Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

The sound of that tortured scream echoed from the trees, filling his head, making him cringe. “Had there been another way, I would have taken it.” He grabbed the shoulder-length mane of his hair and squeezed the cold water from it, dripping liquid over the blisters, calming the remaining embers. “The pain will end soon, I swear it.”

  She continued to curse him. He didn’t look at her face, too afraid he would see tears. That, he would not have been able to tolerate. When a woman cried, he became a babbling fool, stumbling over his words, desperate to escape. And this strong woman’s tears would be even more powerful than most.

  “There will be scars,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Scars are…nice,” she panted, cheeks flushed. He suspected she was more embarrassed by her reaction than still drowning in pain.

  Behind him, the leaves clashed. Someone approached. As he stood, a roar sliced through the air, a dark shape propelling toward him. Almost there… He tensed, ready. They collided with a grunt.

  Zane chomped for his throat, but Brand swung a clawed fist, connecting with the blood-drinker’s jaw and knocking him to his back. Unencumbered now, Brand sprang. A few kicks and punches the vampire was too wild and crazed to duck and he was able to pin his opponent to the ground.

  He didn’t like the way the man had watched Nola out there in the water. Darkly, possessively. But rather than spew fire all over the warrior, killing him—Brand would not have it said he was afraid to face the vampire during the challenges—he punched Zane in the nose.

  Snap.

  Blood squirted, and there was a howl of rage and pain. All too soon, the blood-drinker recovered, shoving Brand off with enough force to throw him into a tree.

  “Mine,” Zane snarled, hopping up and kicking him in the stomach. “You do not touch her. You do not touch me.”

  There was a feral, animal glaze in his eyes. Brand was on his feet a moment later, scales crawling up his arm as rage filled him. He’d always been a dragon who preferred peace to war, and just then he suspected there would never be peace on this island as long as the unpredictable vampire lived. Brand forgot his pride, forgot what the others might say if he did this deed, and spit a stream of fire.

  Zane dodged quickly, only a single flame touching him, burning away his shirt. He leapt forward, makeshift wooden dagger suddenly raised. Brand spun, his tail sprouting and nailing the vampire in the face, drawing blood.

  Finally fully dragon, he used his wings to soar high, higher, then he descended, nose facing the ground. Faster, faster, he plunged toward the vampire. When he opened his mouth to spew more fire, he spied Nola limping into the stream. He snapped his jaw closed and allowed himself to slam into Zane. They rolled to the ground in a tangled, violent bid for dominance.

  A jagged branch suddenly sailed into Brand’s shoulder, knocking him down. He hissed. Saw the same thing happen to Zane. Both men panted, looking between the lances and each other when Nola limped between them, hands on her hips. Her face was pallid, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Do I have your attention now?”

  She was a fearsome sight. Despite her weakened condition, rage radiated from her in powerful waves. Her lips were thinned in displeasure and her hands curled into weapons.

  “First, I am not yours,” she said to Zane. “Second, I can defend myself,” she said to Brand. “If I could not, I would not be worthy of my tribe. Were we in Atlantis, I would be punished for allowing you to tend me.”

  “I know your taste,” Zane growled, startling Brand. “You are mine.”

  Must have startled Nola, too, because she paled all the more as she studied the vampire. “You do not know my taste. I have never given myself to you.”

  “You have dreamed of me.” Zane threw the words at her as violently as if they were weapons.

  She stumbled backward and shook her head. “How can you know that?”

  “Because—”

  “How!”

  “Because they are not dreams! I came to you last night and you welcomed me with open arms.”

  Again, she stumbled backward, eyes wide, dazed. She glanced from Zane to Brand, Brand to Zane. “I—I—”

  Brand jerked the stick from his shoulder, grimacing at the torn muscle and skin. There was a sharp burn, but it swiftly dissipated as his skin and tissue wove back together, healing.

  “I would never have let you do those things…” she gasped out.

  “You did.” Zane stepped toward her, the stick still protruding. “Eagerly.”

  “Liar! I do not want you.”

