The Vampire's Bride--A Paranormal Romance Novel

by Gena Showalter

  His focus snapped behind her, to the creatures surely still watching them. Tagart wasn’t here, she knew, but he would hear of this. She didn’t care.

  “We agreed,” Layel growled. “Once. No more.”

  Stripped of pride, Nola had said. If that’s what was required, well…“I want more. I need more.”

  He shook his head in denial, though his pupils dilated. “You can’t have more.”

  “I can. I will.”

  “Then you’ll have to find someone else to give it to you.” He said it flatly, as if he didn’t care and almost hoped she took his advice. But there was something in his eyes, a gleam of absolute murder. So ferocious, she shivered.

  One of her brows arched. “Shall I disprove your words right now?”

  “Delilah.” A warning.

  “I’m willing to risk everything for you, Layel. My sister is back there, hating me, but I came to you anyway. My team thinks I mean to betray them. I am risking everything.”

  “Which shows only that you are foolish.”

  A red haze washed over her vision. She had not thought winning his heart would be easy, but a little cooperation would have been nice. “I’m not asking you to give me everything. I am asking you for time. A chance.” Don’t push me away. See me as a prize worth fighting any battle for.

  There was a long pause, but his expression gave nothing away. “Delilah…” He stopped, whatever he’d meant to say destined to remain forever unheard. “Listen closely, for I do not wish to have this conversation again.” He stood, towering over her. Then he leaned down, placing them nose to nose.

  She bit her bottom lip, wishing he would kiss her as he had last night.

  Breath caught in his throat—she heard the hitch—and he backed a step away. “I had you and now I am done with you,” he croaked out, staring at her lips.

  Another lie. She knew it. “Layel,” she said, reaching for him. “Don’t do this. Let me—”

  “No.” Another shake of his head, this one nearing violence. “I don’t want you. Nothing you say or do will change that.”

  The sharpness of the latest rejection slapped her, cut her, made her bleed on the inside as she’d never bled on the outside. And still she fought. “Layel—”

  “No! Look at my arm, Delilah. Do it!” he growled when she hesitated. “Look and see what I was willing to do when I left your embrace last night.”

  Dread filled her, because she knew, deep down, that what she would see would change her somehow.

  “Do it!” he shouted, and all of the forest quieted.

  Gulping, she lowered her gaze. He had rolled back his shirt’s sleeves, showcasing deep, deep grooves in both of his forearms. Dried blood, scabs. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve had to carve this six times already because the wounds keep healing. I even rubbed dirt, moss and salt into each slice to slow the process. Read the words. Read them!”

  She focused, tracing each scab with her gaze. Never. Again.

  “Do you understand now?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

  Her mind emptied of thoughts, and her emotions numbed. The warrior instincts she’d been so sure would win him vanished as if they’d never been. He absolutely and unequivocally did not long for a future with her.

  Never again. Never again would he kiss her, touch her, love her. She was not a prize to him, she was a nuisance. She was everything she’d never wanted to be, forgettable, unimportant, unworthy. Once again, she’d chosen the wrong man. Craved something that could never be. This time hurt far worse than the other. Far worse.

  “I understand,” she said softly. This time, he did not have to put space between them. She did. Inch by inch she backed away. Her legs were shaky, she realized vaguely, near collapse.

  I was willing to give up everything for him, yet he doesn’t want me. Oh, gods. He didn’t want her. The numbness began to crack, lances of pain trying to shoot through her.

  The more distance she gained, the more emotion Layel showed. Regret flashed over his beautiful features, followed by sorrow. “It has to be this way,” he said with so much self-loathing it even managed to saturate the air. “I have a mission. I have a mate. I cannot forget that.”

  “You had a mate,” she said, wanting to hurt him as he’d hurt her. “She died. You didn’t save her and you feel guilty. I had thought, hoped, you’d done enough penance. Clearly you will never do enough.”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw, but she wasn’t finished.

