Atlantis Series Complete Collection

by Gena Showalter

  He was here; he was alive. He had not been chosen for execution. Trying not to smile now, she wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “No.”

  “Did no one tell you Nola survived?” he asked softly. For a moment, only a moment, he looked at her with something akin to tenderness.

  “I was told.” Her heart already drummed erratically from her sprint, but now, as she drank in the sight of him, the silly organ wanted to pound its way free. “How are you alive?”

  He tsked under his tongue, somehow conveying a wealth of pain and joy with the sound. “Disappointed?”

  She raised her chin, refusing to lie yet equally unwilling to admit the truth. He would reject her again, and her emotions were too strung out to deal with another.

  He sighed. “I want to be alone now,” he said. He turned away from her and picked up a fat stick, then continued…whatever it was that he’d been doing before she ran into him. Was he…digging a hole? He pressed the stick into the ground to gather a mound of dirt, then tossed that dirt aside.

  His muscles rippled as he moved, and her mouth watered. I clutched those muscles once. I had them at my fingertips. So badly she wanted to rake her fingers through his white hair. Even flatten her palm against his chest and feel the flow of life as he drank from her. “I’m waiting for an answer to my question,” she insisted. “How are you alive?”

  His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “My team decided I was not the one who would cause them to lose the next contest. So…” Another shrug, but this one was stiff, self-conscious. “Now, go away,” he said, jamming a long stick into the ground. Then he popped it up, tossing a mound of dirt a few feet away.

  “Who was chosen?”

  “I love being ignored.” Without pausing in his digging, he said, “The formorian who—” He pressed his lips together. Dirt soared over his shoulder as he heaved the stick upward.

  “Who you helped into the water,” she finished for him.

  He gave a clipped nod.

  To prevent herself from closing all hint of distance between them and burrowing her head in the hollow of his neck, she shifted and leaned her uninjured shoulder against the nearest tree. “You and Brand seem to hate each other. I’m surprised he didn’t vote for you, no matter that the formorian was weak.”

  Layel laughed darkly. “Oh, he voted for me. Several members did. One more vote, and I would have been the one who lost his head.”

  Just how close had she come to losing him? “The gods actually decapitated him?”

  Another nod.

  Some part of her had thought, perhaps hoped, they would change their minds. “Why did you do it?” she asked after a tension-filled pause.

  “Do what?” he asked, but she knew he only pretended ignorance.

  “Hurt your own team member.”

  “Perhaps it amused me to hear him scream. Perhaps I live for the deaths I cause, as rumors in Atlantis claim.” Another mound of dirt flew over his shoulder.

  This one was launched toward her. She hopped out of the way, barely escaping an earth-shower. He’d purposely aimed at her, the bastard. “That was childish,” she said, crossing her arms over her middle.

  “But satisfying.”

  “You remind me of Lily right now.”

  “Lily?”

  “My sister by race, the future queen of the Amazons and the girl the dragons were carting in that cell.” Only yesterday, she realized, though it felt as if an eternity had already passed. “When Lily doesn’t get her way, she throws a tantrum.”

  “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”

  “No, you’re throwing dirt. Is that any better?”

  A rumbling noise escaped him, and she wasn’t sure if he expressed amusement or irritation. He paused in his digging, though, keeping his back to her. “Go away, Delilah.” He sounded weary.

  Would she ever get used to the tremors of delight that shook her every time he said her name? “No. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “None of your concern. Go.”

  “Again, no.” She’d almost lost him tonight. Part of her didn’t want to be separated from him ever again. How had he engaged her emotions so strongly and so quickly? “I’m not sure if you treat me this way because you genuinely dislike me or because you’re afraid of me.”

  “Wonder no more. I dislike you.” Motions clipped, he slammed the stick back into the ground, and then another mound of dirt was sailing toward her.

  This time, she remained in place. The grains pummeled her calves and ankles, and she grit her teeth. “If you dislike me so much, why did you thrust your tongue into my mouth and your fingers into my—”

  “Enough!” The stick snapped in half. Tossing the half he still held, he whirled, facing her. “I could tell you that I don’t have to like you to bed you. Is that what you need to hear? Would you leave if I said it?”

  “Would you mean it?” she asked in a broken voice she scarcely recognized as her own.

  Silent, he swiped up another stick and began shoveling again. Wood and mud collided again and again, widening the hole clearly no longer his concern. Fury poured from him, making his motions frenzied.

  The intense surge of hurt she’d experienced—don’t have to like you to bed you—gradually drained. He couldn’t say he meant it because he didn’t feel that way. Not wanting to push him into lying, however, she let the subject drop. For now. For whatever reason, he wasn’t ready to show her a softer side of himself. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

  He stilled, panting, sweating. “Delilah.”

  “Layel.”

  “This isn’t doing either one of us any good.” He straightened, his profile to her. The elegant curve of his nose cast a shadow over his cheek. Seemed odd that such a ruthless man would possess such pretty features. Not that she was complaining.

  “You would rather kiss than talk?” she asked, hopeful.

  The tip of his tongue emerged, trailing over his bottom lip. Remembering the taste of her? Then he scrubbed a dirty hand down his face. Streaks of black remained behind. “I’m burying the body.”

