Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

“Will you tell us?” Shaye asked sweetly. “Please.”

  Valerian squeezed her side in warning.

  “I’ll give the women here another lesson in women’s rights,” she added. “That will frustrate the warriors and provide much entertainment for you.”

  Valerian shuddered. Last time she’d done such a thing, his warriors had gone without sex for days and had become snarling beasts, picking fights with everyone they encountered.

  Poseidon shrugged and then disappeared as if he’d never been. Valerian thought that was the end of it and was grateful. He didn’t like the god. But then that unearthly voice whispered across the room, startling him.

  “The first two are playing a little game. The third, well, he was just eaten alive.”

  The god’s laughter echoed long into the night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LAYEL NEVER REACHED the waterfall that night.

  Along the way, he had encountered Jada, the female nymph and Broderick’s sister, and she had been determined to have him “for strength” because she “trusted him, friend to her king.”

  Over the years, many females had offered themselves to him. Unattainable as he was, he’d been labeled a challenge, a prize. He had denied them all, yet some had still claimed to have lain with him. In their anger over his rejection, the stories had not been kind.

  Here, now, there were two beautiful females vying for him. One, a temptation. One, an annoyance, though Jada’s beauty outshone even Delilah’s. Or would have, to some. To him, Jada’s hair was too fair, her sapphire eyes lacking any hint of purple. She was tall and slim with curves that should have been impossible, her nipples permanently hard.

  Yet all he’d been able to think about when she pressed herself against him was the lean firmness of Delilah’s body and how perfect it was to his palms. How he loved the way her nipples hardened right before his eyes.

  He’d pushed Jada away, but in her ardor she’d taken the gesture as approval and had quickly stripped. He’d been unmoved. As unmoved as he’d been for the past two hundred years, which made Delilah’s ability to tantalize him all the more undeniable. Thankfully he had not gone to the waterfall, after all, but had hunted animals to distract himself.

  Had he found her, he would have drunk from her. How close he’d come to talking himself into it.

  And now, after an uneventful day by himself—without a run-in with his team, the other team or even the power-loving gods who had, for whatever reason, not forced a challenge on them today—Layel found himself stalking to the waterfall, unable to turn away this time. What was Delilah doing? Was she all right? Night had fallen again. He should have seen her, heard her.

  To his consternation, she was not there. Even her sweet scent was curiously absent. There should have been a hint of it, at least a lingering imprint of her essence. Instead, it was as if she had not once neared the area. That didn’t seem to matter to his body. Hard and aching, that’s what he was, because she’d offered herself to him here in this location.

  Thoughts of her played through his mind. Thoughts of her naked, writhing. His.

  In his mind, every move she made was a sensual dance for him. Every sound that escaped her moist, ripe lips was a benediction to him. Every beat of her heart was a mating call.

  The images were wrong, so wrong, but his mouth watered and his teeth sharpened. What would it take to purge her from his mind? Besides killing her, which he’d already admitted he could not do, there was only one thing left to try….

  He would have to drink from her. No more resisting.

  He’d told her that he never would. Yet the idea had been planted, had grown and intensified. Now, he realized he must.

  He was a bastard for even considering it; he was lacking in honor and integrity. Truly, he was a monster. She wanted everything from him, but he only meant to take. He was going to fill his veins with her life’s nectar, was going to reduce her to a meal. Finally he would know the taste of her and then he could forget her. His fantasies had built her up, but reality would tear them down. There was no possible way she could taste as wonderful as he imagined. No one could.

  Sex would not enter into the arrangement. This time, when he placed his lips on her body, he would control himself. There was no better time to drink from her. Hunger did not ride him; weakness had not claimed him. He had gorged on the dragon yesterday and didn’t need the blood.

  Where was she? If she’d bathed in the waterfall or lounged on the moss-covered rocks, she’d left no trail. Layel walked through the forest, muted beams of twilight, hazy purples and pinks, illuminating his path. The lush emerald trees were different from those in Atlantis, yet somehow familiar to him after only two days. More moss covered the ground, soft against his feet.

