he forced himself to say, even though he had thought the same only moments ago.

  “You can’t know that for sure.” At last she reached him, was merely a whisper away. Her body heat radiated around him, into him, beckoning him all the closer. He’d always preferred the cold—or thought he had. This heat enthralled him, wrapping him in the inexorable threads of desire only she seemed capable of weaving.

  Tiny as she was, the top of her head only hit his chin. Surprisingly her blue hair floated up with the breeze, sticking to his shirt and skin as if some part of her had to be in contact with him. He gulped, mouth going dry, blood roaring at a frantic speed.

  Before he could stop them, his hands were on her waist, holding her captive. His nails were so sharp they had to be cutting into her skin, but she gave no protest. No, she leaned closer, until the hard tips of her nipples abraded his shirt. Until her legs fit between his, cradling his erection.

  He couldn’t think, didn’t want to think.

  “I know we are both strong and determined and we will not allow it to happen,” he said, trying—so good, so damned good—to think of anything except possessing her. Taking her. Hearing her cries of pleasure in his ears. Had he been talking about dying, or making love to her? He couldn’t say for sure.

  “I wanted you,” she admitte
d. Her eyelids dipped to half-mast. “Before. In Atlantis. I told myself I couldn’t allow it. I told myself it would be wrong. I told myself I needed to stay away from you. But right now, I can think of only one thing I will regret if I’m killed.”

  Push her away! “And what is that?” The words were broken, hoarse.

  “Not knowing your kiss.” She didn’t ask his permission, didn’t even give him a chance to respond. She merely rose on her tiptoes and meshed their lips together, her tongue thrusting inside his mouth.

  He moaned, the sound more animal than human. The heat…the taste…the desperation… They filled him, consumed him, slayed him. Yes, something inside him died. Or broke. Whatever it was, sensation pounded through the numbness he’d forced upon his body with the ferocity of a winter storm, covering everything in its path, spreading…spreading so quickly there was no controlling it. He was not sure he wanted to control it.

  Growling, keeping Delilah locked in his arms, he charged forward. Years of denied instinct surged to the surface, demanding he seize control. Too long. He’d been without a woman too long. Hadn’t wanted one in two hundred years, and now all of his latent desires were suddenly revealing themselves, desperate, greedy.

  When Delilah’s back slammed into one of the trees, she gasped. His body trapped her and his tongue plundered deeper, taking everything and demanding more. She cupped his jaw, not to stop him but to hold him and angle him for even deeper contact. Her grip was so fierce she would have snapped the bones of a lesser man. He liked it. Liked that she was as lost to the passion as he was.

  “More,” she demanded.

  “Ask,” he said, because it went against the very nature of what she was. She might refuse, might deny him, and the madness might finally end. Perhaps she would even flounce away and he could regain his senses.

  Her hands moved to his head and her nails dug into his scalp, as sharp as daggers. “Please.”

  He was surprised by the plea, even more surprised that he fell deeper into the passion. With a kick of her ankle, he spread her legs and meshed his erection against her, hardness to softness.

  On a shuddering moan, she said, “Yes, yes. Like that. More.”

  “Ask.” This time, it was a plea of his own. He was desperate to hear the entreaty in her voice.

  “Please, please. Layel, please.” With every beseeching gasp, her excitement seemed to increase.

  She would let him have complete control, he realized with shock. This powerful Amazon would willingly submit herself to his demands. The knowledge burned inside him as he palmed one of her breasts. He felt the stiffness of her nipple through her clothing, but that wasn’t good enough. He raked his claw over the material, ripping it in half and freeing her breasts. They were small and firm, perfectly tipped by pretty pink pearls.

  More…more…he needed more, felt crazy with the need. The sweet flavor of her skin was addictive, a drug. Her moans were like gateways to the heavens.

  He pinched one sweet, pink nipple and rubbed his hard, aching erection between her legs. If only he could wish his clothing away. Skin to skin; he would die without it. “Hook your leg around my waist.”

  The moment she obeyed, she writhed and whimpered. “Layel. It’s…it’s…so good!”

  As she tried to ride his shaft through their clothing, his mind produced a single thought, everything else forgotten: penetrate her. Whatever he had to do to make it happen, he would do. He had to get inside her. Strip her. Throw her down…yes, yes. He tossed the tattered remains of her top aside and pushed her to the ground.

  “You’re going to take me. All of me.”

  “Yes.”

  Passion flowed through him, suddenly his only reason for living. He allowed all of his weight to settle atop her as he crawled down, inch by tantalizing inch. His tongue flicked over and laved her beaded nipple.

  More…more…had never been like this. Had to have more.

  “Don’t stop. Never thought…so good.”

  “I’ll stop if I decide to stop.” The power was getting to him, urging him on, demanding he take more. “Understand.”

  “Please. More. Almost there…”

  His hand delved under her tiny skirt, past the thin barrier of cloth between her legs. She was hot, wet. So wet. So tight. He experienced a surge of possessiveness as he thrust a finger deep—and she screamed, loud and long, piercing and sweet. Her inner muscles clenched around him, taking the ultimate pleasure.

