The Vampire's Bride--A Paranormal Romance Novel

by Gena Showalter

  A glimpse of her loved ones…of Lily. She shook with the sudden force of her determination, all the while continuing to fight the desire to face Layel, gauge his reaction to the god’s announcement. Was there someone at home, waiting for him? A woman, perhaps, snuggled in his bed?

  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—she did it, willpower broken by need. She looked. Breath caught in her throat. The vampire was watching her, and their gazes clashed as sharply as the storm.

  That quickly, her blood heated with renewed desire. Renewed? As if the sweet hum had ever left her.

  Her nipples pearled again, her knees weakened.

  Before he could turn away from her, dismissing her, she refocused on the god. Instantly her eyes mourned the loss of his decadent face.

  “Before we begin, there is one rule I must mention. If one participant falls into the water, that creature must return to the beginning and start over. A little punishment for failing, if you will. Help your team or not. Hinder your team or not. The choice is yours. Just know that we will be watching, judging. Deciding.” With barely a pause, the god added, “Go.”

  A moment passed before Delilah realized the contest had begun. Tagart, too, hesitated, even when Brand sprang forward.

  “Go, go, go!” she shouted, shoving Tagart over the threshold. Her heart raced in her chest, adrenaline surging hard.

  He tripped, sliding on the ice-covered wood. When he caught himself, he whipped into fervent motion. She stayed close to his heels, barely able to see past the pounding rain. The first spiked lance swung at her, and she ducked. Whoosh. One of the spikes sliced her shoulder blade. There was a sharp sting, a rush of warm blood, and she winced.

  She didn’t slow.

  “Jump,” Tagart shouted.

  She did, a gaping hole suddenly underneath her, sharks swimming just below it, snapping up at her. Their teeth were long, white and jagged. As she landed, knees absorbing the impact, she threw over her shoulder, “Jump!”

  The minotaur didn’t react as swiftly as she had and failed to obey in time. He began to fall, down, down, swiftly. Not knowing if she would do more harm than good, Delilah stopped, spun and dropped to her stomach, grabbing for his arm. Their palms clapped together, and he latched on to her with frantic desperation. His heavy weight nearly slid her from her perch.

  The team member behind the minotaur jumped and landed on Delilah’s back with his hooves—a centaur—shoving the air from her lungs. The bastard kept galloping, obviously deciding she wasn’t worth the effort. So much for buoying his team along.

  “Pull me up,” the bull-man screamed, his eyes darting between her and the hungry fish below him. Sweat dripped from his dark fur, and she lost her grip. Their fingers slipped.

  “Hold tighter, damn it!”

  A grinning merman swam to the bull and reached up, trying to grab his ankles. All the while she did her best to hoist him up. She was strong, but he was so heavy it felt as if her arms were being torn from their sockets.

  “Kick him,” she commanded through gritted teeth. She dug her booted toes into the wood planks and rolled her hips. Slowly, with every roll, she inched backward. “Don’t let him latch on to you.”

  Another team member slapped into her back, and she nearly lost her hold again. So much for team players. Somehow she managed to maintain a solid hold this time, even as the minotaur flailed to avoid the laughing merman.

  Layel appeared beside her, startling her. She glanced up, embarrassed that she needed help but happy to see him all the same. He didn’t touch her or say a word as he kicked his leg into the hole. His foot slammed into the bull-man’s face.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted, rain filling her mouth.

  The minotaur sobbed and grabbed for her wrist with his other hand.

  “Let him go.”

  “No!”

  Layel kicked the bull again.

  Strong arms suddenly latched on to her waist, a thick leg whizzing past her temple and connecting with Layel’s chest. The vampire soared backward and her helper gave a hard tug, pulling Delilah to her feet and the minotaur the rest of the way to safety. She glanced up, panting, and saw Tagart.

  His eyes were grim, his face cut and bloodied. Water trickled from his cheeks in little rivers. “Let’s go.” He turned and was off, unwilling to wait for her.