  Body? As lost as she’d been with the thought of their kiss, a moment passed before she recalled the formorian’s death. She stared into the crowd of trees, searching. Sure enough, she found the corpse several feet away and frowned. Now why would the man who supposedly hated everyone around him concern himself with the burial of a stranger?

  Guilt? A hidden sense of honor?

  What a contradiction Layel was.

  With a sigh, she gathered a stick and began digging alongside him, heedless of her injured shoulder. He didn’t rebuke her, and they managed to work in silence. What seemed a lifetime later, the hole was big enough for a body. Somberly she helped the vampire place the formorian inside.

  “So you know why I was fighting the dragons yesterday—to save Lily. But what about you? Why do you hate the dragons so much?” She threw her stick to the ground and peered over at him, determined to get at least one answer this night.

  For a single heartbeat, his eyes pulsed a bright, fiery red, a look of such debilitating pain falling over his face that she almost dropped to her knees. Almost begged him not to answer. No one should suffer like that. No one. As though they were dying from the inside out, slowly, inexorably, and each cell that withered, each organ that failed, poisoned another, until there was only rot and disease left. Only agony. But then his expression cleared, and he said flatly, “They took something that belonged to me. And if you dare ask what, I will kill you here and now.”

  The warrior in her wanted to press; the woman in her never wanted to see that pain inside him again. So she said, “Perhaps you’ve failed to realize that threats only encourage me,” in an effort to tease him. Then she eyed him nervously. Banter with a man was not something she had experience with. Was she doing it correctly?

  His lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to skip a beat entirely. “I’ve realized.” He, too, dropped his st
ick. He offered no words of thanks for her aid. “Your team is celebrating their victory. You should join them.”

  Being here with him, talking to him, seeing that smile, thrilled her more than any celebration. But she did wheel away from him. “You’re right.” She didn’t want to leave him, and that was precisely why she must. Slowly she walked away. Prolonging the contact was only sparking a desire for more.

  When she thought him dead, she had mourned. Mourned. The more time she spent with him the more she wanted him. What would happen if he was killed? What would happen if she gave herself to him and he pushed her away afterward? Next time, she might not survive.

  “Amazon,” he called.

  Irritation flooded her. He called her “Amazon” when he wished to put distance between them. That, she knew. But still she stopped. She just didn’t face him. “Yes.”

  “I am…sorry. About the—about earlier. About what I said.”

  An apology from yet another man. Something must be in the water. “I don’t regret anything about what has happened or been said between us.” No, that wasn’t true. She regretted that their time together had to end. Tonight, most likely forever. If she could stay away from him, for that would be the true battle.

  Fortifying her resolve, she started forward again.

  “Amazon,” he called once more.

  And once more she stilled, unable to help herself. “Yes.”

  “Do not approach me again. Your team will not like it, and next time it will be you who is voted for.”

  Concern? For her? My resistance grows thin… “I can take care of myself.”

  “I have learned that in this game the opinion of your teammates matters more than your actual performance.”

  “You aren’t the first to tell me such a thing. Tagart asked me to ally with him.”

  A heavy, crackling pause, then, he asked tightly, “Did you accept?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You should.” The last was grated, as if the words rubbed his throat raw.

  Did he not like the thought of her with another man, as she’d considered before, or did he simply hate the dragons so much he loathed the idea of anyone helping them? “Have you seen the waterfall on the north side of the island?” she found herself asking. Stop, don’t do this. You’re leaving to escape him.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour. Alone.”

  Silence. Then, “And you will remain alone. We cannot be…friends, Delilah. I’m sorry.”

  Another apology. Gulping, hurting again, she started forward for the third time. Part of her expected him to call her back. But he didn’t. Not again. She reached the celebration a few minutes later. She was caked in dirt and sweat, but she didn’t care.

  Her teammates were dancing around a fire, drinking wine and laughing. All but the nymph, she realized. Broderick was gone. As was their team’s other female. A gorgon. So, he’d opted to risk a stoning to spend a little time between the snake-woman’s legs. Layel, she suspected, would never do such a thing.

  Speaking of Layel, his team sat several feet away. Their nymph female, like Broderick, was missing, as was… Hmm, all of the men were present—and each member was glaring with jealousy at Delilah’s team. Even Nola.

  Delilah met the Amazon’s stare. Rather than a smile or a wave, she received a short, abrupt nod and almost sighed. Dissent within the same races already. Did Nola think she had betrayed her? Convinced Layel to lose? That, she would deal with later. At the moment she needed to approach Tagart. The dragon ceased his dancing, his smile fading when he spotted her. Sweat glinted from his skin, and he exuded a masculine musk every other woman on the island probably would have enjoyed.

  Delilah found that she preferred the metallic sweetness of Layel’s scent.

  “I accept your offer,” she whispered up to him. She didn’t trust him, but she didn’t mind using him. You should, Layel had said, as though he didn’t care that she would forge an alliance with his enemy.

  They would soon learn the truth of that.

  Layel’s obvious dislike of the dragons was the only reason she had hesitated before, she realized now. Subconsciously, she’d allowed him to begin affecting her decisions. No more.