  “No matter what you’ve done, it’s who you are today, tomorrow, that matters. You deserve to be happy. I wanted to be the one to make you happy. I can’t, I see that now. No one can. You don’t have to worry that I’ll bother you anymore.”

  “Delilah.”

  Well, he remembered her name at least. Another step. “You don’t have to say anything else. I saw only what I wanted to see, blind to…other things. I will not be so foolish again.”

  He ran his tongue over his fangs. “You are hurt. Do not think to fall into the arms of another. That will only make things worse for you.”

  “Only one way for me to know that for sure, isn’t there?” she asked bitterly.

  He was panting shallowly as he rubbed a finger over the carved reminder on his arm. “You are better off without me.”

  “Yes. I am. That’s one point on which we absolutely agree.” Another step. She wanted to spin around, flee, but refused. He would know how thoroughly he’d destroyed her. She laughed. What did it matter if he knew? He could not think any less of her. Oh, wait. He could. “My first lover, he was a dragon. Do you know what that means, Layel? It means you claimed the castoff of your hated enemy. You took a dragon’s leavings. I hope the knowledge sickens you the way you have sickened me this day.”

  One of his fangs peeked over his bottom lip.

  “I didn’t ask you to give up anything for me,” she told him, “but I would have given up everything for you.” The war is over, and I have lost. War. Ha! As if she could have fought a dead woman. The battle had been over before it began. “Until the end of forever, Layel.”

  With that, she did spin. She did flee.

  And for once she did not hope he would follow her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  TWO WEEKS PASSED. Several new challenges were forced upon them. Several more creatures were ruthlessly executed, leaving only a few members of each team. That’s when the gods decided to dissolve the teams so that it was every man for himself. Unfortunately, the game itself hadn’t changed. It was still life and death.

  Though he had no right, Layel had kept a sharp eye on Delilah. She had survived the challenges. A simulated battle with swords and spears—to prove their skill in combat. A seemingly endless hike without food or water—to show their ability to forage for their own provisions while weakened. A quiz, taken while leaping through fiery hoops—to test their memories while under stress.

  Through it all, Delilah had never looked at him, never spoken to him, never betrayed any concern for his survival. And he found that he…missed her. He wanted more of what they’d shared, hated how he’d hurt her. Again. He didn’t care who or what her first lover had been, only that he himself was no longer allowed to worship that sweet body.

  And he could have had it forever. She would have given him more, for as long as he’d desired. They could have been together without reservation, for now they could spend time together without having to do so in secret—not that she cared.

  Never again, he reminded himself as he surveyed the pool where he’d taken Delilah. He was alone, even the animals wary of him.

  At least Delilah wasn’t trying to kill him. Nola, on the other hand, had attempted to slay him twice. The first time, she had almost succeeded, sinking a stick into his stomach and twisting his organs while he was distracted. By Delilah. The second, she’d gone for his neck with a dagger while he appeared to be sleeping.

  That time, he’d been waiting for her and had managed to subdue her without hurting he
r. He didn’t know why he cared, except that Delilah might have been angry if her sister were hurt.

  Delilah.

  You got what you wanted. She is no longer a part of your life. They were now the enemies they should have been in the beginning. Yet he had never been more miserable.

  Layel wasn’t sure how much more island life he could tolerate without snapping, flying into a rage. Something. Two nymphs and both dragons had survived, as had the Amazons. Brand had, for whatever reason, stood beside Layel each and every time they entered council and kept the others from voting for his death.

  Layel was too stubborn to ask him why.

  Zane was still alive, as well. He fought each challenge now with a ferocity that was astounding. Layel suspected Zane would fell even him if the gods decreed it. Once, during a race through a maze, Zane had pushed Delilah to the ground in his rush to the finish line and Layel had nearly beheaded him. What kind of king am I? What kind of friend?

  What kind of mate am I?

  At the word mate, it was not Susan’s image that flooded his mind, but Delilah’s. Blue hair, violet eyes, lush lips, tattoos. Spread, eager for him. Shock filled him. Delilah…his…forever. The past forgotten. It was almost too much to take in.