  Were he home, he would be training with his army and thinking of ways to thwart and slaughter the dragons. He would be torturing the fire-breathers locked in his dungeon, their screams his only real sense of peace.

  Evil, he’d often been called. He did not deny it. Couldn’t deny it. His heart was decayed. Rotted. His soul was black. No longer was he a man Susan would have loved. At the moment of her death, he had become everything his beloved mate had despised.

  Yet there was no going back. No reverting to the man he’d once been. Not for him. Hate pulsed in his veins, thicker than blood. Revenge was the only thing he allowed in his mind.

  Until Delilah.

  Always his thoughts returned to her. How she haunted him. He should be searching for Zane, who had not yet shown up to report on his team. He should be planning his next move against Brand and Tagart. Instead, here he was, wishing for a taste of Delilah.

  What was it about her that constantly drew him? While she possessed a breathtaking beauty, a sharp wit and an undeniable hum of energy, she would never hesitate to betray a lover to protect her sisters. That much was obvious every time she looked at Nola—a woman he wasn’t even sure Delilah liked—with determined loyalty. There was no warm affection in her voice when she spoke to the girl, no softening of her expression. Yet she clearly felt responsible for her.

  A flicker of jealousy sprang inside his chest, and he blinked in surprise. Jealousy? Over what? Delilah’s loyalty to her tribe? Surely not, but he didn’t want to consider the other option: that Delilah placed the welfare of another above him.

  Made no sense, that line of thought. He didn’t truly know her, certainly didn’t like her and wouldn’t even contemplate a future with her. You’re confused, his mind explained. That’s all. Your life has been disrupted. When things return to normal, so will your emotions.

  Where was she?

  He sniffed the air. The sweet scent of her, so at odds with her warrior personality, suddenly seemed to infuse every crevice of the surrounding area, yet he caught no glimpse of her. Still his shaft swelled once again, the hunger he’d denied only moments ago suddenly upon him. His mouth watered. Blood…

  She was near.

  A tender side of him he’d thought as dead as his heart broke through mire and debris, shocking him. You cannot do this to her. She will feel betrayed. She will hurt.

  His teeth gnashed together so sharply his gums were sliced. What was better? Delilah’s betrayal or Susan’s?

  The answer was obvious. Or should have been. Delilah must be purged from his mind. Soon, very soon, she would be. For he would not stop hunting until he found her. The gods could summon them for another challenge at any time. The losing team would then be called before the fire, and Layel would be forced to wait. If he lived through another counsel.

  “Eat this,” he suddenly heard Delilah say. “You’re pale.”

  Every cell in his body heated, sparking into small infernos. There was a muttered reply from a female. Most likely the other Amazon, Nola. Layel floated above the ground with only a thought, nearing the door of leaves arching in front of him.

  Remaining in the shadows, he peeked through. And there she was, crouched beside Nola. His azure-haired, violet-eyed tormentor. The two team
s were together, sitting around a fire, some kind of animal roasting in the center.

  Tension swirled between winners and losers.

  The teams might be together, but they were in no way unified. Glares abounded. Zane sat off to the side, sharpening a stick. Every few seconds, his narrowed gaze flicked to Delilah and Nola. His skin was flushed, his motions a dance of power, yet he pulsed with anger.

  He would have to wait, it seemed. Layel broke through the trees with only the slightest rustle and approached the other vampire. As king, it was his responsibility to ensure no animosity grew between them. When he sat, Zane gave no indication he noticed Layel’s presence.

  Everyone else, however, did.

  Conversations tapered to quiet. There was even an angered hiss from Brand. Layel ignored him, knowing it would rouse Brand’s beast. Trying not to grin with the thought, his gaze shifted to the Amazons. Nola stared down at her food, flicking it with her fingers every few seconds but never actually eating. Delilah tipped back a coconut half, draining the milk inside.