  “You do. You did.”

  “No, no. It was a dream.”

  Brand’s rage sparked to new heights. “Go to her again, and I will linger over you when I kill you,” he told the vampire.

  “I will kill you,” she corrected, tears beading in her eyes. The sight nearly undid him. “I might have desired you in my dreams, vampire, but I don’t want you now. I can’t.”

  Zane frowned, confusion lighting his eyes. “But I don’t want to die when you touch me. That makes you mine. That has to mean you are a gift for all I’ve endured.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She bent down, grabbed another branch and launched it at him. “I am meant for no man.”

  He was too startled to move—or perhaps he chose not to move—and the limb sank into his other shoulder. He did not make a sound. Just stood there, both sticks protruding from him.

  “Leave me alone,” the Amazon choked out. “Both of you.”

  “Nola,” Zane called.

  She turned on her heel and limped away.

  “Nola!” the warrior screamed, the sound echoing from branches, causing a flock of birds to take flight. “Don’t leave me as she did. Please.”

  Suddenly not knowing what to do, Brand watched as the vampire crisscrossed his arms, gripped the sticks and jerked them out. Watched as the vampire stepped forward as if to follow the girl, stopped and emitted a sound unholy in its intensity and pain. Zane had truly desired the Amazon, was truly confused that she didn’t want him in return.

  Brand’s dragon form retreated, leaving him in the guise of man. Naked, his clothes having been ripped away.

  “Nola,” Zane whispered now as he fell to his knees.

  Brand slowly, quietly, receded into the shadows. Still, Zane’s head snapped in his direction and their gazes clashed in heat. In hate.

  “I won’t let you hurt the girl again, Zane,” Brand told him calmly. He hadn’t protected his sister all those years ago. This girl, he would protect with his own life.

  “I did not hurt her,” Zane growled.

  Brand’s jaw set in a mutinous line. “The coming days should be interesting, then, wouldn’t you agree?” With that, he stalked away, determined to find Nola and guard her the rest of the night.

  But he knew that he and Zane would have a reckoning. Soon. Oh, yes, soon.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LAYEL DIDN’T KNOW what to do.

  He had Delilah in his arms. Hungry sharks and bloodthirsty mermen swam around them and a volatile Tagart flew above them, spraying streams of white-hot fire. Every single one of them wanted Layel. Unfortunately the Amazon was caught in the crossfire.

  Several times he’d dared break the surface of the water—only to be met with more of those molten beams. Now, he and Delilah were underwater again, spears jabbing at them, teeth snapping at them. She had slipped in and out of consciousness and had yet to awaken from the last time. Was she all right? He didn’t know. What he did know was that she needed air. Soon.

  He kicked a merman in the face and fought his way to the surface, maintaining a strong pinch on Delilah’s nose to prevent her from breathing in the salty liquid. As his head broke the surface, he released her face, sucking in air and praying she was doing the same. If not, he’d give her every molecule in his lungs once they went under again.

  Another river of fire. A quick dodge, barely avoiding contact. Through it all, Layel knew where to lay the blame for this travest
y. Delilah was weak because of him. Him. She was a woman who prided herself on her skills and resilience, yet his actions had reduced her to a helpless damsel.

  He could have transported himself to the beach, but he wouldn’t have been able to take Delilah. He, too, was weak. Without him, she would sink, be eaten, stabbed, burned. She would die, like Susan.

  Susan. Once more he heard his mate screaming inside his head, dragons abusing her, using her in the most terrible way. Part of him wanted to crumble under those screams, to finally give in. But just as before, thoughts of Delilah muted them to quiet whimpers, keeping him focused, able to fend off his opponents.

  Delilah. What should he do? How could he save her? A few days ago, he truly might have left her here and saved himself, thinking to Hades with everyone else. After all, he was a killer, not a savior.

  Today, that moment, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to whisk himself away. Didn’t want to put his life above another’s. Delilah’s life was more valuable than his own.