  She rubbed her shoulder and stumbled forward. As she moved, a flash of black drew her attention to the left. Layel had regained his balance and now kept pace beside her on his side of the gauntlet, watching her through eyes red with fury. Time seemed to slow, the dragon and minotaur racing toward the finish line and her other teammates rushing past her, her labored gait too slow.

  Determined, she increased her speed. Every step jarred her shoulder and lanced her with fresh pain, but she didn’t care. She dodged the spikes and jumped the holes without missing a beat.

  Layel, she noticed, simply floated above the gaping holes. He never fell behind her, nor did he inch in front of her. Truly, what was his purpose? He could have maimed her, slowed her down and won, but he hadn’t.

  A pendulum swung at her and she ducked, soon realizing there was a rhythm to the game. Step, step, duck. Step, jump. Step, step, duck. Again, she quickened her movements. Twice, she skidded across the slippery ice, but both times she managed to stop herself before she slid straight into the water.

  Where was Nola? Had the girl already reached the end? She looked, slipped.

  Concentrate. Ducking nearly to her stomach as the lowest lance yet whizzed overhead, Delilah’s gaze connected with Layel’s as though tugged by an invisible chain. He’d already made it past the spike and was standing off to the side, next to a hole.

  One of his teammates dangled under it, she saw, hanging on with only one hand. Gaze never leaving her, Layel stepped on the creature’s fingers. There was a pained cry. Then nothing. Then a splash. Then another cry. Her mouth fell open in shock. Why had he done that? He had hindered his own team, sentenced them to lose.

  To show her that he had no remorse when it came to killing?

  To help her win?

  The thought was heady. Shameful, but heady. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, feel him embrace her. Hear him proclaim to all the world that she was his, belonged to him, and he would stop at nothing to ensure her happiness.

  Someone grabbed her arm, and she cried out at the renewed agony in her shoulder. Her attention skidded to her tormentor. Tagart.

  He tossed her a dark scowl. “You’re the last. Hurry!” With that, he jerked her forward.

  She tried to pull back. Foolishly, she didn’t want Layel to lose. But it was too late. In seconds, they were at the end. She saw every one of her teammates hunched over, gasping for air. But they were there, which meant her team had won. Cheers soon rent the air, louder even than the crashing thunder.

  She turned as Layel reached his own team. They were hunched over and gasping, as well, but they didn’t cheer when they saw the vampire. They snarled in rage. He was the reason they had lost, and they knew it.

  “You’ll pay,” Brand snarled.

  “You kicked him!” a centaur roared. “You kicked Irren.”

  Irren, the formorian in question, limped to the finish line a short while later. His only arm clung to its socket with thin strips of crimson flesh. Like all of his race, he possessed only one leg. That leg was missing hunks of muscle. Both of his wings were broken, barely able to flap, but keeping him upright. Injured as he was, he still attacked Layel from behind.

  Frowning, Layel reached behind him, latched on to the creature and flipped him overhead. Smack. Irren hit the wood, causing the entire platform to vibrate. The formorian didn’t rise. He just lay there, panting, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “You could have helped me,” Irren choked out. “You could have helped.”

  “But I didn’t,” Layel replied coldly. He was peering at Delilah as he spoke, as if his every action was for her benefit.

  Did he think she would t
urn away, repulsed by him? Did he hope that she would?

  Violence was not abhorrent to her. She had done much worse over the years.

  Not knowing what to make of him, Delilah tore her gaze away and searched for Nola. She found the girl in the corner, scowling over at her. Blaming her for the loss?

  Having none of that, Delilah lumbered toward her. Just before she reached her target, however, everyone on the losing team disappeared. There one moment, gone the next. At first, Delilah glanced around in confusion. Then her stomach clenched as realization set in.

  Elimination.

  One member would not return from their counsel with the gods. And after the way the team had glared at Layel, she didn’t have to guess who that team member would be.