  More…more…yes, had to have more.

  “Layel, Layel.”

  He surged up, teeth exposed, ready to take her blood and her body. But he had to release her to free his length, and he couldn’t force himself to release her. A moment later, the dilemma ceased to matter. Strong hands settled atop his shoulders and jerked him away from Delilah.

  “Bastard!” he heard.

  Layel hissed in fury and launched himself at this new opponent. He needed Delilah. No one took her away from him. He was charged with so much passion—rage, dark rage, kiss, more kiss—it was like lava inside of him.

  Tagart was knocked to the ground. Layel was there in the next instant, sinking his fangs into the dragon’s vein. Blood filled his mouth, as hot as fire. Familiar.

  More Delilah. More, his mind screamed. Kill the dragon, return to Delilah.

  The warrior slammed a fist into his jaw, and he was propelled sideways. He was on his feet an instant later, warm blood dripping from his face. One step, two, he stalked, a predator locked on his prey.

  Delilah stepped in front of him, panting, cheeks rosy from her climax. She didn’t bother to cover her beautiful breasts as she held out her hands to ward him off. “Layel,” she said, concerned. “Calm down. You have to calm down.”

  Not Susan, his mind suddenly shouted. She’s not Susan. She had no right to be concerned for him. She had no right to kiss or touch him. He had no right to kiss and touch her in return. To drink from her, to rejoice in her pleasure.

  The fire in his veins died swiftly, no longer even crackling. Leaving only ache and regret. He stilled, doing his best to catch his breath, as shame coursed through him.

  Tagart stood in place, his expression gleaming with fury. “Come near her again, and I will not hesitate to kill you.”

  “Do not hesitate now, fire-bastard.”

  The dragon bent his knees to leap, but Delilah shook her head at him and he stilled.

  “He wasn’t hurting me,” she said.

  Tagart looked from Delilah to Layel, Layel to Delilah. “But you screamed.”

  “In pleasure,” she admitted, bright stains of mortification climbing her cheeks.

  Understanding lit his eyes, and Tagart scowled.

  “Don’t worry,” Layel said, his tone colder than he had ever heard it. “I will never again approach her. She is yours.” With that, he sprinted away as fast as his feet would carry him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A GONG SOUNDED throughout the deceptively tranquil night, followed by the echo of a whisper. Beach…

  Delilah almost groaned. No. Not now. Not yet. Layel had just finished kissing her. During that kiss, the world around her had faded, shattering everything she’d ever known, before another anchor had taken over: his tongue, his touch. Him. And then he had walked away from her, leaving her alone with the dragon. No, he hadn’t walked. He’d run as if demons were devouring his skin. Leaving her half-naked, aching, wanting. Confused. He hadn’t looked back.

  He’d left her just as Vorik had left her.

  Hands shaking, she bent down and gathered what was left of her top. She hastily pulled it around her, tying it in the center—which shoved her breasts together. Wonderful. If she ran, they would bounce. Perhaps, though, Layel would like that. Silly girl.

  Tagart didn’t turn away while she dressed. He watched her the entire time through narrowed lids, golden eyes bright. Bastard. “The vampire king doesn’t truly want you,” he said.

  She could have sliced his head from his body for that, for voicing what she feared
most. The vampire king doesn’t truly want you. Layel had left her and sworn never to come near her again, lending truth to Tagart’s claim. But…that passion could not have been forced. More than that, Layel had fought the dragon like a man possessed. For her. She knew it had been for her.

  When she failed to respond, Tagart sighed. “You know very well that Layel is the enemy. Our enemy.”

  Yes, she knew now as she’d known then. It just hadn’t mattered. She could have claimed her actions had been for the good of the team. A kiss to soften, weaken the vampire. The boast wouldn’t leave her tongue, however. She’d finally discovered magic in the arms of a man. She had no desire to taint that memory.

  But damn him, she had never felt so raw. What had happened with Layel…what she’d experienced in the vampire’s arms…it had been a possession. For that brief time, she had been the most important thing in his life—and she would have betrayed her tribe, not to mention her team, for him. Would have followed him anywhere, would have begged him for forever.

  He had given her pleasure, wildness, freedom to simply experience. She’d climaxed around his fingers, his mouth on her nipple. She’d felt the rasp of his sharp teeth, but he hadn’t broken her skin—something she should have been happy about, yet she would have willingly given him all the blood in her body, if only she could remain in his embrace.

  In that moment, he’d had absolute power over her. Far from angering her as that should have, she reveled in the knowledge. I could not have stopped him. Could not have escaped. She shivered in remembered bliss. She had been his captive, had worried about nothing and reveled in the knowledge that she was safe, protected, cherished, and could give herself over completely without any type of rejection. With Vorik, she’d never lost her inhibitions and simply gone wild in his arms. She had worried about everything. Am I doing this right? Does he like this? Should I do more?