  Her eyes remained on Layel, ensnaring him, holding him captive. He could not have looked away had a blade been pressed to his throat. Her gaze was guarded, no hint of her emotions. Why? What did she hide?

  He bared his fangs at her and licked them.

  Finally. Emotion. A flash of desire before she gulped and looked away. Only then, free of her stare, did he realize something sharp and tight had taken residence in his chest. Until it loosened, he had trouble breathing.

  “All is well?” he asked Zane, noticing the bloodstained lips his friend still possessed. Blood always strengthened a vampire no matter its source, but blood overflowing with wine or medicines could cause a spike in aggression, anger and violence. Could that be the cause of Zane’s current dark mood? Had he taken blood from someone inebriated?

  “Yes.” No pause in movement. Every time they were summoned, the god continued to remove their weapons, forcing them to make more at every opportunity. During their “off” hours, they had to be prepared for anything. “I am well.”

  Truth? A lie? “You do not like your new duties, then.”

  “I do not mind them.” Flat tone, twitching muscles.

  “Something is wrong with you, Zane.”

  “Yes.”

  At least he did not deny it. “Tell me.”

  “As king?”

  “As…friend.” The one friend Layel had allowed himself over the years was Valerian, and that was only because he’d known Valerian before Susan’s death. They’d met in the Outer City and had become allies when they were too young to know better—the mixing of the species was most often frowned upon. They’d played together, discovered a passion for females together, and they’d fought together, guarding each other’s backs.

  After Susan, well, the nymph king had taken him in and cared for him until the emotional anguish gave way to a thirst for revenge.

  Perhaps Zane needed someone to care for him. His time with the demons had probably ripped his soul to tatters.

  “Sure you want to know?” Zane inquired.

  Layel nodded.

  “Before, when you asked me whose blood I had taken…” Zane’s fingers tightened over the rock and sparks erupted at the tip of the stick.

  His stomach twisted into a knot. Do not say Delilah. If her name left the vampire’s lips, Layel wasn’t sure how he would react. Someone would die, he suspected. “You refused to tell me.”

  “I took from a woman.”

  No.

  “From an Amazon.”

  No!

  “From Nola.”

  First there was anger that Zane had strung him along, most likely out of shame. Then relief. It nearly felled him, and he realized he’d been reaching for the dagger he’d sharpened only a few hours ago. Praise be! His hands fell into his lap. “She allowed this?”

  “She did, though I doubt she remembers.” Yes, that was shame dripping from the words.

  He blinked in surprise. “Why would she not remember?”

  “I went to her while she was sleeping.”

  “And she did not awaken?”

  “No.”

  “How?” he insisted. The Amazons were highly trained; they would awaken the moment a man settled atop them. That he knew firsthand. And even if Nola had somehow failed to do so, she would have noticed puncture wounds afterward.

  “I invaded her mind.” The shame morphed into self-loathing.

  Layel scrubbed a hand over his face. Some vampires were gifted with the ability to insert thoughts and images into another’s mind. Most were not. Layel could not, though he’d always wished otherwise. How much fun would it have been to convince one dragon warrior to slay another?

  “I filled her mind with dreams of making love to me, and when she opened her arms and spread her legs, I took what I needed.”

  “And how did you hide the marks from her? From others?” The moment he spoke, Layel realized what the answer had to be. With as little clothing as the Amazons wore, there was only one hiding place.

  Zane glared at him for a moment. “If you were not my king and my friend, you know I would kill you right now, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Still you wish me to say it?”

  Another, “Yes.” Without hesitation. Making him say it might prevent him from doing it again, the shame voiced, never to be forgotten.

  “I bit between her legs.”

  Though he’d known what Zane would say, the words still managed to shock him. Once again, I have lost control of my men. Under Layel’s rule, the vampires lived by a code. They could drink from dragon warriors anytime they wished, but never—never!—were they to take from another race without permission.

