The one-armed, one-legged creature scanned his teammates. His small, gossamer wings fluttered erratically as his mind swirled with what to do. The demon or the Amazon. Layel returned his attention to Delilah. She was stiff, unemotional. Waiting and expectant. She thought she would die.
The desire to hold her intensified as his gaze shifted to the dragon who had tried to kill him only a short while ago. The warrior was currently staring at the formorian with murder in his golden eyes, a silent command to vote as Tagart thought he should. Or die painfully. Ironic, Layel reflected, that he would feel grateful to a dragon.
The formorian gulped audibly, ruddy skin paling. “The demon. I vote for the demon.”
And just like that, the others voted for the demon, too.
“No, please no,” the demon was saying, shaking his head with violence. “Don’t do this. I’m strong. I will take us to victory.”
“Enough. The verdict has been rendered.” The silver sword Layel now saw in his nightmares appeared in the center of the fire. Round and round the weapon spun, lethal, macabre.
With a shove, the demon was on his feet, backing away, gasping out, “No, don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.” He stumbled over a thick root and fell.
Before Layel could blink, the sword descended.
There was a sickening whoosh, followed by a thud. A roll. A feminine scream echoed through the trees, powerful, ear piercing. Godly? The sound blended with Zane’s laughter.
Then absolute silence enveloped the bonfire, even the flames quiet. Layel was glad for the death, would have rendered it himself if possible, and so he didn’t flinch at the violence.
Delilah didn’t flinch, either, though there was sadness in her eyes.
Layel had done so much to cause her pain, and even this could be laid at his door, yet she deserved only happiness. I almost lost her.
He was going to have her, Layel decided. Just once. He would know her taste, her scent and her body. He would keep his emotions separate from the act, of course. He wouldn’t tarnish Susan’s memory by doing otherwise. But he had to have Delilah, every inch, every breathless moan.
So far nothing else had pushed the Amazon from his mind. And he was tired of trying. There was no telling how much time they had left on the island—or alive, for that matter. In two hundred years, he’d known nothing but hate, pain and sorrow. He’d never minded that—had welcomed it, even—because he didn’t deserve better. Still he did not deserve better, but he could no longer welcome the suffering. He ached.
Susan had loved him, for their too-brief time together. She would not have wanted this horrible life he’d built for himself. Had she known he was hurting, she would have smiled, traced her fingers through his hair and told him to be happy, to enjoy.
Were the situation reversed, Delilah would have threatened to attack anyone he encouraged, he thought with a half smile. The smile grew as he imagined her in his bed, spread and wet and eager.
One night together. That would have to be enough.
How long will you destroy anything and everything close to you because Susan cannot be here? His smile gradually faded. Forever, he knew. He wouldn’t allow himself a happily-ever-after. One night, yes. But no more. Susan hadn’t died happily, so neither would he live as such. No matter that she would have wanted him to. She would be avenged.
But for today, this one time, he would forget everything but Delilah. And passion. Oh, yes. Passion. He would be a man worthy of love and tenderness. He would be Delilah’s man, giving her everything she craved, and perhaps more. If she would have him still…
Tagart stood, drawing his attention. “Let us return to the beach,” he told his team. “We must do whatever it takes to win the next challenge, even if that means training the entire night. We cannot afford another round of…this. Understand?” His voice was hoarse, laden with undercurrents of shock.
Had they not expected the god to kill? Had they expected him to laugh and send them on their way?
There was more murmuring as the creatures lumbered to shaky legs, looking anywhere but at the still-bleeding, twitching body. Only Delilah remained seated.
“Come,” Tagart commanded her, motioning her to him with a jerk of his fingers.
Appearing dazed, numb, she shook her head. “I need…a moment alone.”
She had hesitated. What had she really wanted to say? Layel wondered.
Tagart’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t stay here. The god could return. He could—”
“Hurt me no matter where I am on the island,” she interjected. “I need a moment, Tagart. Please. I won’t be long.”
The please softened the harsh contours of his expression, yet he remained in place. “Remember what I told you, Delilah?”
She gave him another of those absent nods, but there was a sudden blaze in her eyes. “I won’t forget, I assure you.”
Curiosity rose inside Layel. What had the dragon told her?
“Good. See that you don’t.” He looked pointedly at the lifeless demon body and stalked away.
The others followed quickly, obviously not wanting to be parted from the man they now saw as their leader. Layel was content to wait, doing nothing, saying nothing, simply staring at the woman who had fascinated him so deeply these past few days.
“I didn’t expect it to be like this,” Delilah said, gaze lifting. She found him, even hidden in the darkness as he was, and he blinked in surprise. “I’ve killed, seen others kill, but this just seems…cold.”
“Yes.”
“All I could think was that it could have been me. Probably should have been me.”
A denial instantly roared through his mind—not you, never you—but he tamped it down. “It wasn’t.” He straightened, dislodging the leaves that covered him. Tried to glide forward, but he did not have the strength to float. He stumbled to her and thudded onto the log beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and there was a zap of something hot between them.
She gulped, said brokenly, “I didn’t thank you. For—”
“You owe me no thanks.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you do not.”
