He licked his lips and closed his eyes in an expression of absolute ecstasy. "Any more and you would have been unable to rise for hours."
"Don't care."
"Should."
Oh, gods. She was floating. Desperate, needy. She couldn't force her hips to still. They moved up and down, left and right, seeking completion. "Your fingers, then." If he didn't touch her…Damn it! Her arousal was too intense to control or forget. "Touch me. Please."
There was a long, tense pause. "No."
She gripped her breasts and squeezed, just as he had done earlier. Her nipples throbbed all the more, wanting his hands. A whimper escaped her. Normally she would have hated herself for making such a sound, but now, this moment, she was owned by her passion.
She was used to taking what she needed, when she needed it. Right now, she needed release. Would die if she didn't get it. "Touch me!"
"No!"
"But I hurt." Mewling, pleading.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he once again sounded drunk. His hot gaze locked on her dripping core. "Has a man ever tasted you there? Tongued you deep?"
In my dreams, you have. "A man? No." Vorik had stripped and entered her in seconds, and there'd been nothing but thrusting at that point.
His eyes flared deep, bright blue. "A woman?"
"No. Dreams…" She arched her hips up, up. "Touch."
"Did you like it? In your dreams?"
"Yes." She had. But she wanted more, wanted reality. Many Amazons expounded about the act. My turn, she thought. "Need you. Please."
"Only me, or will anyone do?"
She caught a note of jealousy. Perhaps even, dare she hope, possessiveness. "You. Only you." She slid her hands down her stomach, and her navel quivered. Her fingers pushed past the leather waist of her skirt and dabbled just above the place she needed to be touched. She bit her bottom lip. Would he do it?
With a moan, he brushed her hands aside and replaced them with his own, tunneling under the patch of material. Two fingers slid into her wetness, spreading the moisture. His eyes closed, as if he was savoring everything about her.
"Yes, yes!"
His thumb circled her swollen clitoris. "You're so tight. Have you had a man, Delilah?"
Delilah. He'd said her name. He was here with her, not imagining himself with another woman. She nearly came.
Her gaze lowered to his huge erection, straining so proudly against his pants. She had to touch it, had to taste the head peeking from the waistband, had to taste the seed glistening there.
"Have you?" she asked him, hoping her sarcasm hid how much power he had over her just then.
His lips twitched. "How many have you had?"
"One," she finally admitted.
"I think I hate him."
What a sweet thing to say. She did not allow herself to consider the fact that Layel truly would hate the man when he learned she'd given herself to a dragon. Perhaps he would hate her, as well. Even more than he already did.
"Did you love him?"
"I thought I did. No, not true. I thought I could." How could she broach the subject of his mate without infuriating him again? "You have loved before."
He nodded. "Yes. Two hundred years ago, she was my everything." The moment he spoke, all hint of drunkenness left him. His color remained high, but was no longer soft. Every inch of him hardened. He jumped away from her as if she were poisonous. "Is my everything. Is still."
He said that while Delilah's arousal glittered on his fingers.
Her own sense of possessiveness sparked with renewed life, even while her fervent arousal chilled. "She is dead."
Though he had just fed, his fangs descended over his bottom lip. A lip stained red with her blood. "You will not speak of her. Ever."
"And if I do?" Delilah challenged, jumping up. Boneless as they were, her knees almost gave out. Somehow she managed to remain standing.
"I have dealt with you gently so far. Do not force me to change that."
"Gently?" She laughed, the sound bitter. "You have hurt me at every turn."
He flushed. With embarrassment? Regret? "Speak of her again and I will not only kill you, I will slaughter your entire race."
Far from cowed, Delilah refused to back down. The man had grieved for two hundred years. He might wish he had died with the woman, but he hadn't. And as far as Delilah was concerned, it was past time he began living again. "Like you've done with the dragons?"
He was in her face a split second later, breath hissing over her nose and lips. Despite everything, she wanted to jerk him closer, shove her tongue into his mouth and taste more of him. She might even bite, so fierce was her need.