  * * *

  IN THE SPAN OF A HEARTBEAT, Layel found himself sitting in front of a fire, trees surrounding him. The rain had stopped. Damn this! He was tired of being popped in and out of locations without warning. He himself had the ability but he rarely utilized it, not liking the sense of total exhaustion that always accompanied the transport. Still, he would rather deal with the weariness than with the god’s seemingly unbeatable power. Freedom of choice was something he valued.

  His teammates sat in a circle around him. They, too, had been popped here. How…wonderful.

  “You purposely pushed the formorian into the water,” Brand growled without preamble.

  Layel arched a brow but did not verbally respond. He refused to explain himself to a fire-breather.

  In truth, he couldn’t even explain himself to himself. He didn’t think he’d acted to prevent Delilah’s team from losing. He despised that woman and her dangerous kisses. More than that, if they’d lost, Tagart might have been the one to die—a thought that pleased Layel.

  Tagart.

  Layel’s teeth cut into his gums and blood flavored his tongue. Tagart obviously desired Delilah, obviously wanted her for his own. The dragon bastard was unworthy of her passion. All men were.

  “He stepped on my hand,” Irren cried, drawing him out of his dark musings.

  Brand knifed to a towering stand. The fire crackled, amber light dancing over his harsh countenance. His hair beads slapped together in an ominous beat. “You cost us the victory, bloodsucker.”

  Rather than address the dragon, Layel eyed the formorian. “You cost us the victory, and you know it. You are simply too cowardly to admit it. Had you not fallen into the hole and slowed our momentum, I would not have been able to step on your hand, now would I?”

  The creature’s bruised cheeks colored in embarrassment, a rainbow of reds, blues and blacks. His glittering green eyes added to the rainbow effect. “Do not blame this on me! I would have climbed to safety.”

  “With your arm or your leg?” he scoffed without mercy. “You are the weakest among us and would have caused us to lose whether you climbed up of your own volition or not. You will cause us to lose every challenge, I have no doubt.” He shook his head in disgust, though privately he admitted that disgust was not for the creature’s infirmity. Rather his reaction stemmed from the desire he’d seen in Irren’s eyes whenever the creature looked at Delilah. “You deserved to be hurt.”

  Surprisingly Brand had no response to that. None of them did.

  Amid the silence, Layel’s mind returned to Delilah and their kiss…His fangs elongated even more. He’d had his tongue and his fingers inside her. He’d rubbed his swollen shaft against her. He would have drunk from her and he would have bedded her if Tagart had not interrupted.

  Not once had he thought of Susan.

  Not once had he cared that it had not been his mate’s gentle voice rasping his name, her soft hands clawing his back. No, Susan would not have clawed him. Their lovemaking had always been tender, as sweet as Susan herself. He had savored every moment with her.

  Not once had he ever felt the desire to dominate her as he had with Delilah. He had wanted to possess the Amazon’s very soul. Brand himself inside her, claim her every cell for his own. The need had been fierce, a rising tide of tangled darkness and light.

  Because of that, he had betrayed Susan more than ever before. He didn’t deserve pleasure. He didn’t deserve happiness. And that he had experienced them, even for so short a time, made him as pathetic and shameful as the dragons. Yet…

  When Delilah had reached for her teammate—nearly falling herself in the process—his first instinct had been to grab hold of her. Save her, keep her close. Guard her. He had refrained at first, telling himself it would be easier this way. She would fall, perhaps die, definitely be hurt. And he would stop craving her.

  Finally, though, he had been unable to resist. He’d moved toward her. Rather than touch her, however, he had tried to dislodge the bastard holding her down. Stubborn as she was, she’d wanted to save her team member. Which Tagart had helped her do.

  Layel blanked his mind as his teeth gnashed together. It’s done. Over. You can’t go back and change what happened.

  As he focused on the here and now, he realized Brand had moved in front of him. Golden eyes were boring down at him, hot, wild. “I asked you a question, and I will be ignored no longer.”

  “What question?”

  “You think to pretend ignorance?”