“I fell from that log like a damned untrained man.”
His lips curled at the disgust in her voice. “Actually, you jumped. Do you not remember? And anyway, you wouldn’t have done so if not for me. I weakened you, mind and body.”
“I have been weaker, yet I’ve never reacted that way before.” Now she was speaking as if to reassure him of her strength.
“I don’t think poorly of you, Delilah. I…” Don’t tell her, don’t say it aloud, that will make it real. But he couldn’t help himself. “I liked taking care of you.”
For a long while, she remained silent, the crackling fire and song of the surrounding insects the only sounds. Then she sighed. “I liked hearing you say that, even though I shouldn’t. An Amazon’s only purpose is the protection of her sisters, and she cannot protect them if she is weak or if a man is stronger than she is. But…”
“But?” He wanted to hear the rest. A part of him needed to hear it. He was just a man tonight, and she was just a woman. This was allowed.
When she gave no response, Layel stood to mask his disappointment. “Wait here. I will bury the body.”
“I will help.”
“You’re still weak.”
“We do this together, Layel. Remember?”
He nodded, foolishly happy with her insistence.
The task lasted an hour and they were exhausted by the time they settled back in front of the fire, sweaty, dirty and struggling to calm their breathing.
“Your strength pleases me,” she finally blurted. “That is what I was going to say before.”
Hearing it was as wonderful as he’d imagined. And yet… “I am not strong,” he found himself saying bitterly.
She tossed a stick into the flames, watching as it burned to ash. “How so?”
He was here when he should have been anywhere else. He hadn’t saved
Susan, and he wouldn’t have been able to save Delilah had she been chosen tonight. “Too many reasons to name.”
Delilah looked over at him, studying him in the firelight. Whatever she saw amid that flickering gold she must have liked, for she reached out and traced a fingertip along the curve of his jaw, over his lips. Gentle, so gentle. “You’re pale,” she said.
“I’m always pale.”
“More so than usual. Are you injured? More than I can see, that is?”
“I’m fine.” His strength pleased her. No way in all of Hades he would admit to weakness now.
“Do you need more of my blood?”
“No,” he lied, unwilling to risk taking more from her for any reason. He captured her hand and placed a soft kiss on her wrist, where her pulse suddenly leapt to erratic life. Blood was rushing through her veins, a sweet scent drifting from her skin.
His mouth watered.
“Wh-why did you do that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Kiss my hand?”
“I wanted to.” Truth. “Did you not like it?”
“I liked it, more than I should, but you’ve never touched me willingly before.”
A crime. “I have wanted to,” he admitted.
The long length of her feathered lashes lowered to half-mast, shielding her vibrant gaze. “I’m supposed to stay away from you.”
Unable to stop himself, he leaned toward her. He would not kiss her lips—couldn’t, wouldn’t succumb to this attraction so deeply, intently—but he needed his lips on her. Somewhere. He pressed softly into the line of her jaw, her chin, inhaling her sweetness. “Why?” He knew the answer, though. Tagart. Remember what I told you, the dragon had said.
A shiver moved through her. “Why what?”
“Must you stay away from me now?” Out flicked his tongue, tracing the same path his mouth had taken. Smoothness, sweetness, heat. His shaft hardened painfully.
“My team,” she breathed, arms wrapping tentatively around him.
They would kill her next if she was seen with him again, he realized. “We won’t let them find us, then. Not tonight.” She needed him as much as he needed her. That was clear with every heated breath she took. “Tomorrow…tomorrow we can act as strangers.”
Her fingers glided up his back, over the ridges of his spine, then she stopped, her nails digging into his shoulders. She arched forward, meshing her breasts against his chest. He hissed in a breath.
“You will not mind?” she asked.
Now he could not recall where the conversation had left off. “Mind what?”
“Loving tonight, being strangers tomorrow.”
Her words should have delighted him. That was what he wanted, what he needed to return to his cold, isolated world. It was exactly what he’d just told her had to happen. Hearing her easy acceptance and even willingness to forget his touch, however, irritated him. Caused every possessive bone in his body to roar.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. A small protest from her would have been nice. Wouldn’t it? “I will not mind.”
“Unlike my sisters, I’ve never wanted the short-term from a man.” She swung her leg around and hefted herself up so that she was straddling his waist, her hot core poised directly over his straining erection. He hated their clothing. “But I can’t seem to stop. You, I will have, if only for the night. So, tell me. What do you plan to do with me?”
What had she wanted then? Forever? His chest lurched, because a tiny part of him would have loved to give it to her. “First we will bathe.” He would be nothing less than perfect for her. When she thought of him in the years to come, and he hoped that she did, he wanted it to be with fondness, perhaps arousal.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Considering what we just endured in the water, are you sure you want to go back in?”
“Oh, yes. We’ll go to our waterfall.”
She offered him a half smile. “And after? What will you do to me?”
He studied her. Dirt streaked her bruised face and her partially dried hair was in tangles around her arms, curling, a bit frayed. Yet she suddenly pulsed with vitality, as if the thought of being with him gave her all the energy she needed. Her lips were soft and red, her violet eyes luminous, sensual. Erotic. The sight of her always made his chest ache. He didn’t like it, but he craved that ache, grateful for the reminder that he was still alive, not dead and buried.