  What was she doing?

  He knew she was not sleeping enough. Every time he saw her, there were dark circles under her eyes. Her body was always taut, as though she were an injured predator, afraid, ready to strike. Tagart was always at her side, ever the protector, glaring at Layel in a silent warning to keep his distance.

  Layel no longer knew what to do or what he wanted. He knew he hated seeing Tagart near her. Knew he should be the one guarding her. The woman had given him pleasure—peace—for the first time in hundreds of years. That meant she was his. Or would have been, if he hadn’t purposely destroyed her.

  Oh, gods. The look on her face as she’d backed away from him those weeks ago…the things he’d said…He was a monster. She hadn’t deserved that. Had only deserved his utmost care.

  You didn’t save her, she’d said, devoid of emotion as she spoke of Susan, and you feel guilty. I had thought, hoped, you’d done enough penance.

  Had he? It was almost too wonderful to believe.

  I would have given up everything for you, she had added.

  He’d nearly caved then, had nearly forgotten his vow, his past. His only love. Because, for a brief moment, he’d seen his future in Delilah’s eyes and it had been a sight so beautiful it was beyond his comprehension.

  Susan used to look at him like that, but back then he’d been worthy. Now, after the things he’d done, he’d known that Delilah was simply fooling herself, wanting him to be something he was not and could never be again: pure.

  One day soon she would realize that and leave him. After everything he’d said, perhaps she had already realized her mistake. And it was better this way, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He stared up at the heavens, the moon shooting golden rays in every direction. She deserved someone else, someone better. Someone who wasn’t…tainted. Tagart?

  Glowering, Layel anchored his weapons on a rock at his feet and ducked under the waterfall. He didn’t bother to undress, just let the cool water run down his body, drenching him. Unfortunately, it didn’t wash the dark thoughts from his mind. Tagart wasn’t any better than Layel and if the bastard touched Delilah—

  Don’t think like that. Those were the thoughts of a mate. Was that so bad, though?

  Layel slammed his fists into the rock stretched in front of him. They throbbed as he braced both palms flat, just above his head. As he stood there, Delilah’s image filled his mind—she was never far from the surface—and overshadowed the darkness. This time, she was smiling at him, beckoning him to join her in a bath.

  Instantly he was hard. Aching.

  He would have given anything—yes, anything, he realized—for the chance to pump inside that luscious body one more time. Stroke her inner walls, feel the heat of her desire. Gods, she’d been wet.

  The water continued to pound at him, reminding him of all that they’d shared. His fingers were shaking as he unfastened his pants. His erection sprang out, long and hard and thick. He gripped it, nails cutting into skin.

  If Delilah were here, she might have fallen to her knees. Might have taken him inside her mouth. If he’d begged. “Oh, gods,” he panted. He would have begged, happily and without hesitation. Anything for her. His hand moved up and down, slow, so slow. She might have cupped his testicles and pulled. He might have gripped her blue hair, fisted it, guided her down further and further, until the tip of his shaft hit the back of her throat.

  His body was on fire now, pulsing with need and coiled tight. So damned ready for her. He increased the speed of his pumps, up and down, up and down, over and over, faster and faster. His lips drew back, peeling over his teeth in a snarl. Every muscle in his body clenched…preparing…waiting…

  He could almost hear Delilah pleading for his come, could almost feel her pleasure-moans as he gave it to her.

  With a deafening roar, he climaxed, hot seed pouring from his cock and straight into the water. As the water continued to rain, that seed washed away as if it had never been.

  An eternity passed as Layel struggled to breathe. He hadn’t thought of Susan, he realized. He’d thought of Delilah. He should be ashamed, yet…he already wanted Delilah again. Only Delilah.

  A hum of power suddenly filled the air.

  Layel straightened. He righted his soaked clothing as his attention slowly flicked to the wooden daggers he’d placed on the rock at his feet. Stupid of him, with Nola somewhere on the island, but he hadn’t wanted them to float away. He began to bend for them, projecting his senses in every direction, searching for the intruder…finding nothing out of the ordinary. That didn’t mean anything, he supposed.