"You have no idea of what you speak, so shut your mouth. I did not lie. I did not exaggerate. All of you, even the child queen you spoke of so fondly, will die by my hand."
Fury and disbelief fought for control inside her. "My blood is even now coursing through your body and you dare threaten me and those I love? That is low, even for you."
The electric spark in his eyes died. "I am a king. I do whatever I wish, whenever I wish."
A mirror of her earlier thoughts, but she didn't like them coming from him. "Even a king can be made into a slave."
"So you hope to enslave me, do you? Now the truth is revealed. An Amazon to the core. Give the vampire your blood and watch him beg for more. Is that it?"
"That's not—"
He cut her off with a low snarl. "Know now that I will never beg you for anything, Amazon."
Finally she allowed herself to step closer to him. Still she didn't grab him, didn't kiss him. "That's what you said about drinking from me. How did I taste?" she finished with a smugness she wished to the gods she felt.
His eyelids narrowed to dangerous slits. "I think it will be best if we avoid one another. As I've suggested all along."
"I was about to say the same—" Her knees buckled. She collapsed on the ground, her head seeming to fly to the heavens, an ache in her temples. Groaning, she massaged them. What in Hades had just happened?
Layel cursed under his breath and scooped her up.
"Let me go," she managed to say, though it was breathless, insubstantial.
"You don't really want me to let you go, Delilah."
A mortifying truth. "What's wrong with me?"
"I must have taken too much." He might have added, "I've never tasted anything so rich, so good," but she couldn't be sure. The words were more of a rumble than anything.
"Bastard. I've never fallen before." And she did not like that she had now. With this man watching. And though she might like being in his arms, she couldn't forget the hateful things he'd said to her. "Put me down. Now!"
"Whether or not you've fallen before, if I put you down, that is exactly what you'll do. Again."
"That's a chance I'm willing to take."
He dropped her legs first, and she immediately regretted her demand. Until a cool caress of air hit her bottom half, she hadn't realized how warm he'd made her. Still. She planted her feet on the solid foundation and locked her knees, determined to remain upright no matter the cost.
That's when Layel released her completely, tsking under his tongue.
Like a wave in the ocean, she glided forward without the strength to stop herself. Silent, he wrapped his arms around her and held. Simply held. When she heard the strong gallop of his heart, she relaxed. Didn't try to pull away. Just listened. Slowly, so sweetly, his hands stroked up and down her spine.
She'd expected him to push her away. At the very least to say he'd told her so. That he did neither…Would she ever understand this man?
His arms tightened around her, nearly crushing the breath from her lungs. She didn't complain. She liked it, felt safe. The man now holding her was not the same man who had insulted her.
"You confuse me," she said softly.
"I know. I confuse myself." His breath fanned the top of her head, and then he was resting his chin there. "I still think it would be wise to remain at a di
stance."
"I—" Want you to kiss me. I want you to make me forget what we were fighting about. Convince me we have a tomorrow. "You're probably right."
"Well, well, well," a voice said behind them. "Isn't this nice?"
CHAPTER 13
LAYEL DIDN'T YET HAVE his desire under control when the dragon's voice invaded his thoughts. This is a good thing. Really.
Delilah stiffened in his arms.
Delilah…her blood was the nectar of the gods, surely. One sip, and he'd been transported to the heavens. One gulp, and he'd experienced more sexual ecstasy than he'd ever experienced while pumping his cock inside of a woman. Shouldn't have tasted her. He'd expected to find her ordinary, to reduce her to a meal.
He had failed.
Now he knew the truth. Now he knew that nothing compared to her. Not a rich, aged wine, not ambrosia.
Slowly he lowered his hands to his sides and turned, surprised by just how relieved he was to see the pair of dragons. Surprised the two warriors were standing together as allies when most of the races had already divided against each other, thanks to the gods' cruel game. A moment more, and he might have done something irrevocable. As if you haven't already. Something…tender, then.