“Well?”
Rather than answer her, he asked a question of his own. “Are you nervous? Is that why you wish to know?”
“Not nervous. Curious. Excited.”
“Then I will explain and hopefully increase your excitement. I will taste you here.” He circled her nipple with the tip of his finger.
She gasped in ecstasy.
“And here.” He inched a bit lower, staying atop the tiny leather skirt that shielded her feminine core from his gaze.
“I—Yes. That’s an excellent plan.” Licking her lips, she leaned toward him. Almost, almost…she would taste so good, so very good. “Tonight you will love me,” she whispered.
Love her. The words trembled through him and he turned his head away before he drowned in her, sinking deeply, sinking completely, losing himself. Her kiss landed on his cheek, and then she pulled back and blinked in disappointment.
Once more, he’d hurt her.
He pushed to his feet—don’t fall, don’t you dare fall—and she slid down his body. Pleasure speared him, lancing him more surely than a weapon ever had. “Come,” he said roughly, harshly, holding out his hand. You can walk away, he found himself projecting. You do not have to do this. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Do not change your mind. Please, do not change your mind.
Her fingers curled around his. Without a word, they walked to the waterfall.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A THOUSAND EMOTIONS seemed to swirl through Delilah—excitement, joy, sorrow, tenderness, passion, anger, regret, confusion, even the nervousness she’d told Layel she didn’t feel. She wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything. Would have killed for this moment with Layel, harshly and without remorse.
She was going to be with the man who’d captured her interest. Would know him as intimately as a woman could know a man, allowing him inside her body, perhaps her soul. For once she would be the prize and not the conqueror. And yet…
She wanted to cry.
He would walk away afterward without a backward glance. Once again she would be nothing more than a pleasurable encounter, easily forgotten.
She had shed tears only once in her life: the day her mother sent her away to begin training as a warrior. Her first tutor had beaten her for those tears. Since then, she had not cried. Not in pain when her body was abused beyond recognition, not in sadness when she buried several of her sisters after battle, not in shame when Vorik left her. Tears were a sign of weakness. But weakness had mattered little when Layel turned his face away to avoid her kiss. He had turned his face away exactly as her sisters turned their heads when their slaves tried to kiss them.
As if she wasn’t good enough for more than a quick tumble—she’d known that.
As if she meant nothing—she’d suspected.
As if he would remain distanced from the act, while she gave everything she had to give—that, she had not expected.
The knowledge had burned hotter than dragon fire, scraped deeper than a demon’s claw and slashed harsher than a vampire’s teeth. He was willing to take her body, but not her mouth, even though he’d kissed her before. Why? Had the first been a mistake? No, his actions were fueled by loyalty to his mate, she suspected, and that just intensified the hurt. But she couldn’t bring herself to halt what they were about to do.
Just once, she told herself. Just once, she had to know what it was like to be utterly possessed by a man. Vorik had taken her body, but he had not consumed her. She and Layel remained in the shadows, careful not to allow anyone to see them. They remained quiet, careful not to allow anyone
to hear them. After an eternity, they broke through the trees and the waterfall came into view, dripping cool liquid into a decadently fragrant pool.
Her hands began to sweat, her body to tremble.
“Bathe,” he said, his tone flat. “I will check the area to make sure we are truly alone.” He didn’t give her time to respond, just released her and strode out of sight.
“Now there’s another emotion to add to the ever-growing list,” she muttered. Bereavement.
With a sigh, she stripped and padded into the water. Her skin seemed to soak up every drop, drowning, muscles softening. She washed her hair with the flowers blooming at the edge and cleaned the rest of her body with the glistening white soap-sand. At least the gods weren’t denying them nature’s sweetness.
Scrubbed from head to toe and unsure how much time had passed, she eased up onto the bank and sat upon a smooth silver rock, knees drawn up to her chest. Where was Layel?
As if her thoughts had summoned him, he appeared beside her. She hadn’t heard him, which meant he’d floated, and she hadn’t smelled his scent, which meant he’d bathed with the same sand and blooms she had. He wasn’t naked, though. Actually wore his pants. But they were unfastened and sat low on his lean, sinewy waist.
His hair hung in dripping chunks, white and glorious. There was a smear of blood on his lips.
“You fed.” Frowning, she pushed to her feet.
“Yes.” His gaze slowly raked over her, lingering on her breasts—nipples hard and straining—and between her legs.
“On who?” She meant to snap the words, but they emerged breathless. His eyes were so vibrant with arousal it was palpable. The nymph?
“No one. An animal.”
Her jealousy melted away, leaving only an arousal equal to his. Her stomach fluttered, her skin heated and her limbs shook. “You could have taken mine.”
“Pretty,” he said, reaching out and rolling one nipple between his fingers.
She bit her tongue to silence a guttural moan, a plea for more. “Why not use me? For blood, I mean?”
“You’ve lost enough.” His eyes never left her breasts; they were glazed, as if he were entranced. “I need you strong.”
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