  In a quick, fluid motion, he grabbed both weapons and whipped around, ready to launch them if necessary. But as his senses had perceived, there was no one nearby. Except…the pool below him swirled like the ocean did every time a god made an appearance. No, not now.

  Layel remained still as dread speared him. Was he to be singled out? Punished? The water thickened, rose, kept swirling, churning, forming a clear dappled body. Steady, stay calm.

  The body began to glow with multihued colors: pinks, blues, yellows, greens. Those colors soon began to glitter like nighttime stars and then, in a burst that nearly blinded him, everything died away, leaving only—

  Layel gasped. Fell to his knees as if struck in the head. Surely not. No. No! Couldn’t be. But he found himself reaching out, arm shaking, mouth dry, heart stuttering to a halt.

  Susan stared over at him.

  Logically, he knew it wasn’t her, couldn’t possibly be her, was only one of the gods playing some cruel trick, but he was struck speechless with his first glimpse of her in two hundred years. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Shoulder-length brown hair, soft and wisping. Eyes the same rich, vibrant color as dewy moss. Skin a lovely cream.

  Her lips curled into a small smile.

  “Oh, gods,” he gasped out brokenly. That smile…he’d never thought to see it again, had held it inside his chest, his only warmth some nights.

  She looked away from him, her body turning gracefully, her long white robe dancing at her ankles. She laughed up at…someone? something?…her graceful hand covering her mouth. Layel had prayed for this so often, would have given his soul for it. Now, here she was.

  Susan turned back to him, then, eyes alight with amusement. She motioned him over with a crook of her finger, and he was on his feet before he realized what he’d done. Was stepping toward her, desperate to wrap his arms around her. Desperate to gaze into those adored violet eyes as he held her close.

  Layel stopped abruptly. Susan’s eyes were green. Delilah’s were violet. Delilah. Water lapped at his feet, cold reality in contrast to the beloved vision.

  Susan motioned him over again, the action a little forced.


  Why are you still standing here? Why aren’t you moving toward her?

  “Do you hate me?” he asked her. He’d wanted to ask her so many times. “Do you blame me for what happened?” He didn’t expect her to answer, but the words tumbled from him anyway.

  Frowning now, she dropped her arm to her side.

  “I hate myself. I blame myself.”

  Her head tilted to the side, as if she understood what he was saying but still didn’t know how to reply.

  “You died, our unborn child died, and I was left with nothing but memories and pain. If I had been stronger…if I had protected you better…”

  For the first time, she spoke. “I love you,” she said in that soft voice he remembered. “I need you. Come to me.”

  His chest ached, hearing the sweet timbre after so long, but not for the reason he’d always assumed it would if he saw and heard Susan again. He ached because, as he continued to study his beloved, he realized the deep sense of possession he’d always felt for her was no longer there.

  He blinked, unsure of his thoughts. Surely they were wrong. Surely he still craved her as much as he always had. But…no. He didn’t. His hands didn’t itch to tunnel through her hair. His muscles didn’t jump at the thought of her touch. His stomach didn’t quiver at the thought of claiming her.

  He did love her, that would never fade, but the passion, the need, were gone. Every ounce of his passion belonged to Delilah. His hope for the future—Delilah. His reason for living—Delilah.

  With the shocking revelations, it was as though a weight was lifted from him, a weight that had dragged him down, kept him in the dirt, unable to rise. Not wanting to rise.

  “Please, Layel.” She beckoned him with a clipped, almost angry, wave of her hand. “Come to me.”

  Layel found himself on his knees once again, tears pouring down his cheeks. Still he knew this was only a trick, but what both saddened and thrilled him was the revelation that even if this had been the real Susan, he would not have gone to her. That would have been a betrayal to Delilah, and he just couldn’t force himself to do it. He loved Delilah. Dear gods.