  Some creatures enjoyed being bitten, but some refused to even consider it, mistakenly afraid of being turned into blood-drinkers themselves. Over the years, Layel had learned only humans could be turned. Most died, however, which was why he’d never attempted to turn Susan.

  Suddenly a flood of his mate’s screams bombarded Layel’s mind, loud enough to crack glass if they’d been audible, and sharp enough to slice his soul. They were always close to the surface, but he usually could keep them at bay. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  It was only when his gaze locked with Delilah’s that he was able to beat them into submission. How? Why? He was sweating. Panting. Frowning, Delilah turned to her sister. To escape her hold, he did the same. Thankfully, the screams did not return.

  Earlier, Delilah had called Nola pale, but the woman was pallid, the blue lines of her veins evident. Dark circles formed half-moons under her eyes.

  “You took too much,” he told Zane.

  “I know,” was the gritted response.

  “You will not touch her again. Do you understand?”

  “She is your teammate. Of course you want her strong. What next? Will you demand I lose for you?”

  Fire burned beneath his skin. “You had best watch your tongue before you lose it. She deserved a choice, Zane, a real choice, and you did not give her one.” Hypocrite, he thought, for wasn’t he planning to take the choice from Delilah?

  “I know!”

  “Trouble among the bloodsuckers?” Brand laughed, drawing Layel’s attention and rage. “How sad.”

  Several creatures chuckled.

  “Save it for the next challenge,” Delilah said. At least she sounded angry rather than amused.

  Tagart arched a brow, his golden eyes glaring. “An Amazon with a soft heart. Who knew?”

  “A dragon with a bleak-looking future,” she shot back. “I suspected.”

  His eyelids slitted. “Is that a threat?”

  She pushed to her feet and squared her shoulders. “No. A promise. I will not tolerate insults. Especially from my supposed ally.”

  Layel was standing a heartbeat later, at her side before he even realized he’d moved. “Challenging a girl, fire-bastard? Perhaps you finally realized the big boys were too much for you.”

  Tagart’s atten
tion settled on him, pure menace. “I haven’t forgotten the way you bit me.”

  “And I haven’t gotten your foul taste out of my mouth.”

  A look of utter rage passed over the dragon’s face and for a split second, his bones elongated, revealing a glimpse of snout, razor teeth and green scales. The beast was never far from the surface, apparently.

  “I’m not going to wait for your team to vote you off, vampire. Nor will I allow the gods the pleasure of killing you. I’ll take care of you here and now.”

  Layel’s blood boiled, turning his veins to ash. “Come and get me.” Please.

  “Enough,” Delilah said, stepping between them.

  Layel’s gaze snapped to her. The length of her hair whipped around her on a sudden burst of wind. Wind—he suspected each breeze brought their foes closer to them, watching, always watching. She was tense, fingers arched into claws.

  That she kept her back to Layel was telling, though he wasn’t sure Tagart understood. The dragon was smirking now, as if the Amazon thought to protect him. Stupid. Delilah trusted Layel not to attack her while vulnerable.

  Stupid, he thought again, this time directed at Delilah. She should not trust him like that. She should run from him. Fast and forever.

  I would probably chase her.

  Stupid! That curse had been for himself. She was not his, could never be his.

  For that, more than anything, he suddenly wanted to launch himself at Tagart and eat him, organ by organ. The bastard’s eyes would be the last to go, so he could see every terrible thing Layel did to him.

  He fingered the hilt of his blade. “I’m waiting.”

  Delilah reached back and ran her palm over his stomach. He barely held in a shocked, aroused gasp.

  Whatever look she gave the dragon had his cheeks coloring. He tossed Layel a final glare before stomping toward the trees, Brand close at his heels. They probably meant to plan his murder. He hoped they did. Foiling their attempts might prove to be a nice distraction.

  Multiple sets of eyes watched as Delilah turned and faced him. Those violet irises framed in black climbed the length of his body, practically stripping him bare. He found himself stepping backward, away from the strength and heat and temptation of her.