Gods, this woman challenged him. Angered him, drew him. Tormented him. Cut him up and left him bare. She'd had a lover once, had welcomed the bastard inside her sweet body, and he despised the man with his entire being. Not a good time for these thoughts.
He studied his new opponents. Seeing those golden eyes roused every spark of hatred banked inside him. Better. The emotion was a constant part of him, fused to his bones and flowing through his veins. And yet, tonight he felt no urge to attack or kill. Why?
Delilah couldn't be healing the wounds inside him, he assured himself. There was nothing to heal. Some injuries caused irreparable damage, so complete there was nothing left to sew back together. She wasn't making him forget; he could never forget. Perhaps it was that odd sense of relief that held him in place and dulled his rage. The dragons had prevented him from doing something stupid.
More, Delilah had panted earlier, and he'd been very close to giving it to her. He'd been close to giving her everything. Sex, promises…forever. Was still close. Gods, she was no longer in his arms but he could still feel the softness of her body. Worse, that sickening feeling of tenderness lingered. For her.
No one had spoken a word for several seconds—minutes?—he realized. Each of them had been standing in utter silence. Layel knew why he had done so; he'd been lost in thought. Why had they?
"So nice of you to join us," he said to break the quiet, his tone smooth.
Brand and Tagart both blinked at him, as though they couldn't believe what he'd said. They didn't relax, though, clearly still expecting him to attack. Both kept their hands poised over the wooden hilts of their daggers.
"Was he hurting you?" Brand asked Delilah. Though his words were addressed to her, his eyes, narrowed and filled with menace, never left Layel.
Layel wasn't sure what he expected the Amazon to say in response—or what he wanted her to say. Part of him wanted to hear the woman whose blood now flowed through his veins praise him. Stand with him. The two of them against the world, united, two halves of the same whole.
The other part of him yearned to hear her tell them that, yes, he had hurt her. That would be easier to deal with later, when he was alone with his shame. He might be able to convince himself that he hadn't kissed her because he craved her more than he craved vengeance, that he hadn't, for that terribly beautiful moment, treated her as lovingly as he'd once treated Susan.
If only he could convince himself of that. Because, had Susan risen from the dead and been the one to interrupt them, Layel wasn't sure he would have been able to pull away from Delilah. He would not have regretted where his arms had been. Or where his mouth had been earlier.
Right then he felt divided, like two separate beings tugged in different directions. Sadly, both entities had one thing in common: they both hated him. He decided to blame the island. Not only was it dividing brother against brother, it was now splitting him in half, confusing him, causing him to war with himself.
"I'm well," Delilah finally answered the dragon. "There's no need to fret."
You are disappointed.
"There was so much screaming…"
"I am well," she insisted, cheeks blooming with bright color.
"As am I," Layel said, though he highly doubted the dragons would care.
Tagart leaned one shoulder against a tree trunk, a deceptively casual pose. "We have had this conversation before, have we not?"
Without a word or a glance, Delilah stepped away from Layel and closer to the dragons. His enemies, he reminded himself. A growl rose in his throat, but he quickly cut it off. He did not want her near them, wanted only to jerk her back against him, hold her tight, protect her. This is for the best.
"Before you ask another question," she continued flatly, "know that I do not have to explain myself to either of you."
"Don't you?" Tagart asked softly, fiercely.
Layel looked between them, from one to the other. Delilah's cheeks again heated, this time with what looked to be guilt. Guilt? He knew she had formed a partnership with the dragon, but he had not thought emotion existed between the pair. Were they…Could they be…He didn't want to consider it, but couldn't keep the question from drifting through his mind: what if they worked together to destroy him?
"Walk me back to camp," Delilah told the dragons.
Layel's hands curled into fists as the woman damned herself further. Why ask them for an escort? Why not Layel? Because she does care for Tagart, his mind answered, and wants him safe.