  Slowly Tagart’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “I knew you’d see reason.” He reached for her, meaning to pull her into his embrace for a dance.

  She backed up a step, not willing to take their alliance that far. Good or bad for her, Layel was the only man she wanted touching her. “Just tell me one thing.”

  Tagart’s golden dragon eyes glinted like polished coins. “And what is that? You wish me to tell you the other team’s nymph is out there right now, searching for your vampire, determined to have him?”

  What? Why, that bitch! She had no right. He’s mine. No, no, she immediately chastised herself. Do not think that way. “What did your brethren take from Layel to cause a war with the vampires?” The stories she’d heard of Layel’s prowess had never said.

  The glint in his eyes died. “He did not tell you?”

  “No.”

  Guilt flashed, but he said starkly, “We took…his mate.”

  * * *

  LAYEL BATTLED WITH himself for the entire hour Delilah had given him. He knew what he should do, knew what was wise. He could not go to her. Absolutely not. No. But she was slowly stripping him of his sanity.

  Every minute he spent with her, he desired more.

  Every minute he thought of her, he desired more.

  Every minute he was without her, he desired more.

  She drew him. If she had looked like Susan or acted like Susan, he would have understood her strange pull on him. But she didn’t, so he didn’t.

  “I’m glad to see you survived,” Zane said from behind him.

  Layel had been expecting the warrior, and was only surprised he had not arrived sooner. What had he been doing? “I have a mission for you,” he said, turning.

  Zane floated in front of him. Layel could smell the sweet scent of fresh blood on the soldier. Female blood. His stomach knotted, for it was widely known the vampire only took from the dying. “Who did you feed from?”

  Zane blinked at the fury in his tone. “That hardly matters.”

  “Tell me!” Layel was in his face a moment later. There were not that many females on the island. If he had sunk those fangs into Delilah…

  “You had better back away, king. I serve you because I wish to, but that can change at any moment.”

  He’d heard similar words a thousand times before from the warrior. “Delilah is not—”

  “The one I tasted, no.”

  Instantly Layel relaxed. Hatred—for himself, for Delilah—sprang free, never far from the surface. Always waiting to pounce. He shouldn’t have cared who Zane drank from.

  Zane shook his dark head. “So that is the way of things, I see.”

  “You see nothing,” he growled.

  “I see that you have staked a claim on her. Well, guess what? She is at camp right now, joining forces with that bastard, Tagart.”

  So. She had allied with the dragon. When she had told him of Tagart’s offer, he had wanted to scream, I will protect you. Me. Not him. But he had held his tongue, knowing that was the wisest course. If he allowed it, Delilah would be his downfall. He would long to live with her, rather than join Susan in the hereafter. Unacceptable!

  He studied Zane’s sated expression. A single thought filled his head, overshadowing everything else. I could have Delilah’s blood in my veins right now. She would let me. I would not have to take her body, would not have to pleasure her or take pleasure for myself. He gulped against a sudden onslaught of blistering lust. Oh, the temptation… “I have a mission for you,” he repeated past an aching throat. Resist.

  “Let me guess. I am to protect the girl.”

  Yes. But… “Your arrogance displeases me.”

  “I am a warrior, not a bodyguard,” Zane spit.

  “You are whatever I tell you to
be. I do not trust Tagart. If he aids her, fine. But if it appears he is going to betray her…”

  A muscle ticked in Zane’s jaw. “Is that all? King,” he added after a tense pause.

  “No. You will return to your team, and you will listen to what they plan. I will do the same. Tomorrow we will share what we have learned and decide our course of action. The gods think to divide us, but we will not allow them to succeed. Will we?”

  A slight hesitation before Zane gave a stiff nod.

  When the vampire stalked away, Layel glanced in the direction of the waterfall. His hour had passed. Was Delilah waiting for him? Perhaps she frolicked in the lapping water even now, naked and glistening. The stray thought arose, an image of exactly that forming, and he was halfway there before he realized what he was doing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALYSSA HAD SPENT the night searching both the Inner and Outer cities with Shivawn, flying from one to the other—or galloping atop a centaur, in Shivawn’s case. Not once had he spoken a single word to her. Not in all their hours together.

  Frustration rode her hard, sinking sharp claws into every part of her body. They were now on their way back to Valerian’s palace. She could see it on the horizon, a towering stone and crystal monstrosity atop a steep cliff. Shivawn was still perched on a centaur and she kept pace beside him, floating rather than walking or riding. There were three benefits to this: he was always within her view. If she walked, she would have stumbled. And no centaur would have allowed her on his back without a fierce argument she didn’t have the fortitude for.

  A group of minotaurs and griffins raced past them, headed into the Outer City. They were laughingly chasing a pretty white unicorn. Had Alyssa any spare time, she would have joined them and tried to capture the horned stallion. A wish would come in handy right about now.

  “Your king will not be pleased,” she said, to break the silence and distract herself. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She craved his voice as much as she craved his touch. Surely if she spoke first, he would follow suit. “All we learned was that two creatures of nearly every race disappeared in the blink of an eye. Nothing more. Valerian will desire the reason.”