  Another blaze of fire launched at him, but this time he was too slow and it slammed into his shoulder, sizzling the skin and half of his hair. Plumes of black smoke wafted around him. For once, his mind was not on retaliation. He didn’t care that Tagart was breathing the same air he was, didn’t care that Tagart was alive. Delilah was still all that mattered to him.

  Was she breathing? Not a single sound emerged from her. She was so still, so lifeless. Damn this! She couldn’t take much more.

  Something sharp cut into his leg. A shark. He kicked with his other leg, knocking the creature away and diving under just as another blaze of fire rained. Eyes open in the murky liquid, he saw a smiling merman grab Delilah’s waist, trying to pull her away from him. Enraged, Layel wound his legs around her. Crimson liquid swirled out of him and around them.

  The merman stopped grinning and jerked. “Mine!”

  Layel managed to latch on to the fish-man’s hair and tug him forward, body gliding smoothly through the water. Never breaking momentum, Layel chomped down on his neck. The merman flailed, his tail hitting Delilah.

  Finally, her eyelids popped open.

  Immediately she began flailing for freedom, panic blanketing her expression. If he lost his grip, Delilah would swim unknowingly into the fire above. Though he had a hard time holding her and fighting his opponent at the same time, he managed it, too desperate to do otherwise.

  The merman thrashed so fiercely, a small whirlpool formed below their feet. Only when the creature went limp did Layel release him, watching as he floated down…down…

  Another shark darted past.

  Layel’s arm snaked around Delilah’s chest, cupped her breast and jolted her into the hard line of his body. She stilled on contact. Softened as though she recognized him. As the shark turned, darted past again, mouth opening, teeth gleaming, she punched it in the nose. That quickly, it swam away.

  And then Delilah was gone, and Layel was grasping only water. Wild, he scanned the murky liquid…. A shark hit him from behind and he spun. Another merman sprang forward, tackling Layel and flipping him over.

  Where in Hades was Delilah? How had she disappeared like that? Only the gods could—the gods, he realized. Elimination. He roared through the water, dread coursing through him. Dread and panic, followed by shock at the knowledge that he cared. But he did. He cared and he couldn’t deny it. Didn’t want to deny it just then.

  Delilah could be voted off. Killed. Her teammates didn’t like her association with him, after all. Layel didn’t waste any more time in the sea. He pictured the crackling bonfire in his mind, the moonlight, the rocks and the moss. A moment later, he was there, the ocean a distant memory.

  He collapsed into a dripping heap, suddenly unable to support his own weight. His strength—gone. All of his limbs shook so forcefully, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he caused some kind of quake.

  Delilah. Had to find her. He barely managed to lift his head. His eyes roved the area. There were the rocks, the moss, the circle where the bonfire had once crackled, but there were no people. No, wait. There were people. His team. Not who he’d been looking for. They strode through the far bush, all of them frowning in confusion as they surveyed their surroundings.

  “…summoned here, I think,” someone said. “Why are we back at the counsel circle? We won. Our team was the last standing.”

  “For our prize, perhaps?” another replied. “Perhaps we are to come here after every challenge, whether we win or lose.”

  Damn this! Where would the gods have taken Delilah? Helplessness settled heavily on Layel’s shoulders as no answer presented itself. Think, think! Off the island? Back to Atlantis? No, no. She was here, had to be.

  “I bet so,” the conversation continued, distracting his muddled mind.

  “I can’t wait!”

  “Wonder who will be killed from the other team.”

  “Look!”

  There were gasps, excited whoops, and then the sound of plates and bowls rattling, teeth chomping. Layel’s gaze lifted. There, in place of the fire, was table after table piled high with food. Scents of sweetmeats and spice wafted to him as his teammates gorged.

  Delilah. She was here, surely. Somewhere. Layel wanted to find her, see her, make sure she was all right. Make sure she was not the one chosen to die.

  What he would do if she was, he didn’t know. He only knew it would be his fault. Because of her…relationship with him. Relationship, yes. Not just an association, as he’d thought earlier, but a true relationship. There was no denying it. Not any longer. They searched for each other while standing among a crowd. They each wanted something from the other—blood, passion. They were intimate only with each other. They talked, they shared, they looked out for each other.