She doesn't matter. She's nothing to you. Her blood and her taste and her strength and her sweetness and her soft, warm body, soft, warm moans meant nothing.
His gaze bored into her back. Her spine was elegantly ridged, her thighs strong—tiny droplets of blood caked the inside—and her feet submerged in the water, the very place he'd laid her down. The place she'd writhed and groaned and fisted his hair.
Her white-hot passion had not been faked. Whether she cared for Tagart or not, she had desired Layel. Perhaps she, too, felt as if she were two people.
She wavered suddenly and had to brace her legs apart to maintain her balance. "Come, dragons. Let us return to camp. I'm hungry." She sounded frightened, impatient.
Layel frowned. Where was the confident woman who had begged him for more? Weakened, because of you. He realized suddenly that of all the things he hated most about this experience, the worst was that he had taken too much of her blood and reduced her to this. He was no better than Zane, whom he'd just lectured on this very subject. The Delilah he knew would have stomped away from them all, unconcerned about who followed and who didn't.
You know her so well, do you?
His frown pulled tight into a scowl.
"Well?" she snapped to the dragons. Again, she wavered.
Layel barely stopped himself from reaching for her.
Tagart bristled at her tone. Brand looked as if he was fighting a grin.
"If you want to keep your internal organs, I would suggest you take her to camp," Layel said. You trust the dragons to keep her safe? In her condition, she wouldn't be able to defend herself.
Ask her to stay.
No. No! Who are you? What kind of man have you become? Susan's mate would not act this way. He would protect above all else; he would place a female's safety over his own needs.
Brand's gaze snapped to him, his earlier amusement gone. "I doubt you care about my organs, vampire."
"You're angering the Amazon, which puts you at risk. And if she cuts them out of you, what will I have to eat later, hmm?"
Fury blazed just behind that golden gaze, but it was not Brand who stepped forward, challenging him. It was Tagart, one dagger raised. Delilah whipped out her arm and curled her fingers around his wrist, stopping him.
"No," she s
aid. A single word, but effective.
The man's attention shot to her, as did Layel's. His teeth ground together at the sight of them touching. Better this way. So much better, he told himself again. How many times would he be forced to think it? His teeth were so sharp they cut his gums. His own blood mixed with Delilah's, trickled onto his tongue and down his throat, fiery hot.
Tagart's arm lowered. His gaze did not leave Delilah as he said, "We won't stand for your threats, Layel."
"As I am a king, you should only address me as Your Highness," he said. "What will you do if I refuse to stop, hmm?"
"Sure you want to know, Layel?" was the reply.
"Come!" Delilah shouted, her voice trembling. "This has grown tiresome."
You can't protect the dragon from me, he thought, red shuttering over his vision.
Tagart slammed his dagger into the sheath at his side. "We never killed you, vampire, because our king ordered us to leave you alone."
"Tagart," Brand growled, a warning.
A warning that was ignored.
"You hunted us, and we let you because of our king's desire for peace. He knew what had been done to you and your mate, and he regretted it, hoped to make amends. Well, I don't, and the dragon king isn't here. We are. And if there's one positive thing to come of this wretched game, it's going to be your demise. I was stopped last time. I won't be again."
At the word mate, Layel's rage intensified to an uncontrollable degree. He launched forward, intending to knock the dark dragon on his ass and slice through his neck with a single cut of his teeth.
Expecting him, the dragon opened his arms and grinned.
But Layel didn't slam into him. He slammed into Delilah, who'd thrown herself in his path. They hit the ground, battering against rocks as they rolled. The fullness of her breasts pressed into his chest, her riotous heartbeat a mirror of his own. Her hair tangled around his face, a cerulean shield.
His teeth were in her neck before he realized what had happened, his mind not yet accepting he'd missed his target. Her sweet, sweet blood filled his mouth once more. But he wasn't gentle this time, wasn't caring. She cried out in pain and fear, knocking sense back into him. He gave a startled gasp and jerked away.
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