  Annoyance swept through him, sure and potent. He’d been lost in thought and far away from the conversation. He wouldn’t admit to it, though. Instead, he withdrew one of his wooden daggers, moving with lightning speed to slash Brand’s jugular. But the blade disappeared from his hand, causing Layel to hit the dragon with his fingers. Brand opened his mouth to spew fire.

  “Sit down,” a booming voice commanded. A female voice this time, though just as powerful as the male voices they’d encountered before.

  He frowned. How many gods were pulling their strings? Watching them? Torturing them? This was the fourth. He glanced left, right, unsurprised that he could not see the being’s form.

  “Until next time, fire-bastard,” he said.

  “Next time, bloodsucker. If you survive the elimination, which I do not think will be the case.” Jaw clenched, Brand stomped back to his seat.

  Layel did the same, grimly suspecting Brand was right. This would probably be his last night alive. He deserved the death, yet he still wasn’t ready for it. But not for his usual reasons, damn the gods. He found, in that instant, he regretted that he would die without tasting Delilah fully.

  “Here we are, in the losers’ circle, the first challenge completed. Some of you showed more courage than others. Some of you more weakness.” There was a pause. The gods, Layel had noticed, did love their dramatic pauses. “In the end, you allowed your opponents to best you, and for that you have earned our displeasure. While the other team celebrates their victory, reaping its rewards, you are here before me, one of you destined to die.”

  Another pause, this one angry. “Because we could not agree amongst ourselves, we are leaving the vote up to you,” the goddess said. “The creature with the most votes will be the one to face execution. May I recommend the dragon or the vampire?”

  With her last words, a growl whipped around them as fierce as wind. Only sharper. Cutting. Layel thought he heard the words No interference, but he couldn’t be sure.

  The goddess sighed, then uttered a distinctly forced chuckle. “Just a little gallows humor, of course. Pick whomever you feel is most deserving of elimination, the warrior who will cause you to lose over and over again if he remains on your team.”

  Layel raised his chin, even as his heart shuddered. His death had never been more certain, for his teammates could never trust him.

  “Brand.” She said his name with…distaste? “You may begin.”

  “We need time,” the warrior said. “Time to talk and decide.”

  “Actually, what we need is to be sent home.” Layel figured he was about to die, so why not speak his mind? “This game is barbaric. We should never have been brought here.”

  “Brand,” the goddess snapped, and Layel balled his
fists at being ignored. “Vote. Now.”

  One by one, the members spoke their choice. Layel sat stiffly, and when his turn arrived a sword materialized and hovered just over the fire. Waiting…waiting for a target. And then the last vote was delivered.

  “And so it is done,” the goddess said.

  Sharp silver twirled in the air and struck the first member to be eliminated from the game.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DELILAH SAT on the beach, the gauntlet no longer in place. A short while ago, every piece of timber had vanished like mist with the dawn. What surprised her most, however, was that she no longer blinked when strange things happened. Having been whisked from one place to another several times, having seen the gods appear and disappear in a heartbeat, she had reluctantly accepted that odd things were simply part of her life now.

  Waves lapped at her feet and ankles as her mind whirled with realizations. When the losing team had disappeared, her first thought had been of Layel’s welfare. Not Nola’s, as it should have been.

  Gods, what was wrong with her?

  Perhaps the vampire’s kiss had branded her, soul deep, and she was now bound to him for all of eternity. Possessed by him. A slave, his to command. Obsessed, hers to worship. She sighed.

  Not even the prize her team received for winning the challenge had lessened her concern for him.

  Less than an hour ago, a round, intricately framed mirror had appeared in front of her team. The god hadn’t lied when he’d promised a reward. Enjoy, a voice had boomed. You have done well and made us proud. They had gazed at it simultaneously, but apparently each had seen something different: the person they missed most in Atlantis.

  Delilah had seen Lily.

  The delicate girl had been safely ensconced in the Amazon camp, but she had been wrapped in the queen’s arms, crying. For Delilah. Both females assumed she and Nola were dead. They were in mourning, and Lily blamed herself.