  Panting, sweating, bleeding, he labored to his feet. Swayed just as Delilah had done while standing on that stump. He tripped forward and had to seize the base of a tree to hold himself upright. Breath in, breath out.

  He sniffed the air, suddenly hating the smell of that food because it saturated everything, blocking Delilah’s scent. No, wait! He sniffed again, catching a trace of her innate perfume—woman and strength, waterfall and sweetness—and forced his heavy legs into motion. Each step was agony.

  An eternity passed, surely, as he stumbled through vines, over thick roots, across crystalline pools and around the animals that usually hid from him. Pigs, birds, some type of cat. They watched him curiously, as if realizing he was too weak to hurt them but unsure what to do about him.

  Why are you doing this? Why do you care? This is wrong. He had no answers, didn’t even want to think about it just then.

  Finally he heard the sound of a crackling fire, could almost feel its tantalizing heat. He stopped, black spots winking in front of his eyes. Murmurings floated to him.

  “…will have to choose.”

  “But who?”

  “The weakest or the betrayer?”

  He crouched as best he could, considering his condition, and moved forward, determined to remain unseen by the god. He might be sent elsewhere if he was spotted. When he reached the edge, a group of leaves blocked his path. He pushed them aside—quiet, steady—and then he was looking directly at Delilah.

  His heart stopped beating. The world slowed, fading to her. She was as soaked as he was, what little clothing she wore plastered to her like a second skin. Her body was cut and bruised, making her look like she’d just returned from a vicious battle—and lost. But she was awake. Alive. Shivering. And the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld. Ever. Even Susan had not compared, and he felt evil for even thinking so terrible a thought.

  She’d anchored her hair on top of her head. Several stubborn strands refused to stay in place, however, and cascaded down her temples and past her shoulders. Tagart sat beside her in human form. Someone had given him a pair of pants, so his male parts were covered at least. The pants were too small, however, and hugged his thighs.

  The bastard reached over and hooke
d one of Delilah’s tendrils behind her ears, brushing her cheek with his knuckles in the process. Layel’s stomach twisted and bloodlust roared through him.

  Delilah angrily slapped the dragon’s hand away, and that saved Tagart’s life. For now. Layel relaxed slightly.

  Tagart scowled and whispered to her—Layel couldn’t make out the words.

  “Has a decision been reached?” a disembodied voice suddenly asked. Harsh, edged with steel. “And do not think to beg for mercy as the team before you did. I have none. Not for you. You had only to stand in one location and demonstrate your endurance. Yet you failed, every one of you, allowing yourselves to be distracted, forgetting there were consequences if you lost sight of the goal. Had one of you lasted a single minute longer, you would have been the last standing. You would have won.”

  Everyone sitting around the fire stiffened. The flames stroked upward as though stoked, mingling together, swirling, almost raging, then forming into the body of an amazingly tall, thick-chested man.

  “May we have more time at least before we cast our votes?” Delilah asked through her chattering teeth.

  “No,” was the firm reply. “You did not earn it.”

  “Then I guess we are ready.” She closed her eyes, opened them, and determination fell over her features. Layel longed to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, fill her with his warmth. Keep her safe. “My vote is for the demon. He was the first to fall.”

  “I second the motion,” Tagart said, shooting Delilah a pointed look.

  The demon in question hissed at them. “I vote for Delilah,” he said, his horns sharp and glistening with poison. “I had planned to choose the vampire, but you just changed my mind.”

  Layel’s hands tightened into fists. He’d promised the demons to Zane, but he might take this one for himself. Or perhaps not. Zane’s turn had come and the fierce vampire gleefully said, “My vote is for the demon.”

  “I vote for the Amazon,” the centaur who’d shouted for quiet in the water said.

  “That is three votes for the demon and two votes for the Amazon,” the god said dramatically, as if everyone present had forgotten how to count. “A close race, indeed. Formorian, who does your vote belong to?”